Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls.....He's Back! Everyone's favorite Trigun FanAuthor is quill-armed and ready to compose some of the greatest literary -- alright, that got old. Point is, I got sick of seeing the temporary ending to my own fanfic. Back for more. Enjoy :)

DISCLAIMER - Now, you know the legal stuff, but this is mostly for story purposes. There may be some discrepancies between actual storyline fact and what I have written. Please excuse this and if you like, point it out to me. Its been a while since I've seen the eps.

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Tiny cracks ran across the dark cobblestones like so many rivers. The mortar between the stones had long discolored and partially eroded. Dim, eerie light played upon the walls like phantoms in a decrepid haunt. Another church. So much irony in the world. The walls moved by slowly, and the dull roar gradually built, like a tsunami of sound moving slowly enough to instill fear that had time to marinate. Bodies became purposeless masses, wastes of space. Things seemed so minescule when the question of purpose was asked. But somewhere in the distant corners of the era, somewhere beyond comprehension of anyone anywhere, something had happened. Something had happened to a dead man.

Today was a dying day.
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The church was hell. There could be no other conclusion that would come to Wolfwood. He was hauled into what he assumed had been the chapel. Now, though, this place of sanctuary had become a gladiatorial arena. Old pews and new benches lined the walls in a crude circle, and they were stacked three deep. Nick sat on the blood stained floor of this unholy battleground, stairing at the newest object of his hatred. Sitting in front and just below a stained glass window depicting a cross, was Narsus. He sat in a huge chair surrounded by half-clothed women and armed men that had to be fellow Guns.
Nick waited. He was good at waiting. His seering gaze swept across the gathering. Half the town was here, maybe more. All cheering, jesting, and occasionally throwing things at him. They were here to watch him be killed. He thought his anger was at its pinnacle; he was wrong. With every face distorted in a guttural howl or fist raised to cheer, his inner anger magnified.
Nick hung his head and clenched his fists. So much hate. He could feel the bonds on his dogma weakening. He was saved, however, by the sudden hush of the crowd. Narsus had stood, his presence was a silencing catalyst. Something was happening.
"My dear people," that monotone, emotionless voice was the bannerman for the inevitable. "Today I've brought you sport." He pointed to the still shirtless Wolfwood, "This wretch who wishes to disturb our peaceful ways, against our champion," the pointing hand swept to a gap in the pews. "Myar the Mace." No sooner had the words left his mouth did the crowd again erupt as the Mace emerged.
He was huge. Not tall, necessarily, actually about Wolfwood's height. His arms looked like knotted chords of rope and his chest belonged on a mountain with all its fellow boulders. He wore a mask over his face, and his right hand was a circular club.
To any man of sane mind, this would be a fate to face hoping a quick death. Not Nicholas. He stood, rather, he uncoiled. They wanted sport, these patrons of this vile residence. His hands clinched and unclinched, just waiting.
"Fight," Narsus smirked and sat, draping one leg lazily over the chair arm.
Mace came at him with hardly more than a snarl. He swung his club arm with enough force to fell a tree, or crush Nick's skull. He wasnt even close. Nick sidestepped out of the deadly arc and danced backwards. This foe was strong, but not fast. How could he kill so easily? What posessed this man, this creature, to kill so willingly? Nick allowed his confusions to seep into his concentration, and he faltered. Mace drove a shoulder into his stomach and sent him sailing like a rock from a sling. The impact cracked the pew he landed against.
Nick stood, slowly, only to meet another advance. The bodily spear drove air from his lungs and forced his eyes into an involuntary bulge. Darkness mingled with bursts of color in his vision. Another blow to his body came, and another. He slumped, and slid against the rough wooden planks. Perhaps this was the end, again. Mace lifted Wolfwood by his throat, grinning a yellow-toothed grin. Death was so imminent. Nick felt like he could reach out and touch the darkness that awaited him oh-so-comfortingly.
He opened his eyes, expecting the darkness. And it happened.
Maybe it was the rage that erupted inside him, maybe it was his unwillingness to die, or maybe it was the scene that had played out before him. As Mace hoisted him so bodily upwards, Nick had come into full veiw of Narsus. He was sitting there so arrogantly, so mockingly, just in front of the window with the inset cross. That was it.
Anger erupted as power.
He couldnt be sure, but when he batted Mace's arm away, Nick distantly remembered hearing it snap in half. The man's eyes widened and he fell away in an unceremonious pile, groping at his arm.
Nick walked purposefully toward Narsus. His eyes where white, and no man, no being would stand before him. Rightousness had manifested. Two armed guards snatched shocksticks from their belts and leapt over the barrier, charging for the Priest. The first unfortunate to reach him was dealt a killing blow that broke every rib from sternum down. The second managed to slide to a stop just as Wolfwood's kick broke his neck.
Crowd members began piling over the barriers, wanted desperately to save their master. Wolfwood became tangled in the mass of bodies and watched near-helplessly as his "prey" slowly walked back into the recesses of the church. Whatever anger erupted previously held no candle to now. His scream slew assailants, shattered walls, and directed the force of God through the surrounding buildings. It was a devistating effect. Wrath driven righteousness had not been seen in a very long time, not since Fifth Moon.

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I have a strange feeling that tells this chapter sucks x_x. Agree or disagree if you like. Thanks.