As always, these are Marvel's characters, and I'm just borrowing them for a little spin. I'm making nothing except the enjoyment of playing in the sandbox. Although this is A/U, there are some parallels to current Marvel continuity, so you may find yourself spoiled. Sorry about that.
"Hi, guys," Illyana said, somewhat sadly.
She was exactly as they remembered her, as if she'd been frozen in amber while the rest of the world had gone by. A beautiful young woman with long blonde hair and blue eyes that sparkled with mischief, eyes currently downcast to match the tone of regret with which she'd greeted them.
Belasco spoke, formally, "By this sword and this amulet, I claim right of possession of your soul. Do you gainsay me?"
Illyana closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. "No. I do not."
"Excellent. Once my apprentice, you are now my slave. You will look the part."
She bowed stiffly, and a flash appeared around her, replacing her graduation uniform with a short, dirty tunic and rope belt. A collar now circled her neck, complete with a silvery chain. "Yes, sir," she spat.
He looked her over. "Adequate, I suppose. But your behavior could use some remediation. You've grown quite willful since you left me, and I will not tolerate insubordination." His eyes grew dark, "Just ask your friend Douglas."
"Yes sir."
"Master."
"Yes... Master."
In an instant, he was in front of her, his hand around her throat. "Do not play games with me, Darkchylde. Your meddling has done nothing but delay my final triumph, but it is a delay that has sorely tested my patience. I expect perfect service from you from now on. No hesitation, no stuttering. You will give me the deference due me."
"Or what? You'll kill her?" demanded Kitty angrily.
"My dear Katherine, you do not understand. There is no 'or what'; her soul is mine. Yes, she can rail against that, struggle with every fiber of her being, but in the end, she must do as I say." The sorcerer smiled as he lowered Illyana to the ground and released her. He began to sketch a series of runes in the air in front of her eyes. "And here are your instructions, little Rasputina. You will create portals to these cities, and keep them open." He turned towards the crowd of demons and addressed them, "Victory will still be ours, and the fear of the pitiful human chattel will serve to bring our Masters their glory."
The Demon Lord then strode over to the fallen body of T'ym. "You can end this pretense."
The large demon opened one eye, "Shoulda known better than t' fool ya, boss."
"Yes, now get up and help direct things. I'm not terribly thrilled that you allowed yourself to be struck with the Soulsword, ruining a whole series of enchantments I had rather painstakingly applied. T'ym was a frustrating façade, but he had his uses. He was certainly more tractable than you."
The creature stood up, it's red skin cracked and flaking off like poorly applied paint. Beneath the dull red was a shade of purple that was horribly familiar to the X-men "Red really ain't S'ym's color. Next time ya feel the need t' overlay a personality, sumthin' in a taupe might be better."
"So you lied after all," commented Nightcrawler, without a hint of surprise, "You said you were your brother."
"It wasn't precisely a lie," noted Belasco, before his servant could answer. "I had grown tired of his insolence and rebellion, grown worse with the alien infection. So I killed him, and then brought him back with some modifications. I placed a persona more of my liking over his. His true self bubbled through, like noxious gasses in a bog –" S'ym snorted at that. "- But his identity was held in check until you swung this sword and disrupted all my hard work. I think I will add a century to your torment for that inconvenience."
Illyana's eyes remained fixed on the fiery coordinates before her. "Shanghai. Mumbai. Seoul. São Paulo." She swallowed hard. "Moscow. These are the most populous cities in the world."
"And, fortunately for my purposes, possessing a disproportionately low level of 'super heroes'. My soldiers will be able to wreak such destruction that will make hearts tremble for millennia, until humanity has gone extinct and the Elder Gods have spread their reign across the cosmos!"
He laughed evilly. "Now, do as I have commanded, Darkchylde. Let my demonic brood run free in your home world, let the true sacrificial offering begin!"
The young woman looked over at her brother and best friend, a hopeless look in her eyes. She mouthed an apology even as her hands moved woodenly, summoning her mutant power to do her Master's bidding.
Staff Sergeant Joseph Phillips approached the Jongno Tower. He'd hoped to take Dae-chin to Top Cloud for their anniversary, but his schedule with the Corps of Engineers and hers as an engineer at Samsung rarely allowed them the time. So they made do with these late nights – early mornings, really, as it was after 1.
Despite underlying tensions with the U.S. Military in the country, Phillips loved it here, and hoped to stay when his enlistment was up. He was absently fingering the box in his coat pocket when he saw her coming across the street. He smiled and waved, and her face brightened as she waved back.
Then she vanished, behind a blazing circle that opened in the middle of the intersection. There was the sound of screeching breaks and crunching metal and plastic as the cars attempted to avoid the manifestation and the horrible creatures that burst forth.
As he tried to push through the crowd to reach Dae-Chin, Phillips mind flickered to a movie he'd seen as a kid about lizard-like monsters attacking a small southwestern town. This was nothing like that – this was horribly, terribly real. And people were dying in droves.
Midnight in Shanghai was full of the same bustle as the day, but Le Shihong was quite used to it. The Internet café she'd been in had just closed, so she strolled along the Huangpu River, in the area of the city known as the Bund. The bars here were far too expensive for a student like her, so she figured she'd just head back to the apartment she shared.
The disc appeared right in front of her. She had time to scream, just once.
"Thank you for calling Stark International, my name is Rob, how may I be of assistance?" Ravi Nirupama spoke evenly in the midwestern accent on which he'd worked so hard. Here in Mumbai it was just after 9 in the evening, but his shift had just started, and for the woman on the line – a Ms. Beth McLaughlin of Sacramento, California – it was only 11 in the morning.
The buzz of his cell phone caught his attention, and even as he talked the woman through a reinstall of the security protocols for her web server he glanced at the text message from his sister, a student at the SNDT Women's University in Churchgate. He could scarcely believe the words, abbreviated as they were. Monsters attacking? People dying by the hundreds? He placed the caller on hold and dialed his sister.
Thousands of miles away, Ms. McLaughlin picked up the phone again to say that the reboot had worked, only to find the line dead.
Anatoly Yuridenko waited impatiently for the Metro. He'd just finished an eleven-hour shift at the Mil Helicopter Plant, and he was already running late to meet at his friends' flat to watch tonight's 7 o'clock Dinamo hockey game.
The train finally arrived and he boarded quickly. He asked one of the passengers, a young man listening to a portable radio, if there was any score yet, only to be dismissed rather rudely. Youngsters these days, they had no respect for the game. If only they could have seen the old days, before all the talent ran over to America.
As they pulled into central Moscow, Anatoly could see the station in chaos. A large glowing white disc was sitting in midair, impossibly. And from that circle were all sorts of beings, many resembling creatures out of his grandfather's bedtime stories – the ones that had kept him up at night. Things that called to mind tales of bies, ale, likh, and more, monsters that beggared the most perverse of imaginations were rushing about, attacking the crowd indiscriminately.
Several men and women tried to escape to the train; pummeling the doors of the car he was in. Anatoly stood frozen, only able to watch in horror as they were cut down, torn apart by the ever-increasing horde. The passengers screamed to the conductor to get moving, to get away from the carnage, to do something. There was the sound of shattering glass from the front, and a piercing scream that cut off as quickly as it had begun. He looked out the window, now splattered with red, and saw an ogre-like horror that shredded the side of the car like paper.
The slaughter continued.
Stepping out from the pleasant cool of the Murumbi Mall in São Paulo, Brazil, Joana Madalena Fernandes Almeida was blinded by the afternoon sun. She stabbed her right hand into her purse, fumbling for her sunglasses.
She blinked away the spots in her eyes, so preoccupied with picking the children up at elementary school that she failed to notice the flash.
"Meat!" screamed a voice that sounded like someone gargling gravel.
She looked up in shock at the sound.
Cyclops was going over the checklist for the Blackbird one more time. It was unnecessary, he knew. He was just burning off nervous energy by losing himself in the minutiae of the routine. He grabbed a small allen wrench and began to check a series of bolts along the fuselage. "Radio on," he spoke aloud, "WNYC."
"For those of you joining us late, our monthly Talk of the Nation discussion with the Motley Fool has been preempted for this special report." Neal Conan's voice was strained, alerting Scott to the gravity of the events being reported. "We are receiving reports of mass atrocities being committed as we speak in five of the most populous cities in the world. Joining us on the line are special correspondents from Russia, Asia, India, and South America. But first, we go live to Singapore, with Special Metahuman Correspondent Sherry Rose-Harper has been covering the first ever conference on global superhuman relations in Madripoor, and where SHIELD director Tony Stark is making an emergency statement from his hotel."
There was the briefest blip of static as they switched to the live feed from across the globe. Then a voice spoke, "Thanks, Neal. I'm speaking from the Executive Conference Room on the twenty-fifth floor of the brand new Shiroyaki Hotel. We expect Director Stark to brief us on these events momentarily."
There was the sound of the bustling of journalists in the room, which then fell nearly silent as the Director began to speak. "Thank you. First, I would like to offer my deepest sympathies to the victims of this horrific attack. I want to assure the global community that we are aware of the events taking place and that we are currently deploying Initiative squads and SHIELD forces to the affected cities. We have every expectation that the crisis will be under control within the hour."
"Dammit, Tony!" swore Cyclops, dropping his wrench. "What the hell are you doing?" He sent out the thought, Emma, I need an emergency broadcast to all X-men. Belasco appears to be making his move. And Mr. Stark doesn't seem to feel we needed to be informed.
I know, darling, she replied in a calm telepathic voice. I'm with Forge and Henry in the War Room, and we've been reviewing the incoming military communications.
Scott tried to hide his shock at being excluded. Why wasn't I informed?
Her tone was conciliatory, but firm. Because, dear, we don't have access to a long distance teleporter, and the X-Jets would take hours to get to any of the locations.
Not nearly good enough. We're the ones with experience with Belasco. We should be helping with the effort.
Emma paused, then thought at him, And how much experience do you have in Limbo again? Scott, you are wound so tight right now that your objectivity can be at best considered sketchy. Nathan has dealt with Belasco, and is currently analyzing the data with Samuel and Ororo.
He cursed under his breath. He breathed in deep through his nose, then exhaled slowly from his mouth. Fine. Can you patch me through to Tony? I'd like to discuss where he does feel the X-men will be needed.
You won't get through. His 'appointment secretary' is on the line with Henry right now telling us that as an unsanctioned team, our assistance will not be necessary.
That arrogant son of a bitch…
Yes. But he wears it oh so well.
On the other side of the globe, Tony Stark signaled for the SHIELD agents from his security detail to form up around him as he left the press briefing, establishing a barrier between himself and the reporters baying at him with questions, the answers to which they could not possibly comprehend. He allowed himself to be ushered into one of the Shiroyaki Hotel's conference rooms that they'd appropriated as a temporary command center. He immediately put on the headset handed to him by his assistant to connect instantly with the Helicarrier and his field leaders.
Maps of city centers and diagrams of demonic creatures flashed across the lenses of the seemingly innocuous designer sunglasses he wore, with frames detailing the estimated casualties.
"Agent Singer, are our own forces deployed?"
"We've got four units in Seoul and Shanghai, three in Mumbai and one in Moscow. We're five minutes away from landing in Sao Paolo. After that, we should be able to pull in an additional unit in each city within a half hour."
"Any help from the locals?"
"No, sir," the agent said, sadly. "They're getting annihilated."
Tony frowned, and then moved on, "The enemy is hitting populated centers. Agent Ryder, I need you to coordinate with Camp Hammond. New York, New Jersey, Texas, Florida, California, and Illinois stand pat. We can spare Alaska, Montana, the Dakotas, and Wyoming. Get them through the Negative Zone transport. Richards will get it calibrated. I want those teams there yesterday."
He redirected his communicator to one of his fellow Avengers, the only one with enough power and speed to make the greatest impact.
"Go ahead, Tony."
"Bob, can you hear me?"
Robert Reynolds - the man with the power of "one million exploding suns" - grimaced at the overlapped conversation. He spent his life as the Sentry a fraction of a second ahead of the rest of the universe, and when he wasn't careful, he had the habit of replying to people before they asked their question, which could be a truly disconcerting experience. "Go ahead," he repeated.
"I'm need you in Brazil - we can't get enough of our own troops there."
"One moment," the Sentry said tersely.
Tony's frustration at his Avengers teammate was evident as he began to protest, "Bob - listen, it's a massacre-"
"I'm on my way. I just had to finish clearing the northwest district. I brought in a derelict tanker to serve as a barricade. You'll want to get some people there to keep this section clear."
"Oh... OK." Tony said, taken aback, "I just passed that on to the field commander."
"I'll reach Sao Paolo in about a minute – where exactly is the disturbance cent- the hell?" The Sentry's voice was full of alarm. And fear.
"Bob? What is it?" Tony's eyes focused on a screen that tracked his teammate's progress, causing the window to expand and center before his eyes. The glowing yellow dot representing him had stopped over the Atlantic.
"Sir!" The voice one of the radar technicians broke in over the datalink, "We're reading a new signal right next to the Sentry, sir. The power levels between the two are off the charts."
"Oh god," murmured the Director of SHIELD, "Not now."
The channel to Reynolds crackled, "I killed you! I threw you into the sun!"
Tony disconnected the audio. "Ryder, I need you to move up Brazil in priority. Juggle it to get Wisconsin there. The Sentry will not be able to help."
"Why?" came the voice of the agent, concern evident in his voice. "What happened? What could hurt him?"
"It's the Void," Tony said, almost in shock. "The Void is back."
The images appeared as a blur across the scrying pool, with the Sentry a gold and blue streak around the blackness of his opponent, indistinct to the naked eye. With a wave of his hand, the scene replayed at the merest fraction of that speed. Panic was clearly evident in the Sentry's demeanor at the sudden manifestation of his nemesis, and Belasco knew he'd done well. He'd infused one of his more powerful servants with a portion of power channeled from his masters. The mystical energy allowed the demon to not only take on the aspect of the Void, but to simultaneously approach the near unlimited energy levels and to befuddle the hero to blind him to the differences that were there.
With another gesture, he set the silvery liquid to show a different scene, with a different lieutenant.
"Sir! We're detecting a localized time/space distortion!" shouted one of the techs, "It's ri-"
Before the agent could continue, Tony was mentally summoning his Extremis armor from inside his bone marrow. The golden techno-mesh seemed to extrude from his very pores even as the red sections flew out of nowhere to form up on his arms, legs and torso, transforming him to his alter ego, the Invincible Iron Man.
The portal formed in the middle of the room, and the shape that emerged was hauntingly familiar.
"Stane?" he asked, thinking it impossible that the long deceased Obediah Stane could be stepping out of the glowing circle in front of him. It was the mystical he was dealing with, however, and the boundaries of reality always strained around magic. So it could be the specter of his old enemy piloting the antiquated Iron Monger suit. He almost chuckled at the concept - it was like bringing a dart gun to a nuclear war.
The image resolved - and while it was unmistakably Iron Monger, it was becoming clear that, like his own armor, it had been updated. More distressing was the predominantly blue paint scheme, with red and white stripes along the abdomen, red hands and feet, white in the upper arms and on the star at the center of the chest, surrounding the pulse beam projector. The letter A on the forehead completed the look, turning the whole thing into a mockery of a Captain America costume.
Twin repulsors blazed from his hands, searing the air and scattering the SHIELD personnel. The combined beam enveloped the armor and blew out the wall behind it, continuing on to light up the Madripoor night.
He cut off his attack, knowing full well what he would see when the smoke and dust settled – his adversary crouched behind a large disc, a scaled up replica of a shield that had haunted his dreams for months.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded loudly, even as he patched into the satellite system to give himself a power boost and rerouted it through his uni-beam.
The figure raised its large, metallic right hand to its faceplate, causing it to lift up slowly. Beneath, despite the hollow eyes, sunken cheeks and pallid skin, were the unmistakable features of Steve Rogers. Captain America. His best friend, his most bitter rival. His greatest shame.
Tony howled incoherently, releasing the energy beam at maximum power at the ghoulish visage.
"The portents and omens bespeak a great ill, Wong, and it seems our worst fears are being realized – our contingency seems to have failed," Stephen Strange said quietly. He was sitting at stout oak table, shifting uncomfortably on a pale green cushion as he poured over the yellowed, crackling pages of an atlas. Glowing lights appeared on the pages, corresponding to the attacks occurring across the globe. "This Belasco is striking with ferocity and purpose - choosing heavy population centers focused around a confluence of ley lines. I expect this plan has been brewing for some time."
"Master, what can we do?"
"As always, we will fight. We will prevail. Although," the mage admitted, "I confess that the precise details of 'how' currently escape me."
The building shook.
"The wards! We're under attack!" His manservant grabbed a pair of swords off the wall and stood in front of him, facing the door.
Nodding solemnly, Dr. Strange folded his hands together, focusing his will. "Let us go out to meet our guests."
With a sudden motion of his index fingers, the doors to the townhouse at 177A Bleecker Street flew wide, revealing a frail man in a dazzling white robe, leaning heavily on a staff.
Dr. Strange peered at the figure, and scoffed. "If your Master feels that taking the appearance of the Ancient One will cause me any confusion or consternation, he is quite mistaken. Reveal your true form, and let our duel begin." The amulet on his chest, the mystical Eye of Agamotto, raised itself to his forehead, to the sixth chakra and his inner eye, where it opened. The light that burst forth from the orb bathed over the false image of his onetime teacher, breaking apart the many illusions and physical transfiguration, leaving a dark, humanoid shape steeped in darkness. There was the vague outline of bat wings, and the arms extended into sharp seeming claws
"Master!" Wong shouted, brandishing his blades, "Beware!"
"A Shadowight, yes." the mage noted, "Put up your swords, Wong, and return to the Sanctum. You can do nothing but provide a target for the creature, and distract me from what must be done." His manservant was startled at the harsh tone, and bowed stiffly as he returned to their residence. Strange beckoned the doors to close and cast a quick binding to seal the portal against the abomination. The Shadowight were spawns of the foulest magic. Intangible, virtually indestructible, invisible to all but the most powerful of sorcery, their talons did not cut the flesh so much as poison the soul, corrupting their victims into a state of undead servitude. The Sorcerer Supreme knew that even if he was victorious against the thing, the time and cost would probably still serve Belasco's purpose in sending it – to keep him from assisting elsewhere.
It leapt at him, slamming into the mystical shields that automatically responded. He gritted his teeth, and began the fight in earnest.
Heimdall stood watch on the walls of the new Asgard, almost out of habit. His traditional role as the famed guardian of the Bifrost Bridge had been made irrelevant since no bridge was necessary - to enter Midgard one had but to step down scant inches to the Oklahoma plains below. But the aeons had etched the duty into his godly bones, and whereas there was little chance the inhabitants could muster a threat to any one of the Asgardians, they were not without enemies. That Loki, god of lies and treachery, had been ominously quiet, could only mean that some terrible mischief was on the horizon.
He was the perfect guardian - legend told senses were so beyond humanity that he could hear the sap oozing though a tree a mile away, and that he never needed sleep. He was alarmed, then, at the figure that suddenly appeared a few hundred paces from the walls, without a sound. He peered closely at the armor, the helm, the empty eyesocket and spear. He listened to the familiar cadence of that steady heartbeat. He even smelled the presence of ravens and of eight-footed Sleipnir. Every sense he had told him the same thing. He beckoned Hermod, the Messenger god of the Aesir, to his side. "Go," he spoke urgently, "Entreat Thor to come to the gates. Inform him – tell him that Odin Borson, his father, the Allfather - has returned!"
A minute later, an enraged god of thunder emerged from the great hall of Asgard. "What mockery is this? Odin is dead. Had he returned, I would surely have felt it."
"Forgive me, my liege," Heimdall said, "But this is a matter to which only you can attend."
Thor looked across the field, "Aye. You did right by that. Whatever else this may be, it is clearly a direct challenge to me and to my authority. Mayhap it is another clone – but I doubt greatly that Stark would so callously disregard my warning." He drew himself up to his full height, his jaw clenching. The figure had not moved, standing still, his cloak moving slightly in the breeze. "It appears that the opening gambit must be mine."
He stepped down to the soft earth below and hefted his uru hammer, Mjolnir. "Ho, imposter! What effrontery is this that you should assume this shape before me?"
The face of Odin remained impassive.
"I charge you to speak your purpose, or quit this place and never return!"
The single eye glanced at him, then beyond. The air stirred behind him even as the shouted warnings from his fellow Asgardians reached his ears. He spun around to face the Destroyer armor, now animated; assuredly by the spirit of whoever was impersonating his father.
Hammer in hand, Thor threw himself to battle.
The ever-present smile on Belasco's face broadened to a maniacal grin. When concocting this part of the plan, he had thought merely to distract the beings of power long enough for his servants to draw enough innocent blood to fuel the Dimensional bridge. Watching the images play out, however, he began to see that the potential to harvest the souls of the "heroes" was within their grasp, and could only serve to energize the mystical engine driving the spell.
Addressing his prisoners, he spoke. "You wonderful fools. In your desperate attempts to stop my plan, you have inadvertently given me the very tools I need to succeed." With a wave of his hand, wisps of eldritch power became visible in the center of the now abandoned pentacle. "Your Dr. Strange thought to hide your changeling within the shadow of the dimensional seal, as if to deceive me, and yet, with my power, just the shade of the spell is enough to constitute the entire enchantment. Watch, as the blood sacrifice in your world brings it closer to mine!"
Behind him, forgotten, with his entire chest an open, oozing wound from where the arcane blast had connected, lay Douglas Ramsey. He knew he was dying - again - and found himself bitterly regretting the last few years he'd spent as the Demon Lord's thrall helping to bring about this day. If only he'd died that day on that North Atlantic island, protecting Rahne. Maybe Belasco then wouldn't have found the spells he was now casting, or been able to translate them. Maybe then Kitty wouldn't be staring at him with a mixture of pity and hurt on her face. Maybe then his best friend wouldn't be lying all around him, unraveled by the magical assault near to the point of discorporation, his lifeglow all but extinguished.
He looked over at the Technarch being. He took a rasping breath, then spoke in a drawn out wheeze, "Hey, 'Lock. Helluva way to go, huh?"
"Humorous comment despite imminent termination," managed Warlock, his head mostly intact, "Self accessing memory file codexed selfsoulfriendDouglasRamsey."
"Yeah," Doug said weakly, "Brings back the memories... for me too."
"Self has... missed selffriend."
The blond man managed a weak smile. "Sorry 'bout everything... turning evil, getting my..." He coughed, blood trickling from his lips. "Getting my... friends... hurt." He moved his head closer to Warlock's. "Listen... if you can… absorb what lifeglow I've got left - maybe you can still make it."
"Negative. Evilmagic has disrupted cohesion matrix. Even with gift of selffriend, self would not survive."
"Just can't seem to pull yourself together, huh?"
"There is another… another option," the faltering electronic voice said.
"What… what is it?"
"Soulmerge. Selfsoulfriend could provide structure and form, self could…"
"Do it!" Doug whispered
"Dangerous. Probability of success still low. Process most likely irreversible."
The man smiled, "And dying is better? Do it, 'Lock. Bring back … Team Supreme."
Absorbed in his incantation, Belasco didn't notice the flash behind him.
"We're both gonna catch hell for this," Logan said, demon heads and limbs flying in his wake.
"I can handle Stuart and Braddock," Wisdom commented as his hotknives of one hand cut down a handful of demons, even as the other, with the plasma extended much like Wolverine's claws, seared through the flesh of a lizard bear, killing it. "But then, I haven't given a damn about what the suits say since my first mission."
"Brian ain't a suit," the smaller man noted.
Pete sniffed, "No, but he's a hero. That means he'll swallow whatever cock and bull story I choose to give him. Besides, I can always blame it on you." Blazing streaks cut down a group of imps that were rushing over a hill at them. "At least I don't have a mindwitch like Frost to muck up my brain for disobeying the one-eyed boy scout's little rules."
"Y'know, Wisdom, much as Summers an' I disagree, he's still my teammate, and I know he trusts me. For the most part, anyway. It's a novel experience; ya might try it sometime."
"Yeah, maybe," came an all too cynical response. "You know, these pillocks aren't much of a challenge. Are you sure these things threaten all life as we know it?" He punctuated that by wiping out a troop of goblins with a wide spread of blazing energy.
"These chumps ain't, but the head honcho's a real piece a' work, and the bastards he worships and wants to unleash are worse than anything your Black Air ever dreamed of. Now get a move on – that castle ain't getting' any closer with us yappin' away like this."
"Right," said Pete. "And I ever so hate being the last one at the party – all the good booze is gone by then."
A/N – I know, I know. This was supposed to be the last chapter. But we aren't ready to wrap things up just yet! Besides, didn't you want to see how things are going on back on Earth. In case you were wondering, this is after the Civil War (where pro-registration Iron Man ended up beating Captain America's anti-regs, leading eventually to Cap's assassination), and Thor has really rebuilt Asgard in Oklahoma.
Next time should be our real climax. Thanks again to my support- particularly Amokitty and Madripoor Rose. You two rock! Thanks for all your patience!