Nonlinear Hyperbole

by Karmic Acumen

Hellmouthiness was supposed to be at its lowest on Halloween, and Xander figured he might even have found a way to enjoy Herr Snyder's "request" that he and his friends take the kids out for candy bagging. So, naturally, he managed to geek his way so far into the surreal that he made history. Literally.

4. Chapter 3: Deprophecized

A/N: Ah, this is finally out. Took me a while. If I manage to update even half-regularly, this thing will turn into a really huge piece of work. The readers of my other stories will hate me, I'm sure.

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Chapter 3: Deprophecized

"-. .-"

Hysteria.

It was always so much fun.

Alexander, son of Athanasius, was experiencing it for the first time, but Xander Harris had acquainted himself with it quite well, so many years before - centuries in the future. Not quite succumbing but more than often wrestling with it as the world went insane and murderous around him and his friends.

It wasn't dying that got to him, true, even if he dimly thought that that experiencing death should have pushed him into a panic attack or tears instead of laughing hard enough to slip over the edge like this, but then again nothing about his life followed conventional logic. He'd died once before after all, by his reckoning, and he'd even been aware for most of it. This new experience, being chased down, hunted, captured and beaten before finally being beheaded amidst cackling and gloating, it wasn't as bad. Even if it did happen at the hands of monsters.

Literal, real monsters. Mostly vampires but also some things besides.

No, the reason he was having a meltdown was… everything else!

It was a wonder that the two horses kept staring at him throughout the entire episode instead of running off.

After his meltdown, he allowed himself a minute to get himself fully under control before pulling himself to his feet. He distractedly pet the two animals on the muzzle while he steadied his breathing. Then it was time to face his destiny. With an internal cringe, he reached up to grasp the pendant around his neck, the Dara Celtic Knot large enough to take up half his palm. It was easy to focus his awareness onto and then into it.

Something in the world changed and Alexander immediately knew he had his father's attention.

Unfortunately, it didn't help him much when he just locked up, having no idea how to even begin describing the surrealism of the situation he found himself in. The mental stumble only took half a moment, but even his ungodly speed of thought wasn't a match for his father's deductive capability. There was a brief sense of assessment, then the connection visibly let through a clear feeling of… concern.

The active link disappeared – Alexander peripherally noticed that the medallion had been giving off a pure, immaculate shine that finally faded as well – leaving him standing back on the side of the road with his two horses. The only change was that now he knew what he was supposed to do, even if it didn't make much sense to "just follow the road." Especially with Bucephalas so spent and in need of a long drink of water that was a fair distance in the opposite direction. Nevertheless, he decided to just go with the unspoken but very clearly stated bid.

Releasing his awareness back outwards, Alexander looked between the two jealous animals several times, finally deciding to deal with their possessiveness by not satisfying either. Reaching out, he grabbed them by the reins and set off on a steady march down the dirt path. Both horses gave sounds faintly reminiscent of indignation but followed obediently.

For the next ten minutes, Alexander just walked, mostly with his eyes closed, wondering how much his father had already seen in him. Athanasius made it a point not to "read" him and his history too much, in order to let his son's life be his own as much as possible. Usually, Alexander appreciated it. Now, though…

When he finally opened his eyes to check his footing, he slowed his pace drastically and treated his surroundings to a cautious once-over. One with a fair degree of disbelief. The trees and path were totally different! Was he hallucinating? Because the only alternative was that he'd spontaneously teleported from one forest to a totally different forest at some point during his closed-eyed walk. Along with his horses. Both of them.

One minute later it became obvious that yes, he indeed had been transported to a totally different forest. His home forest to be exact. The path they were on opened into the large clearing he knew so well, with his home all the way over there, in the middle. The only thing that made this homecoming different from all others – other than, well, the horses and him being otherwise alone – was that the dirt path he was on led to the back of the property, not the front.

And there his father was, flat on his back, looking for all the world like he was sleeping on the bench to the right of the footway. Alexander stared at the odd sight. Other than the white, clean tunic and pants, the large man looked so… rustic. One hand was almost brushing the grass as it hung off the bench, and he wore sandals, even had a straw hat over his face and everything!

Athanasius reached up with the hand that had till then been resting on his chest and lifted his petasos off his face just a tad. "Not even three days and you're already back." Alexander scowled at the teasing tone. The man pulled himself to a sitting position and finally stood. His straw had slid to hang at his back by the laces as he stretched. "I should be surprised. But somehow I'm not."

"Funny." The teenager rolled his eyes. "… What were you doing?" There was no way he'd been only taking a nap. On the bench no less!

"Talking to the sun."

There was silence, save for the chirping of birds.

By that point Athanasius was less than a step from Bucephalas so he reached out. When his hand settled on the jaw of the animal, the black horse suddenly stood straighter. Alexander watched with some awe as the fatigue left the proud beast, the sweat dried and all traces of the salty foam disappeared. In moments it was like the animal had never even suffered through his mad, desperate, too long sprint. Instead, looking at him it was easy to assume he'd just awakened after a full meal of oats and a nice, long night's sleep.

"Versions of all the stars in the sky exist in many different dimensions," Athanasius was saying. "The minds, the spirits behind them though…" He looked around the horse's head to meet his son's eyes. "They are multiversal singularities." He grinned somewhat mischievously then. "They tell great stories."

Alexander completely forgot what was on his own mind as even his absurdity-conditioned mind struggled to absorb that. For the nth time, he marveled at how easily and casually the not-man made statements like that one.

Mercifully, things got back on track when the large man approached and laid his hands on his son's shoulders. "What happened, son? You feel completely overwhelmed."

Alexander opened his mouth, then closed it. He'd come up with a dozen ways to tackle the issue of his prior life – life which he apparently had to pick up and live the rest of the way through – but none of them felt like they'd be...

"Ugh!" the young man groaned and dropped his head. "Just… take a look and see for yourself." And to Hades with discretion!

For a few seconds it wasn't clear whether or not the father had accepted the invitation. Psychometry gave off no feeling on the one being read.

Then Athanasius laughed. It started as a short burst, a startled – startled – sound of such pure, honest mirth that Alexander was taken aback. He could only look up and watch as his unflappable, never-more-than-merely-amused father hunched forward and used him as support, almost hanging off him as he guffawed. A deep, rich voice that laughed deeply and freely, more than ever before in the son's memory. Alexander could feel the vibrations as they traveled through his father's hands into his shoulders until they resonated in his own chest. After a full minute, Athanasius almost brought himself to a stop, but whatever he saw in his son's face only set him off again.

Then he pulled his son close and literally lifted him off his feet, spinning him in a full circle before settling him back down, arms around him and cheek planted on the top of his head. The cascade that was his laughter at last settled into a calm stream. "Only you, dear one," he rumbled, warm and loving. "Only you."

"-. .-"

The wood chopping block. A place where many wood billets had experienced their final demise. Along with a fair number of chickens. And turkeys. And the occasional pheasant, can't forget those. Truly it was an artefact of death, soaked in the blood of the living. Alexander couldn't help but wonder if there was some morbid symbolism to it all, considering that he was currently sitting on the thing. Knowing his father, the man could have anticipated this troubling train of thought and engineered that situation deliberately so that Alexander would "pay" in brief emotional discomfort for telling him to read him instead of just explaining the situation when he arrived.

Seeing as how there was a pew-sized bench just outside the house over there, his assumption was all the more likely. That'll teach him to take the easy way out in front of his father in the future.

His father who happened to be standing right in front of him. "Are you ready for this?"

No, he wasn't. "Are you?"

Athanasius chuckled. "Son, I'll hardly be doing anything. Just reaching across a couple hundred or so miles and back through time a few days to see and intervene in the passing of your soul. Nothing more for now."

Try as he might, the teenager couldn't keep his incredulity fully hidden. If that was "hardly anything" he wondered what would be capable of actually challenging him to any extent. "Right," he said flatly. "Hardly anything. Okay… Okay, whatever you say, dad."

"Quite right, son." Athanasius turned to walk off and stopped once he was several good steps away. "Get ready." He raised his right hand to shoulder-level and tossed Alexander a glance over his shoulder. "I'm going to translate as much as I can into visuals and sounds you can make sense of."

"Okay." The teenager grasped both his knees and tensed in anticipation of what was going to come. He wasn't actually going to be involved in the retrieval in any way so there was nothing stopping him from witnessing the reclamation. He hoped. In truth he didn't even need to be there for it now that Athanasius knew what to look for and where. His father was just doing him a favor by having him there instead of just… blinking into some higher plane to do his thing, and Alexander was sincerely grateful. "Go for it."

Turning fully away from him, Athanasius extended the fingers of his upheld hand and stabbed forward. The move was quick and steady, but otherwise nothing special. No aura of power, no special chant, no shout, no declaration. It was a simple knife hand.

It tore the world.

That was the only way Alexander could describe it. Just as the arm was almost fully extended, space itself was rent apart as the fingers drove through it with nary a sound. The crack in reality was there for a second before it burst wider, becoming a nearly round gap with edges like cracked glass instead of the water funnel-like effects one might have expected. Then his father twisted his wrist, fully submerged in the hole by then, and the gap expanded outward until the anomaly looked like a man-sized sheet of glass that flickered into smoke and water every few moments. All in a single burst that sent a shockwave of air outward with a lone, suffocated throb.

The edges were beyond jagged, but Athanasius bent his head the tiniest bit and they smoothed out. Another considering look – the teenager could guess at it even if he couldn't see it – and the viewing pool suddenly had a round-cornered, rectangular frame. Alexander didn't need to be closer to deduce that the material, if it could even qualify as such a thing, was similar to the wood his pendant was made from. White with marble-like sheen.

Athanasius was really fond of the color. Then again, it was fitting, since it symbolized perfection, along with most other things nice and pleasant. Up to and including protection and encouragement, which pretty much described his whole "life" raising Alexander to young adulthood. And much of what he was doing now for that matter. Stepping to the left so he had a good view.

Good old, considerate dad.

The myriad of colors that the viewing pool was rushing through came together into an image soon after. It settled on the semi-sideways, elevated view of a young man no older than Alexander himself – actually his splitting image, it had to be said – surrounded by game-faced, malicious vampires in the middle of the night. The half-moon was high in the sky but the teenager didn't pay it much thought. Just like he barely noticed getting up and walking around to take everything in. He almost forgot to stop himself from moving closer than was safe.

Feelings threatened to start burning in his chest, emotions he hadn't gotten around to feeling after reliving his own murder. The vampires weren't that much of a blip on his mind anymore, but there was a Kungai demon among them, closer to the forefront. A reddish-brown colored, deadly species of Asian demon whose rhino-like forehead horn could drain life force from victims. Considering the circumstances of his death and who had arranged for it, seeing it there wasn't as big a surprise as it should have been.

More important was the green-skinned creature closest to the viewing window. It had a fang-filled rictus and many sharp bone protrusions sticking out of its jawbone on both sides, from the chin all the way to the ears. They made a fine pair with the ones on its forehead, arrayed like a crown of horns.

A Van-Tal. The final form that vampires morphed into if they lived long enough. He had his sword primed to behead him, and there was nothing the teenager could do but watch. Nothing he could have done even in the past, since they'd worked him over good before finally dragging him onto that hill, mere days prior in the middle of the night. After the successful ambush in Mieza they'd caught up with him on the road, shot him off his horse, captured and beaten him repeatedly. The Kungai had speared him on his life-draining horn twice before the young man's resistance stopped being effective. Even then Alexander retained enough presence of mind to taunt them and struggle, until they finally strung him up and used a sledgehammer to shatter his legs.

There was no ghost pain as his mind flashed through the recollection, he was self-possessed enough for that. But true equanimity still eluded him, so the teenager clenched his fists as he beheld the still image preceding his murder at the hands of that monster. An image that had only been there for half a moment, but even that was more than enough for him to run through the entire experience again.

The Van-Tal's name was Javed. Meaning "forever" which was just the kind of arrogance he'd come to expect. The overdeveloped vampire had been all too eager to reveal it and boast about the whys and hows of their actions. The assassination was all due to a prophecy apparently, one that a Persian seer gave and which they had been sent to prevent. A foretelling that the son of King Philip the Second of Macedon's Argead dynasty would bring about the fall of the Persian Empire. There was a vague memory in the psychometric recollection about some other details and jeers, but Alexander had been drifting in and out of consciousness so badly by that point that it was a miracle he retained as much as he did.

Low on blood with painful stab wounds and the agony of shattered leg bones – which he'd been forced to kneel on – had been too much even for him. Looking at the still image now, at him with his arms spread wide, wrists constantly pulled on by two vampires wielding chains, he felt gratified that at least he went down taunting. Defiant to the end, even as the bastard pulled his arm back and beheaded him with his oversized machete.

His body fell lifeless all over the grass and the image in the viewing space-time breach faded into something far less distinguishable.

Athanasius didn't say anything. Didn't even glance back... Maybe he needed all his focus for what was essentially the set-up for a metaphysical ambush, but Alexander doubted it. It was more as if he didn't expect his son to need any sort of kind words after… that. Which was okay, come to think of it. Even after reliving the whole thing earlier and now the brief third-person view of his final moments, he didn't feel anything too serious. His mind was instead picking things apart and drawing some rather startling conclusions about the empire of Alexander the Great and what the real reason behind his campaigns may have been. Was going to be, apparently.

Other than that, there was only some… irritation. That was it. Most of which was aimed at the irony that the whole problem had been started by a prophecy.

Joy.

Alexander was beyond glad that he would never figure in any foretelling again ever.

The viewing image flared in multicolored lights and lightning started to streak over it in every direction, all of it coming from one, shimmering sphere of white light surrounded by gossamer strands of misty light just as immaculate as the rest. The beauty of it struck him, even if it was just a visual representation of whatever his father was truly perceiving. Then some unwelcome presence darkened and warped the fractal background. The arching lightning was pulled out of the star with not even the slightest shred of care.

Alexander's throat tightened at witnessing the lurch given off by his soul. The star-like mass dimmed and nearly all the white strands broke off, leaving behind something that was barely visible against the mesmerizing background. Background that had previously been negligible in comparison, despite how sophisticated and scintillating it was. The soul wasn't even uniform in its bleakness. Just the shade of the leftover pieces of what used to be perfection, fading in and out irregularly. Any moment now the quickening itself would drain into whatever trap the soul-vampire bastard god had set up and then –

Athanasius suddenly shot his right arm out and grabbed the thunder. Something vague and outraged reacted with shock, corrupting the fractal lights that made up the background of the soul's passing into the next life. Alexander had only the barest of moments to feel apprehension before his father released the Vril, backhanded the presence and once again grasped his Quickening in one, fluid motion. Literally backhanded it. There might even have been a cry of indignant outrage in there somewhere, like the ones that happened a lot in insurance agents' offices. And banks.

The teenager stared at his too-awesome-for-words father in complete awe. His old man had just bitch slapped a god in the face. Bitch slapped them.

Go dad!

Seconds later, the white-haired man was already closing down the space-time breach with a negligent wave of his left hand. The ball lightning floating millimeters above his right palm was what had the bulk of his attention, and Alexander's too for that matter.

After a moment's hesitation, the young man gazed deep into the mass of divine Vril and, in a move which went against any and all common sense past, present and future, let his psychometry wholly free.

Next thing he knew he was waking up to his father's long-suffering gaze.

Actually, that wasn't quite accurate. The next thing he knew was what infinity felt like before he was suddenly waking up from a fainting spell. And he couldn't remember what infinity felt like anymore. Just that he'd experienced it. Or something like it. Maybe. "Hi," he told the man kneeling over him as he lay on his back in the middle of the front yard.

Athanasius regarded him levelly, which sent a bolt of alarm through him. "And now I have to be the channel for the karma of your rash action," he deadpanned. "Then again, perhaps this predicament is just a testament to your deductive capability. Since you're already on the ground I can only assume you've already divined the other steps involved in this restoration process and don't need me to talk you through it or otherwise prepare you." He motioned with a tilt of his head to look down, so Alexander did.

The young man only had a brief second to take in the sight of the lightning ball hovering above his chest before it was pushed into him.

"-. .-"

"The Quickening will only surge and fill you upon your first death. But for you it will be best to restore your past life memories immediately."

As Bucephalas galloped across the land, Alexander couldn't help but feel somewhat privileged. Especially since because of the still unidentified soul vampire bastard god, none of his kin actually got the benefit of their past life recollections, even when they did managed to reincarnate. Still, with his psychometry he would have been able to piece his past incarnation back together anyway. This only saved him time, which was running out a lot faster than he liked. His horse slowed marginally as they finally cleared the forest, but Alexander couldn't have that. "Fly Buchephalas! Hya!"

The animal neighed and accelerated again. A glance with his third eye told the rider that the black stallion was quite pleased that they had left Bob behind at the house before leaving.

Selfish, possessive beast.

They had been returned to their previous path just as seamlessly as they had been translocated away from there in the first place. Now out of even those thin woods, Alexander could see the grass and occasional bush passing them by in full detail, but the rate of hoof beats and the wind in his hair, the flutter of the horse's mane, showed just how fast they were really going. They'd probably broken the speed record of 88 kilometers per hour several times over the past day of uninterrupted sprint.

"I'll keep Bob here, young and hale, until you need him again."

Xander Harris had been too much of a slacker to learn a lot of history, especially beyond the national one, save some sporadic tidbits during research sessions with Giles and the others. But even he knew that Alexander the Great outlived his famous horse by quite a few years. Bucephalas would die either of old age or injuries somewhere in Asia. It sent a pang through his heart. He was quite fond of the beast. And not just because the horse was descended from the Mares of Thrace. Otherwise known as the Mares of Diomedes, which Hercules "cured" of their craving for man flesh by feeding their own, evil master to them. Turned out they just hated their owner. Once they were done with him, they didn't have any aggression in need of unloading on everyone else and could live on hay and oats like the rest of their kind.

His father was full of stories like that one. So were the books he kept pulling out of nowhere. And so was Aristotle, come to think of it.

"I'll go knock some sense into would-be gods as soon as you leave. Or bring their palaces and dimensions down around their heads. Don't wait for me."

Technically Athanasius could time-warp and appear in the exact spot and at the exact moment of his departure no matter what he did or where he went. But according to him he'd stretched himself across space-time at some point in the future for some as yet undetermined reason, and he'd left himself enough hints to know not to do much time travel outside of that otherwise. It was a thing of his that Alexander still didn't totally get. Either way, depending on where the Quickenings were being stored and whether or not time passed differently there, it could take his father anything from hours to days to get back. Time Alexander couldn't afford to waste. Not with the bastards who killed him just days prior still at large in Macedon.

"The supernatural caused this mess, so I'll give you a little help," Athanasius had told him when passing him the reins before sending him off. "Go. Make the most haste. Fly to the capital, and no matter how fast you sprint your mount will not grow thirsty nor hungry, nor fatigued."

With the woods far behind, their gallop down the long, straight road kicked up a huge cloud of dust in their wake, but Alexander didn't pay it any mind. He was too focused on and increasingly worried by the readings he got off the path ahead of him. Enough to not even give Mieza a passing glance as Bucephalas thundered past the off-shot road leading to the village and the Temple of the Nymphs just beyond. His home and school for the past few years. Aristotle was probably going spare over his and his two friends' disappearance. The philosopher had only accepted the task of being his teacher after Philip agreed to rebuild his hometown and free the former inhabitants from slavery. But the teacher and student had grown on each other somewhat in spite of that.

Not nearly as close as Alexander had grown with Hephaestion and Ptolemy though. If only those two had built up as high a level of level-headedness as they had affection and loyalty for their abducted friend. Alas, they had not, as evident from their decision to charge off in pursuit as soon as they could. The whole story unraveled in his mind the more ground he covered. The two had been setting themselves up to be ambushed as well, but his royal guard had, fortunately, managed to catch up to them first. So the vampires that had caught him decided not to risk letting him escape just to score some targets of opportunity.

The search party tried and failed to catch up to the monsters, since they'd left through the hills and wood thickets instead of following the road. They did pick up the trail, though, eventually. And since the demon group was headed to Pella anyway, his friends and soldiers never got an inkling that the things had made a midnight detour to the top of a hill, or that he'd already been murdered. They were just relieved when they finally – or so they thought – found the spot where the demons had taken up the road again.

He growled and the animal under him redoubled his efforts and broke another speed record. His idiot friends and soldiers were being led into a trap. The vampires had some way of going about their lives during daylight. More importantly, the demons had become aware of their pursuers and the bastard Javed had already come up with a plan to turn it around on them. The guy sure had some self-confidence if he had the gall to set up everything in the bloody Macedonian capital! Unless there was some spy or more on the inside to help things along…

Alexander snarled at the confirmation that came to him when he finally passed the last crossroad. Psychometry read both the present and history of people, animals, objects and places, which included all the conversations made in the vicinity of whatever he was reading.

His soldiers were going to have words with a few people. "Go Bucephalas! Hya!"

The reborn prince's future knowledge of Alexander the Great's life and accomplishments was minimal at best. His poor scholastic performance as Xander Harris really irritated him sometimes. He could have done with all the forewarning provided by history books, written by the victor or not. Then again, none of the accounts actually held any information on the demonic or otherwise supernatural elements, save for the mention of some seers like the Oracle of Delphi. And as had become all too obvious – from his recent experiences, his regained memories and the information he kept psychometrically reading in the path ahead – there were a lot of supernatural and demonic elements active in this day and age.

The young man looked up at the darkened sky. They'd been galloping for two days straight and the only thing they had to show for it was a very slight sheen of sweat on Alexander's brow, with none on the horse. Now the stars were already out and the sun was descending behind the horizon. Was already out of sight of the city folk, due to Pella's high walls. The city wasn't yet in sight, but he knew it was just a matter of time before it came into view, twilight or not.

Not that he had any trouble seeing in the dark.

"My boy, you must find a kingdom big enough for your ambitions. Macedon is too small for you!" Philip had been emotional enough to shed tears as he said that. In had been right after a young Alexander tamed Bucephalas, when he'd found a way around the beast's fear of its own shadow. He'd been 10 years old at the time.

But maybe it hadn't been ambition after all that led him to conquer the known world. Or wouldn't be. Alexander of now was definitely not the sort of person that would go off conquering left and right just for glory and self-importance. It was part of the reason why he'd had such a strong reaction to learning the truth of his previous – now again current – identity. If he was right, if the Persian Empire really had fallen far enough to be under the hidden control of the forces of darkness, then instead of a War of Conquest it would be more of a War of Liberation.

The Van-Tal and his henchmen had been sent to assassinate him because he would bring down the Persian Empire. Not because he'd go hunting them or otherwise make their lives hard, but because he would topple the Persian Empire. There weren't many reasons why dark, twisted things like them would want things to go on as they were. More importantly, they'd been ordered there. Javed wasn't some overlord or anything more important that a maybe high-ranking henchman of someone else. It painted some truly bleak possibilities regarding what the current Persian Archaemenid Empire was like, under the surface.

Cyrus the Great was probably turning in his grave. It made Alexander grit his teeth. He admired the man. Cyrus the Great had been a saint, to the point that even the Jews considered him a chosen of God. He'd been the first ruler in recorded history to give a declaration of human rights, for crying out loud! And now his empire was a cesspool of decadence and discord controlled by the spawn of the Old Ones, or so hints kept suggesting.

Alexander glared at the sight ahead when the capital finally came into view. He didn't even bother weighing the benefits of stopping at the guard post versus those of charging right on. Being raised and tutored in relative seclusion, none would be able to recognize him anyway. Not until his father introduced him to the people. Philip was, fortunately, elsewhere on a campaign so he was relatively safe. Unless there were assassins after him as well, but then there was always someone seeking the death of kings. At least he wasn't in the city right now.

If only something similar could be said about the rest of his family. His mother was in Pella, and he'd scryed enough on the path leading here to know that Javed intended to kill her and all of Philip's other wives just to make sure none of them would be able to give birth to some other son of Philip that would topple the Persian Empire.

As if that would happen while he still lived.

He urged his mount forward again, even as he checked his arsenal for what was coming. Kopis, xyphos, longbow, quiver at the back near his waist, everything was there. Whether or not he'd be able to do anything with the spear tied horizontally at the horse's side would depend on the gate guards.

There they were now. "Hya!" He shouted loudly enough to practically startle them. There was a shout to close the gates and the two gate sentries scrambled to cross their spears in his path. "Hya!" No slowing down now.

If he was right, if the Persian Empire really had fallen far enough to be under the hidden control of the forces of darkness…

Then he'd bring it down! "Fly through!" Bucephalas charged right through the valiant attempt at barring his path. The guards had tried to close the gates in his face after the third time he ignored their shouted commands to stop and declare himself. They didn't manage it quickly enough. Bucephalas reared back and smashed his front hooves into the large wood and iron doors so hard that the men on the other side were tossed away, leaving his passage unimpeded. Alexander would have winced at the falls the two men took if he wasn't so focused on what was coming next. He'd have to remember their faces and names for later reparations. They were just doing their duty, unlike the traitors that had allowed demonic assassins into his city.

There was another ring of walls, however, separating the outer slums and sewers from the city proper, and the gate leading through did get closed in time.

No matter.

Bucephalas skidded to a halt, and that was fine. Alexander was already crouching on top of his saddle, and when his faithful horse came to a stop, the Prince of the Argead dynasty rode the kinetic shock and jumped forward and up, high enough to soar over the head of a startled guardsman, land feet first on the wall and run up until he was close enough to grab a flagpole and boost himself the rest of the way. Wind blew past his face and gravity didn't exist.

The two soldiers on top of the observation post cried out in surprise when he shot into the air right in front of them. One hand on the wooden railing adjusted his path so that he landed right on top of the nearest one. Not stopping, he did a hand-flip and kicked the other one in the gut while he was still upside down. Bronze cuirass met his foot, but the shock was more than enough to send the poor man to the ground in a dazed, groaning heap.

Once he was finally back on both feet, Alexander stayed crouched for the one moment he needed to check the continued wholeness of his equipment. All there. And Bucephalas was still causing a riot down below.

Well.

Time to get to work.

"My apologies for the treatment," he told the still conscious guard. The one he'd brought down first. "I will remember your face and your name, Argyros, son of Aristos, and that of your fellow guards. I will make sure you receive proper restitution from my father." Then he divested him of his spear – a four meter xyston, not bad – and took off north-ward down the battlements, dodging a couple of bowshots and taking down two more guards as he went. He was actually aiming to reach the arena, which was towards the west in the center of the capital's agora, but he couldn't afford to take the streets and cause chaos. It was still quite crowded outside and those were his people down there. He wouldn't endanger them.

In seconds he was at the corner of the wall, just shy of the watchtower where more soldiers were barring his path. He would have them commended later for their excellent response time in the face of his unconventional actions. But he did not have time for them now, and the tower had never been his goal anyway.

He veered leftward abruptly enough to give lesser men torn ligaments and jumped off the wall. The sensation of weightlessness was magnificent, but nothing he hadn't experienced before, and it was dulled by the presence of ancient city smell. That mix of sweat, raw fish and animal waste. The spear preceded him in its fall, sharp iron edge thrusting down into the stone ceiling of the tradesmen's guild. Not the best suited type of pole for a javelin jump, but his hand-eye coordination, strength and agility was more than up to the task.

Kept aloft by the four-meter piece of wood, he soared over the entire building and the road beyond, finally landing in a perfect roll on the roof of the inn on the far side. He did ever so love the style of those old buildings, with predominantly flat roofs and terraces rather than gabled designs. He allowed himself one glance back at the disbelieving soldiers staring at him in shock from all the way back on the wall.

Then he was off again, running and jumping from roof to roof, occasionally crashing the evenings of random people who were sipping some beverage or otherwise spending time outside. It was a warm night, good for such things, and the smell of the city was weaker higher up than at street level. His third eye was revealing their histories and secrets in a flash now, which was good. It was preferred to know the ones you ruled over. He wasn't actively paying attention to the gossip entering his mind though, since his focus was unwaveringly set on reaching the trap spot before it was sprung. So he ran, leaped, rolled and occasionally climbed up walls until there were no more pursuers in sight.

The marvels of parkour. Another word that didn't yet exist.

He was an almost invisible shadow now, as he cleared alleys one after another. The main roads were well enough kept, but the gaps between buildings which led to the back alleys were narrow by design, to give as little room as possible for the back alley smells waft out. Pella was one of those cities with a sophisticated water supply and drainage system, but there were still quite a few areas where the odor was outright pungent, and the less stench that made it to the main roads, the better.

Unfortunately, the closer he got to the city center, the father apart and taller the buildings became until he couldn't keep up his free running any longer. Quickly sneaking to the edge of the roof of the weavers' guild he was on, he grabbed a cloak that had been hung out to dry, slid down the side banner next to the door and, after donning the stolen garment, hood and all, quickly disappeared into the small mass of people. He almost wished there was a curfew in place. Come to think of it, there were a bit too many people still out, given the hour. The night braziers and window lights had come on a while ago, but some people were still packing up their market stalls and the temple traffic was considerable for the time of night.

Then he remembered. The Great Dionysia festival was bound to start in a few days. It was always held in Pella between March 10 and 17, with Pandia being celebrated on the last day. The people were preparing for the event, so they stayed out and bustled about from merchant to acquaintance more than usual, to get everything done. With his track record, he wouldn't be surprised to find out that Javed and his henchmen were thinking of crashing the celebrations, maybe make a public spectacle of his death. He hadn't picked up on the intention on the way there, but it wouldn't be too hard for the bastard to get the idea.

That was when it finally happened. He laid eyes on a vampire. It was just a fleeting glance that the normal-looking demon-infested corpse didn't notice, since it was already disappearing into a side street. Alexander didn't follow. He only needed to look at the building itself to know everything about it. Including that there was a vampire scaling the wall. Not showing anything suspicious, the incognito prince examined the other buildings close to the arena. That was, apparently, where the demons had holed up. Plenty of room in the fighters' quarters and the underground slave pens.

He grieved for the ones who'd lost their lives or been turned in there over the past day. It was fortunate that the place was sparsely populated this time of year. Surprising that the Temple of Artemis didn't keep the evil things away, though. It wasn't that far away. Just on the opposite side of the agora, though he supposed the market square was fairly sizable. Or maybe the intruders had some supernatural help. They did manage to get around during the day despite most of them being vampires.

His thoughts halted when he finally spotted his two friends following the same vampire he'd just seen. "Crap." They'd come to the conclusion their "prey" had seen them and decided to follow the alley further, not knowing that there were over a dozen fang-faced bastards converging on the rooftops around them. At least they allowed the head of his royal guard to come with them, but that didn't really improve the situation. Not even with the two soldiers sent to cut their quarry's path. It just increased the number of people about to die. Alexander silently cursed. They had no idea that they were dealing with things other than men and he couldn't really lay it all on them given the whole daywalker vampire issue. They just wanted a man to interrogate regarding his location. They assumed he was being held for ransom somewhere.

With that cheerful thought, he vanished into the closest gap between buildings and ran up the side of the wall, jumping between it and the opposite one until he flipped overhead, landing on the roof in a crouch. He was on the building bordering the string of stalls surrounding the arena itself now. It was the best vantage point he could get to that also gave him the benefit of being downwind of the congregating undead. Crouching, he let his eyes roam over the whole area and scryed as much information as was possible to be read in a single glance. A moment later, he paled and barely refrained from cussing outloud and exposing himself. The number of enemies was higher than he could deal with from there, and he was too far away to intercept the first wave. His two friends and guards were walking to their deaths, literally.

Fortunately, Athanasius had put him through sufficient dreamland simulations and nerve-wracking trials that he could keep a level head even while being boiled alive by a volcanic eruption. There was always a solution to any dilemma.

His eyes settled on the string of stalls.

In one quick move he pulled out his longbow, drew five arrows and sent them straight up as far as they could go, one after another. It took him three seconds, then he was airborne again, leaping high from his perch. He landed easily on the top of the closest stall, one leg balanced on the wooden beam. He praised the construction standards of Macedonian market stalls as he ran and hopped from one to the other. The few people still milling about, most coming to and from the temple, were far enough away that by the time they noticed anything moving, he was already at the other end of the line.

Gathering momentum, he threw himself forward and up, meeting the wall of the smith's shop feet first with sufficient force to run up two steps and grab the eaves of the roof – a gabled one this time. After that, it only took one heave to not just pull himself on top, but send his entire frame shooting vertically, flying almost. One moment he was hanging by a hand – the other still held his bow and two arrows between his fingers – and the next he was two feet above the lowest level, notching an arrow and letting it fly.

The first vampire didn't even have time to turn. The second did, owing to being far enough away on the nearby homestead, but died soon after to the second arrow released by the bow. Only then did leather boots touch shingles. Alexander dashed forward, balance flawless despite the incline of the rooftop, drawing five more arrows from his quiver as he went. When he finally stood on the comb, the other beasts saw him. Saw him and started to die to the arrows he'd shot in the beginning, and which were finally raining down from the sky.

Oh yes, all those legendary feats involving a bow and arrow were actually quite possible when attempted by the right person.

Five arrows, four kills. Each shaft fell tip first through the left gap in their collarbones, but the fifth sunk into the victim's head instead. As Alexander released his own arrow and nailed it in the heart, he wryly thought that it was times like this that he wished vampires had at least something in common with actual human physiology. Unfortunately, you couldn't stop psychokinetically animated flesh by breaking the spine or shooting holes through the brain. Not without making huge, messy holes. Staking worked because wood had a tiny shred of living, divine energy still in it, and it destroyed the demonic anchor of the Van-Tal infesting the body. Otherwise, they just kept standing and coming at you.

Like the five vampires below that had swarmed his friends and bodyguard. Miraculously, the two that had been meant to cut off the escape of his "abductor" had made it through without dying, but not unharmed. In the few seconds it took to release all five arrows and draw five more, Alexander saw clearly how one lunged forward, heedless of the sword being brandished at his face. Two more jumped the beleaguered group from the other side, one coming down right on top of them from the roof.

He never made it. The arrow caught him still airborne, showering the humans fighting below with grimy dust. The one who jumped them first escaped death by sheer dumb luck. The arrow hit him in the side instead of the heart, so he managed to bring the soldier to the ground where they started to wrestle. The third ambusher fell to a spear shot from the royal guard chief Andreas, albeit only because it went far enough through its chest that the wooden shaft touched its heart. Alexander felt sorry for the middle-aged man. He was in his mid-thirties and had to babysit teenaged noble brats on their rash cross-country hunt. He'd be getting a commission and raise for sure, but right then wasn't the time.

Warnings flashed in Alexander's mind as he read the area again. Without hesitating, he threw himself into another leap, releasing three arrows before he even got close enough to the opposite wall to kick off it. One missed Ptolemy's neck by a centimeter and nailed a game-faced creep to the wall by the arm, the others took out two vampires that had tried to jump the ones below – the last two from the rooftops. He didn't have any surfaces left to break his fall, so he flipped through the air. The remaining two meters didn't even jar his joints when he landed in a crouch. He could even have avoided having to roll, but he did it anyway, ending on his feet with his back to his friends and not one but two arrows poised to shoot in the direction that Ptolemy and Hephaestion had walked in from.

The wide-eyed, utterly shocked figure of Javed stared at him open-mouthed from under the eaves of the building Alexander had rained death from mere seconds earlier. And wouldn't you know it, Alexander's hood had come off during that last maneuver.

What a coincidence.

Behind him, his men managed to incapacitate the last vampire through sheer trauma before one of them used the broken shaft of a spear to dust it along with the one stuck to the wall. Alexander knew one soldier had some broken bones, and another was in a bad way after having part of his throat bitten off, but he didn't look back. "See to Alexis. Quickly now!" He needed his neck wrapped fast, but Alexander wasn't going to turn around. He refused to take his eyes off his killer. The look on his face was too good to miss even a moment of it.

"Impossible…" Javed breathed.

"Merely improbable actually," the young archer said evenly.

"I killed you." The Van-Tal was so shocked that he took a step back.

"You left me for dead."

"I cut off your head!"

"So it appeared." His bow and arrow didn't twitch even a millimeter during that exchange.

The standoff continued while his men gave the wounded whatever care they could. It was nearly half a minute before Hephaestion shook off the shock of recent events. "Alexander…" So the friendship was mutual if he actually called him by name in public.

"Prince Alexander? Is that really you?" Ptolemy was always a bit more formal, which was rather strange, considering that he was actually his half-brother on their father's side. Philip was such a womanizer.

Alexander kept looking at Javed. Not just because his unblinking stare unnerved the monster but because the more he did the more information came to light. Truly, the vampire had lived for a very long time, and it was his blood that allowed other vampires to move about in daylight. One mouthful of it, the concentrated essence of the Old One Maloker, supported each of them between two and four days. Javed actually dated back to the Age of Heroes, ended roughly 1,500 years before with the Twilight of the Gods. It had been dumb luck that the Warrior Princess didn't go hunting for him and his nest when she passed through India all that time ago. She'd been too busy dealing with the sorceress Alti at the time, and by the time she was done the still young vampire and his ilk had fled south.

Now he was a member of the Order of Taraka contracted by Bagoas, a eunuch (or so everyone believed) vizier supposedly working for the Persian Emperor but who was in truth some kind of body-jumping snake thing with a deep scratchy voice and glowing eyes. The real power behind the oft changing Persian throne. The Macedonian prince showed nothing on his face, but his heart sank at the confirmation of his worst fears. Gaining full awareness of all the crimes and despicable atrocities perpetrated by the monster in front of him didn't help his mood, but he could get through readings without being psychologically affected by them by now.

Then, because he knew better than to let a standoff continue too long, or to give the enemy a chance to escape or monologue, Alexander unceremoniously let both arrows fly, reaching for more even as the first two found the Van-Tal's heart.

"Aaargh!" Javed howled, more in rage than anger. "Fool! No arrow ca-" a third one went through his mouth and shut him up nicely. Alexander nailed him with two more but the monster survived them all, turned tail and ran.

No way was he letting that demon get away. "See to my men!" He was already three leaps down the alley by the time he finished shouting his order. It wasn't important if he'd be obeyed or not. They wouldn't be able to keep up anyway. He got Javed with two more arrows but the third missed when the thing took a sudden turn right into the open market. Damn, he was fast.

But so was Alexander. He caught sight of him again seconds later and managed to empty his quiver into his back. Two arrows caught him in the knees from behind, finally making him crash on his face and slide to a halt in the middle of the agora. It was free of vendors now, but there was still a number of people traveling to and from the Temple of Artemis not too far off.

Growling in both pain and rage – he'd pulled the arrow in his mouth out already, alas – Javed jumped to his feet, grabbed a large bench and threw it straight at him. Alexander ducked under it, and next he was almost nailed in the face by a large clay urn. He smashed it to pieces with a backhand, not even paying attention to the rain of shards as he sprinted through it. He was out of arrows now but they were pretty useless on the creep anyway. If his father had named himself into the fabric of this dimension, he would have been able to bestow a blessing or something. As it was, Alexander had to rely on himself more than any other hero or priest.

No problem. He preferred it that way.

Soon he was almost within jumping distance – Alexander could jump far – but Javed stopped and tried to set back the pre-immortal's pursuit by the expedient of upturning an entire market stall, wood beams and all, and practically throwing it through the air right at him. The wood groaned and nails screeched as the construction lost integrity. If it had been tried on a normal human or even a slayer, it might have worked. But Alexander's thought speed was beyond theirs and his reflexes were even better.

It was by a hair's breadth, but he managed to throw himself aside and roll out of the way. The ruined structure half-crushed a different market stand which did catch his cloak under it, but he tore the stuck part off and resumed pursuit. A whole bunch of people had seen what was happening, seen the green-faced, super-strong horny demon with bone spikes on his face and arrows sticking out of his body everywhere. Oh well, people were more widely aware of the supernatural in this day and age anyway. The consequences of letting Javed get away were far worse to contemplate versus this minor exposure. He was here to kill the royal family and do heavens knew what else.

The Prince of Macedon burst through the doors to the arena hypogeum and slowed but didn't stop his advance. "To sow discord and kill the unwary!" he shouted as he strode, looking around for his target. "That's The Order of Taraka's motto isn't it, little lizard?" It was a risk to follow him into the arena underworks, since it was for all intents and purposes his territory now. But Alexander could know everything about a person or place at a glance, and there was no way he'd allow a Tarakan to go. He grabbed a spear from the many lined up on the walls and drove it right through the wooden doors leading to the stairway. Javed yelped at being nicked in the gut and fled up the stairs. "Fitting that you should run! I sure as Hades am not unwary now!"

No response. Surprising, since he was supposed to be leading him into a trap. The demon hunter regretted the lack of windows. He'd have been able to scale the walls and spring the trap in his favor, but the hypogeum was closed to the outside.

By the time he cleared the staircase, Alexander had his kopis already out. He'd also stopped by an oil urn and soaked what was left of his cloak into it. Now there was just one door between him and a room full of undead and two demons. One flimsy iron door between him and seven fledglings, the Kungai demon waiting above the entrance, and Javed. He could practically see the history of the passage with his inner eye.

It was worth noting that Alexander was fully aware that the stone around the hinges had been corroded beyond belief. Macedon could really do with some quality control. Also, it was truly the undead's misfortune that Alexander possessed a tinderbox.

The door flew inward with a rattling smash, crushing two vampires in its path, and was followed by a forward-leaping man wielding a veil of fire. The Kungai demon fell from its ambush perch due to the surprise, and the two of four close-by vampires that escaped the flaming wave's embrace did so only by virtue of falling on their behinds from the shock of it. The fire burned bright and sketched graceful arcs in the air, terribly beautiful to behold. So beautiful that two vampires had already lost their heads in the distraction by the time the rest snapped out of it.

The ones closer to the walls fired their crossbows wildly, barely making out anything beyond the spinning veil of fire. Alexander avoided all but one, which sunk into his thigh, but that didn't slow him down much. He was too far into the rhythm, despite lacking the equivalent of a muleta that would normally be needed to wield a cape or cloth in the manner he was doing. With a broad stroke, he sent it outward and wrapped it around the closest vampire left, He gave a mighty thug, unwilling to wait for it to burn to death like the first two still were. He bent sideways, avoiding the charge of a fourth, and kicked a bench so that it flew across the room and flattened two of the archers against the wall before they reloaded. His blade flashed out and cut down the one trapped in his flaming, oil-soaked cloak.

He was too slow to avoid being tackled by the Kungai though. Not slow enough to get outright impaled on its forehead horn, however. It only cut a deep gash through his side. The wave of fatigue washed over him immediately, but it was manageable, and by the time the creature recovered from how it had overextended, Alexander's arm was already coming down.

The Kungai demon screeched in agony as the horn was severed from its head. It kept howling for a while after, but the Greek prince was too busy with the remaining attackers to worry about it. He did have to tone down his superhearing due to the noisy death throes, unfortunately, which was why he was sufficiently unprepared when Javed made his move. Right when Alexander killed the last undead, he was struck sideways with a huge two handed mace made of iron.

His arms hadn't been in the way, so none of his limbs were broken. Several ribs did crack, though, and the impact with the wall and then the ground didn't help matters.

Grunting and barely avoiding getting his head crushed by an overhead strike, he rolled away and forced himself to his knees, wondering how the bastard could even swing such a long weapon in that closed space. His sword had been knocked out of his grasp, and he'd let go of his flaming cloak some time earlier as well, when the flames finally reached his hand. One glance gave at least him the answer to his first question: Javed had broken the wood shaft half-way and was using the large weapon one-handed. Swinging it right at his face and gloating about something actually, but he couldn't quite make it out.

With a split-second decision, he jumped close and blocked the hit, grabbing the forearm under his armpit. Then, in the brief pause caused by the shock of that reaction, the counterstrike came. One mighty palm strike straight to the face, fast and precise, and hard enough that the monster was lifted off his feet and his chin spikes broke under it instead of piercing skin and flesh as would have been more expected. It was barely over before the human's hand snaked around his neck, grabbed him by the back of the head and pulled him viciously forward, struck him hard in the gut with a knee, and then threw him overhead, sent him careening through the air beyond hope of counter.

One did not try close combat against a Pankration master, no matter what they happened to be.

The wrestling move normally relied on the hip turn and strong armlock to send the enemy crashing into the ground, but Alexander put enough of a twist and strength into it that the bastard didn't reach the floor. He first flew across the whole room and smashed into the wall upside-down. The human took some moments to gasp a few breaths and shunt the worst of the pain he felt to the edge of his mind. By the time he was done, the green-skinned killer was screaming bloody murder and crossing the distance between them in a single bound, swinging the half-shaft mace right at him.

Fortunately, he was more than up to the task of diving out of the way. He was even careful to aim for the place where the Kungai demon was decomposing into brownish goo. His hand found the horn he'd previously cut off and his eyes could easily track the path of the weapon being swung at his left temple now. He could have leapt back to avoid, but he lunged forward again.

The horn was sharp and its hunger great for life force of all kinds, demonic or otherwise. It pierced through tough exoskeleton, skin and flesh to find the heart beneath. For good measure, Alexander pulled hard on it sideways and snapped the end off. The bastard wouldn't be pulling that out any time soon.

Javed managed to smack him aside with a screech of pain and clawed at his chest repeatedly, mace dropped in his panicked efforts, all to no avail. This time Alexander managed to roll with the hit, grabbed the still burning cowl he'd landed next to – it was a fairly small room – and tossed it at the Van-Tal as further distraction. It had the opposite effect, unfortunately. The too long lived super vampire threw it out of the way with a maddened, red-eyed snarl. Flames cleared to reveal him swinging his bony, mighty fist at his face. Alexander ducked under the haymaker, but the attack was followed by one that had better balance and focus behind it. A blow with enough strength to topple even the greatest of men and crush the skull of bulls and keep going.

Alexander growled and blocked it – air practically burst from the impact point between their forearms – and kneed the appropriately stupefied Van-Tal right in the groin.

Even after all that time, it was still enough of a man to gasp and lock up from the pain. Just for a moment. Just enough. The prince grabbed his head with both hands and pulled it down into the most brutal knee strike he'd ever delivered. It made three of the four bone horns snap right off and was followed by a side kick to the face that nearly sent the tall brute falling head over heels. Javed recovered, barely, and punched back with the left this time, roaring in berserker's rage.

Alexander could have blocked and struck back again, but the asshole could take more of a beating that just about anyone he'd ever seen. He was healing too fast, and the horn in his chest was draining his energy too slowly to make enough of a difference. So he ducked instead, sidestepped, lifted his foot and delivered a devastating heel strike straight into his knee.

A loud, dry snap filled the charged air.

Javed howled in pain and fell, raging and roaring and rolling, finally stopping to behold his unnaturally bent leg in stunned stupor. Unfortunately, he kept enough of a head to see Alexander swing at his neck with his recovered sword, and had been lucky enough to land within rolling distance of his mace. So he indeed rolled out of the way and picked it up, bringing it around in a wide arc that could have easily crushed bones and sent Alexander flying away for a change, even if it did leave the former vampire unbalanced.

Unfortunately, it didn't work much better than the previous attacks. The human was just sufficiently endowed physically and mentally to lean back and avoid the weapon with less than an inch to spare. Enough to swing his sword up at the same time he righted himself, movements precise and controlled.

Metal cut through bone, skin, muscle and then bone again, finally escaping back into clear air.

Barely.

Alexander almost lost the grip on his weapon and hissed at how jarring that split-decision had ended up being on his wrist and shoulder joint. In front of him, Javed screamed in undisguised pain not mixed with any other emotion for the first time in their fight. His severed arm landed wetly on the floor, spreading black blood. This was a monster whose end would not leave behind just dust.

Breathing was coming hard to him now, Alexander noticed. He'd taken quite the beating himself, even if he was better off. Opposite from him, the awkwardly kneeling Van-Tal glared at him with the kind of hatred that only spawn of the dark and the worst of mankind could ever match. It was everything Alexander had expected.

What he did not expect was the understanding that passed between them both. Alexander saw it, the moment Javed realized the reality of his situation, the instant when he finally accepted that he would lose. The moment he decided to have at him anyway. So he was ready when the thing made its final charge.

Javed lunged forward and managed to duck a beheading strike but didn't quite avoid getting himself impaled on the blade.

Unfortunately, Alexander had underestimated the utter disdain and spite he'd inspired in the creature. He only got an inkling of his mistake when he made to pull out the sword only to have the Van-Tal grab the hilt and push himself further on the blade. "You first," it spat at him.

His next to last breath bursting out as a sneer, Javed tackled him out the window.

"-. .-"

A normal human would have died the moment their neck impacted against the wood beam holding up the canopy of the merchant's stall below the window. But Alexander was more than human, so he retained awareness even after he crashed in a broken, unfeeling heap. The same way he was able to regain dominance even after Javed's last ditch charge. While he did not manage to avoid having his neck broken in the fall, he did succeed in pulling his xyphos out of his thigh sheath mid-fall. Short sword that he then used to stab the Van-Tal in the back of the shoulder of his remaining arm. That gave him enough leverage to shove the demon aside and below him, so that he was the first to crash.

The horizontal wood beam ruined his plan to break his own fall on the tough monster, unfortunately. Javed even managed to scratch his face deeply enough with his clawed hand to gouge out his right eye before most of the world disappeared from Alexander's perception.

As he lay there motionless, the human realized in his numb daze that his face was the only thing he could still feel. There was pain there, and he could even feel the blood and eye fluids pouring out in one, sticky, horrifying mess. Not that anyone was close enough to see. At least not yet. The sounds of the crowd and the cries of "Your Highness!" or "My Prince!" were probably a lot closer than they seemed to him. Ptolemy and Andreas. Hephaestion was probably in too much denial to utter anything.

This… would be a good time to call on his old man. Or just die and revive later… but he wasn't sure how long it would take and he was sure Alexander the Great lived and aged properly according to history, instead of keeping his appearance as a teenager of not even 16 summers. Sure, his old man would probably be able to do something about that, but still.

Then Alexander remembered, and he would have slapped himself if he wasn't completely paralyzed. He didn't need a miracle for this. Well, not a divine one at least. His natural self-healing ability was pretty miraculous itself, and he didn't need the Vril to make use of it.

Focusing as well as he could – the lack of feeling in his body paradoxically helped him there – he reached inward and activated the accelerated regeneration that all his kind had, but which usually never got used because they never knew to work for it, and because after the first death the Quickening did all the healing and rendered the biological method obsolete.

Feeling returned to him in a white haze of pain. Not just his neck was broken but his back was as well, along with his left leg and shoulder, and all connections had been reengaged at once. But his will was mighty, so he barely wavered in the face of the sensory shock. A wave of heat emanated outward from his core as muscles regrew and pulled the bones back in place. Marrow regenerated and the bone tissue fused over, good as knew. Some wood planks and a broken pole happened to be in the way of his healing – one kept his arm in an awkward position and the other one had gone through his upper leg – so he set about getting them out of the way.

Right there and then, the gathered temple goers and late-working citizens, along with the panicked friends of Alexander, Prince of Macedon, witnessed their country's heir push half a stall's worth of wood off his semi-prone figure. It was more than enough to draw their stares away from the sight of the green-skinned monster next to him. The young man staggered unstably to his feet and cracked his neck a few times, one hand rubbing at the spine behind while his other hand wrenched the wood piece out of his thigh. That moment when he wavered against the pain had cost him. His spine had healed very slightly crooked. He'd be dealing with a tilted head for the rest of his natural life, or until he grew the nerve to try fixing the damage again.

His eyes were closed, so he had no way of immediately knowing that a blue-golden shimmer washed over his skin while he found his balance. It would have been easily missed during daylight, but there, at night, it was as blatant as things came.

He brought a hand to his head but removed it moments later, coated in a mix of red blood and white eye humor which he finally got a look at with his remaining good eye. Grunting, he pressed his palm to his ruined socket and, by that stage completely uncaring of his audience, ordered it to fix itself just like he'd done to the rest of himself seconds prior. A faint golden glow shone under his palm and between his fingers. For an instant it was like that part of his skull caught fire, but his eye grew back successfully enough. It still felt the tiniest bit… unusual, but as he blinked and let his vision settle into something clear, he dismissed the matter for the moment since he seemed to be seeing things just fine.

That was when he gave the onlookers one, long, assessing, even look. With all the shouting and calling, everyone knew who he was now. The city wall guards and the search party they'd called together to "capture the brazen intruder" was there too.

Alexander looked down at the partially disarmed, apparently unconscious Van-Tal at his feet. The Kungai horn had finally gained the edge. Then he gave his official bodyguard's weapon a considering look. "Andreas." At least his voice box was fine.

The man gave a start. "… My Lord?"

"Your spear," he simply said, holding out his hand.

To his credit, the bronze-armored man hesitated for just a moment before complying. Moment which Alexander used to read his most recent history. Including that he had little hope that Alexis would survive his torn throat. For his part, Andreas himself was giving serious consideration now to the whisperings that Alexander was a demigod. The young man had to force back a wince when he read the man's memory of his skin glowing.

Without another word, Alexander took the spear, reached up for a thrust and stabbed it straight into the chest of the thing at his feet.

Javed woke up with a pained, choked gasp full of black blood. The gathered people flinched back a step. They retreaded even further when Alexander's hammer fist broke the spear shaft at the middle with a muffled crack. No sooner had that happened that the broken half of the wood handle was driven right into the Vampire's heart. The demon arched his back up in pain and slumped back down, choking and wheezing. Incredibly, he was still alive.

"Tough bastard aren't you, little lizard." The prince was getting ready to ask for a sword when his gaze caught something ahead, beyond the frozen onlookers. It gave him an idea. His father's agreement came almost as soon as he mentally dove through the connection supplied by the holy symbol still hanging at his neck, in full view of all.

Ah. Opportunity.

With the air of a man on a mission, the Prince of Macedon stepped over the Van-Tal and grasped at the front end of the spear without stopping his walk. The monster struggled and wheezed at the brutal treatment, but Alexander didn't pay him any mind as he dragged his killer after him through the dirt. Not until he managed to start choking out words, in spite of the trauma and the horn. "We'll… kill you!"

"No you won't." He was unsure where all this certainty came from. He didn't even look down. Maybe he was riding adrenaline. Or maybe it was from the healing he'd just pulled.

"Fool!" Javed spat out, barely. "We are l… legion. Even after I die, even if others die, another will come. And an… another. And another!"

"I'm sure the others will be willing to negotiate the closing of the contract. Even if it takes the termination of their contractor."

"Mad!" the Van-Tal burst, laughing thickly. Alexander threw the thing to the ground next to the well he'd been aiming for and crouched only for so long as it took to pull his Taraka signet off his finger. Behind him, his friends and soldiers were warding the bulk of the crowd away, but with how quiet they were they could probably hear everything anyway. "Even you can't topple an empire!" the demon spat in hoarse, hateful disbelief at his sheer gall.

"Well, my not in the least dear Tarakan, someone obviously disagrees with you there." Alexander gave him one last glance and walked close enough to reach for and drop the rope-tied pail into the well. "After all, someone believed in the motive behind their decision enough to send you all the way out here." He had almost pulled the bucket all the way out, but he did shoot the demon a glance over his shoulder. "Prophecy, was it?"

Javed's riposte froze on the top of his sharp tongue.

Using a wide bowl placed there for general use, Alexander spend the next few minutes washing the worst of the gore and grime off his face, arms and neck. Then, out of the blue, he emptied the wooden bucket all over the downed monster struggling uselessly on the ground just a few feet away. He had to give the thing credit. Even with how beaten he was, the lack of his arm, the two spear bits sticking out of its chest and the Kungai horn eating his energy, Javed still managed to sputter, albeit weakly. He gave him its full attention though, and whether or not the attention of the onlookers was a good one… well, the prince supposed he would find out in time.

Dropping the bucket back into the deep, rock-dug water pit almost negligently, Alexander faced the walled gap in the ground and waved his right hand over it. "In my father's name, I consecrate this well."

The people behind him gasped in shock. He distinctly recognized Andreas among them, but showed no outward acknowledgment. Instead, he just started to pull on the rope, lifting the full bucket out once more. His father may not be able to give out normal blessings with the limits he imposed on himself, but whatever he kept a shred of attention on, whatever he claimed, invariably became holy beyond all measure. "In my father's name" was kind of a red herring, given that Athanasius did not have a true name at all, in this branch of creation. It was a workaround that he wouldn't abuse to, say, sanctify a bunch of arrows, especially since nothing was all that saintly about killing people. Or hurting things.

This one, though, was among the exceptions he didn't mind making.

Once the bucket was on the well mouth, Alexander scooped a bowl full of the clear liquid and turned to walk to Javed's now somewhat more obviously struggling figure. He took a long, slow drink as he approached. Once he stood over him, he held the bowl right above him and slowly tipped it over. "No," Javed forced through flooded lungs. "ImpossibaaaaaAAAAAHHH!" The not yet clichéd villainous reaction was cut short before it went too far. A blessing indeed.

History did say that everyone from Alexander's mother Olympias to the common man held the widespread belief that, rather than Philip, Alexander was really the son of Zeus.

Demonic blood and flesh burst into flames where the thin water pour fell. Alexander watched impassively as he emptied the water vessel on the evil thing with deliberate slowness. He might have shown him the mercy of a swifter death, but even then his psychometry only fed him impressions of hatred and dark wishes and cravings.

The monster kept screaming and screaming even after the bowl was empty and back on the well mouth next to the pail. The fire was slowly spreading on and through the creature's flesh, however, so he felt sufficiently at ease to turn away and head for his next task. "And that, as they say, is that." Never mind that the monster was still in the process of burning to death on the ground in the middle of Pella's agora.

Time to tie some loose ends. "Andreas!" He called as he took off on a fast stride. "Get someone to bring some of that water along. And arrange for some stationery!" The awed man set about doing his lord's will, sending two of his men to requisition the supplies from whoever lived closest. Alexander couldn't spare attention for that, since he only had a limited time to prevent an unnecessary death. Fortunately, his soldiers had carried Alexis all the way to the agora itself, so he didn't have too much space to cover. Once he was close enough, he got on one knee in front of the trembling, vacant-eyed, close to death man and laid a hand on his injury. Light shone again, under his palm and through the bandages. It was harder to do this on a different person, especially a normal one with, well, dumber cells than his. But the wound, though severe, wasn't nearly as complicated as a crushed eyeball, so he fixed it well enough that not even a scar would be left behind.

A harried but practically worshipful man past his fifties was already running over with a full water bowl. He was handling it like a fragile newborn, the prince noticed. Andreas took it from him, since he wasn't going to allow anyone too close to his miraculously returned charge – he was going to be overprotective for months, awe or not – but the townsman didn't seem to mind. He was on clouds just from being allowed to behold their demigod prince from up close.

Well, more or less close.

Alexander helped the much less delirious Alexis take a full drink of water and checked him over until his stationery arrived, tray and all, by the hands of an even more boggled runner, if it was even possible. Standing and choosing one papyrus scroll from the lot, the prince quickly wrote some names and tried not to directly look at the helpful citizen after his initial smile almost made him faint from sheer admiration. Or maybe it had been from the sprint over? The prince directed his words towards his guard commander instead. "These people are to be commended for their quick service and sound thinking this night." He passed him the scroll and started another. "And these," he let some of his held back menace to shine through his tone, "are the traitors and spies who allowed that thing and its undead henchmen inside our walls." He pushed the scroll in the wide-eyed soldier's hands. "Find them all."

Andreas shook himself into whatever semblance of professionalism he could still dredge up. "It will be done, my prince!"

"I know." He smiled softly at the harried soldier. The dark circles under his eyes and drawn face made it so that Alexander didn't even need psychometry to know he hadn't slept at all the past two days. "You haven't failed me yet." He was glad to see the burden of his bodyguard's perceived failure to protect him lift, even if the self-recrimination didn't. "Feel free to give those two a piece of your mind for getting themselves ambushed, though." He managed not to look in Ptolemy and Hephaestion's direction. Barely. "Now I fear I have places to be." This time he did look at his two friends. "I'll see you back at the temple."

"What?" Hephaestion blurted. "What do you-"

Cutting him mid-word, Alexander turned and disappeared into the alley that had nearly brought death on so many good men less than an hour earlier. By the time people ran in after him to call him back, he was already on the closest roof and shooting back in the direction of the gates.

Not the most dramatic of exits, but it would do.

"-. .-"

Freeing Bucephalas from the outer city stables and running away with him was easy compared to everything else that had occurred that night. One glance with his third eye revealed to the prince that the endurance empowerment had left him. The animal was hearty, however, so he managed to keep a gallop all the way to the nearest woods. Once they were in the forest, rider and horse found themselves trotting through the Darovo woods once again. Alexander didn't even shut his eyes this time but still missed the transition.

When he arrived home, no one was there and a nasty storm was brewing up in the sky. The overcast clouds seemed to be boiling and lightning flashed all across them. Thunder rolled down and filled the air, so intense that the wood their house was made of almost rattled. It made Alexander uneasy as he set about putting his horse away in the stable. The weather had not only turned ugly way too fast, but it also felt unnatural.

All doubts fled the young man's mind when a loud, massive explosion of white light blasted the clouds away in a circle, far enough that they nearly disappeared beyond the horizon. The only thing left was a single, white star at the center. Star that shot down towards the earth, growing closer and closer by the second. Soon it was a white streak, like a cloud of white fire and vapor flying over the forest straight for his position.

The white apparition circled around the clearing once and flew low, making a sharp turn and slowing down abruptly once it reached ground-level on the main path. Athanasius formed out of it mid-step, striding forward and dressed in his full regalia for the first time ever.

It was a magnificent sight. Alexander was surprised he could make it out in the detail he did, given the light that shone out from the man drawing near. Angular, white full plate armor bearing an odd angelic crest on the center of the chest, with seven pairs of wings. Leggings and greaves of the same, bright material covered his lower body, and thick chain mail protected the arms, along with perfectly sized and strapped metal guards. Surprisingly, he didn't have gauntlets. Instead, he wore bracers, leaving his hands free and unburdened, protected in just a pair of fingerless gloves, as white as everything else on him. The look was completed by a long, white, sleeve-less coat that reached below shin level.

All told, the awestruck teenager was surprised his father didn't carry a crown.

The light began to dim, showing that Athanasius seemed uncharacteristically irritated by something. "It was Zeus." Well, not irritated. Just bemused and maybe a touch disappointed.

Wait, what did he just say?

"-. .-"

"History did say that Alexander the Great's neck was bent slightly to the left and that he had one eye dark as the night and one blue as the sky. Now we know why."

The words replayed in Alexander's mind as he rode Bucephalas toward Mieza. They'd been spoken by his old man soon after he let his godly form melt back into his usual one. It was good to know that his father's humor hadn't left him. That he hadn't changed into someone or something unrecognizable after manifesting closer to his true self at long last.

Finding out that the soul vampire asshole god was Zeus of all Powers had been a kick in the gut. It felt like a betrayal, really. The Argead dynasty, his line, was descended from Heracles. On the other hand, maybe he shouldn't have been that surprised. The so-called king of the gods had gone so far off the deep end when the Twilight of the Gods came upon the world that Hercules had to kill him by stabbing him to death with the rib of Kronos.

Now he was barred from the world, stuck in some plane or other that acted as an afterlife for him and others in his situation. It was just the Immortals' luck that it didn't completely prevent the dead and forgotten deities from reaching into the space between spaces. Zeus had been draining the life and power from his kind in the hopes of amassing enough Vril to eventually punch a hole back into the world or otherwise gain a foothold.

Sadly for him, the Quickening wasn't just any manifestation of the Vril. It was enduring and engineered in a particular way. It was power and soul. Identity.

So Zeus created a large demi plane and kept gathering the Quikenings in it, where they would merge together until there were so many intertwined identities and wills that there may as well be none at all. Time moved a thousand times faster there than normal, which was why it took days instead of minutes for his father to handle the situation. Materializing into the Legend of Olympus, deep in the Dream of the World, had been easy apparently. Athanasius was vague about what he did there, but Alexander got enough to make out that Zeus had not been cooperative and that his father went Inquisitor on his hide before taking the demiplane from wherever it was and leaving. Going in and out of it was what actually caused the delay in his return. The storm in the sky had been a final tantrum on Zeus' part. He'd been able to reach through the fold in creation that briefly existed after his father's passage.

"It would have been impractical to remove the Quickenings and try to comb through them. The best way to untangle them and restore your kinsmen is through time reversal and gradual reclamation of each identity shard as the backward time pushes them out in reverse order of entry. It will be a long process that won't benefit at all from rush, insofar as time even applies on that level of existence. The entire sub-dimension is in my inner world now."

That had been a surprise. Athanasius had an entire plane of existence somewhere inside his spirit. Like one of those dream realms described in the Thedas rule books detailing the Fade and its spirits' workings. Hammerspace taken beyond the extreme.

"Spend the night here, son."

For the last time.

Neither of them had said it, but Alexander was strangely certain that he would never again be setting foot in that forest or that home at any point in his life as prince and, eventually, Basileus. He appreciated that last night of total safety and security more than he could say. From then onwards he would be looking over his shoulder all the time, watching for assassination attempts by the Order of Taraka and others. While also changing the face of the known world. And annihilating whatever demonic forces had gained a stranglehold over Asia and the other empires and kingdoms surrounding the Aegean Sea. All without any help from the slayer or the shadow men due to them still being stuck in the Americas.

Alexander snorted as he finally reached the village. No pressure.

Something struck him, a few minutes later, when he reached the Temple of the Nymphs. It stayed on his mind while he went through the motions of putting his horse away. He kept thinking about it as he greeted his relieved bodyguards and, after entering and walking to where he knew his teacher was holding lectures that time of the day, his two frazzled friends, as well as fellow student and close acquaintance Lysimachus.

And Cassander he supposed, but he was an asshole. How Aristotle put up with him with such aplomb, Alexander still didn't understand.

Speaking of whom. "Greetings, honored teacher. I believe I left our previous debate rather abruptly." Even that oblique mention of something only peripherally related made him think harder about that little tidbit that was the populace's belief in regards to their prince.

The whole world, present and future, thought Alexander was a son of Zeus.

He was going to savor that irony so very much.