Disclaimer: Figures after this long I should put one up here. I disclaim any claim that I can't claim, and disclaim anyone trying to claim what I can claim, There that should do it.

A/N: Can you believe it? I actually finished this chapter! Believe me when I tell you it was like giving birth to Kane. ;) Between a disabled arm and the mother of all writers blocks I thought I would never find the words for this chapter. Finally I just had to plow through, just to get to the to the other side. So I appolgize from the start as this clearly is not close to my best, but I hope now I can get back into the swing of things.

I also want to thank everyone that has reviewed since the last chapter. I really truely appreciate it, I also want to thank those that have taken the time to read the story, whether you reviewed or not, you liked it enough to take the time to read it. I appreaciate that just as much.

Anyway, that's enough of me, on to chapter 4!

Enjoy.


The passage of an hour finds the two pairs of brothers, ensconced in a motel room somewhere along interstate highway. The room is small and is not helping the frayed nerves of the men within.

Glen has not taken his eyes off of Matt and his brother, who are presently sitting at the only table in the small room, heads together, in low voiced conversation, both men banished there by Mark who has not allowed anyone save Glen near him. Not that the man, who is presently sitting facing the only window in the small room, has said word one to his brother. Glen, who laying on the only other bed in the room moves his gaze form the Hardys to his brother's back. He does not need his empathic senses to know his brother is tense, but there is something else bothering him. He can feel his brother's depression like it was a tangible cloak draped over his massive frame; and he can feel it is not the same depression Mark has been dealing with over the loss of his family. Something new has caused the older man to sink into this new funk, something the older Hardy knows about. And the fact that Matt knows something about Mark that he, Glen, does not has the large man feeling unexpected jealousy towards the elder Hardy.

"Ok Mark that's it, you want to tell me what's going on?" Glen waits to see if his brother will respond, after all, he did say he would explain everything once they had left the hospital, something that took longer then they wanted. The staff was not going to just left Jeff leave after being in a coma for nearly a day, not without his attending doctor's go ahead. And hour later after the man had come and examined the younger man, the doctor was very reluctant to allow him to leave, luckily it was Matt that reminded them all that they could not keep Jeff there if he did not want to be. So it took no time from that point for the quartet to have the release papers seen to and be on their way. But once they were out the door and had found Mark's stolen car, still in the parking lot and had drove off, Mark had fallen into the silent brooding that had stayed with him up to this point. Glen knew he had to jar his older brother out of it soon, once the older man drifted to far down into his habitual melancholy, it was a chore to drag him out.

"Did you hear me Mark?" Glen stands reaches out and violently yanks his brother's shoulder forcing Mark to swing around. This was of course Glen's intention, what took him and the other two in the room by surprise was that Mark continued to swing around his fist set and connecting with his brother's jaw, sendind the large man falling backwards on to the adjacent bed. Yet even that was not the most shocking for the trio. What made both Hardys jump from their seat at the table and rush over to pull Glen away from his brother, followed by all three retreating to the, relative, safety of the door, were the older man's eyes. They were not their usual gray-green, nor the odd gray, not even the pure white when his powers were invoked. All they saw was a deep dark black void that seemed to have no depth. Each man stood, wishing to turn away, to not look into those empty sockets; yet they found they could not. It was as if their very souls were being drawn over the distance that separated them from the man they called friend or brother.

They stood such for what seemed an eternity, held mesmerized by something unseen within the depths of the void that now filled the place once held by Mark's usually cold orbs. Each man feels more then sees that there is a horror with in that void. A horror that was less of a physical nature but one born of a soul older then the existence of man. A soul that was power, a soul that defined evil and good and the lack there of all at the same time. A soul without conscience, void of regret, denied the need to understand anything beyond its own existence. Somehow, within each man they knew that the creature they faced, the being who's eyes they were held in thrall to, was no longer the man called Mark Calaway. This entity had no name, no connection to the race of man. They matter to it, as the flea matters to a comet streaking through the heavens.

Ready to bolt out the door behind them they watch as physical form of the man they knew raises from the place it had been resting since arriving in the room, and stood purposefully towards them. Jeff fumbles quickly for the handle to the door his near panic making the task near impossible. As Mark's body, for that is the best way to refer to the form before them, did not stop its forward progress, the three are forced to move away from the door, once they realize they are not even registering to the walking enigma. Once they are no longer in it's path Mark's body reaches the door and does something that nearly makes his companions shudder; as he stops for a moment then fades from sight.

"What the hell just happened?" Asks Jeff in a low terror filled voice, "Did Mark just fade away? Why did he hit Glen AND WHAT THE FUCK WAS UP WITH HIS EYES!" His words raised in pitch and timbre as he spews question after question finding he was shaking and could not stop. Rapidly he looks from Glen to Matt, seeing that he was going to get no answer from either man. A conclusion Glen had not come to, as he turns, grabs Matt by his shirt and slams the young man against the wall.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YO DO TO MY BROTHER? WHAT WAS IT YOU HAD HIM DO IN THAT HOSPITAL ROOM?" Glen roared at Matt the smaller man turning pale at the utter fury he can see in the mismatch eyes of the enraged behemoth. Glen had seen his brother go through many changes, get taken over by his very own inner darkness, but this was different, this was something else. In the past he could still feel his brother no matter how far down into evil and darkness he had plunged, there was always this spark in his eyes, a feeling that Glen would pick up that would reassure him that his brother was somehow still there waiting to reemerge. But that 'thing' that left was not Mark, it held nothing of his brother. There was no light in those eyes, if they could be called that. No spark for Glen to pick up, nothing but this feeling of antiquity something the large man had never felt in all his years; antiquity and darkness. He does not want to even think what this means for his brother, he does not want to think that the one thing his brother fears, a fear he would never admit to, was coming to pass, that Mark had finally lost to the Darkness within him. He had to know what Matt knew.

So he took to shaking the boy, even though he could see the panic in the young man's eyes. He ignores what his power was telling him, that under the panic and fear the smaller man was feeling, he was as confused about the situation as Glen was. But Glen could not except that, his powers must be wrong, someone had to have the answer at this moment Matt was the only one that could provide it, despite what his own ability was telling him. He was so determined to shake an answer out of Matt that he was completely unaware that with each shake his anger was raising. That he was slowly not seeing the young man that had become something of a friend for the short time they were together, and had, somehow, become very close to his brother. No all he was starting to see was a source of information, and he was going to beat that information out of that source. Glen's mind was slipping once more, as it did in the ring when Jeff was attacked, the fire that was the manifestation of his anger and emotions started to rage even brighter then they had a few days ago. It was clear Glen would kill Matt Hardy to get information he soon would no longer know he wanted.

But again a soft touch on his arm drew the berserk man back from the brink of madness. Again he awoke to find Jeff standing near him, looking up into his eyes, frightened tears streaming down his face. This time Glen felt as if he could not breath, as if all the oxygen was being sucked out of the room, his heart pounded violently in his chest as his nerveless finger lost their grip on the unfortunate Matt, who slumped to the floor; barely conscious. Glen could not speak, he could not get enough air in his lunges. He wanted to scream but all he could muster was a horse wheeze. He was engulfed in a nameless panic yet it had a name; he knew it had a name. He wanted to call that name, but he did not know how. He was failing; he had fail. He was the protector; he was supposed to protect, he was supposed to be protected. His mother; his brother. He should be doing something; he should be saving something, someone.

The panic Glen was lost to was only slightly more intense then the one experienced by the young man at his side. Jeff could not stop the tears flowing down his face. They partly flowed over fear for his brother's life at Glen's hands, but there was another reason, his ability to tap into the thoughts of the brothers, had kicked into to overdrive and he was being drawn in the big man's own panic attack. It was not that he saw words, or heard voices, what he got from Glen were feelings and pictures that flashed by so fast he could not hold on to one long enough to identify it. It was like a maddening collage of faces, places, and events, all coupled with intense emotions, like love, happiness, fear and despair. But one emotion seemed to dominate all the others, one feeling, one thought; hopelessness. "He's lost hope." The young man realizes in a sudden moment of clarity, "I have to help him, I have to give him back hope; but how?" Once Jeff locks onto this notion, he finds he is no longer being dragged along in Glen's emotional storm. The feelings no longer are intermixed with his own; making them a nearly unrecognizable mass, indistinguishable from his own. He can feel which fears are his and which he is experiencing from his large friend. Though the images are still rushing by at break neck pace, some are visible for long enough he can make them out a bit. A picture of a young boy with corn colored hair, a woman with a smile that makes Jeff's heart sore with love and a feeling of peace, a younger Paul Bearer, and older man with a stern and imposing visage so reminiscent of Mark it makes Jeff's breath catch in his throat. Then there is the last image. He cannot make out the face, yet he knows that is what it is, it is as if the face is clouded in a dark foreboding mist of darkness and evil. It is this image that is linked to Glen's feeling of hopelessness. Somehow this 'person' is the driving force behind all that has been transpiring and the most disturbing of all; Glen knows this person intimately.

This revelation hits the young Hardy like a brick. This 'being' for Jeff knows it is not human in any sense of the word, is as much a part of Glen's life as his brother or father. This being is the orchestrator of all the hardship that has plagued the brothers lives since they day they were conceived, maybe even before. "How is this guy? What does he have to do with all this and why doesn't Glen even know he knows him?" Jeff keeps repeating this question to himself, hoping an answer would present itself of such repetition. He feels deep in his gut, that once this mystery is solved so many more questions will be answered, including his place in all that is transpiring since the death of Mark's family. For know though, he has to help Glen, he has to bring the big man out of his despair. For without Glen's help they will not be able to find and help Mark.

A few hundred miles away, in a loft in Chelsea, a neighborhood in New York City, three young people are standing in stunned silence. The loft is the usual trendy lower west side abode, a large open space partitioned off, with screens, hanging blinds, and statuary. Though this one's decorations might stand out a bit from the rest. The walls are painted in varying shades of purple, red and black. A mural takes up the expanse of one long wall, depicts different scenes of magical creatures, both known and unknown. Demons, and Devils, dance around Angles and Cherubs; Animal headed men cavorted with unspeakable horrors. Religious symbols from Roman Catholic, Islamic and Judaic, as well as Celtic, Native American and Sumerian adorn the walls. About the place statuaries one would expect to see in an occult book or bible store sit in places of honor, each wreathed in over head lighting; to show their importance in the loft. Along the walls of the loft shrines and alters are set, some placed in such odd angles that one has to believe the placement was as equal importance as the structures themselves. Yet it is when one finally looked down or up, that the most striking aspect of this large room came into focus. On the ceiling, in certain locations, were painted designs and geometric shapes that could not be mistaken for anything but ritualistic circles. On the floor, more designs become apparent; especially the one that has the spot of prominence in the room a complicated array of shapes, symbols and forms drawn in red, black, purple and white.

It is around this large circle that the three souls now stand, eyes wide in shock with a hint of fear. Nearest to the circle stands a young woman of African descent, as evident by her light mocha skin color. If Paul Bearer were to stand in the room at this moment he would be impressed with her garb as she is attired in the most stunningly accurate reproduction of the ritualistic drapings worn by the priestesses of a long dead demon-worshiping cult. Off to her right at a different point of the circle from the young woman, stands a young man, his ethnic heritage is less evident save for the fact he is Caucasian and most probably of European decent. The young man is attired similarly to the woman, though the conniving Bearer would know he is, in fact, dressed in the clothing of the priest of that same cult. The last of the trio is clearly a man of Native American blood, possessing the distinctive dusky skin coloring and smooth glossy black hair. He is also obviously older then the other two by a few years, and he is dressed as a High Priest of the cult. Another thing that Paul Bearer would recognize in this room, if he were present, that would be to correctly identify the circle at the trio's feet to be that of a summoning circle; he would also recognize the new arrival in the middle of that circle and the object of the open, wide mouthed, gaze of the loft's inhabitants, as his wayward charge Mark.

The two younger of the three reluctantly drag their gazes from the naked form of Mark Calaway that stands, unmoving, in the middle of the loft, whips of mist rise lazily off his body. His hair, that had been whirling about his unclothed form when he first appeared is, as if caught in a raging hurricane, was slowly settling gently about his broad shoulder. They now look to their older companion who, to their dismay, looks less then reassuring as he too is stunned by the this turn of events.

Finally they all return their eyes to their unexpected visitor, at a loss what their next move is to be. This scene last for nearly five minutes before the oldest of the three, comes to the conclusion something had to be done, and at this point he was the only one that seemed ready to do it. Yet he was still in the dark as to what. He glances back to the book that has been at his feet since the ritual they had been attempting had ended. The ritual that seemed to have actually worked when the summoning circle they had painstakingly replicated in their loft, with the intent of contacting one of the lower-level demons that the cult that the three had decided to revive, glowed to life and the whole loft was filled with a chill wind and the howls of the damned. The truth of the matter, as is with most such situations of young people seeking for some direction in their lives, or a new and different distraction, these young souls, decided their path in life was to be found in the occult and new and old religions.

It was by chance they came upon the lost writings of a very old and not so well known cult that worshiped and communed with demons. Even thought they were young they were not foolish enough to meddle with forces they did not understand to their fullest so they took some time to research this newly rediscovered sect and what little they were able to unearth convinced them that they had stumbled on to what they had been seeking all their lives. The discipline of this cult was an answer to their desire for structure and the type that appeal to who they were. Most of the rituals connected to this cult had aspects of self-discovery and inner understanding that all thinking beings desire. And so, after three years of studying what little they could find on the cult, they had started practicing some of the rituals they found in one well-preserved book from the cult's past. Up to this point none of the rituals brought any demons to their beck and call, but the ritual practices themselves served to fulfill what they truly sought from that and that was inner peace and understanding of themselves. So they pushed on, trying more and more complicated spells and rituals. Feeling more and more in tuned with the cult's philosophy and beliefs. They had even gotten to the point where they found themselves attracting others to their small group.

But tonight, tonight it was just the original three that sought to try a new spell they recently came across, one that seemed different to the others they had tried up to this point. For one, this spell did not require anything sacrificed to achieve its goal. It also specifically required three to perform; two males and one female. It seemed destined that they should find the ritual when they did, as it had to be performed on this day at this time. So they made sure no others would be in the loft this eve. The eve they would finally see all their efforts rewarded. They would bring forth a demon to do their bidding.

Yet the being that stood before them now, looked nothing like the demons and other-realmed beings they had seen in the pages of their books. This, 'creature' looked for all intents and purposes, like a man, a very large man.

The young woman is the first to break out of her stunned conditioning looking once more to the High Priest. "Ken what went wrong?" she gestures towards the unclothed Mark, "That's not a demon, that's a man…" she turns back to look over Mark's form, "…a very good looking man, but defiantly not a demon. I thought you had the ritual down?"

The High Priest, Ken, grunts once and shrugs. "Hey I did everything it said in the book." He looks around at the circle and all the required items for the ritual and nods, "Everything is in place, I didn't miss anything" he shoots a look to the other young man in the room, "Did you miss a beat, Sam?"

"What the hell man!" Sam slams his headdress to the floor in apparent anger as he glares at Ken, "Why is it when one of these damn things goes south you always look at me? NO! I DID NOT MISS A DAMN BEAT!" he then jerks his thumb over to the young woman, "What about Ashanti, why not ask if she miss a word?"

Ashanti, the young woman in question, only smirks as she turns her attention back to their visitor. "You know guys, he looks awful familiar" She looks back to he male companions, both of whom give the naked giant still standing in the middle of the circle a close look.

"Don't recognize him," comes Sam's response, "but man look at all the tats. I wonder what BSK stands for."

Ken moves up close to Ashanti narrowing his eyes a bit. "Yeah those are actual English words on his belly, and that stuff on his right arm," he squints a bit as he did not want to cross the circle's borders, "There's a castle and another set of words…something…something about 'another soul'…or something like that." he shrugs looking to Ashanti then Sam, "This ain't no demon I ever heard or read about" he frowns returning to his previous place, picking up the book, from which he had discovered the ritual, quickly leafing through the pages, finally sighing as he sets the large tome on a table nearby. "The ritual says, clearly, it will bring the 'Devourer of Souls and Returner of the Power Eternal'" he looks back at Mark, "he sure doesn't look like a devourer of souls, maybe a few Big Macs and a Coors"

They all laugh, in spite of the bizarre nature of the situation, as Ken sighs, throws up his hands and walks over to a black couch nearby and sits down hard shaking his head. "Man this just reeks!" he gestures to the circle and the man within, "I would have bet my fuckin life this would have worked. I read the damn book over and over. Made sure this would work, did all that damn research and we still end up with some bogus ritual from a bunch of deluded fools thinking they were in touch with 'powers beyond the norm'" He makes finger quotes in disgust, slamming back against the couch with a look of frustration plainly written on his features. He glances up only when he feels the couch cushion dip and sees Ashanti taking a place by his side with an unexpected smirk along her full dark painted lips, giving him a look he knows too well. It is the look saying he is missing something. "What?"

Ashanti just sighs as she leans back copying his posture and looks towards the circle and the man within. "Oh nothing, 'Mr. Drama Queen'" She turns to Sam and gives him a conspiratorial wink as it is clear he too has come to the same mysterious conclusion that has still evaded their fellow summoner. She watches Sam walk closer to the circle and Mark, looking him over contemplatively.

"So, uh, what do we do with him now?" Sam turns and directs his question to Ken who sits up with a puzzled look.

"What do you mean 'what do we do with him?' We get him some close and s…" it was at this point Ken's eyes go wide as he comes to a realization, smacking himself hard in the forehead with the palm of his hand. "Damn I'm a moron!"

"Ya getting no argument from me dude." Comes Sam's quick comeback as Ashanti laughs behind her hand." He walks over and takes a seat himself in a plush chair that will allow him to continue to keep an eye on their guest. "Took you long enough to realize this guy would not be here 'if' the spell did not work. He might not be the demon, but my guess he is connected to it somehow. All we have to do is find out how."

Ken finally stands once more walking slowly over to the circle obviously in thought, he then turns back to his companions, "Ok, this is what we do. First we see if there is any mention of him in the book" he looks back at Mark, "I mean those tats still says he's human, or partially, the tats might be a clue to where the power can be found, or how he is connected." He goes back to the book opening it up once more glancing to the younger members in the room, "Well what you two waiting for? We got some researching to do, get a move on" His tone belies his commanding words. His mood has lifted now he realizes their effort is not yet wasted, that there is still a chance they might still find a true demon to place under their service as well as the power that demon promises to reveal.

Ashanti nods, stands and walks over to built-in shelving unit filled with all sorts of books both arcane and mundane. The unit takes up, pretty much, all of the particular wall and reaches from floor to ceiling. Slowly she runs a finger over the spines of several before she stops at a fairly large tome, sliding it out of it snug space between a short book that seems like it had been published back when dinosaurs walked the earth and another large book, with a spine with the look and texture of leather. She moves casually past the circle, giving the man within a short glance before taking a seat a large oaken table, resting the heavy book down as she, herself, settles in a rather comfortable chair and proceeds to peruse the pages.

By this time Sam had already gathered a few books for his own use and was now sitting cross-legged in front of the circle. Sparing, not a few, glances towards Mark. His look held a slight hint of suspicion and speculation when they would settle on the large naked man, who, so far, had not moved or uttered a single word since arriving.

Several hours pass in silence till Sam interrupts it with a grunt. "Ya know this guy gives me the willies" he comments looking back to his friends, "He hasn't said anything, or moved. Just stands there like some kinda statue." He returns his gaze to the object of discussion. "I swear he looking right through me, or more to the point, in me" he sets the book he had been looking at down and stands, stretching a bit to get the kinks out, from sitting still for so long. He proceeds to walk around the circle grunting once more, as the giant within does not move a muscle in reaction to his movements. "See he don't flinch, his eyes don't even seem to move, but if ya in his line of vision I swear it feels like he's watchin ya, looking into your souls or something; this guy can't be human"

Ken, who had stopped his own studying to watch and listen to Sam, quirks the corners of his mouth, a tic that denotes he is considering something. "Well it's clear from what I have got from the book, that this guy is somehow connected to what we were trying to reach,' he sighs as he closes the book, "still don't say why or how he is connected, but it's clear he ain't human."

"Well then, he's ours," Ashanti chimes in with a smile as she joins her male companions. "And since he is, I say we name him. I was thinking of calling him Uwaiano Kwa Tani, loosely translates to "Link to Power", cause that is how I see him" she smiles and shrugs at the look her friends give her, "we could call him Tani for short."

"Look Ash, this is not a game here" Ken walks over to where Sam is standing near the circle, "If we pull this off we get a some major power, if we mess this up, we could get dead" he looks back to the young woman his expression showing how serious he is, "even worse the whole world could end". He thumbs back to the motionless form behind him, "This...thing…is some kind of link alright, but I'm not sure he's a link to what we thought.

Ken looks to Sam confusion written along his creased brow, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I was able to find one of those tats of his in the book, it's hidden nicely in those decorative ones that don't really look like anything in particular along his left shoulder" Sam says as he turns and points to the area he is referring to on Mark, "The book only reference says it's the "Mark of Salvation and Destruction", or something long those lines, the translation seemed a bit rough." He looks back to the other two, "coupling that with the other stuff we have found out about the ritual and I'd say if we don't take this slow and careful, we could bring on a world of hurt."

Ashanti's smile lessens only a bit as she nods, "Ok, still…" She walks closer to the ring staring at the unmoving man within, "Till we know what is what, let's see if we can, at least, speak with him" She deliberately moves into Mark's line of sight. Keeping her voice even, as not to startle him, "Um…hi there…uh…Tani…" She waits to see if speaking directly to the giant will rouse him out of his near statue-like pose. "My name's Asha…" she stops, short remembering her studies, "My names Ash. We…me and my friends here, we summoned you. Do you understand, you answer to us…" again she stops waiting for a reaction of some sort.

The seconds drag on so long that she nearly gasps when the man she faces blinks for the first time since his arrival. Mark turns his head slightly to zero in on the two men, who are slightly unnerved by his movements. Then without warning he makes his first step, moving slowly, but purposely in Ashanti's direction. The distance is short, comparatively, but it seems like a lifetime to the three humans in the room, as they find they cannot move from the spots they stand in, nor can they speak or cry out. Beads of sweat appear along the brows of the men, as they put all their will into moving, to rush to Ashanti's aid as it becomes all too clear to them the giant beings intended destination point. All hope that the circle will hold him at bay is dashed as he walks over the threshold with no hesitation.

He comes to a sudden halt before the small woman as her dark eyes rise up to meet his. In spite of the situation she finds herself in she can not help herself, but admire the naked form before her, amazed at the lack of self consciousness with which he holds himself, considering his current lack of covering.

All that is gone from her thoughts at what she hears next as in a low deep voice the being they had summoned begins to speak for the first time, his words slow and halting.

"Who…are…you?"

Ashanti swallows nervously but answers; repeating what she had first said to him while he was still within the circle, "I am Ash…" she is about to say more but is interrupted by him.

"Where…am…I"

She looks to her friends then back to the massive being before her, "You are in New York City, The village, this is our loft…our home." She watches as he takes his attention from her to look about his surroundings, then slowly returns it back to her, in that short reprieve from his gaze Ashanti realizes the power that is in his eyes. While he looked upon her, she felt small, yet assured of who she was and that she was safe in his presence, when his gaze was gone, she just felt small.

The silence returns as no one seemed willing to speak, till the tall man before Ashanti speak, though this time there is hint of uncertainty in his voice, a voice now hinting at a southern drawl, "Why…am…I…here, who…am…I?

In the hidden library of Paul Bearer, the once rotund man sits restlessly staring into his scyring pool, he is less confident then had been only a day ago. His glances into the shadows come more often and they do not hold the same conniving look they held before. His plans are in jeopardy. His life is at risk. His 'ally' is growing impatient and angry. He has lost tracking of his wayward son. But the thing that is more important, the thing that concerns him most is that Mark seems to have ceased to exist.