Prophet and I huddle down behind a patch of what looks like sage. It smells good but I instinctively feel that it's toxic; which sucks because it smells like it would have fried up fairly well.

The night is tight and would have that sort of hazy background noise that crickets and an almost infinite number of other insects make in the humid air of the Cambodian jungle. It would have if it wasn't filled with cracking reports from small arms and the occasional lazy buzz of heavier projectiles. In a surreal way, battles at night are beautiful in their own way with the maddened dance of tracer fireflies stitching the air.

Being trained by the Paragons has its downside. Being of comparable combat capabilities to all of the self-cultivated members of the group, I occasionally get called upon to assist them in their own brand of crap. The deal on Senior's island seems to have solidified Immortal's opinion that I should be helping them deal with their problems. Not sure why I'm obliged but he seems fairly sure about it.

That said, Monty understands the whole occult bit a lot better than I do and if he thinks this is worth helping them interfere with, then that's good enough for me.

Monty's going to make a pass with Immortal and Arahat in a few minutes, hopefully going to draw a few of the flight capable minions into the open so that Prophet and Pagan can blast them. I'm tasked with keeping them and Saint alive through the battle. Shaman can take care of himself.

For the first time in a few years I'm wearing that strange custom combat armour that Immortal had made for me, shotgun and all. Today, my primary weapon is a ten gauge shotgun with buckshot, each pellet formed of a talisman wafer wrapped in sanctified silver from the Vatican. I have no idea why materials relevant to different religions would function together but they're deadly to both our quarry here and those that summoned them. I have a whole book worth of talismans on my belt, each inscribed with the necessary incantations to cast a single ward. The air is so heavy with malevolent magic that static electricity is dancing over the etched wards on the surface of my armour. Tonight is going to be a special kind of fight.

A huge number of bat-like twisted beings, formed from the possessed and ruined forms of children snatched from the nearest city take to the air on their foul, leathery wings to pursue the Montys and Immortals that swooped through moments before, smashing and cutting dozens of the insane cultists that manned the outer defences.

The freak monsters are too slow to catch them as they rocket skyward. The little wretches try to pursue but are met by sweeping waves of ball lightning and choking clouds of flies and biting insects. Showers of scorched and stripped bones begin to tumble through the canopy onto us. Saint cringes under the rain but she seems to be coping well. I can't imagine someone who knows that God himself has her back would be particularly jumpy but then again, she's inherited a whole legacy of dying young from the line of saints. Not on my watch. I'm going to bring her home safe and sample some of that sweet gratitude of hers.

There's a man sneaking up through the bushes a little to Prophet's left. He's good, I'll give him that. Most of the crazy big game hunter style villains that Kim and I faced over the years make more noise than this fellow. I'll have to keep my eye on this one.

The main defences are ahead in the form of a set of trenches surrounding the cluster of buildings that form the compound. This would be easy if it weren't for the fact that the defenders seem to have more ammunition than they can manage to keep in storage and a large number of unskilled but enthusiastic men acting as troopers.

It's hard to believe that something as innocent as a Wicca message board could breed into something as extreme as this. One innocuous little message that one of Arahat's agents noticed a little while ago exploded into a tightly knit web of chat-rooms full of people exchanging notes on how they had summoned demonites and even minor demons. Someone along the way thought to suggest that they delve into the more impressive summoning rituals of the more commonly available magic books. Before you know it there's a small group buying this property in the middle of the Cambodian jungle so that they can do little experiments and turn their techniques towards whatever goal the big thinker in the middle of the web has in mind.

I wouldn't be surprised if it was one of the whole crop of new 'freedom fighters', villains by another name who wish to rest control of the earth from Drakken so that they can rule it themselves. The only reason that Dementor isn't part of that crop is because he's currently happy with the scientific leaps and bounds that he's achieved since that little partnership with Wade worked out and Senior's funding began to seep in. He's pretty much running the Southern Europe branch of the rebellion these days.

I shock back into the real world as I hear the sniper in the rough begin to squeeze the trigger on his rifle.

I look down on him, twitching slightly as I shift my weight from one branch to another. The combat knife makes a slight ping noise as it leaves the holster and I pull it up to beside my face in a guard position with the blade protruding from the back of my fist.

The gunman is almost directly beneath me, his rifle aimed at Prophet. Janice is a nice girl, despite her mother and I'm not about to allow the only piece of ass I've met in five years that my mother would approve of to catch bullets with her face. Who knows, maybe I'll be able to get a little gratitude for this. My game face goes out of the window at the thought of maybe even tapping both her and Saint at once. Maybe have a whole gangbang with just them and a lot of me.

Knowing that that won't happen if I don't intervene, I execute a perfect drop, slamming a foot into the but of his rifle and soaking the impact into my thigh muscles. He barely gets the chance to gasp as his bullet sails off into the sky and I plunge the knife into the meat of his back. It's a shallow wound but it'll be debilitating. Instantly, another of me is beside me, grabbing him by the mouth and flipping him over.

We exchange a slight glance as we both realise that it's a woman. I begin to smile harder but he has to be a spoil sport and not let me have any fun. He grips her neck with his free hand and carries her off, undoubtedly to take her to Dreamer and the rest behind the lines.

I never get to have any fun.

Even after all this time, I still hate that part of me. Not because he's there, but because he thinks how I wish I didn't. Just going near him as he looked at that sniper lying on the ground made me feel dirty. His thoughts sit heavy in the front of my mind, like soil stuck to my boot. When I'm close to him, I feel his desires scratching at the edges of my own and I feel somehow stained by it.

I carry her away from him as he slips invisibly back into the night to go take his frustrations out on some other poor bastard. I still don't trust him ever since I took it upon myself to lead a mission in the mid-states and stood most of the watch shifts by splitting myself. I was roused from my slumber because of extreme pressure in my jeans. I couldn't fathom it, until I took a moment to take stock of my emotions.

Jocelyn still hasn't forgiven me for pulling him off her. She was living out all of her dirtiest fantasies about me with a version of me that was more than willing to play that game. I can still taste the sweetness of her lips, hear her little gasps of pleasure, see the joy in her eyes when I let myself sift through those memories. One day, I may try to reconcile with her, but I'm honestly not sure if I would want to return to being her friend or to have what he did. She reminds me so much of Kim that it tends to rake open wounds when I see her angry at me.

Head in the game, Stoppable. Another of me takes up my place next to Rufus and Prophet, though I hope he won't be needed. The little mole-rat is theoretically capable of looking after himself, having most of the original Rufus's abilities and brains, though he lacks the original's mystical abilities. In all honesty, if the original hadn't died of accidental arsenic poisoning in Israel, I'm sure he could have attained longevity through training similar to my own. As it is, the clones are competent enough helpers but can't really be relied upon in a pinch.

Monty comes in for another pass, turning a selection of small rocks into a deadly shower of exploding projectiles. I feel the shallow gasps of dozens of unlucky cultists as they're cut to ribbons by the razor-edged flint shards. I rally a fistful of Immortal's porcelain warriors and charge down the hill.

The one thing that I never thought about when I began this was that there may be things other than humans in these trenches. A hulking, clawed shadow with a bulky, distended skull and paper thin white skin leers back me. Not a demonite but a real live demon, with actual anatomy. Fascinating, though summoning is a cornucopia of disturbing concepts.

I rack the slider and fire a blast from my shotgun, cutting through the air where it had stood, obliterating a demonite behind it that looked like the bastard offspring of a dog and a really ugly chick. It collapses to the ground as a sizzling pile of whatever filthy mix of sand, flesh and excrement that they used to bind the damn thing. I twist, knowing what the cracking sound behind me is going to be.

Three of the terracotta soldiers have been smashed to powder in the time that it takes me to blink. Further up the trench, a trio of me's are blasting away at an approaching mixture of demonites and human soldiers sporting local made parangs, glowing with unhealthy looking shades of light. The big, shining black eyes of the creature regard me with a mild dispassion before it lashes its serpentine tail and lunges towards me, moving like lightning.

I watch as if the world was shrouded in a grim strobe light as it moves towards me in jerks, slightly out o phase with normal time. It's a cheap trick but hugely effective. I watch as my shotgun barks again, the tiny pellets spewing forth and the monster dancing between them with a faint hint of humour on its lipless skull. Wishing it wasn't going to come to this, I drag the totally non-magical but warding etched katana from my back and bring it to bear in one smooth, if desperate move. Outsized talons batter it aside as though it were little more than a stick, though both wards and flesh glow slightly as they clash, smoke rising slightly from the edges of the marks.

I leap backward and raise my guard, trying desperately to think of a tactic that will allow me to slay it or at least open it up from an assault from elsewhere.

Fortunately, I don't have to wait long. With a classic disregard for safety or wisdom, Rufus comes sailing through the air and hammers into the side of the beast's head. Whether it was momentarily distracted by the pain of the wards or simply didn't realise what was happening because Rufus is a clone, I don't know. Based on its reaction, I'd say it was the latter.

It reels violently as Rufus clings on for dear life, his sharp little claws digging into the side of its head, between the loose folds of the beast's skull.

"Rhakchath, meere-gul, rhakchath asolom!" it screams in terror. Unfortunately, I know exactly what the abyssal tongue means due to Saint's little gift. I heard something more akin to, "horror, beast what is this, horror being?"

For a moment I stand phased until the answer presents itself. Rufus has identical form to another entity but lacks the essences that the original had. Therefore, he's an incomplete being, lacking much of the spiritual component. To a spiritual being like a demon, that's like having a black hole stuffed in your ear. Hmmm…Black Hole Deep.

I take the opportunity to lunge at it with a strong overhand strike. It parries but is forced onto the back foot. I drive it back with a further combination of the phoenix rises and the bull lowes, forcing it to drop into what looks to be an unbalanced stance. It lashes out with its tail, though I catch that strike with an open palmed strike, a chi flare emerging from the core of my being. It screams slightly as it tries to bring its talons to bear on me. Instead of parrying the second blow, I slide backwards and sever its wrist. Boiling black ichor spills onto the clammy ground as it screams a howl that could have melted the flesh of an unshielded mind.

As it reels, I thrust the blade of the weapon through the base of that ugly distended skull. It passes clean out through the top of what I assume is its brainpan, black blood spraying up and down the blade and cascading onto my hands.

Dragging the weapon free, the blade flicks and swings in a neat arc, smoking all the while. It stares at me in disbelief for a moment.

"How?" it gasps with a hollow whine before it collapses, forcing me to avoid its deadweight. I scoop Rufus into my hand, realising a little of what the thing found so unpleasant about him. There's no way that he could have jumped like he did to get to the side of the thing. Both he and I look back to where he flew from.

Squatting at the edge of the trench is a duplicate of me. Same one. He's grinning like a whole bottle of sinner and his eyes are sparkling.

"Forgive me?" he laughs.

Rufus and I both chorus the word "No" at the same time, before I look at the little dude on my palm and declare "Jinx, you own me a soda!" at which he sulks a little.

I retrieve both the sword and my shotgun from the muck, carefully checking both to ensure they're undamaged and clean enough to function. The sword looks like its seen better days but the lotus isn't much good for dealing with stuff like demonites. Nothing to stab.

Several of me and one of the Montys have successfully broken through one of the secondary defences, clearing the way to the central bunker. Pushing through heavy fire, I shift myself into a less consistent form, allowing some of the shower of semi-demonic bullets to pass cleanly through me. These kids seem to be trying to enchant everything that they can to make life as hard as physically possible for us. That or they're trying to make up for the shortcomings of their defences. Leaping over a small barricade, I dispatch a couple of the defenders with sword and shot. The one on the left falls back, smoking and burning as the pellets break into her body.

Vampires.

I hate vampires.

Another shot, clean and precise to the heart causes her to collapse into dust. This just got a whole lot more dangerous.

Vicious running battles occur throughout the corridors of the building and the rooms adjoining them. The passion me is causing numerous casualties and bringing down numerous others. I know that he's merrily killing most of the men and disarming and binding the women, taunting them with their powerlessness before moving on.

It worries me that the most powerful part of me is not the trained disciplined core of me but the insane, unfettered passions that burn within me. Even with twenty five bodies running around the place he isn't all that dilute. He's easily as powerful as my core personality and sometimes disobeys me when there are only two of us. Ever since the Joss thing, I've never had fewer than a half dozen bodies if I have more than one.

Eventually, side by side with the passion me, I break through into the inner sanctum of the complex. There must be more than a thousand demonites guarding this place and they keep spawning from the filth that scattered through the halls of the buildings. There are traps that make the Indiana Jones movies seem sedate and at one point, I was forced to cancel the bindings on some of my bodies after they were crushed under a huge boulder. A huge flaming boulder with eyes.

As we survey the scene, wondering where the next demonite or vampire attack will come from, I measure a small flash of movement at the back of the room. A hooded figure slits the throat of a young local girl with fear in her eyes and as the blood cascades off the athame onto the floor, the air behind the figure ripples and it steps back through the wall. I assume that it's some form of gate spell that was prepared in advance. I don't really have time to consider this, however.

In the centre of the room, in the middle of I complex pattern of lines and circles stands a gigantic, almost ridiculously stereotyped demon of massive size. He must stand around fourteen feet if he's a day, with horns pointed forward and a smile on his bullish face that could sour milk.

"I've been waiting for you Stoppable," he announces slowly, looking straight at me, not the copy. My blood runs cold.

I have enough time to tip my head in confusion as a torrent of fire rushes over both of me. We split, going in different directions. As the fire settles, I begin to hear whispers in the centre of my being. More cheap tricks but unfortunately, I think these ones were better chosen for the opponent.

I hear promises of a lifetime of luxury with Kim by my side, ever loving ever attentive. Saint, Prophet, Bonnie, Joss, Monique, Yori and Anne are offered to me in turn, in every possible combination. I feel a horrible feeling running down my spine as a massive sword that looks like it's made of twisted bones and shoulder blades whistles through my position a moment before. The blood must have broken some of the circles.

The demon is the least of my concerns at the moment. The whispering has intensified slightly, coming from two directions at once. I look over at Passion Me, knowing what's going on. The seduction in these suggestions is affecting him more because duty weighs lightly on him. He's grinning at me with pure joy cutting sickly through the edges of my trademark smile.

Knowing that I'm going to start turning against myself and the others, I cut the enchantments holding his form together. The sad fact is that I don't need this demon to have what I want. I just need to forgive myself and get on with it.

Another blow hammers down on me. This time I can't dodge it and the blade shatters clean through my katana. Not that it was anything more than corroded junk by this point.

"I'm surprised that the simulacrum caved in so easily. You have a powerful mind, just as my contractor warned me."

"Passions are easily turned but they're also some of the most powerful allies."

"Your wisdom exceeds your years, whelp."

"Who is your contractor?" I demand finally, stilling my dodging and dancing long enough to allow the lotus to coalesce from the smoky, bloodcoated particles ripping free from my skin, rather than flowing out of the puckered valves of scar tissue that have formed at the edges of the tattoo.

He begins to swell up to the size of a small building, filling the big chamber clear up to the roof. Cheap tricks but avoiding blows from a sword that's now the size of a bus is tremendously difficult.

"I take it that this mysterious contractor told you about my powers then," I state, knowing that it was unlikely. He grins and brings the sword down on me again, as if it will make the slightest bit of difference. I can feel hair growing from the flanks of my face, a hardening in my brow and a twisting in my feet. I've reached right into the centre of the monkey power and I'm joining with Sun Wukong to wield it fully.

Raising one hand in a seemingly hollow gesture, I don't even bother bracing myself. I've defeated every kind of demon imaginable through force of arms or trickery. I have favours I can call in from all the corners of heaven to have him removed. I have friends who could summon the wrath of God himself, the hosts of heaven or legions of the greatest heroes from a thousand societies. He doesn't stand a fucking chance.

The blade hits my palm as if it were being gently passed to me, though it could have razed a city block with its gentleness. We stand there, frozen in the moment. I could live in that moment. I have such faith in myself and right now, I know what it is to not only believe that I can do anything but to know it. The demon looks past the blade in confusion, as if he caught his coat pocket on a door handle.

"Growing to giant size is a parlour trick," thunders a voice a thousand octaves below my normal goofy tones, rattling my own ribs. "Let me show you how it's done, grass hopper!"

Without word, gesture or thought, I begin to expand. As his sword is pushed towards the ceiling, he steps back in surprise as I reach his eye line. We exchange glances that speak whole volumes as to out understanding of the situation. Letting go of the blade, I point my hand, open palmed at the gigantic unholy bastard.

My head pushes against the ceiling, pushing though it like it was damp paper. There's little resistance and the whole thing falls away. As I reach double his size, I reach down and pick him up one handed.

I stare at the horned red doll in the centre of my fist, feeling contempt that seems out of place. I've trained for years to respect the abilities of my foes but right now, I'm so far out of this little bound bitch's league that it really isn't funny.

"I suggest you start talking about your contractor because you've already breached that contract. You ain't going to win this."

"I really don't think so, Human," he smiles as his mouth distends like a cartoon character's and bites solidly into my finger.

I feel little pain from this but something in me snaps back into a shape that it's never been in before. A snap of my wrist hammers him down into the ground. A hundred million metric tonnes of astral iron comes hammering down onto his head as he tries to grow up to be my size, the star metal wishing staff in the form of legend right now.

"Feel old Monkey's cudgel!" I breath gently as he explodes in hellish fire, setting swathes of the damp foliage alight in a horrible grey flame. I feel Immortal buzzing around my head. Rufus is still clinging to me desperately, panicking. I know that he has no idea how I did any of this and I think the change of appearance shook him slightly.

"You tapped into the hsien essence in the middle of the power?" asks Immortal, coming to rest standing on the air in front of my chest.

"Seems that way," I reply, genuinely confused, "it doesn't feel like it did when Arahat taught me to do it thought. I feel, I don't know, whole."

"I think you've learned a lesson that only you could have taught yourself, Ron. It seems that soon, the student will truly have exceeded the masters."

"You know, I think I may well have, Hsien," I reply without any hubris whatsoever. He smiles at me as I begin to let the truth of my situation shine through into the core of my being. All of the magics I have woven during the battle begin to unravel, the lotus sinks back into my skin and Rufus scurries to the safety of my belt pouch. I know what I have to do and as I approach my original size, I make a decision.

"That's the first time you've ever referred to me by my real honorific," said Immortal quietly, "but that isn't enough for me. My name is Gary and Arahat is called Ross. We want you to know that."

"In a few years, I'll contact you, Gary. At that point, we'll reclaim your wife and children. Until then, I have a woman who needs to know how much I love her."

I smile faintly, an expression mimicked by Immortal, Gary apparently, and by the shard of Sun Wukong sat in the centre of my soul. Moments later, I'm gathering the cloud trapeze beneath me and before you know it I'm in Middleton.

I set myself down in well kept fields of the Highfields cemetery. It's the middle of second watch and if I stay here fore a few moments, Diablos will be bearing down on me. I honestly don't care.

I sweep the stones from Kim's grave, knowing for the moment that her death should be a source of joy. Hell, I could visit her in heaven if I wanted, one day I may do so.

"I love you Kim, but today, I need to love the living."

I sail into the air and pass cleanly through the ground into the sewers. Still flying, I hammer along sewers, maintenance ducts and steam tubes of the city.

I burst through twelve layers of security like they're made of paper. I barrel through the base, searching for someone specific. I find her in the mess hall. Landing, gusts of wind hammering out as physics catch up with me, I put my hands on her shoulders and lean in as she talks to Wade.

"I'm sorry, Wade, but I need to talk to this vision for a moment."

"Ron…?" she begins as she turns her head to look at me through the corner of her eyes. My lips meet hers, cutting off the rest of whatever she may have been about to say. A thousand hours of restraint melt and I kiss her like she truly deserves; gently and yet with such force that I can feel her hair stand on end and hear the crinkling as she grips the fabric of her pants. As I pull back, she sits there, a look of utter peace and happiness on her face, eyes closed and the faintest smile you ever did see on those beautiful lips.

A hand appears under her shoulder and I have her stand before I realise what I'm doing. Catching myself, I sweep her off her feet and carry her carefully to the door which a pair of my fellow rebels hold open for me. I turn briefly back to the room, as her head buries itself into the crook of my neck.

"Gentlemen, you can have the lovely Miss Rockwaller back when I've made it absolutely clear how much she means to me. At least twice," I declare before leaving the room to thunderous applause.

Author's Note: Before you wonder, yes, this is my favourite chapter I've written so far, though the next one, which you'll have to wait until at least tomorrow for is also awesome. Perverse as it is, I enjoyed the process of proof reading this more than the current chapter of Dune that i'm reading.

Anyway, this is part of a complex subplot that should probably have been partitioned off into another story like the time-travel bit, but it's here instead, making life more complicated for you poor dears, struggling with my non-linear madness!

Health and sanity where it's due, Thom.