Writer's Notes: this is a chapter that finally introduces (and for real this time and not as a joke) a character that many readers have been eagerly waiting for. Just so readers are warned ahead of time, I decided to go in a unique direction that is probably very different than what many were expecting. Which means this chapter could either be great, or it could be an abominable heresy in need of being purged. Either way, the only way to find out is to read on.

Chapter XX:

ONE NIGHT IN HONG KONG

Chungking Mansions,
Tsim Sha Tsui, Kowloon,
British Dependent Territory Of Hong Kong.
Midnight, Oct 11-12, 1984.

Even though it was almost midnight, the narrow streets were alive and crowded. Above, streetlights and neon signs and advertisements buzzed, while below, numerous food-carts and street kitchens hissed and steamed and motor-scooters darted back and forth between traffic of both the vehicular and human type. The beats and thumps from a discotheque across the street, playing the latest hits from the West, drowned out the warm, pleasant (if a little scratchy) melodies of Sandra Lang's voice from Uncle Guo's phonograph at the end of the bar.

At that moment, Guo could be found leaning on the bar, counting up the day's earnings, feeling hot, sweaty, and nervous - the only respite was the cool downward breeze from the lonely ceiling fan above him. Despite the noise coming from outside, the restaurant inside was mostly empty and quiet; tonight, he had promised his staff that they would be closing early, at midnight sharp. They had worked very hard this last week and they all deserved a break; besides, he needed them well rested for the weekend rush.

Only Xiuying was left; he could see her approaching, carrying several dirty dishes and bowls stacked high - she was wearing a flowery blouse and denim skirt, with her long, silky hair in a ponytail. Xiuying was the youngest member of the team, a third his age, and had been working for Uncle Guo for just over a month now. Some of her, ahem, mannerisms Guo disapproved of highly, but she worked as hard as any of the boys. That, and patrons were usually a little more willing to tip on the nights she was working.

"Just so ya know, we've got one more customer left," whispered Xiuying as she plonked the pile of plates down in the sink behind the bar, "check out that Gweilo over there!"

Uncle Guo's dining establishment was not very large (floorspace in this town and especially here in Chungking Mansions was at a premium), but the dim lighting made it hard to see the other end of the room - Xiuying had been turning off the lights one by one as they neared closing time. At the furthest corner from the bar, there sat a lone foreigner whom Guo almost hadn't noticed. He looked to be maybe in his early thirties at most, with a thick mop of untidy black hair, and long sideburns. He was wearing a grey turtleneck, jeans, and a khaki-colored jacket with wide lapels on top - his whole get-up would have been pretty fashionable... like maybe 10 years ago (not that Uncle Guo minded at all, mind you - his own was maybe 30 years out-of-style compared to what kids these days were wearing).

Ah yes, Guo could remember him now; this Gweilo had wandered in, what, maybe two or three hours earlier? And all he'd done in that time was just sit there, his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, staring at his food, despondently. He'd ordered two or three dishes and a beer and hadn't even touched any of them. His food must have been cold by now - a shame to let good zongzi go to waste, especially this out-of-season. Guo scowled a little. Ah well, as long as he'd paid for it.

"He looks sad," observed Guo, "please tell me he didn't find an eyeball in the soup or something."

"He looks kinda cute though," said Xiuying, dreamily, "and he tips generously."

"And you have a boyfriend," muttered Guo, raising an eyebrow.

"Hasn't stopped me before," she winked. She undid the top button on her blouse. "Maybe his girlfriend dumped him."

Uncle Guo rolled his eyes. "Look, whatever it takes to get him outta here. Jeez, just looking at him right now is making me feel depressed."

Xiuying nodded and went back out into the main restaurant space to continue clearing up the tables, particularly those right around where their wayward guest was sitting. Guo noticed a slight, sultry sway in the way she carried herself in front of him. Guo sighed. Gathering up all the money in his little metal lockable box, he turned and strode through the doors behind him, into the backroom.

It was separate from both the main space and the kitchen, and used as a combination of a storeroom as well as Guo's own office. The only other way in or out, apart from the window, was the door at the other end of the room which also opened onto the hallway, though he always kept this door locked and bolted; he preferred everyone, customers and staff too, use the main entrance, you know, so he could keep an eye on everything going in and out. Guo sighed and sat down at his desk; he took a moment to take off his glasses and wipe the sweat off his brow.

Just then, something slammed into the backdoor, with such force that the lock snapped off, it swung wide open and banged hard against the wall.

What the...?! though Guo, startled. He dropped his glasses to the floor.

"Well, well, well," sneered the man standing in the open doorway. He strolled into the backroom, followed close behind by several others. "If it ain't Old Man Guo. Sorry for this courtesy call, but... you know, Lan Di hasn't heard anything from you for a couple months now. He's beginning to think you'd forgotten 'bout us."

Guo was sweating, but he did his best to keep his cool. "Uh... sorry, do I know you?"

"Shady Shang," said the unwelcome guest, "you mighta heard of me."

Of course, everybody in Chungking Mansions knew who the Deadly Axe Gang were. Whatever, ahem, "enterprise" you could think of, there was a good chance they had their hands full of it. Back alley gambling, dog fighting, morphine dens, mahjong parlors, prostitution, counterfeit goods, loan sharking... even smuggling consumer goods across the border into the Mainland, while smuggling out items like Cordyceps, pangolin skins, PLA "surplus" firearms, and little girls too.

Oh, and of course they were into running the local rackets. And business had been booming as of late. After Typhoon Ellen had rolled through the neighborhood last year, hundreds of people had been left without power or water, or even with their entire livelihood upended and no insurance to cover it. The Axe Gang were only too happy to step in and help out... for a price, of course. Now, they'd grown enormously in influence and intimidation, and it wasn't just small street vendors and desperate homemakers they were shaking down.

Shady Shang was the latest rising star in the Axe Gang; had started out as a two-bit hoodlum out of Pig Sty Alley, before he'd fallen in with the mob and made a name for himself shylocking for Lan Di. Even without glasses and in the dim light, Guo could make out enough of Shang's appearance: he was still in his late twenties at most, with jet black hair oiled and slicked back, and a thin mustache. He was wearing a black suit, minus the tie and with the top buttons undone. And sunglasses too, even though it was night; he was also chewing on a toothpick.

Following right behind him, Guo could recognize the hulking frame of Fat Choi, every bit as strong as he was dumb, an axe visibly tattoo'ed across the back of his bald head. And just behind him came Sing, who was wearing a simple white wife-beater, to show off the vivid crimson scorpion he had tattooed over most of each arm. Just behind him was Coolie, who was also wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night, along with a garish neon jacket and a set of headphones connected down to a Sony Walkman clipped onto his belt. He couldn't see the last two clearly enough to know if he could recognize them. There was an acrid smell in the air; at least two of them were smoking.

With seven people now crammed into the backroom, six of them bringing bad qi with them, things were getting uncomfortably hot.

"Okay... look... 2,000 jyun," said Guo, opening the cash box, "earnings from the last few days." He handed it over to Shang. "And I can get another 5k by the end the weekend, I just need..."

Shang picked up the metal box, and threw it on the floor. There was a loud clatter as coins and gong jyun bills were scattered everywhere. "Cut the crap," snarled Shang, "a little bird told me you have 40k stashed away somewhere."

"Please!" begged Guo, "listen! I... I have to pay my staff! I've got loans outstanding, rent coming up soon..."

Shang stared into Guo's desperate eyes for a moment. And then, he glanced to the side, out through the open door. "Say, that serving wench of yours. She's pretty cute," he mused as he pulled the toothpick out of his mouth, "would be a shame if something happened to her." Shang turned to face Choi. "Hey Bonehead! Bring me that yatou, will ya, I wanna talk to her!"

Fat Choi grunted and began lumbering out through the door, out into the main restaurant.

No! Before Guo could say or do anything else, Shang grabbed him and yanked him backwards. "Right, where were we old man?"

A few meters away...

He sat there, at the little table, looking down. He had ordered a bowl of curry fish balls, a plate of zongzi - not the season, but He liked their taste and the local folklore behind them - and a couple other small things. A bottle of San Miguel sat opened but untouched; the beer had since stopped fizzing and was no longer cold.

He had walked into this little restaurant hidden away, thinking that maybe a little food would make Him feel better. But somehow, when the food arrived, He had thanked the waitress, paid, and then... could only sit there and stare at His meal. Not that there was anything wrong with the service (the waitress, Xiuying her name was, was a swell gal, though He suspected that she was contemplating a little more than just good service). Nor was there anything wrong with the food either (true, places like this were not known for their good exercise of hygiene, but it would not affect Him at all). And yes, He could never get Himself inebriated no matter what quantity He consumed (aye, oft-times a curse more so than a blessing), but still He partook in drink, if for no other reason than appearances, both to others and to Himself.

This was not the first time He had journeyed to Hong Kong, but this was the longest time He had stayed here. It was far more than a city; it was an entire nation unto itself, reminding Him almost of the ancient city-states of times long past. This small but industrious nation was slowly reaching the height of its economic power, its "silk slippers" stage as the locals called it (as opposed to its "grass sandals" stage that preceded it). People were moving away from the manufacturing industries that had built this city, and instead moving into the financial and services sector. There was a burgeoning middle class and everyone gambled at the stock and real estate markets; some became incredibly rich overnight. With newfound wealth came an explosion in lavish lifestyles, doing things like mixing their rice and dumplings with shark fins not because they particularly enjoyed this delicacy, but merely because they could afford to.

But, as He could feel, all that optimism was superficial; beneath the pomp and splendor, there was a festering corruption that penetrated every layer of this city's fabric. In prior lives, He could faintly recall how pride and glamor always preceded the fall. And even now, He could feel it that the times ahead for this city were bound to be a troublesome era - politically, financially, even the public health of this great city would be at threat sometime in the not too distant future.

He closed His eyes, and tried to focus His mind again, looking for help, for guidance, hoping that His three hours of meditation would not be a waste of effort and time (and not to mention a few dollars).

You see, while He was only about a mere three decades old in mind and body, in soul, He was... well, suffice to say, it was considerably more complicated. His name was Karl, the name given to Him by the parents who bore Him, the name His childhood friends had always known Him by, and the name He had always identified Himself by. But before He had been born into this current body, into the life of the man named Karl, He had in fact lived before, in another life, in a different body, in another time and place. And another one before that life. And many, many more before then.

To all the others who had been sitting and standing and dining around Him, it looked merely like He was sitting still, staring unflinchingly at His untouched food, but in His vision, He was somewhere else entirely. Close your eyes, He instructed himself. Relax. Embrace eternity! A third eye opened on His forehead, one of solid white light, and the room around Him melted away into infinite blackness...

Thousands of years ago...

A fierce warrior king, tall, swarthy and handsome, His four-lion sigil emblazoned across His banners, was riding on the back of an armored war elephant, plodding through the streets of a rebellious city now laid barren by the might of His armies. All around Him, His soldiers called out to Him in cheers of triumph and adulation. He should have reveled in the glory of this great victory, but instead, as He looked around Him at the piles of the dead and dismembered bodies, of men and women and children, He could feel only shame and guilt at such wanton destruction and loss of life...

After that...

A figure stomped across the endless red dunes, dressed head-to-toe in golden armor that looked like some mix of a Centurion of Rome and a knight, though not quite either. His shield was stark white with a simple red cross upon it. All around Him, the very landscape seemed to come alive as hundreds, possibly thousands, of shining metallic skeletons emerged from beneath the red sand, their terrible eyes all glowing a fierce and sickly green. And on the horizon, their master, an enormous mechanical dragon, was stirring from his millennia-long slumber and spreading enormous wings that filled the sky. The golden-armored knight was unafraid, however; He stood firm and steeled Himself for what would truly be a battle for all the ages; His sword began to glow brightly, ethereal flames emanating from the blade...

After that...

A plain, middle-aged man in black-and-red robes was sitting at His desk, writing, feathered quill scratching away across thick parchment. He paused for a moment to look outside and enjoy the view, and beheld the beautiful sight of the Cathedral Of Florence, rising above the sea of tiled and thatched roofs that surrounded it. Ah, Florence, truly the most beautiful and most accomplished of cities anywhere in the world, one of the few shining cities on the hill in these dark times of endless war, corruption, political intrigue, and plague gripping the entire continent. It was His hope that one day His opus would help spread the light that was Florence, that His words would help inspire men to rise up, unite the rest of the warring states and kingdoms of Italia, and one day, the rest of the world, under the benign rule of One most glorious and virtuous...

After that...

A woman marched out onto the battlefield, only Her head and long flowing hair uncovered, the rest of Her body sheathed in silvery metallic armor, sword and shield in hand. A golden fleur-de-lis was engraved across Her breastplate. She was a lonely island of grace and beauty against the ocean of mud and grime and death that surrounded Her, Her cape billowing in the breeze.

She stopped for a moment and turned around, to see the tens of thousands of men following Her - battered and beleaguered men, tired from years of fighting, but now, with the end in sight and with new energy flowing through their veins, they rallied themselves for one final push. She took a deep breath, and addressed Her followers, loudly and clearly, Her voice booming like a loudspeaker: "Debout, debout mes frères! La Voie Sacrée est devant nous, menacée de toutes parts par l'ennemi. Même si leurs armes sont la violence incarnée, je sais que notre volonté, notre foi et notre courage gagnerons la bataille! Maintenant en avant mes frères! Suivez moi!" She turned to face forward, and raised Her sword. "Pour Dieu et pour la France!"

No sooner had She finished when a raucous cheer arose from the army, many chanting things like "VIVE LA FRANCE!" and "POUR DIEU ET POUR LA FRANCE!" She smiled, and charged, and Her men followed suit, rifles and bayonets raised high... and that was when the German artillery began to come whistling down around them, exploding, while machine guns clattered, strafing the ranks of men. She alone was unaffected, bullets and shrapnel ricocheting off Her enchanted armor and shield, but around Her, hundreds of others were being felled with each passing second. But still, they kept charging forwards, following their guardian angel, throwing themselves into the line of fire. Verdun had called for aid, and they would answer!

Karl shuddered at the end of that last vision. In this life, He had read and learnt much about The Great War, but it was something else entirely to have lived it. He had seen this vision multiple times before, and yet this time and every other time, the anguish and pain He could feel was the same as She had felt on that day...

...the battle, possibly the roughest, longest, and most gruesome yet seen in all of history, had been won and at long last the siege had been lifted, after fighting for the bitter better part of a year. But in its wake, the entire countryside had been transformed into a cesspool of mud and smoking artillery craters, twisted barbed wire, and the mutilated bodies of an entire generation of French and German youth, carrion to feed the infinite rats and flies swarming about. And this was not the end of this awful war, no, far from it. By the end of it, some 17 million people would lie dead from bullets and shelling and mustard gas; another 40 million from that accursed Flu. And perhaps worst of all, this would not be "the War To End All Wars" as had been promised, but instead heralded the beginning of a terrifying new age of technological nightmares. She looked at all of this that surrounded her, and then She knelt and wept by the body of a young poilu who could not have been more than 16 when his beautiful face had been blown off by a mortar strike. Her surviving followers called her "L'Ange De La Voie Sacrée", but at that moment, She felt less like an angel and more like a mass murderer for having helped lead these them right into the meat-grinder.

Industrialized evil; weapons of mass destruction and mass killings on a scale He/She had never seen before in any lifetime, especially when entrusted into the hands of ordinary Men who, in spite of all of their pretenses of being "enlightened" and "civilized", were every bit as greedy, arrogant, and cruel as any who had ever come before. He did not know what was worse, that these men were acting out of the influence of a higher and more insidious master, or that they had performed all of this evil on their own, without any need of the Ruinous Powers' direction. Perhaps the answer lay somewhere in between.

Karl tried to redirect His thoughts elsewhere, but now more memories were flowing into His head, recalling the emaciated faces of thousands crammed like sardines behind barbed wire fences, the yammering voice of all the Ruinous Powers distilled into one unassuming and mortal but maniacal man, the cries of little girls bathed in napalm as helicopters circled overhead, or the stink of the Earth transformed from verdant meadows into smoke and mud and decaying pools of toxic waste. Time had given Man the great power to destroy himself and his world, but not necessarily the great wisdom to use it.

...somewhere, in a secret military base, men in uniforms emblazoned with the Red Star and the Hammer-and-Sickle, were gathered around computer screens, in hushed silence. Red lights were flashing and klaxons were blaring, ominously declaring that an attack was imminent. Their leader, a colonel, was crouched over his desk, sweating as he pondered over what to do next. If this were indeed so, then they had no choice but to retaliate, even if doing so would almost certainly spell the end of civilization as they know it. But... what if that was not the case? What if this was but a false alarm? The colonel's instinct told him that something about this whole situation seemed off. His inner voice told him that the system was new, and had yet to prove its fallibility. The colonel trusted his instinct; the alarm was called off, and within minutes, his decision would be vindicated: it had been a false alarm all along, a small glitch in the network. The colonel did not dare show it in front of his superiors, but later he would close his eyes and quietly thank whatever higher power had given him the strength to keep a level head, and not succumb to panic.

Unfortunately, it would be only a matter of mere weeks before Humanity's very existence would hang in the balance once more.

Karl bit His lip. Oh, what a terrible year that had been. He had to stay vigilant almost constantly, as things had gone from bad to worse. To think that Humanity, in their infinite ignorance and stupidity, had brought themselves to the brink of oblivion not once but twice within the span of a couple months. These Humans now standing around Him, going about their daily lives, they did not know it but they owed everything to Him and Him alone. That episode had been a breaking point for Karl, had permanently left a bitter taste and convinced Him that maybe Humanity was indeed inevitably doomed, that civilization was slowly dying from rabies and the best He could do amounted to wiping flecks of foam from its lips.

Sometimes, if He could focus enough, He found He could catch brief glimpses into the possible future. There was always something treacherous about trying to see into the future, which was why He rarely did so, but now felt like an appropriate occasion to try. His mind dove even deeper into the aether.

The first sight He could behold was a great city on the horizon - New York, of course, He had been there many times before. Except now, the familiar skyline seemed to be on fire as a great cloud of ash and smoke smothered lower Manhattan. It looked like it was the World Trade Center, they were burning, thousands of people still trapped within them.

Still, further in the future, He could see... only more endless warring, more violence, more acts of terrorism and genocide... here, He could glimpse a massive refugee camp, somewhere in Africa, a camp that had been there so long, for a conflict that had been raging so long, that he could hear the cries of babies being born to parents who, themselves, had been born in this very camp. Elsewhere, He could see visions of the growing numbers of the poor and wretched, wallowing in increasingly packed urban slums whilst elites were oblivious to their plight, isolating themselves in their expensive homes and wondrous entertainments, fawning over the grotesquely decadent life-styles of celebrities and so-called "reality TV" stars but completely out-of-touch with reality.

In one brief vision, He could catch glimpse of what looked to be a bloodthirsty Ogre with lurid orange skin and wavy flaming hair and dressed in a business suit, locked in a battle to the death against a shriveled crone, in woman's formal attire. From the sides, their fanatical worshipers hooted and jeered, calling for blood and spectacle. Who would win? He could not see for sure, though He had the suspicion it did not matter, for whoever triumphed in the end, Humanity as a whole would lose, for the fact that these sad excuses were the finest leaders they could scramble together, and the accompanying theatrical comedy of errors that their political discourse had devolved into, spoke to a deeper moral corruption taking root in the people's hearts and minds.

Further along, there were food riots, oil wells running dry, dust-storms and drought plaguing the inland while hurricanes battered the coastlines, viral contagions rapidly spreading throughout the globe on commercial airline flights... and then finally, in the not-too-distant future, the world reduced to an arid wasteland, rusted hulks of old skyscrapers dotting the background like the ruins of another Rome whilst in the foreground, tribes of scavengers eked out whatever meager existence they could out of the leftovers of this civilization while ever vigilant for attacks by raiders, mutants, and other denizens of the wasteland...

Now, this was but one of infinite possible futures, and, by His reckoning, these few visions covered only the next half-century or so; any hope of seeing glimpses of beyond that required a power far greater than He could muster at this moment. It was difficult to say for sure; always in motion the future was, always changing, never set in stone. Everything He was seeing right now could come to pass, or it might not, and if the latter, it could be better, or it could be even worse. Karl knew He would have a part to play in all of this, but what exactly was that part and how he would perform it, He could not tell for...

"Ah Xiu! Run!" Smack. "Ahhh!"

Karl snapped out of it.

His vision slowly returned to reality, as His ears had alerted Him to some kind of ruckus going on in the next room, and the plight of the elderly owner, the one called "Uncle Guo". More importantly, He could see, in His third eye, that six more men had entered the backroom, forcefully. All of them were armed, all with the same malice simmering in their minds. They certainly hadn't come with the best intentions in mind.

The waitress, Xiuying, she too had heard the commotion, and was now heading towards the backroom to check up on Guo; Karl could sense the concern in her.

Out from the backroom, a large, bald man emerged, lumbering towards them. "No! Stay away!" blurted Xiuying, alarmed; she must have known him (or rather known of him) enough to recognize the threat immediately. She picked up a knife from the table she had just been cleaning and pointed it menacingly as she could manage at the man - it was tiny and rather pathetic, but the closest thing she could find to defend herself.

The dumb brute scoffed at her and continued to advance. Karl could sense the fear in Xiuying's head, the terror both for herself, but also for the well-being of Uncle Guo. Thus far, the lumbering mook had yet to take note of Karl's presence, and if He wanted to, He could stay out of it, leave or even just remain seated and shroud Himself entirely from their vision. But... He looked again at Xiuying, scared out of her mind for a fate she did not deserve, and yet standing there, looking defiant and determined.

Karl sighed. Sometimes He wondered if this was the worst thing about Humanity; in this life and all the others, He had seen them at their worst, and that would have made it the easiest thing in the world to turn His back on them. But He had also seen them at their best. Oh, what the hell... He reached for his open beer, and took a gulp, and then slammed the bottle down on the tabletop. That got the brute's attention.

"Huh?" bawled the thug (whom Karl could now see was named Choi). He noticed Karl for the first time and muttered sei gweilo under his breath (though Karl could hear him perfectly); he plodded over to where Karl was sitting, and banged his fists on the table. "You! Go now!" he barked, in broken English. "Go! You go!"

"What is this city coming to when a man can't eat his dinner in peace?" Karl growled back coolly, His voice deep and gruff but in perfectly fluent Cantonese. "You just gonna stand there, big boy?"

The thug looked surprised, but then responded by raising his right hand.

"Don't. Touch. Me." hissed Karl.

"Heh heh," laughed Choi as did just that, flicking Karl's forehead. "What're you gonna do about it, baat poh?"

It took Karl every bit of self-restraint He could muster not to simply have ripped that oaf apart from the inside out, there and then. Karl could feel His heart racing, His fingers twitched and His third eye flickered, but He knew He could and should be a far better person than that. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. And then, He swiftly kicked upward, planting His right foot deep into Fat Choi's groin.

Getting kicked in the balls usually, by itself, is pretty painful, but this was on a whole new level of pain. Karl could see very clearly into Choi's mind (not that there was much interesting to see there anyway) and had found a nerve center He could exploit. Choi let loose a blood-curdling scream such that you would think that someone were gouging his eyes out as slowly and cruelly as possible (because that was exactly what Karl wanted him to feel). Karl calmly stood up, grabbed Choi by his collar with both hands, and lifted him, leaving his feet dangling a couple inches off the floor.

In the next room, Karl could sense the five other mooks had been put on alert. He closed His eyes and refocused His mind away from Choi and onto each man as they emerged through the doorway... There were three, their names Sing, Little Chon, and Coolie. Two more, Viper and Shang, the leader, remained in the other room. Coolie had a gun, a... Norinco Type 77? Interesting, He had never seen one of those before. On the other hand, it was a semi-automatic pistol like any other He had seen before so it probably worked the same way. The other two gangsters were clutching axes...

Karl looked at Xiuying, who was staring at Him. Awe and curiosity seemed to have overcome her fear and determination, but still He wanted no risk of harm to her. "Hide!" He commanded, "no, don't worry about me!"

Karl threw Choi down onto a nearby table; it broke under the thug's weight and Choi lay there on the floor, dazed. His attention was now on the three others confronting Him.

"Stop!" shouted Coolie as he aimed his gun at Karl. Karl said nothing, but instead began stalking towards him, slowly, taking his time. "I said STOP!," continued Coolie, "I'll kill you!" When He kept advancing despite the warnings, Coolie pulled the trigger.

BANG.

Coolie screamed as the gun backfired; he collapsed backwards onto the floor, his hands bloody from the pieces of metal now embedded in them.

Sing and Chon were bewildered at what just happened to Coolie, but they didn't stop. They charged at Him, axes raised. Oh, they are so asking for this. Just as before, He could have instantly have killed them on the spot, but He knew He should hold back for now. Instead, He focused His mind on the room around Him, trying to get a sense of space and whatever there was at hand.

Moving swiftly like an arrow, Karl darted forward, grabbed a whole table, and then pushed it into the two assailants' path. He pushed it right into them, and kept pushing until they hit the wall, the two gangsters pinned in between. Sing and Chon swung their axes, but fell short and struck only the tabletop with a pair of loud thunks.

Karl's sixth sense notified Him of a new attacker. Fat Choi was back on his feet and now trying a second go at Him, this time having picked up a bench from one of the tables, swinging it like a club. Karl turned on the spot, and stopped the bench in His right hand's grip. Choi looked stunned at this, his muscles and veins bulging, right before Karl's left fist made contact with his face.

Choi let go of the bench; Karl gripping it tightly with both hands now, swiftly swung it around in a full circle, and brought it to collide with Choi's head. The wooden bench broke apart; Choi wobbled on his feet from the concussion, and then stumbled several steps backward before toppling against the far wall, right under a window.

In that time, however, Chon and Sing had pulled themselves free from where they were pinned down. Karl redirected His focus on them. It was then He noted that Xiuying was no longer in the main room; she was taking shelter in the kitchen. Good, thought Karl, that means...

Chon and Sing charged, this time trying to approach from two sides at once. And then, Chon froze on the spot, his eyes going wide; he was lifted into the air, where he hovered for a second, before an unseen force propelled him across the room, with the such force that he hit Sing first, and the two of them continued sailing through the air and right into where Choi was just now getting back to his feet. Choi crashed backwards out through the window behind him, and Chon and Sing followed.

Outside, Karl could "see", an awning hanging over one of the storefronts below caught all three of them in a heap... momentarily, for a couple seconds later, Choi's immense weight caused the canvas' stitching to rip, swiftly depositing all three thugs onto the sidewalk.

Satisfied, Karl turned and strutted through the doorway and into the backroom.

"Hold it right there!" barked the fifth gangster, the one nicknamed Viper, as he emerged from his hiding spot behind the door. He also had a pistol in his hands, pointing it point blank at the back of Karl's head.

Time seemed to stand still as Karl pondered over how best to deal with this, when He sensed someone moving right behind Viper. He couldn't help but smile.

Something thudded down hard on Viper's head, with such force that he was knocked unconscious immediately; he didn't even have time to react to the pain, either from the concussion or the hot frying oil that had splashed onto his head. Karl turned around and saw Xiuying standing there, a cast iron frying pan in her hands that she must have taken from the kitchen, breathing heavily.

That left only one bad guy remaining. Karl and Xiuying turned to face Shang, who was standing at the furthest end of the room from them, one arm clutching poor Uncle Guo by the shoulders, and the other holding an axe to his neck. Karl could sense equal parts confusion, fear, and rage boiling in Shang's mind. "What... what..." began Shang, struggling to get the words out, "...what... whatever you did, don't take another step! I'll... I'll... I'll kill him!"

"Really?" said Karl, calmly. He took another step.

"I'm warning you!" stammered Shang, "I'll... I'll do it!"

"Sure, go ahead," said Karl, sensing the doubt and hesitation running through Shang's mind - of course He would know, since it was He who had put it there in the first place.

Guo, feeling Shang's grip on him relax a little, immediately lunged forward. It took another second for Shang's clouded mind to register what was going on, but by then, Guo had managed to wrestled himself free, and turn around and grab the axe by the handle. Guo pulled, and yanked the weapon right out of Shang's hand.

And now, Shady Shang, rising star of the Deadly Axe Gang, the Legend Of Pig Sty Alley, Lan Di's Right-Hand Man... squealed and fled like a little piglet at the sight of one angry restauranteur, one angry waitress, and one angry patron advancing on him. Except instead of running for the open doorway he'd come in through in the first place, Karl had instead planted a different idea in Shang's mind: the thug ran to the window, and threw himself out, down towards the street below. Even with the din of the city streets, they could hear a sickening crunch, followed by gasps from bystanders.

"My hero!" blurted Xiuying, immediately throwing herself at Karl, wrapping her arms around Him and planting a little kiss on His cheek. Karl blushed. Okay, this is a little embarrassing...

He turned to face Guo. "You okay?"

"What... what..." replied Guo, breathing heavily, "what was that?"

Karl took a look out of the window. Several storeys below, Shang had landed on and broken both legs and now lay sprawled across the pavement, moaning in pain. The other gangsters had fled, so no one else was helping him, though pedestrians around him were gathering, pointing and murmuring. "I dunno," shrugged Karl, "you'd think something had gotten into his head."

Xiuying came to Guo's side and helped him to his feet. Karl, meanwhile, stooped to pick up the old man's glasses off the floor. He noticed several cracks in them. Knowing that they weren't looking at Him at that moment, He quickly closed his eyes and concentrated. The cracks disappeared, and the glasses looked good as new. "Here you go," He said, handing them to Guo.

"Listen, stranger, I... I don't how to say this enough but," the old man took Karl's hands into his own, "thank you. Thank you."

"We're not done here yet," muttered Karl. He strode back out to the bar. There, laying on the floor with his back against the wall, was Coolie, nursing his bleeding hands from when his pistol had backfired. Coolie looked up and flipped out when he saw Karl looming over him.

"Please! Don't hurt me!" begged Coolie, tears in his eyes, "this was all Shang's idea! He orders, I just follow!"

Lots of men have committed unspeakable crimes throughout history, because they were just "following orders", thought Karl bitterly, but He said nothing and just continued to glare silently at the pathetic little man. He bent down, grabbed Coolie by the collar, and then yanked him up. The gangster moaned and closed his eyes, expecting the worst.

"Nice Walkman," hissed Karl through gritted teeth. He pulled the device off of Coolie, along with the headphones; He could faintly hear ABBA's Dancing Queen emanating from the dangling ear-pieces. "I'm keeping this."

Coolie opened his eyes. He also noticed a growing wet patch was now spreading across the gangster's pants; He let go of him. "Now be a good little boy and run along," He snarled, "and if you or any of your friends ever show your ugly faces here again..." He didn't need to finish His sentence because He knew the other guy was already imagining the rest. Coolie nodded weakly, and ran off.

"Haha!" shouted Xiuying after him, "yeah, diu lei! Diu lei lo mo!"

Karl smiled weakly. The unfortunate truth of the matter was that the Axe Gang had fled tonight with their tails between their legs, but they could always come back, with new guys in their ranks, and at a time long after He had continued on his wanderings. Sure, there was nothing stopping Him from simply heading over to Kwun Tong right now, tracking down Lan Di and killing him along with every single member of the Axe Gang. But then what? Give it a couple months at most and other gangs would move in on former-Axe turf in no time, possibly even worse ones.

Karl was filled with a great sadness. This seemed inevitable about Human nature. No matter how many times He had brought the world back from the brink, no matter how many wars He ended, no matter how many tyrants He killed or little children He pulled out from the rubble - something would always rise again to take its place. Like the Lernean Hydra, every time He sliced off one filthy head, another two would simply grow to take its place, perhaps even meaner and uglier than before.

Guo emerged from the door to the backroom; he was carrying his little money box in his hands, his head bowed slightly. "Please, I want you to have this. All of it. Thank you."

"Uh, thanks, but that's not necessary," said Karl. "Tell ya what, I'll just have this on the house." He picked up the beer He had left on His table. "So... you guys gonna be alright?"

"Time will tell," said Guo, sadly, taking a seat. "But for now, we are fine. Thank you, friend."

"Who are you?" asked Xiuying, leaning closer. "Where you from?"

"Just... call me Karl," said Karl, "like Charles, but German."

"Your Cantonese is perfect," observed Guo, "you been here in HK long?"

"Oh, not too long," He replied. Relatively speaking... "I'm very good at picking up languages."

"Are you okay?" asked Xiuying, innocently, "you can spend the night with me, my home's not too far away."

"Uh..." began Karl. You know what, why the hell not? "Uh, yeah sure." He smiled.

And then, out of nowhere, Karl groaned. He dropped the beer in his hand; it hit the floor and shattered. An intense splitting pain hit His head as if every pain receptor had fired up all at once. It was excruciating.

Karl collapsed onto the floor, convulsing. His third eye was burning, a sensation He had rarely ever felt before, at least in this life. Between the bouts of madness, His mind glimpsed vivid visions of an enormous swirling purple and blue eye in the sky, lightning crackling all around it. It was not alone. There were many others too, opening up in the blackness of space like tears in the very universe itself.

And then, as suddenly as the vision came, it was gone again and His vision returned to normal. When Karl came too, sweating and feeling dazed, he could see Uncle Guo and Xiuying squatting around him, looking confused and frightened.

"Ah Xiu, he's sick; call the doctor!" barked Guo.

Before He could gather His words to speak, there was a rumbling in the air. At first, it sounded like a jet airliner coming in to land, as it was coming in from the northeast, where the airport was. A bright flash was visible in the windows, followed by a distant crash or an explosion. There were sounds of cries and murmurs from hundreds of people outside, and dogs and cats throughout the city barking and hissing madly.

"What was that?" said Guo.

Karl knew not what exactly it was, only that it meant trouble.

"I've... got to go," He groaned as He climbed to His feet.

"No, you have to rest!" insisted Guo. Karl ignored him but half-walked, half-stumbled over towards the open window.

"No! Please, it's dangerous!" cried Xiuying.

Karl did not answer, but pulled Himself out through the window.

He plummeted several storeys, but slowed down as he neared the ground, and landed gently on His two feet. He turned back for a moment and saw Guo and Xiuying standing by the window, looking down at Him; He did not need his third eye to see the concern in his face and the tears in hers and the utter astonishment in both. He nodded, and then turned and ran off, looking for the source of this commotion.

Writer's Notes: and that, ladies and gentlemen, was the God Emperor Of Mankind. Special thanks goes to chankljp who assisted with Cantonese, and antoine who assisted with French.

Now, there is an elephant in the room, and I think it should be addressed. As you probably noticed, my version of the GEOM is a slightly different one from what you may be used to. Some readers, on this website and the other one too, have reacted with hostility to this alternative version. All I'll say on this matter is: just roll with it.

Just in case anyone was curious or confused about the meaning of Karl's visions (some of which are quite abstract), they include the following: (1) a previous incarnation as the Indian emperor Ashoka Maurya, (2) Saint George fighting the C'Tan known as "the Void Dragon" along with legions of his Necron servants, (3) Renaissance writer Niccolo Machiavelli, (4) an unnamed Amazon warrior fighting in World War One and afterwards seeing the aftermath of the Battle Of Verdun (took place in 1916), (5) a vision of an incident in 1983, a year where two close calls occurring a few weeks apart nearly led to nuclear war breaking out (both of which happened in real life); (6) a vision of the "bad future" of the 21st century, as GEOM's limited abilities to tell the future only extends for a few decades (though these visions gradually dissipate once the Imperium arrives and interrupt the flow of time, rewriting the future in the process).