Like I said; last chpt. was a bear to write. This one flowed. In fact, I had it all pre-set to post.

Be warned. Kinda short. Kinda dark. Mucho profanity.

What's a K.P. fan-story without K.P.?

In chpt. 5, Sensei suggested to Ron the harrowing and ghoulish alternative of dismembering Kim's body again and hanging up the parts so they wouldn't reform. My gal Alice Shade introduced this into her story when Kim took her revenge on Tara by hanging her up in the same fashion in the cistern, after killing her…just in case the Undeath phenomenon should recur.

She also suggested that Kim would've dug her way out…somehow…gradually. Alice had a good point. But as every devious fan-writer knows, a good point never gets in the way of a good story. :D

In all seriousness, I thank my gal Alice. She's got a good head on her shoulders. Levelheaded and practical. The adulation of a dozen fans is good for the ego. The cold analysis of one good critic helps make the adulation deserved. It may not have been her intent; but her insight has taken my head and this story in directions it otherwise might've never gone. She's a generous soul, too. More liberal with letting her stories be used than open source software.

Remember the scene from Star Wars; Revenge Of The Sith? Anakin Skywalker is lying on the ground, his limbs severed, spewing his awful hatred at Obi Wan Kenobi? That's how I envision Kim, consumed by the dark side.

What is it they say when someone is thwarted? "Denied!"

from Beyond The Grave: We Do What We Mustby Alice Shade

She yanked on chain yet again. It rattled. There was no way to check for progress other then feeling up the chain to the wall and poking at the subtle cracks slowly forming, and she was conserving her strength as much as she could. No movement wasted - that was the motto of the day... Day? Week? Month, maybe?

She remembered well. As it happened, as the lid scraped across the hole, cutting off the last of light. She struggled madly back then, pulling and jerking her chains ferociously. She kept struggling until exhaustion overcame her and she collapsed. Hours later, when she regained consciousness, she resumed her struggle. Minutes, hours, days... As she fought on, oblivion came more and more often, claiming her for what little recuperation she could garner. In the end, she remembered lying without any strength, mustering enough energy to yank chain once an hour by the sheer willpower alone.

Evidently, she was supposed to extinguish here, alone and forgotten. But she didn't like that idea. It was not acceptable. And oblivion stepped back time and time again so she could resume her struggle. She never paused to observe herself, the only goal of her life to rip the chain out of the wall and stand up freely. Everything else was inconsequential until the main objective could be fulfilled. She gave up on her senses, neither sight, nor sound, nor smell giving her any useful information, and concentrated on the chain.

Yank. Another yank. And another. There was no question of if it was possible at all - she knew that chain would eventually break. It was just a matter of when. Until then, all she had to do was to pace herself and put all that she had into yanking. And suddenly, it was over. With a quiet crack, steel ring gave in, concrete crumble and dust trickling down the wall as the ring suddenly gave slack. It was a first sign of success. Yank. Another yank. And another... And yet another…

Coming back to the original spot, she felt the edges of hole left by yanked out ring. Bingo. That weak spot would be where she would redouble her efforts to escape. Escape and... have revenge. Concrete crumbled a little. Sliding her fingers over the dandling chain, she grabbed it's end, and racked it against the cracking concrete. Again. And again. And again.

She smelled dust. Something was subtly different about the smell of crumbling concrete. Could it be that she was breaking through the wall already? She pressed the end of her makeshift tool into the crack again….

She picked up metal from her lap and pressed it into the crack again, wrenching out more and more concrete with each shove. She would not be held in this prison. Nor in any other prison. No matter what it takes.

chpt 8

"denied!"

As soon as Kim was reformed and past her first horrific tirade, she undertook a meticulous inspection of the entire inner surface of the cistern. "Should'a done this twenty years ago," she muttered. " 'Cept I thought it was just a few hours…or days."

She found the ring in the wall that Tara had looped the handcuffs through. She kept yanking on it until it loosened. She finally jerked it out of the wall.

Hah! She crowed to herself. First hole in the dike, Tara! Say your prayers!

Suddenly a bright white hot incandescent flash erupted in the cistern, like a lightning bolt. It was followed by a earsplitting boom of thunder.

Kim jumped, startled. She scrunched her eyes shut and covered her ears with her hands. "Eeeek! What-the-Hell?"

With a dawning realization and sense of dismay, she looked around helplessly. There was a deafening din of shrieking monkeys. It subsided in a second. The bright flash faded to a dim blue glow. The cistern was plunged back into total darkness, except for the spots in front of her eyes…and the shower of sparks where she had wrenched the ring out of the wall.

Kim's heart fell. "No…oh, God, no!" She ran her hand over the wall...only to discover it was now a smooth surface. "Nooooo!"

The last time she had heard that sound and seen that radiance was the night of her high school commencement. Her Beloved had seized both Warmonga and Warhok and flung them toward the sky. They had collided with the Lowardian starship and had disappeared in a great ball of flame. Warmonga's shriek of hatred and frustration was suddenly cut off.

Kim was overwhelmed. Her heart had nearly burst with astonishment and pride.

This time the deed evoked a different reaction. It was another deep sense of betrayal. And it sparked another horrendous outburst of rage. It was Kim who shrieked at the top of her lungs. "Daaaamn yoooou…Ron Stoppable! I hope you burn in hell! This is your Mystical Monkey Mojo! Is it something that sack-of-shit Sensei taught you how to do? Fukking damn you to hell! Are you listening? I'll eat your daughter for this! The one named after me! I'll tear her to pieces and scarf her like she was sushi!"

She struck the wall with a one-two punch. And then a kick. In the days of her heroism, such blows crumpled strong men like straw dummies. But now her bones splintered like dry sticks. Pain like lightning shot up her arms and legs. Maybe her nervous system was still functional. Maybe the pain was psychosomatic. Popping sounds like cracking knuckles indicated the rejoining of her fractured bones. Faint blue sparkles shimmered in the wall where a slight scoring was mended. It was like her childhood Fourth of July sparklers…or Ron's old Spark Rock Candy.

Kim lifted her face toward the unseen world above. "RON!" In the days of her mortality, such a scream would have seared her throat and burst an artery or two. "FUKKING PRICK! CAN YOU HEAR ME? I'LL MAKE YOU HEAR ME! EVEN THROUGH THIS MAUSOLEUM YOU STUCK ME IN!…I HATE YOU!"

In the world above, Ron took a deep sigh. The deed was accomplished. He had done what no villain ever succeeded in doing: creating the perfect death trap for Kim Possible. If he knew his partner, she was already trying to break out of her confinement. And he could anticipate the irreversible frenzy of rage it would provoke when she discovered her efforts were futile. He swallowed. His throat felt raw with heartsickness….

to be continued…