Chapter 10 – An Ancient Reunion
"Black Dragons are serious trouble. They cause drought, famine, pestilence, end of the world, stuff like that. If you see a Black Dragon, do not piss him off."
Gabriel Bowman
He had heard the rumor on the street and hoped that it had not been true. But there had been many that had seen the aftermath of the beating that Sully had experienced. Ultimately, he had lost his life at St. Elizabeth hospital. The attack had been too severe for the old man to survive. Before the ambulance could arrive, Sully had yelled a warning for he and the Preacher to beware…his killer was coming for them. Lefty had been told this by one of his comrades in arms. Normally, such an alert would have sent him to ground; hiding until he thought it was safe to come out. But the Preacher needed his help. He was not quite right in the head. He would not heed or comprehend such a warning, and perhaps end up like Sully. Lefty had formed an attachment to the old man who had difficulty fending for himself at times. The Preacher's days on the street were numbered. All Lefty knew of the man was that he had been some kind of clergy and was fond of quoting scripture.
Lefty had not caught up to the Preacher until dusk, in the alley near the old St. Joseph's Soup Kitchen. The place had been abandoned long ago, but the Preacher sometimes had a hard time remembering such things. The overcast skies covered what would have been a beautiful sunset, making the world a darker and colder place.
"Preacher." Lefty called out as he saw the man picking up a half smoked, discarded cigarette butt, his hand still clasped to his shopping cart filled with his acquired valuables. The Preacher turned and squinted as he tried to figure out who had called his name.
"Hey…Lefty. Where ya been? Been looking for ya. My soul magnifies the Lord…and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior." The Preacher beamed at the sight of his friend, his arms outstretched. The cigarette butt dropped from his hand, a future treasure to be discovered by another.
"Glad to hear it, Padre. Listen…something's happened. I don't have time to explain it all to you right now, but you have to come with me." Lefty grabbed the elbow of the old man with his one good hand, trying to pull him down the alley. He would take him to a spot that he had already scoped out. It would be safe for a while.
"And just where the hell do you think you two are going?" Randall Briggs had been about to make the Preacher repent his slovenly ways when Lefty walked into the picture, like a lamb to the slaughter. He felt the need to answer the question he had just posed. "To hell if I don't change my ways." Laughing at his own warped sense of humor, Briggs walked up to the two men without fear or caution.
The Vorschlag security man could taste his victory. He was already visualizing his triumphant return to the Tower to see the look on Irons' face when he recovered his precious bracelet…and all being achieved without once laying eyes on the infamous Ian Nottingham. Some assassin! Briggs thought with a smirk.
"I'm only gonna ask you this once. Where is the damned bracelet? The one that one of you animals stole from the alley near 47th and Lincoln." Briggs demanded as he grabbed Lefty's collar and pulled the man toward him, leaving the Preacher to cower nearby.
"Allow me to assist you in finding what you deserve." The voice had been so quiet that Briggs had almost not heard it. Loosening his grip on Lefty, he turned to face a man dressed in black who stood at the entrance to the secluded and deserted alley. Looking over Briggs' shoulder, the stranger directed his next comment to Lefty.
"Are you in good health, Sargent Harrison?" Lefty saw the man he only knew as Death's Angel as he peered over the shoulder of the man that probably killed Sully. The interloper's dark, cold eyes never wavered from the bully that had finally released the old man's fatigue jacket.
"Yes…both of us are. But don't think we would have been for long. Thanks, Death's Angel." The Sargent quickly gathered the Preacher and his belongings, ushering them towards the mysterious man he had only just met.
"My name is Ian…Ian Nottingham, Sargent. And I am happy to be of some assistance." Nottingham had declared his name more for Briggs' benefit. The security man's face was now turning ashen. Briggs had suspected who the intruder was but had hoped it would not come to this. It was one thing to coerce his way through college, intimidating a weaker opponent on the football field, or playing mind games to persuade others to do his bidding. But when faced with the dark reality of a trained assassin squaring of in front of him, Briggs could have gone a lifetime without truly knowing who was the better of the two.
It seemed the answer to that question was coming soon enough.
"Before you go…May I?" Nottingham gestured towards the Preacher's cart, asking permission to search for what he already knew was buried deep inside, having felt the amulet's pull. Sargent Harrison and the Preacher vigorously nodded their assent. Nottingham's eyes remained on Briggs who stood only a few yards away.
Extending his right-gloved hand toward the bundle in the cart, Nottingham's face grew still and almost shook with his concentration.
"Banrighinn! For the sake of your chosen Wielder, I call upon you to awaken the Warrior!" Nottingham's voice was strong and true. He knew his heart would guide him.
It was his dream, reenacted in his waking hours. He knew what to do…what to expect. He accepted the power that had been bestowed on him without question. Age-old voices encircled Nottingham, speaking in primeval tongues that he could somehow now understand, awakening the ancient warrior within him and Excaliber. The silver ring that Nottingham wore began to shine a bright light of its' own. The ring seemed to lose its' form, being replaced by a fierce and ghostly light, piercing the darkness like a sword. Nottingham's face was illuminated from below, casting peculiar shadows over his already cold expression. Briggs could only watch, overwhelmed by what he was witnessing.
As if in reply, a red glow pulsed under a pile of clothes near the top of the Preacher's possessions. The amulet of the Witchblade sent its' angry hues swirling in response to the call from the ancient ring that had been resurrected. The blade had a mind of its' own, and right now, it sought refuge with its' sibling of sorts, Excaliber, the powerful talisman thought to be dormant all these years. As the contents in the shopping cart seemed to move on its' own, Sargent Harrison and the Preacher backed away, gasping in fear. The Witchblade, still in bracelet form, leapt from its' hiding place and into the hand of Nottingham. The union of the two manifestations of light blended into one fiery orb, casting white and red streaks across the alley walls, like a beacon, swirling violently.
The Preacher sank to his knees, making the sign of the cross and closing his eyes in prayer.
"Take it…I didn't steal it. I found it." Wringing his hands, the Preacher exclaimed in a raised voice. "Take it for atonement…Secure your rightful place in heaven."
Nottingham lowered his arm as the glow diminished by his command, leaving only a dissolving gentle radiance of light that soon faded. He glanced down to behold his beloved's precious weapon before tucking it into a pocket of his long, black coat.
"If only it were that easy, my friend." Ian said as he turned his attentions to Briggs who still had his mouth agape.
Sargent Harrison did not know what to make of what he had just witnessed but he knew when it was time to leave…and now seemed like a good time. He gathered up the Preacher, pulling him from his knees, and started to push his cart out of the alley. Turning back towards Briggs, he called out.
"Hope you're flexible enough." He said with a smile as Briggs gave him a puzzled look.
"What are you talking about, old man?" He sneered.
"'Cause right now, you may as well kiss your ass goodbye." The Sargent laughed aloud knowing it would be the last time he would see Briggs again.
The Preacher had felt a sermon coming on ever since he had seen the bright light and thought he was beholding the end of the world. Turning to Nottingham, he declared.
"Forgiveness, my son! Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord." The old man could not bring himself to look into Ian's eyes as he spoke. Nottingham kept his eyes on the Vorschlag man as he replied.
"You are right, Preacher. It is not up to me to determine if this man shall be forgiven for his sins when he meets his Maker." Nottingham replied.
Sargent Harrison had looked surprised by Nottingham's remark, thinking he had misjudged the man. With a wicked smile on his face, Death's Angel continued.
"But it is up to me to make sure he keeps his appointment with God."
The Sargent's laughter could be heard long after he had rounded the corner with the Preacher in tow. Randall Briggs remained to answer for his crimes. He and Ian Nottingham squared off like two gunslingers.
Under that long dark coat, Briggs suspected Irons' assassin could house a multitude of weapons. He himself only carried his 9-MM Glock. How lucky did he feel? He thought. Images of the bloody massacre at 47th and Lincoln flashed into his head. He could feel the sweat trickle down his body under his clothes, even on a cool night such as this. He slowly moved his right hand closer to his shoulder holster under his suit coat. Nottingham still had not moved an inch. It was a gamble, but he had to do something. He smiled contemptuously as his hand finally gripped the butt of his weapon.
In a simple gesture, Nottingham slowly raised his bent right arm upward, waist high, as if in greeting. Commanding Excaliber to awaken once again, the silver ring cast a supernatural glow as it snaked its' way up Nottingham's forearm and morphed into the infamous broad sword of legend. A luminescent aura encircled Nottingham as he stood before Randall Briggs. The ancient warrior bloodline permeated every cell in his body, bonding with his soul, marking him with the destiny he had been born to brandish. He was infused with a confidence and power that he had never known. He felt invincible.
"What the hell kind of monster are you?" Astonished, Briggs had finally lost his composure.
"A Black Dragon." Nottingham simply replied.
In retaliation, Irons' man pulled his gun and fired several rounds. Moving at an incredible speed, Nottingham was able to deflect the man's bullets easily with the help of Excaliber. Briggs continued to fire as Nottingham walked slowly towards him, averting bullet after bullet, his eyes never wavering from Randall's.
"Consider this your termination notice." This was the last thing Randall Briggs heard before Excaliber implemented his severance package. One swift stroke…and Randall Briggs, untouchable on the football field, had failed to make his first cut.
So ended the promising career of Randall Briggs with Vorschlag Industries.