Hybrid A Criminal's Redemption

by Tetsuna

Half human, half quig. For every answer, there is another question. For every bend, there is another stretch of road. A winding journey, a demon at every turn, and a lead Traveler with a major attitude problem...Before Bobby, before Press...there was him.

4. The King of Kelta

Chapter Four: The King of Kelta

Preview: Nails's mother has been discovered murdered, Re and Remmson are on a barely tolerant basis, Azhra and Kroma watch and eat popcorn from the sidelines, and we meet the King, the Prince, and the Adviser. The Adviser has some sort of connection that Remmson cannot place with him, and for Josh on Second Earth, things just keep getting stranger and stranger...

A/N: The beginning of the Special! Hurrah!

Remmson: Taking into consideration that Tetsuna will be away from a computer for a month and a few weeks because she is going, in short, to a place so deep within the earth's nucleus that not even telemarketers will reach her for the summer, the special is going to be hard to pull off.

Muse: so, we ask you to be patient. Who knows, she might just have a chance and be able to pull off some chapters in time before this week is out.

Remmson: Which means more angstiness...

Me: More ACTION!

Everyone: YAY!

Me: And of course, this wouldn't be an Alternate series book without good ol' SD. He'll be appearing a lot in the chapters as we go on, but do not think for a moment that he is, in any way, out of character when it comes to kicking everyone's butt. (Except for his appearance and a little more deviation than usual.)

Remmson: Hey, wot'd'ye mean, "everyone's"? I pwn Saint Dane!

Muse: I dunno...you're still a ways off from that, Padawan.

Remmson: x(

To:

Psychotaku: I'm glad that you're enjoying this so far, and I hope that all of you will stick around to see where it goes, and give the OC a chance considering all of my hard work on them. And don't worry, it won't all be warped humor, mathematical lectures, angst, and fillers - the fight scenes will indeed become more bloody, gruesome, serious, but overall downright fun.

(By the way, as for the challenge of naming the Thirty-two members of the Infinite, Remmson's gang - I'll try to give as many hints as possible throughout all four. See if you can spot them all! I'll put in a glossary a little later if the situation calls for it.)

-------

Second Earth

"Mr. Raven, sir!" cried Lace happily.

"What are you doing still up?" Josh said, locking the door behind him.

Although it was still at least somewhere around ten o' clock, the party was only just getting started. Lace had wisely decided to keep out of the way in Devon's room as an assistant in case things got rough.

Josh maneuvered his way through the wild dancing and grinding to the hallway entrance next to Lace. "So, what have you been up to?"

"Devon let me help out with his project. Honestly, I don't see what's so cool about it, but he told me to wait and see." She pulled a face similar to Remmson's exasperated expression, and Josh gave a very small smirk at the comparison. Devon squeezed out of the moshing gang with a can of root beer for Lace and a beer for Josh in either hand.

He was rather short, wearing a pair of black overalls and a white T-shirt, both stained with dust and oils; his hair was a shock of blond that poked out in almost every direction, part of it flattened down by a clunky pair of goggles. His eyes were big and brown, and his boots were decorated with paint and chemical splotches. Being ever the rather-emo sort, what with some of his hair falling in front of his face and covering one eye, he merely grunted and pushed the soda into Lace's hands.

Josh folded his glasses, put them in a case in his back pocket, and raised an eyebrow at him. "Not speaking much today, Devon?"

Despite the half-emo appearance, Devon was a talker.

Or a screamer, thought Josh, back to a past occasion. Bottom line was, he had a motorized mouth and a set of lungs that could shame an opera singer.

But now he was strangely silent. At Josh's inquiry, he merely gave him a look so blank that Josh could have graffitied it.

"...Oh, hello, Rave..." he paused, as though forgetting something. "...Sir."

Josh only sighed and didn't hold it against him. Lace gave him a "see what I mean" look over her soda. He took a sip of his own beer, but he wasn't feeling in much of a mood for it. Must have been the coffee.

Devon simply stood there, staring into space. Lace had become very immersed in her soda. Josh just waited in the long silence, though it seemed that all three of them were waiting for something.

Fed up, he waved his hand in front of Devon's face and wondered why he was not surprised when he didn't even flinch.

"Ah, Lace..."

"Yes?"

"I think you should go to bed now. I'd advise that you take Remmson's room."

"Okay," she said, not moving.

There was another long silence in which they continued to stand, discretely waiting.

Josh snapped. "Damn it, Dwight, cut that out!"

"Sorry," came a smooth voice from behind Devon, and the tall Berserker stepped from behind him to join the quiet standing and stroke the traces of a goatee upon his chin.

Dwight was the third tallest next to Josh and Remmson, with messy brown hair, a long and gangly frame, and baggy camo-pants tucked into his boots. A black hoody was emblemed with "West Coast Choppers", but everyone knew that he didn't really have a favorite team or role model, game-wise. His gloved hands went to rest on his hips in his usual cocky manner, and he nodded to Lace before sneering at Josh, "What did I do?"

"Don't give me that," said Josh, fighting hard not to roll his eyes. Dwight always gave him a little cause to worry considering the things that he could do. They were the elite, the top three, and you didn't get there being a mercenary for nothing. Dwight always had a blade on him somewhere, and he had anger issues. His expression was always that of someone half-stoned and thinking that they were right about their pencil being made backwards (when they themselves are actually holding it the wrong way). The only difference was that the lights back there were still on, somewhere. It was a rather creepy effect.

"Let go of Devon, please, and then Lace" - he shot her a significant look - "go to bed."

Dwight sighed and moved his elbow off of Devon's bare arm, and Devon blinked. Lace snorted into her drink, but gave a winning smile to them all.

Dwight looked very pleased with himself, and his mouth twitched at Lace's reaction.

She hurried off into the hallway and up the stairs, leaving the three of them alone at last.

Devon swayed slightly, then got angry. "What was that for?" he fumed, baring his teeth. Josh put a hand on his shoulder. His nerves were being frayed enough today as it was.

"Go back to your room, will you, DiVo? Before the party swallows all of us up."

Devon shrugged and stumped off, giving Dwight a dirty look before he disappeared around the corner.

"Now," said Josh, going into the hallway and turning in the opposite direction, "come with me."

"What do you need?" said Dwight, but he followed anyway.

Josh took him up the stairs and onto the rooftop, then sat down and waited. Dwight followed his lead curiously, sitting behind him back-to-back. "So, what do you need?" he repeated. "Anyone to scare, maim, kill? Blow up, level, destroy?"

"...No...it's this." He carefully picked the ring from his pocket and held it in front of him. "I was going to take it to Lex, but...I thought that maybe you should be able to tell me what it is."

Dwight felt the caution, and his eyes narrowed. He turned to the side so that he could see it better, and reached out carefully to take it.

"...It's a ring."

"I know it's a ring," Josh said, a little irked. "It's just this weird feeling that I'm getting from it. ...What are you doing?"

Dwight was biting down on the band experimentally with the left side of his mouth. He sniffed, put it back in Josh's hand, and said, "Well, whatever it is, it ain't edible."

Genius, Josh thought, suppressing a snort.

"But you're right," he said, getting serious again. (It is rare for him not to be.) "It does feel weird. Get rid of it."

"I considered that," said Josh, poking it with his finger. "I was thinking that maybe we could sell it back to either the original owner or whoever comes to claim it."

"Are you sure it's not something of Soleks's?" said Dwight doubtfully. "It sure looks like the type of crap he'd collect or make up."

Josh shook his head. "No, it doesn't...feel...like Lex. It...agh, it's hard to explain."

"Well, here, let me help you decide." Dwight removed it from Josh's hand, stood up, and prepared to launch it into outer-space.

"No, don't do that," said Josh, punching him in the leg. Dwight gave a bemused expression. "Why not? It's making us think too hard."

"Yeah, but...I really think we should hang on to it."

"Whatever." Josh caught it and Dwight turned to leave.

"But hey," he said, before going back inside to the blasting music, "if that thing gives you any trouble, you know what to do. Anyway, come on down later. I'm not a huge party fan, but I really am happy about the bitch burning."

Josh smiled. "We'll see."

Dwight looked up at the stars, almost wistfully, and then left Josh alone on the roof.

------------

Josh came down a little later after trying all possible methods in his head as to what was up with the ring, though he knew it was a lost cause. He didn't dare slip the thing on his finger. Instead, he resolved to lock it in his desk sometime where he could keep an eye on it, and that he'd feel better knowing where it was.

The hallway up here on the top floor of the abandoned apartment building (eighth, excluding the attic) was absolutely dark and quiet. No one lived up here on this floor except for him, Remmson, and Dwight - excluding Lace, since she stayed in Nicole's room on the fifth floor. In fact, as he unlocked the door and walked inside the dim room, there she was on the bed now, seemingly deep in thought.

His eyebrows furrowed at the troubled expression she wore.

"Hey, midget," he said, taking off his jacket and removing the ring, placing it on the bed stand, "why are you still up?"

"Oh," said Lace, looking up. Her stuffed bear, "Yoda", plopped happily to the side. "What were you doing up there for so long?"

She knew I was on the roof? Josh thought.

Lace must have noticed his inquiring brow, because she explained, "I met Dwight in the hallway when I was going to throw away my soda can, and he told me where you were."

Josh almost snorted. He could believe her story - she wasn't exactly lying, especially at her expression when she imagined meeting Dwight along a dark hallway in the first place. But why throw the soda can away all the way down there when there was a trashcan in the bathroom adjacent to this room?

Josh sighed and threw off his shirt, bundled it up with his jacket, and tossed it on the floor. He grabbed a larger Red Sox T-shirt, threw it over his head, then slid off his shoes and sat down next to her. Lace leaned against him, and he put his arm around her shoulders. Yoda was once again clasped in her arms, smiling all the way.

"So," he said, laying back on the pillows, "is there anything more to your story?"

Lace shrugged. "I guess so. It's not really important."

"Go ahead."

"...You'll think I'm stupid..."

"Try me."

She took a deep breath. "I went to find you because I - I don't like being alone in here. At least, not without you or Remmson...I missed him, and went to see when you'd be coming back for me. I was afraid...by the way you were acting, that you'd leave, too, because I didn't know where you'd gone..."

So that's why Dwight told her where he was. Dwight was not the sort to just state the obvious to anyone. Josh had to give him points for not being the psychotic killer that he appeared to be most of the time. It seemed that he knew a lot more than he let on about.

Lace had looked away, but Josh held her closer to him. "I understand."

She smiled and nestled her head under his chin and sighed.

They sat there in sleepy silence, until Josh's hearing told him that she had fallen asleep. He carefully pulled the blankets out from under her and draped them over her tenderly, then brushed a strand of her bangs from her eyes and lay back, arms folded and eyelids drooping. He glanced at the ring on the bed stand, gave a mental shrug, and turned out the light.

--------

Morning came the next day with him sleeping like the dead with Lace breathing softly against him, still not yet out of dreamland. He stretched subtly, detached her arms from around his neck, and rolled over to look at the clock. The ring was still there, with no major or minor change. The clock read eleven twenty-four.

Yawning, he got up to change his clothes and head out for breakfast, but not without looking in the desk and finding a silver chain that might have once belonged to a necklace. (He and Remmson always used to collect any junk that they could find.) He threaded the end through the ring and clicked it shut around his neck, then left into the streets.

Busy, busy, busy. Rush here, go there, stop and smell the pollution; walk slowly here, walk slowly there, look around for roadkill - a.k.a hot dog stand or something - and hope you have enough on you.

So, thirty minutes later, Josh was on his third hot dog and not feeling any less hungry. His stomach continued to growl and complain with grumbles and emptiness, and it was all he could do to look around for more food. He was out of money, and he cursed his empty pockets and turned down an alleyway, another way into the Infinite territory.

The boundaries of his territory only reached part of the Bronx; as of now, he was officially skirting the boundary by at least a few inches. Others, watching him from the shadows of pre-noon, did not seem to think so. Because Infinite was a very quiet, very secret and deadly group, there hadn't been any real establishments as to where the territory boundary really stood. It was mostly just guess-and-go to outsiders.

Maybe we can't really blame the gang about to mug him, then.

"Hey pretty-boy," a man called. Josh kept walking.

Shit.

From what he could tell, there were at least ten of them, possibly more, and he didn't have time to figure out why (pertaining to so many at once). At the moment, he was too hungry to fight, and lacked the weapons. Since this was only supposed to be a quick food run, he hadn't thought to take his gun with him. All he had were his fists and...well, his fists.

The ragged men closed in, arms out, smiling. "We won't hurt you or nothin', man, we just want to borrow some change," said the one that called him out, a rather chubby man with a Mets cap and a hand clasping a pipe behind his back. "Are you gonna comply?"

The gang snickered.

Josh stopped and narrowed his eyes.

Sometimes I am just so stupid.

"What's that pretty necklace, huh?" said Mets suddenly, who had been looking him up and down with a rather nasty, sadistic gleam in his eye. "Hmm, I think your woman would like that, Tom!"

The one called Tom, a bewhiskered man in a stained T-shirt, grinned and said, "The bitch likes anything shiny, makes her no difference. But that looks like a real piece of worth. Where'd you get it?"

"Take it off," commanded Mets, drawing closer.

Josh growled angrily in his head as his hands made to remove the ring, slipping it off the chain and holding it in his hand. Tom smirked. "Give it 'ere, now..."

Well, I'm sorry to see it go. But at least it serves a purpose, after all.

The rest of the gang had removed the pipes and weapons from behind their backs and brandished them in the hopes of speeding up the process.

Josh outstretched his hand...

B-bmmp.

What...

B-bmmp...

What was that?

Josh took a glance at his fist to see if he'd only imagined it, but then he felt the pulse in his palm and was suddenly in no doubt.

B-bmmp,,,,

This thing...it's alive? he thought incredulously, mind racing. This has to be a hallucination or something. This has to belong to Lex, somehow -

Tom was reaching forward to take it from him, but Josh pulled it back instinctively, a plan forming in his mind..

"Don't play," Tom warned, raising the pipe slightly. "I'll break your head in if you don't hand it over right now."

Josh ignored him and made a split decision. He could hang on to the ring and jump out of the alley like Remmson showed him, or stay and fight when he wasn't in the mood and most likely get pummeled. But the way the object began to feel...as though it had something different in mind, a better escape that he could only wonder about.

The ring was indeed alive. The stone seemed to be alight with something, anything, alive. Without thinking about it further, Josh slid the ring onto his finger on impulse, trusting in what he didn't know, and waited.

Nothing happened.

"See here, I said to HAND IT OVER," said the impatient Tom, getting angry. "GET -"

CRUNCH.

Josh had seen many things in his life, but of the most bizarre, even he could not stop his eyes from widening for the most unexpected.

A sudden darkness seemed to appear, as when there is a spotlight, this was a spotdark; but so insubstantial that it seemed almost transparent, just a dark bit of evaporation. Said spotdark surrounded some manner of beast made of the same thing, but more outline, that reminded Josh of a dog. But no, it was far to big - it had to be the size of a horse, at least!

The ring was pulsing happily now, the colors in the stone swirling, and as Josh watched, more shadows appeared. The first one had leaped with hardly any sound and crushed the man's neck in its powerful jaws. Red splattered the gravel and nearby dumpster as he fell, eyes wide with shock, and the large beast turning to snarl threateningly and sink into a crouch.

There were two others. The men were so stunned at the turn of events that it had not registered in their brains, but when it did, they certainly showed it.

"AAAAAAH!!!" Mets cried, making a break for it. The shadow 'dogs' didn't pay him the slightest bit of attention, but instead went for the ones that were staring in awe.

"What's happened?"

"What's happening?"

"Why's Tom dead, what hit him?"

"You, what did you do?" they all babbled, looking around and pointing to Josh, and Josh realized, with a jolt, that they could not see what he could see...

The dogs began to twist in the air and hit their targets, the throats of about four others of the men, who were just starting to catch on that Josh was not doing this physically. They looked about frantically, swinging their pipes and weapons, their stench of fear heavy to Josh.

They are blind...?

But eventually, after two more fell with hardly a sound, they just dropped their weapons and broke back into the open and sunnier areas where the supposed deadly poltergeist could not touch them.

Josh let go of the breath that he did not know he was holding, but suddenly felt compelled to look up. He came face to face with one of the phantoms.

I guess it's my turn, he thought, but it didn't seem that way. Even if it was, he could not find the will to even crouch down in defense. Come what may, the outcome would most likely be eaten alive like the others. He spared a glance at the corpses, but found none; the dogs had gobbled them up and licked away every trace of their existence, except the unidentifiable scent that Josh was trained to pick up. He looked back to the beast in front of him.

The foremost "dog" had stopped to stare at Josh, and he was met with the one thing that, if anyone else had bad eyesight and yet could see what he could, stood out above everything else: huge, glowing, yellow eyes. He felt as though he were staring into Remmson's when he got excited, but knew they were not; the shadow-beast stared into his eyes, and Josh felt as though it were penetrating his very soul.

He stood there, riveted, as though someone were slowly and painlessly driving a drill through his chest and into the darkest corners of his being...

A sudden vibration in his arm caused him to break contact and investigate, and to his horror, he found that the ring was swirling with light...and the light was flowing up his arm like water.

Shaken back to reality, he made an effort to get rid of it.

"Nnh," he grunted, panicking, trying to brush it off with his free hand but it didn't stop, it would not stop, it just kept going and going and covering him with a cold, brilliant blue glove that was starting to reach his elbow...

...No...

...And then it stopped. It buzzed, flashed, then disappeared, leaving nothing to denote that it was there.

The ring was back to normal.

The dogs were gone.

Had I imagined it all?

Unconsciously, his hand sought his arm where the blue light had stopped, and he felt an old scar. This calmed him a bit; that was a childhood scar from where he and Remmson had been playing, and Remmson had accidentally scratched him with those over-sized nails of his. He remembered how they laughed about their wounds in the scuffle over the G.I.Joe figures, and how the one place that one could not lick would be their elbow. Josh had strained his hardest to do so and clean the wound with his saliva, but it was just impossible.

So Remmson, being the best friend that he was, cleaned it for him. Remmson had a scratch on his collarbone, maddeningly out of reach by only a few millimeters. Josh returned the favor. Out of all the scars of life that they had both bared, that had all disappeared over the years, those were one of the only ones that chose to stay, perhaps of a reminder.

Did the scar stop it? he thought wildly, surprised at the crazy thought. Was that what saved me?

The ring began to sparkle faintly, and he held it up to his eye to examine it better. Was it like a mood ring? A very small, jerking force, as of someone in ghost-form tugging on his finger, was trying to lead him somewhere.

Thinking that the day could not get any stranger, and why he trusted his life to a piece of cold metal anyway, he allowed himself to move forward at the next tug, to see what would happen.

Instantly, something appeared in front of him.

What...what is that?

A bubble with a shimmering outer ring was hovering in front of him, and he went after it at eye level and a steady walking pace...to goodness knew where. The bubble was leaving a red line in its wake, so he followed that, and looked behind him to see that it was still there in the spot that he was standing previously.

He followed.

---

Denduron (continued)

I jumped down and automatically, my body braced itself for defense. Though I was standing there stiffly, not making a move and trying to show no expression, the inside of me was coiled like a steel spring, ready to lash out and change defense to brutal offense. My bladed finger-tips twitched slightly, and I could feel the faint itching in my teeth, the urge to bite if I should be attacked.

They were all shouting something, but my rising 'defense mech' was shutting it out. They all seemed so angry. Their faces were contorted in their screaming and yelling, their eyes wild, and their bodies just as tense as mine. I could tell that it was taking a lot for them to just stand there and not attack me. Deciding that I should at least be ready, I slowly got down into a half-offense stance, raising my hands a little and preparing to bare my nails. My teeth were clenched together hard to permit me from posing too much of a threat.

"Wait!"

Everyone's eyes, including my own, glanced towards the entrance for a fraction of a second.

Nails had come forward with the rest of the troupe, his hands held out to signify peace. "Please, put away your weapons. This man is not responsible in any way."

The guards backed off by a hair. A particularly emotional one pointed to me accusingly, and I fought the rumble in my chest that threatened to become an audible growl of disdain. "He was here, doing nothing! He shows no emotion! He leaped over the wall not moments ago, we all saw it!"

(By this time, I'd gotten bored and sat down, scratching behind my ear.)

"Enough," said Nails, but the guard was persistent.

"But sir, he is a demon, look at him -"

"I said 'enough'," he repeated, and the guard fell silent. Thus ended that conversation.

I couldn't help but interject, "He is right though, you know. I'm not exactly innocent of everything."

"But you are of my mother's murder," he said, and I didn't say anything, not yet. We would wait for when we were alone to talk. It wouldn't be good for everyone that had nothing to do with this to hear. "Get her down, gently," he said, voice breaking. I tried to meet his eyes, to see what he was feeling, but he closed them and looked away. The mixture of emotional scents, from those of barely-contained rage and that of smothering sadness, made my head whirl.

I crossed my arms over my chest and turned to leave for the entrance where the other Travelers waited, but then someone else stepped onto the scene, two people, actually. They made these house-guards look like midgets. Honestly, these guys could probably best the basketball players back on Second Earth without trying. Their skin was tanned and oiled down, their attire of what looked like grass armor, similar to these here, but far more grand; theirs had more exquisite patterns and matching spears in their right hand. Their hair was pulled back as far as possible, making them seem almost bald, and plaited around cord to their backs.

"The King Kaneon of Kelta requests an audience with you," said the foremost one in a deep bass voice that went lower than Azhra's. I swear I could feel the vibrations in my bones. I looked over at Nails to see if he knew anything about this, but he merely looked confused. "With all due respect, can the summon not wait?" he tried carefully. "My mother, the Lady of this Household, has not been dead for a full two hours -"

"We know," the guard responded, and instantly, the alarm bells in my head went off. How did he know?

Apparently, Nails was thinking the same because his look of confusion deepened. "Leave that to us; your mother was a very good person, and she will be treated with great care," said the other guard, who had a considerably higher voice than the first. "But the summon cannot wait. This is urgent."

Nails looked at me, and we exchanged glances. The other Travelers, also on guard, did the same thing, and we came to a silent agreement.

We would go.

---

Our talk would have to wait. Outside of the house was a sort of rickshaw, similar to the ones that we'd seen in the bazaar earlier, but this was more sleek and you could tell that it was built solely for comfort. The seats were probably stuffed with down feathers, and the whole thing was painted in black and yellow. A sort of curtain of dense yellow feathers made a shade to hide us from the crowd. Since there were five of us - our slaves didn't come with us, which was good because this was not the time for that girl, and I hadn't seen her since she arrived anyway - we had to use two vehicles. I rode alongside Xyan and Kroma in the second one, with Nails and Azhra up front.

I was scowling.

Like I said, Xyan and I would not get along well from this point, and we basically tried our level best to ignore each other. Of course, we had come to an accord of tolerance toward each other, mutually, but I honestly did not think that we'd ever be the best of friends to the point where we'd have a party together. Sure, maybe a drink of two, but that would be about it.

It did not help that Kroma was sitting with us, much. He was always gazing off into space, like Devon usually does in his free time, and when he did do anything it was to chatter or be plain dorky. However, he tried to lift the atmosphere in the vehicle as best he could, I silently thanked him for it. Of anyone here, excluding Nails, I think I felt closer to him. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because I knew, or thought that I knew, that he was not what he seemed, but had good intentions. Judging by the way the others acted around him, I could tell that he wasn't deceiving them.

Sometime during the relatively smooth ride (better than that damned horse-ride, anyway), squished between Xyan and Kroma, I think I fell asleep. I remember coming back to life with a jolt to see that we were getting out, and when we did, it was like the world just opened up - fresh air! I could breathe!

(Yes. Part of the feud between Xyan and I was that I was daring one of them to so much as fart so that I could take my cue and walk alongside the vehicle itself. She'd been doing the same, I bet.)

Stretching with enthusiasm, Kroma and I went forward to check on Nails while Xyan went to Azhra. Nails was looking rather pale, but for the most part, composed. His eyes were turning a rather faint shade of pink from suppressed tears, but his confusion and fear was beginning to overwhelm his sadness, little by little. I found myself wishing that he'd get over it soon. Just standing next to depressing people made me sick.

I took the time to figure out our surroundings and found that during the ride, we had gone through the plaza and into the palace itself, in the center of the city, along a paved road behind several gates and around into a sort of courtyard. I could feel the change in elevation and fought the pressure in my head due to the altitude. Not a hard battle considering what I usually do every day, but still. We had to be several hundred feet above ground level. I looked at the people pulling the rickshaws and saw that they hadn't broken a sweat.

Not bad, for humans, once again.

Looking up, I could see that the palace was still huge. I remember at one point, my travels on Second Earth had taken me to The Arch in St. Louis, Missouri. I had never taken in how big it really was until I got up close and actually touched it. If I could imagine at least thirty of the width of the base of that one leg of The Arch, that would be the size of the palace all the way around...as far as I knew. For all I did, this wasn't a complete square or rectangle or whatever.

The tiered floors of this immense pyramid seemed to touch the sky, made of sandstone and slabs of other large rocks and decorated with thousands upon thousands of symbolic carvings. The suns beat down on the courtyard, making the flagged stones burn bright white and blinding me momentarily. I closed my eyes to shut out the searing light and scorching heat, and felt someone grab me gently by the hand and lead me along up a winding set of long, shallow stairs. My nose told me that it was good ol' Kroma, and I made sure to thank him again.

As soon as we were in the shade of a rather large lintel that reminded me of a monster garage, I opened my eyes and blinked what water there was left into them, trying to get rid of the pain and the spots. Beside me, Kroma was doing the same thing, but the other Travelers showed no sign that they had been bothered. I noticed that Kroma was being lead by Xyan, and figured that it made sense. We'd all held hands to get us where we were going.

From here, the house servants decided to tag along with us. If possible, they were even scantily dressed than the ones at Nails's home, and technically far more pretty. They had a certain grace about them that reminded me of super-models. They walked behind us with their eyes downcast and hands clasped in front or behind them as the guards led us continually upward, through hallways and up more stairs, an finally to the last hall.

Would you believe that the inside of this pyramid is really not building stone, but precious stone and polished wood? The walls and floor were practically gleaming with pride as we passed. A large purple curtain was ahead of us, and I could feel a bit of a draft coming in from there.

Must be a very large window, I thought, knowing that it was probably a very big understatement.

"Wait here," said the second guard, and we all stood there somewhat uncertainly as he and his buddy met the guards in front of the curtain and went through. Kroma leaned against the wall next to me, and I sympathized with him. Azhra looked like one of the guards, but far shorter than them by at least five feet (and he's probably a little above average, say my height). He said nothing and did nothing but close his eyes. Re stood like a sailor at attention, feet together and hands clasped behind her back, eyes also closed, but I could tell by the way her hair kept standing up that she didn't like being this close to me.

(Can't possibly imagine why.)

I, on the other hand, fought the urge to either pace, sit, or just all out go to sleep on the ground where I stood. My eyes were stinging, my hair was beginning to weigh a hundred and forty pounds in the heat, and I was seriously considering shaving it off with my own nails here in a second if we didn't hurry up. The only good consolation that I had was that at least now we were in the shade, a cool, dark chamber that smelled faintly of the sweet scent of mold and plant-life growing in between the bricks in the walls and behind the decorative stone itself, or the wood for walls and doors and vents. It almost felt like a tomb, but was more open than that. This hallway was probably twenty feet front to back and as high, with banners draping from the ceiling in vibrant colors. The guards up here were dressed in purple cloth this time, over their fancy grass skirts, and their weapons were a little heavier. Compare the regular European spear to the Roman Pilum and you'd about have it.

Giving in, I decided that for the moment I would try and get rid of that suppressing wait on my back by braiding my hair again. Only problem was that there was so much of it...the leather strap that I'd used before really came in handy about now, and I sectioned off three piles of hair and began to entwine them into a rope that was threatening to go to the backs of my knees. I finished the braid just as we were called in, throwing it over my shoulder and onto my back to keep it out of the way and brushing back a few stray strands of hair from my forehead.

The curtains parted for us, and we walked out onto what appeared at first to be an open patio or another courtyard, though not nearly as huge. Its tiles were instead shadowed stones that didn't reflect the suns in our eyes, with a bit of a shade about twenty feet up. The space in front seemed to look out over the entire city, bathed in its sunlight and crawling with plants, but something was off. Like evaporation, or a very thin, transparent curtain, there was something there that seemed to shimmer around the perimeter separating the pedestal we were on from the void. I made a mental note to check it out later, whatever it was.

Along the wall to our right, though, were four large thrones and differently-colored cushions as big as the armchairs in the HQ. Seated comfortably in these magnificent thrones of metal, skins, bright cloth and feathers with grass shades, were the King and Prince of Kelta.

----------

The King was huge. He was a great big guy sitting on a throne that looked like it could only just support him, with tanned skin and covered from crown to anklet in those blue stones that Nails had called glaze. His crown looked to be made out of nothing but gold and blue crystal (glaze) with ivory sticking out of it, a magnificent thing with its own headdress of black and white feathers and wooden beads. What stood out about him, besides that he would probably be able to beat the largest sumo wrestler, was maybe the cheerful gleam in his eye that told me that he wasn't that bad of a ruler. He was fair.

Maybe at one point, he was a fearsome warrior of some sort, because not all of that fat looked like it had come from sitting on that poor throne for a decade.

Next to him was his son, the prince. He was shorter than those giant guards out there, with about the same skin tones as his father, but held himself like royalty. Which in fact, he was. (Duh.) He wasn't decked out in as much glaze though, which was a relief. Kaneon's jewelry was beginning to blind me. Instead, he wore the lengths of purple silk as a shirt and a light leather tunic with woven designs. The belt was made of a gold chain links, and on his head was a little more than a smaller version of Kaneon's crown, say about a third the size with a long black braid underneath.

At least he didn't look too much like a pansy. The sword at his side was just an inch or two big for him, but I had no doubt that he'd be good at the swordplay deal if things could ever get down to it. At the moment, he was studying us with a bit of curiosity, being waited upon by his servants that knelt on either side of the throne, serving him wine or fanning him and his father.

And then the last one. I didn't even notice him until we were beckoned to sit upon the colorful cushions, and I just happened to hear him breathe next to the prince. Lucky me, I was seated right next to him.

The Adviser that I'd heard about, Hekate Seign, the half mountain-sprite descendant of the legendary Soahr. He wore purple robes that seemed to float above the ground in a lofty, regal way, but his hairstyle was more like Azhra's - it wasn't slicked back, but instead harbored the similar style with the only difference being that it was firmly spiked into place by whatever they used for gel out here. He was covered in jewelry too, but out of the other two, not nearly as much. He had rings on every finger and blue in both ears, and distinguishing wristbands instead of a crown. Strapped to his back, I could just see the rather long hilt of a leather-wrapped sword over his shoulder with a tapering point. Oddly, from what I could see, it didn't have a guard.

His breathing was unlike the others that I had encountered in Kelta. It was almost like a child's, easy on the lungs and much softer on the ears. I actually appreciated it for a bit, for the lack of unnecessary noise, but to every good thing there was usually something of the opposite clinging to it somewhere. His scent was so shockingly familiar that I did a double-take. Discretely, I tried to look at him out of the corner of my eye and size him up.

Yep. He may have been somewhat small, but there was no way that I'd be taking him for granted. Like Kroma, he had this weird little beastie aura thing going on, and even though the emissions were very slight, the thought of what it could be set my hair on end.

His eye slowly moved from under the hawk-like hooded features, the long eyelashes making no sound as one eyelid closed for the briefest of moments before going back to look at Kaneon.

The alarm bells in my head went off again.

He winked at me.

He knew something. More than that, I'd met him before, but it was impossible -

Why impossible? my mind reasoned with me. That strange man, Fraser, why couldn't it be him?

It looked nothing like him - except for the eyes. No, they weren't the same color as the blue that I'd seen in the cafe, more along the lines of a light brown, but there was something inside me that just knew - it didn't matter that he'd changed his height or weight or hair or eye color, I just had this feeling that told me that I was right. The strange scent remained.

And what creeped me out further - I liked it. Like the smell of home. It was almost irresistible. I don't know why it was drawing me closer, but I fought it as hard as I could and remained sessile on the cushion, neither looking at him or acknowledging his presence.

Stupid nose, cut it out...

Like other worlds, the back of my mind kept telling me. Like deep jungles and lush forests, arid desserts and the sea, machinery and little bit of home -

Shut up, I commanded myself, and though it died down to a little less than a whisper, the thoughts remained. Fortunately, the others outside of my little world were talking, and though I really was not interested in what any of them had to say, I decided to join in, if for the sake of quitting the relentless barrage of urges and suggestions in my head.

"Welcome, ambassadors!" Kaneon boomed, and I had to squint my eyes a little at the sound. "I am, as you know, the King Kaneon of Kelta, and this here" - he slapped a hand as big as a trashcan lid on his son's shoulder, surprisingly not squashing him flat - "is my son, the Prince Ayelen of Kelta. My Adviser, Hekate Seign..." He gestured to the one I was sitting next to.

Everyone bowed and was smiling, except for me and the Adviser. I sat stiffly with my arms folded, senses on alert. Maybe I was just paranoid and needed a break, but I doubted it. I wasn't receiving any bad vibes besides aura from this character, but the way he'd winked at me did a little more than just set me on guard. I cursed the others for not letting me sit at the end like a good beast of burden, far away from creepy people like this.

The Adviser, Seign, finally took a bow, and our eyes locked again. I felt something deep within the little soul that I have left shiver as though a bucket of ice water had been poured into my insides. It wasn't fear; it wasn't anticipation. It was something that went beyond me, beyond my very genetics, that made me question my existence in that one fraction of time. It was something within my bones, in my mind, beyond me entirely. Though I would deny it to my dying breath, I have never felt so insignificant and without purpose in my life.

For one moment, I was a mortal.

I was nothing more, and nothing less.

-------------

"I have received word about your dear mother," said Kaneon sympathetically to Nails. Nails's eyes, that I could see, were still a little pink, but so far he hadn't really shed any tears yet. From my study and experience, when humans hold in strong emotions for longer period of time than they should, it begins to destroy them from the inside out. I'm not sure why, but I'd have to guess that it's a painful ordeal. I couldn't help him out of this one; he had to battle that demon on his own. "She was a good Lady, and a close friend."

By the way that his shoulders trembled and his brows kept furrowing, I could only suppose that whatever it was was going to work on eating out his soul. I actually felt a touch of sadness that I could not help him at all.

"Your majesty," he said, bowing low, "I am aware that you have called an audience with us -"

"Yes, yes," said Kaneon, sympathy suddenly forgotten. "I came to ask your advice on the war. The Lady, your mother, was somehow a very intelligent and wise person considering her years and her gender. I remember that she would talk about changing patterns and clashing winds, but I nor my priests could make head nor tail of what she was talking about. My Adviser here, though, suggested you since your mother might have shared these things with you."

Nails closed his eyes and nodded. Great, I thought. So what are WE here for? What am I here for?

Oh, yeah.

"The rest of you have also been called because my Head Priest and Adviser have suggested that you would be a good asset to our war effort," Kaneon explained. I twitched, but said nothing, not yet. "But you -" and I knew I was going to be dragged into this somehow - "Are here because the Chief of the Milago village had reported another legendary descendant among us, apparently from the great Sasuroya Xohukahnn himself."

There was a pause.

"So...?" I said, earning a few glares from everyone in the room except Kroma and the royalty. Like I cared. I wanted to get to the point with as less delay as possible.

"So, your part will be to speak to your people and other Beasts in the Hsid and keep them away during our war."

Yet again with this. I wasn't about to preach another sermon, since doing that here could probably get me staked to the wall. I supposed that it didn't really matter since that was my whole reason for being here in the first place.

"Also -"

There's more?

"-My Adviser and Head Priest have a proposition for you that will be discussed later, mainly you, Hadouin shek Kiru-Ha. For now, all of you are invited to dinner tonight to dine with us, be entertained, and discuss our plans."

All of the servants suddenly got on one knee and brought whatever object they were holding to the ground in a loud CLACK!

"The king has spoken!" they chorused simultaneously, and we were waved out by the guards. The other Travelers were not looking as confused as I at this point, and I would have to ask them why. Things were starting to happen a little too quickly here. One moment, I meet them and learn of a whole knew destiny, the next, I just got dragged into a world war without my permission.

I made sure that I was the last to leave, since I didn't trust that Adviser, but when I looked behind me to check on him, he was gone.

I smelled him before I saw him.

What -

"You are Remmson?" came a voice beside me that made my skin crawl pleasurably, but made me bare my teeth.

"Why?" I said, turning to face him. Amazing. Almost without a sound, he'd managed to not really sneak up on me, but corner me without me noticing. He waited for the others to disappear around the corner (in which they noticed my departure and looked back at me; I waved them on to show them that I was okay) before leaning against the wall beside me, arms folded like mine and peering into my eyes in interest, as though trying to find something. Not to be outdone, I stared back at him.

His voice was rimmed with a very slight accent or slur, so that his tongue rolled the 'R' and 'ms' shortly before flattening the 'n' with a very light 'un'. Almost like a French accent, but very off in that perspective. It gave a kind of purr to his voice that I otherwise would have found annoying, but for some reason found kind of cool.

"As the King said, I have a proposition for you," he said softly. "I wanted to talk to you before the others."

Though it sounded like perfect English, there was that trace of an accent again. If I said that he didn't have one then I'd know that I'd be lying; if I said that he did, I would have to strain my ears to pick it up. Almost like a well-rounded nobleman, every syllable was pronounced with care and accuracy.

"Why?" I repeated.

"Because I am becoming increasingly convinced that our heritage is the same."

("...Hair-i-taj iss-ze sayme...")

It took a moment for this to set in, and as it did, I thought back to Nails and the man in the caravan's words about not knowing if Xohukahn or Seign had continued their lines. There could be the slightest chance that he and I were related...

"So what are you really here for, then?" I said, standing inches away from his light brown eyes. "You wanted to talk to me, and I know it's not about our bloodlines. What do you want?"

"Ah, I have your attention?" he said, smirking. I returned the smirk, surprised at myself. "Not for long. What do you want?"

He leaned down closer to me until I was vaguely reminded of me and Re's exchange. I had no doubt that he might do it too - he certainly looked capable enough of such an act. "In the name of progress and growth, tribes from all over have been contributing to us. The rising Bedoowan have a type of game that is very popular here in Kelta. It is called K'chek, and it is a series of arena battles that range from simple matches to death matches."

"And let me guess - you want me and the others to compete?" I said. This was starting to make a little sense.

He smiled at me, revealing his rows of white and delicately pointed teeth. "Yes. But I want you to win."

"Why me?"

"Because you're my relative; you're family. Family looks out for each other, right?" he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. Though I fought the recoil and the urge to become lost in the touch, I got the incredibly sickening feeling that he was playing me for a fool. The way that he'd said this was in the same tone used when adults would smile in that irritating way and agree with the child when they just suggested that the moon was made of cheese.

Then, something that I could not believe I let him do - that hand caressed my cheek and moved my bangs aside. I was already frozen in place by the first touch on my shoulder, but this! And my own mind's observation that had me reeling:

He smells nice.

On impulse, my own hand reached up and caught his wrist. He only blinked, then smirked, and I walked away from him as quickly as I could without looking like a coward. My heart-beat usually doesn't speed up like that, but by the way I could hear it pounding in my chest and in my ears, I almost got the sneaking suspicion that he could hear it, too. Maybe it was my paranoia again, but I could swear that I could feel his eyes on the back of my neck.

--------------

We were shown our rooms by the lesser servants, the ones shorter than us, and got settled in. The rooms was half the entire floor with sliding doors that totally concealed them. Since we were dropped off here at the door, I silently refused to go in. All of us ended up parting different ways: Kroma to the palace gardens, Nails to meet the people bringing his mother's body to the palace, and Azhra and Re going off to spar in the grassier, shadier courtyards.

Considering that I didn't have anything else better to do (and my servant girl, Cerith, wanted me alone with her and I sure as hell wasn't gonna stay), I followed Re and Azhra, just to see what would happen.

Which meant, out here in the compound of training warriors, I had to sit out in the grass and meditate on thoughts of home and watch the two of them practice with 'wands', wooden swords that hummed and thwacked on contact and would leave quite a bruise if hit hard enough. The two of them were only doing basics across the lawn, but well enough. I used the time to take note of their movements and study them better.

Azhra had a smooth way of moving, letting every action follow up quickly with little drag time. He didn't have to move much, and for every hit that he couldn't dodge because of his size, he let bounce off of him. I wasn't sure if that would work with an actual sword, but it seemed to work well enough; there wasn't even a bruise yet.

Re, on the other hand, had a fluid-like way of moving that didn't have too much drag either, but because she was smaller and lighter, she was able to practically dance out of the way of the swinging weapon with apparent ease. Her eyes were focused in concentration, whereas Azhra's were not. He was a natural-born fighter, and I suppose she wasn't, much. Not that she wouldn't be able to kick ass if given the chance, but I don't think she would have been anywhere near the endurance that Azhra could keep up.

But on my thoughts of home, I took this time to observe them and pick the grass absently in the shade, thinking of the gang back home. I haven't seen you and Dwight or Lace in a while, and as much as I didn't want to admit it, I was starting to miss you guys. Devon probably still screams his head off and talks to his machines; Dwight probably still kisses people when he's drunk; you are probably jumped by the Double A's (Asmodeus and Amadeus) toward a crime lord to beat him up. Lace is probably still waiting at the top of the building, waiting to see me coming home and greet me with open arms and thousands of repeated promises to never let me go ever again -

-It's amazing how much she is like her older sister. During the beginning of all of this, Lane would never leave my side, except when I ordered her to. And of all the hard tasks that she faced everyday and took on with as much enthusiasm as possible, this had to be the number one that made her sad. That same dejected look, but not without the glimmer of hope in those eyes. She'd always put on her best smile and try not to cry, and tell me to come back sometime and that she'd be waiting, ever waiting.

If I ever do come home, meaning to shove my over-inflated ego aside and forget the promised thrills, the promised answers, the destiny before me, then the one thing that I want to do is at least insure that Lace will not waste her life waiting for someone who does not deserve her confidence, love, and heart. Of all the times that I have alone, when my mind is at the most quiet, I begin to admit things to myself: I am a mercenary, I am a killer; I am ruthless, near-heartless, and savage to the point of almost being feral. I am perhaps ten times worse than the original eighty of the Infinite, though only thirty-two remain. And even though they have become the most powerful and faithful of friends and allies to me, we are still what we are. A gang like this should be no place for a little girl to grow up.

The choice of releasing her from our service has been a big one. On one hand, we have her freedom to consider, her safety and the promise of a normal life. On the other, we have us. It seems like a no-brainer, but unlike normal people, she's latched onto us like more than just a leech. She can't live without us, even if given the chance for a normal life. She wouldn't want it.

She wanted to stay with us, forever. It was just unfortunate that there would be no way that she'd last that long -

KA-THWACK!

I was jerked back into reality sharply at the sound of the wands clashing rather violently. I looked up, expecting to glare at Re for being annoying, but instead found Azhra standing over me with a slight smile on his face.

"Care to try?" he said, extending a spare toward me.

I only blinked at him.

As you know, I've never really had much use for a sword; on the streets back home, it was either a gun or a dagger, something for close-in work. (Besides, why use one blade when you have ten free blades on each finger?) Nevertheless, I carefully took the wand by the handle and saw that it was double-edged, about mid-length, and much lighter than the short-sword that I'd laid in the grass beside me in order to sit down. I took a few experimental swings and slices and heard the wood cut through the air with a thrum-whum sound.

I stepped forward, a little uncertainly and unsure of what to expect. I caught Re's eye, and immediately felt the beast within me recoil with a hiss; she was giving me a very strange, and not too favorable of a look. What was she planning?

"So, Remmson," she said, twirling her wand deftly. "Both of us against you, or just one to one?"

"I'd rather try to kick your ass than his," I said, smirking, "because he hasn't given me any problems yet."

"Are you implying that I am annoying?" she said with a mock offense that had me on guard. Her smirk was mirroring my own, and she was speaking kind of loudly.

"No. You are very annoying."

In a flash, she'd skimmed across the ground and almost belted me a blow to the face that probably would have broken my nose if I hadn't instinctively brought up my own wand in a block.

Before I could even recover, she was on the next attack, and, not knowing what to do with the stick in my hands, I jumped backward out of the match and snarled at her.

"Bitch, what -"

"Here," said Azhra, standing in front of me. "Adjust your fingers on the handle and stand sideways."

Shrugging off my righteous indignance with severe reluctance, I gave in to his teachings and did as I was told. He proceeded to give me a crash-course in swordplay.

All of what he said, I could not remember; I was just learning the terms and names and positions as we went, trying to download all of the information before being turned around a second later to battle Re. Running over it quickly in my head, I stood facing full-front with my wand in both hands and up at the ready, blade horizontal and ready for every attack except behind.

She went first with hardly a sound, darting in and thrusting forward for my stomach. I automatically hit the top of her wand, deflecting the blow, but she came up and around with a swift sweep above my lowered weapon. I felt the wood nick my cheekbone and stepped backward, body facing sideways. My form was not perfect - in fact, downright clumsy. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, and all of what I was trying to think of doing wasn't really turning out so well. Every time, she'd almost get me, with me dodging out of the way (following that same, accursed form) just barely. The mark on my face was, so far, the only thing that she'd scored me on yet, and barely.

I silently cursed the furs that I was wearing as the sun beat down and our fight had lasted for more than twenty seconds. Thankfully, Azhra had pulled us apart.

"I think you still need...practice, my friend," he said, and though I knew he was trying to make it look like I hadn't done that badly, I could tell that practice, to them, was a major understatement.

Scoffing, I untied the sash about my waist and shrugged off the now-heavy fur and, suddenly self-conscious, pulled the lighter shirt underneath it a little more closed over my chest, sealing it there in place with the sash again before picking up my wand once more.

"Can it, Azhra," I grumbled, facing Re again. She looked like she hadn't even broken a sweat, but I'd be damned if I was going to have my ass handed to me again by her.

But Re had put down her wand already.

"No, Azhra; defeating a hopeless novice is not a victory," she said smoothly, and my eye twitched. "With enough training, he might be able to chop up a straw dummy, but until then, I do not think that he is anywhere near worthy to battle us."

"You too, heifer," I growled. "Pick it up and face me!"

But she turned her head to the side and ignored me.

I got angry.

Maybe a little too angry. Especially at her next comment:

"Face it, Remmson. In an actual fight, we are your superiors in all instances."

I heard my knuckles crack involuntarily as they flexed and the hard blade slid forward. Ditching the sword and baring my teeth, I snarled, "Eat this!"

I launched.

In such a rage was I as I sped in a zig-zagging formation across the lawn, claws itching to rip open her pretty, silky throat. Was this her revenge? Trying to embarrass me in front of all of the warriors, who had been watching and laughing in amusement at my failure? To make Azhra give up on me?

But then, what did I care? I wasn't one to usually be peer-pressured, but considering all of the stress that I'd been having today, this had finally pushed me over the limit.

Maybe it was the terms that she was using that made me so upset, about fighting, matches, battles...superiors and novices, victories and utter defeats...all I knew was that then, in that one instant in which it took me approximately less than two and a half seconds in my pattern to attack, I would cripple her. If not kill her, cripple her, beat her to an ever-loving pulp -

-Her eyes widened as I disappeared from her vision in a blurred streak of black and white, and she staggered backward altogether as I appeared in her face, my hand already coming down in an open-fingered slap on her torso or head to cleave her into pieces with my claws-

-when another blur came between us and deflected my attack.

There was a satisfying ripping sound as my claws tore through the false sword like a shredder. Judging the angle it hit, it wasn't as clean. Wood grain and splinters flew everywhere in an explosion that knocked them both backward - I'd stopped in my tracks. Re, in her surprise, had fallen smack on her butt, so I wasn't leaving without some satisfaction. Azhra, however, had come between us at the last second during his rounds around the match to check on us and deflected an attack that would have sent her on a one-way ticket to Hell.

If she didn't survive the blow.

Tch, lucky.

He stood there in the same pose, still holding the handle of the wand tightly in his hands. I could see the painful-looking splinters lodged into them and his knuckles, but he gave no expression that it had happened. A few slivers were sticking out of their faces, and it was a miracle that he didn't lose an eye. Nevertheless, there was one that had come close, right above his eyebrow.

Damn, I thought wildly. Why'd I stop?

I snorted and snapped my hand back into place, holding it up in front of me so that Re would have a view.

"Get a good look, bitch. I don't take that kind of shit from anyone, do y'hear?"

Azhra stood purposefully and let the shorn remains of the wand handle fall to the grass with a thump. Holding up his hands, he said, "Xyan was not offending you purposely -"

"The hell she wasn't!" I retorted, whipping my hand back at my side and stepping forward. "That was uncalled for!"

"True, it was unnecessary," he conceded, giving Re a look, "but she was merely stating the obvious. You do need practice with the sword."

"I don't need to practice shit," I steamed, but I could feel my fingertips itching as they tried to retract. I didn't really have my anger anymore, for it was slowly dissipating. What did they take me for? A human? "Have you forgotten that fast? Let me spell it out for the both of you, so that we can AVOID dumb situations like these."

I closed my hands into fists and set them akimbo, then leaned forward to emphasize, "I DO NOT REQUIRE THIS SKILL. I DON'T NEED IT."

"Fool," spat Re, "you wouldn't survive for three seconds against us or the other warriors if we didn't hold back -"

" - I CAN TAKE ON ANYTHING MORTAL THAT COMES MY WAY," I said, cutting her off deliberately. "BECAUSE I. HAVE. MY OWN. BUILT-IN. WEAPONS."

"You are suicidal," was her reply.

"NAW," I said with all the sarcasm I could muster. I mean really, anyone and everyone look at me and tell me that I am NOT psychotic, suicidal, hyperactive, and overly-enthusiastic about destroying things?! Go on, I dare you, reader, to look at me and tell me so! (If you should ever see me. Good luck with that, Rem-watchers.)

I turned away and picked up my wand again, this time to face Azhra.

"But I'll learn anyway, just to show you that I CAN take on anything mortal."

Azhra's slow smile turned into a blindingly-white grin that made me sulk. So sue me if I'm a little on the competitive side. It was that exactly that got me here in the first place, wasn't it? Besides, I wanted to get back at Re. She'd done it on purpose, and if I didn't scare her enough, then I'd at least make her admit who was the better fighter as soon as I mastered their weird way of fighting.

Azhra was given another wand by our waiting servants on the sidelines, and he cut the air sharply with it in a deep whum.

"First position, then, Remmson," he said, and I turned sideways.

---

Second Earth

To the people on the streets of the great city, (those that cared to pay attention, at least) they would have seen an unusual young man with untidy brown hair and dressed in black, striding hurriedly forward with a stoned look on his face, the whites of the eyes showing.

To those who didn't know (that cared), this was only because he was staring at something that they rest of the world could not see.

The brilliant bubble with its red wake loafed gently around corners and up streets to goodness knew where, but all Josh knew now was to just follow it, follow the pretty light -

And it was only after he'd walked his sixth or twelfth - honestly, he'd lost track by now - block that he realized where he was going. He was on a very familiar corner, next to a very familiar cafe. Tentatively, and almost dreading it, he turned his head to look at the blackened wreck of a warehouse across the street.

There was definitely something messed up about the place. Of course, in the past, he and Remmson and the rest of the gang had hung out in old, demolished buildings before (that were still standing, sort of) and not had a second thought about it, but this was different. Whereas it was covered in soot and nothing but charred remains flopping dangerously in a gust of wind, it sat there like a tattered banner on a battlefield, but with its own aura of darkness emanating from it like a stubborn squall on the ocean's horizon.

Even on a sunny afternoon like this, it sat there, dark and foreboding with something that sent chills up and down Josh's spine and made him want to not look its way. Unfortunately, it was this very spot that the light wanted him to go.

He hesitated, uncertain. He was following something that no one else could see, mysteriously to the last place that he wanted to be. Even though it was just across the street, there was just something about that building that made him not want to go over there.

However, when he glanced at the ring on his finger, he knew that he wouldn't have a choice. The mass of color on the inside of the "marble" stone was beginning to swirl and thrash and glow a sort of white, much like what had tried to swallow him earlier. Now having yet another reason not to go, what with the closer he approached, the more likely that the light would burst forth and try to consume him again, he stood there and waited.

And waited.

The bubble waited with him, starting to sparkle more brightly, and somehow...more seductively.

It is sort of pretty, thought Josh to himself. Even though it technically can't be seen. ...I wonder if it is warm to the touch, like the sun? I want to touch it, and it's making me much happier than staring at the dark, creepy old thing.

A rather enthusiastic feeling that he could not suppress rising in his chest, he felt a slow smile creep across his face (that made several passerby - however many there were - edge away rather nervously), and followed without reluctance. He could tell that he was getting close, and, not rather irritated to have to draw his eyes away from that immensely-enticing light to avoid the traffic, he followed the floating, glowing orb and its red trail into a hole in the building that looked like it had been blown out...

...And stepped into something like a winter wonderland.

It was snowing, but it wasn't cold. In that one instant, Josh tried to comprehend this factor. The sky was the same bright one that it had been, though not nearly as cloudy, but at this angle, it made the atmosphere seem white and blank. There were flurries of snowflakes dancing through the air and leaving imprints of his shoes as he walked gingerly inside, coating the walls and remains of furniture and structure within the boxed-in space with its high, scorched walls.

Scorched...

...This isn't snow. These are ashes.

And indeed they were. Piles and piles of ashes that made it seem as though he'd walked into Canada during the winter. Hills and slopes and spatterings of it upon the black walls that rose up and made him feel slightly claustrophobic, as though they reached up to the sky and loomed over him with their jagged, charred tips resembling background mountain peaks...pieces and bits stuck out of the ashes like the wreckage of a ship on a beach. Being very careful and covering his mouth and nose as a blast of wind swirled the flakes like snow, he sat down on what was left of a large two by four and looked around some more.

There was nothing to look at, really, though the "scenery" was indeed fascinating. Josh felt as though he'd just stepped into a whole other world. Pigeons and crows perched here and there, not looking for food but just chilling out, cooing softly or rasping to each other in a harsh, but mellow conversation. The silence was almost unnerving, with only faint birdsong and the whistle and howl of the wind between the holes and splits, over the wall and through the nooks and crannies, the groaning of the burnt timbers as their somehow impossible stability allowed them to bend as one with the wind.

The light began to circle Josh, and he sighed peacefully. This place wasn't so bad. In fact, that little light was sort of comforting. The ball disappeared behind his shoulder, and naturally, he turned to look. The position of the wood he was sitting on was almost horizontal in the side of a slope and looking down into a sort of small valley that could fit an in-ground swimming pool; from there, beneath the slope he sat upon that looked down upon such a valley, was something like a ledge of solid concrete that made him guess that he was technically in the basement area. There were other ledges and platforms with shredded and burnt ends that suggested they were floors, and even a stair case going up from the other end of the valley and onto a piece of flooring. It all looked like a tree house, almost, but dangerous and quiet.

The light played with the birds, who flapped and squawked indignantly, then alighted into the center of what looked to Josh like a quicksand pit or something as nasty, the center of the valley.

B-bmmp.

The force of the pulse shook his very bones this time, and he tore his gaze away to look at the ring. It had become quite tight around his finger, but not in a totally-uncomfortable way. He brushed his free finger over it and realized how much it felt like skin, his skin.

In fact, this thought made him panic again as another pulse rocked him hard enough to jar him from his seat and have him tumble down onto the platform below.

Ash flew as he rolled, panic pumping hard in his chest as he prepared himself for the worst. There'd be no way to get a hand-hold on his plummeting descent, and he didn't know why, but he really, really, really did not want to fall into that giant ash tray.

WHUMP.

FSHHHH...

Josh's panic was suddenly driven out of his lungs with the rest of his air as he hit the platform rather hard, mildly surprised that the timbers and piece of foundation supported the force of his falling weight but grateful, nonetheless. He inhaled the smell of smoke and soot from where his face pressed against the cold stone, panting and trying to slow down the beat of his heart.

He couldn't understand. He'd fallen many times before, and yet, for a good landing or not, he never got used to the thrill of the drop. During his first days out with Remmson, navigating the streets from the tops of the buildings...even in his arms, he never did, and - he thought with a small smile - never would grow accustomed to it. Thankfully, Josh had landed on his stomach with his arms beneath him, so his fores absorbed most of the shock. He pushed himself up carefully and looked to his left, only to immediately wish that he hadn't.

There was what he now dubbed the 'Ashtray' right below him, but how far down, he could not tell, maybe ten or more feet, give or take. The light hovered there in the middle, just above and almost eye level to him, and as he decided to be daring by dangling his legs over the side, the light flickered like a lamp with a short and dropped.

Josh blinked.

For a moment, nothing happened...but then the ash began to move and swirl as though it were alive.

The sky went dark - everything went pitch black; a type of blue-white lightning shot up from the center of the swirling ash and vertical into the blackness above. Josh was doing a little more than just flipping out now. He'd pulled his legs back onto the ledge and backed up as far as possible to avoid the stray strands of electricity and flying flurry of blank flakes. His heartbeat was speeding up again in anticipation of something about to happen, whether for the good or worse of his health or situation unknown. He tried desperately to penetrate the darkness with his eyes above him, but could not even see stars. It was a darkness unlike anything he had ever seen or heard of, like cave-darkness, where he was sure that, high above in that atmosphere, even the lightning itself was mute.

Down here, it wasn't loud so much as it was soft and almost completely silent. The hairs along the back of his neck and arms stood up, as did the loose threads in his apparel. Energy crackled and sizzled where it touched the other mounds, and the ashes swirling in the whirlpool beneath him sounded like the shifting sands, but softer, quieter.

Josh's arm began to shake violently, and at first he put it off as nerves, since the light show was far more interesting, but soon came to see that the light was literally spilling from the ring again, the same as the pillar of rogue lightning shooting up in front of him. Its sparks danced from the furiously vibrating stone and up his arm again, and as if things could not get any worse, a glance at the closeness of the edge he was next to confirmed his final, and greatest fear.

He was being sucked in.

The slopes of ash were being pulled away in little bits compared to the force that was trying to drag him slowly into the depths of the churning pool below. Josh closed his eyes and tried to block out the inviting lightning, but he couldn't resist. He wanted to let go of his grip here, now, as he held on to whatever large debris he could with his legs suspended in the air, to just let go and fall into its goodness...

...And the more he thought of giving in and letting go, the more his arm pulled him toward the crux. Visions began to pass by his eyes, until he came to see that they were real. The shadow dogs from earlier, their images or maybe their actual selves floating round and round until warping and becoming sucked into the center; trees, cars, people that barely seemed to know that they were there (he recognized them as the dead men in the alley) - everything that he could recognize and some that he could not - all sucked up as particles of ash, and nothing more.

- B-bmmp, b-bmmp, b-bmmp, b-BMMP, B-BMMP -

- The pulse of some enormous heart in that pit, THE heart, calling out to his own pulsing, light-bathed arm, the two making a steady beat of simultaneous pulsing, growing louder in Josh's ears until he could feel it reverberate in his own chest, and he could take it anymore he just couldn't take it -

- He let go -

- And he was swallowed into the core.

---

Denduron (6-9)(Continued)

By the time the warriors had all stopped their activities and had gathered 'round to watch us, I thought I had gotten the basics down well enough to put in some twists of my own. Needless to say, I had held my own against Re (going "easy" on me, as it were) for longer than a minute and was ready for some real action.

"I am impressed at your speed of learning, Remmson," said Azhra, and I was pleased to find him beaming and actually...meaning it. Re didn't say anything, but instead looked hard at me.

I ignored her.

"Keshil!" barked one of the warriors, and we all started to find that they were our audience. The one that had spoken, a well-tanned fellow in a simple brown tunic and a laughing face, said, "Newcomers and guests of His Majesty, will you not join us in our practice for the K'chek Battles? For fun, of course."

"Sure," I said, before the others could say anything. "I'm ready for a fight. What're the rules?"

The Laughing one stood and gathered his friends about him. "The rules are simple: win at any means necessary. In the death-matches, anything is allowed except for help from an accomplice in the stands unless the crowd demands it...just to make things more entertaining and interesting."

Something jolted in my chest, but I shoved it back down forcefully. I did not want to think of those memories, not here, not now.

Not ever.

Scoffing, I rested the sword on my shoulder. "Alright. Who's my first opponent?"

"There can be multiple opponents," explained another with a necklace of wooden beads next to the first. "But we'll go easy on you this round, seeing as you just learned the art of swordplay, and it takes years to accomplish..."

"Don't give me that crap," I snorted, and tilted my head to the side. "Are we gonna fight or what?"

The laughing warrior chuckled and clapped his hands together. "Sh'kil, bring forward the weapons!"

Huh?

A servant, but one more along the lines of a squire considering the amount of shape that he had compared to our own, who only had shape and nothing else, trotted forward with a trunk dragging behind him. He opened the great thing, and the bead-necklace warrior said, "Take your pick."

Since I'd just learned with a sword today, I decided to go in with something different this time. All of the medieval weapons that you see in your books and imaginations - all of them here, sort of. There was definitely a chain with a ball attachment, and a mace with a spiky end; there were short swords, long swords, mid-length swords, straight daggers, curved knives, bows and arrows, even, spears and other staff objects that looked just as deadly and menacing...

I reached for a staff-weapon, with two-thirds wooden shaft and one-third two-and-a-half foot straight blade with a double edge, a black leather grip making me quite the happy little half-a-beastie because I didn't half to worry about damaging the weapon from just holding it. It was an ancient thing; the binding seemed to have become a part of the wood itself. But, it was sturdy and inches thick.

"You will pick that one?" said the laughing warrior, picking something like a broadsword, but with a curving guard. Apparently the rest of his crew were thinking the same thing. "It is heavy!"

I twirled it between my fingers experimentally. "Of course not. It's as light as one of those wands."

They gaped at me, and I took the moment to guess that maybe they hadn't figured out that I'm not a human, and that that weapon probably did weigh a lot to them. I flicked it away with a shrug, and the laughing warrior let it go, too. "Are you going to fight in that?"

"Excellent point," I stated. The laughing warrior clapped his hands again, and another servant of his led me to a sort of outdoor picnic place that you might find in the park with stalls. He handed me some clothing, and I was glad to trade in this rich attire for something more comfortable and durable. There was only one problem; the servant was trained to watch his master change, I suppose, so before I did anything else (yes, VERY self-conscious, I am), I told him to turn around and not gaze upon me.

He complied, if with some confusion. I put on a smaller, much lighter white shirt with a regular brown leather tunic top and a black belt with studded stones of glaze. Removing most of my jewelry, I bundled them up in my clothes and gave them to the servant. "Take these to my servants, and be warned that if you remove a single piece of what is here, I will not hesitate to kill you."

The servant gulped, and judging by his scent, that shifty-way of thinking was banished pretty swiftly. He left in a hurry, and I adjusted my baggy black pants and boots and went back out to meet everyone, picking up my weapon in the process. It was a relief to have all that glaze off of me. All the superfluous items were starting to smother me.

I hefted the weapon (called the 'nahke', pronounced 'NAH - kuh') and faced my opponent.

"What is your name?" I asked suddenly, before I could stop myself. The warriors and Re and Azhra had gathered around in a circle around us to watch from all sides. The laughing warrior tilted his head and smiled at the unexpected question. "Why would you want to know my name?" he inquired, chuckling.

"In the...past, from where I come from," I said carefully, "it was tradition between us...opponents...to tell one another our names during the matches, should one of us be defeated or die during the battle."

There was a ringing silence as they absorbed this.

"They say," I said, trying to cover up the sentimental-sounding statement, "that if you should be defeated or die, you should at least know the name of the person who defeated or killed you." I grinned devilishly.

The laughing warrior suddenly laughed with a heartiness that made everyone present jump. He looked at me and said, "Your's has strange traditions, my friend."

So we agree.

He touched his forehead, and then, after a moment, said, "Chen'x." (Pronounced 'SHIN - ix' or "Chinx/ chenx', 'chenix' or chenex', it goes quite fast and sounds like a curse word, almost. Doesn't matter.)

I raised an eyebrow, but saw that he was smiling.

I mimicked him by touching my own forehead and said, "Remmson."

"Well then, Remmson," he said, taking on a ready stance with his broad-bladed sword (a 'Jirk') and smiling. "Let's begin, shall we?"

"Don't hold back," I chuckled, reminded in an almost painful, happy way of a memory, when Josh and I used to do this.

Chen'x grinned and rushed forward, blade humming, preparing to sing...

I raised my own in two hands and leaped forward to meet it.

--------

A/N: For some reason, Deviantart (dot) com is not being nice to me. As soon as I figure out how to upload pics, I most certainly will. System, I will defeat you!!! xP

Muse: It's sad that you'd be one of the only people to seriously spaz out over something like this, Tetsu...

Me: Gah! I SHOULD be upset! I can't color in any of the pics, and on top of that, Deviant won't upload them either!

Remmson: So...?

Me: That means that I can't put up the super cool picture of SD or you or anything else...(sniffle) AND IT'S A GOOD ONE, TOO!

Muse: (pats) There, there, now.