Wow, chapter twelve is now up. In case you care the story is sixteen chapters long, which means this is almost the end. This chapter is also the long awaited story of why the ronin was banished from the tribes, as told by the ronin himself. Secondly, I had quite a bit of fun in this chapter actually expanding on Endelon's character in some small ways. I think he's a very interesting villain with a host of problems and foibles all his own. I hope you enjoy what small nuggets I managed to slip in. Also, this chapter will have a lot of dream imagry, which I find is hard to write and wouldn't mind hearing opinions on. In any case, join the heroes as they explore the nightmares of the past


Fall of The Heroes: A Tale of Detroit

Chapter 12: Nightmares of the Past

You are mine. His voice was thick and ragged. Slurred with the burning desire that was coursing through him. Kendar stumbled forward, his steps clumsy and ungainly. She slowly fell back before him. That bewitching smile on her face as she watched him come. A smile that should not be for Kendar. A smile that was his, and his alone.

Endelon's dark blue eye blinked slowly as he withdrew his face from the edge of the worn iron doorway. He took a few steps back and leaned against the rough hewn stone wall of the tunnel. He could hear them now. Kendar's deep and rumbling grunts and groans of inept and crude lust. Her own soft and gentle whispers. How could she stand it? How could she allow it? She was not so simple as to be content with Kendar's crude ministrations.

Endelon turned away and walked silently down the tunnel, his long black robes drawn in about himself. He could feel the white hot stabs of pain from his klaives as they pressed against his skin. They sensed his anger, they felt his desire. Desire for blood, desire for her. Endelon snarled as he reached the doorway to his own chambers and slipped within them. The small stone room was bare of all adornments beside a carefully folded blanket and a set of whetstones for his weapons.

Those blades now hummed as his robes billowed open and they spun into his hands. Black cloth snapped in the air as his body twisted and lashed out in a fast and furious orchestra of deadly motion. The silver blades slashed through the air, crackling trails of fire hissing out behind them. He moved with grace, yet it was grace tinged with unrestrained rage. The blows were both beautifully elegant and murderously brutal. The trailing lines of fire drew pictures in the air, images and drawings of death.

He had ever spurned the feeling and desires of the flesh. Such acts had been beneath him. He had been the small one. The unhealthy one. The one that all the elders had known would die before his fifth year. But he hadn't, he had survived and he had grown deadly. He couldn't be stronger, so he had been smarter, quicker, more deadly, more cunning. Each time he had entered battle with one of his fellow Dancers he had been allowed no mistakes, he had to kill them without allowing them to strike him, for they had ever been stronger and more powerful. Even one error would have slain him, yet he had survived. He had been perfect.

Silver fragments coated in green fire slashed through the darkness. His robes billowing and twisting around him as he spun through the motions. He was Endelon. He was the Master Assassin. When he walked through the tunnels of The Hive the others averted their gaze and slunk out of his path. His dark blue eyes reflected the bright green flashes of fire. His body slowly started to be coated in a thin sheen of sweat as he continued his practice. Time blurred to him, all that was clear was the hard practice that had molded his skills into deadly perfection.

But then she had come. The white hair, the woman of mystery, she who served the master. She had looked him in the eyes and laughed. She had moved with deadly grace and precision in her attacks. Yet she had seemed so delicate too. Her strangely pale skin and stark white hair giving her the appearance of sickness. The appearance that she too had been an unhealthy one. She was so deadly, so delicate, so desirable. The blades snapped out in one final double lunge, his mouth opening in a strangled cry of despair as he held the blades frozen and silent before him.

Most impressive. A soft clapping sound came from behind him. Her voice a delicate and cool breeze against his fevered and sweating body. His blades flashed once more as they quickly disappeared beneath his robes. He turned around to look at her. Her pale porcelain features were now dirtied and smudged with sweat and grim. Her luxurious hair was in a wild mass of disarray, as though someone had been pulling heavily upon it. Her worn and bloodied dress was now even more torn and ragged. Strips of tantalizingly bare flesh now visible beneath the shredded patches of tattered material.

I thought you were with Kendar, said Endelon softly as he lowered his head slightly. The shadows of his hood falling over his face and concealing all but his glinting blue eyes.

I was, she replied softly as she gently stepped into his room and looked around it. Her wide hazel-green eyes slowly surveying the bare walls and floor. Her lips crinkled up into an amused smile. But that was two hours ago, even Lord Kendar has his limits. She looked up at him coyly through her wild white hair. He darkly noted the bruises around her delicate white neck. I must say your room is much lessextravagant then his.

It holds what I need, allowed Endelon coldly. His eyes watching her carefully as she wandered around the room, one of her hands brushing along the wall. She continued her circuit of the room till she reached where he stood against the stone. Her hand shifted from wall to his chest, small fingers brushing along the ragged cloth of his robes. He looked down at her, his dark eyes dangerous. She looked back, a small smile dancing across her lips.

Tell me, she breathed softly, what is it you're thinking?

Lord Endelon! At the cry Endelon's head snapped to the side to glare at the door. Flea-bitten shoved his mangy face into the room, his wild gray hair splayed up around his filthy and wide-eyed face. Lord Fer-guath wishes you to move the captive to the temple. The ritual is almost ready.

Of course, hissed Endelon as he quickly slipped past the Theurge and back into the winding tunnels of the Hive. Flea-bitten fell into step behind him, a wide grin on his palsied face. But Endelon also barely heard the silent footfalls of her, as she too followed.


How is this the way to The Pit? Have you lost your fire already? Snapback's voice was angry and held a tinge of some other emotion to it that Leona couldn't place. Not that she didn't somewhat agree with him, the ronin had claimed they were going to The Pit. Instead he had brought them to this apartment. Leona sniffed the stale and musty air with disgust. This was a bad place, a place of despair and loss. She didn't like it, not in the least. She glanced at the ronin curiously, Charlie had said this was where the ronin had lived. She couldn't imagine the horror of dwelling in this place for any length of time. Tell me, snorted Snapback, are you so addled with Harano you have forgotten even your past glories?

The Pit is more then just a place, said the ronin softly as he brushed aside empty bottles and beer cans to clear a spot in the middle of the floor. It is darkness given form. If you go there unprepared then the only thing you shall find is death.

So this is to prepare us, asked Charlie as he walked over to stand by the ronin. Snapback crossed his arms with a scowl as he lurked in the doorway. Leona nervously took a few steps into the room and watched as the ronin lay his wooden case out in front of him.

Yes, this is to prepare The ronin's hands lightly caressed the lid of the box, his eyes taking a far off look. Come, join me in the circle. He motioned to the area around him. Charlie quickly sat down to the ronin's right and looked expectantly to the others. Leona's ears flattened against her head as she slowly padded forward and sat to the ronin's left. Snapback growled in the back of his throat as he grudgingly took the last spot. Now, join your hands.

Leona's hackles raised slightly in annoyance. With a snarl she forced herself to accept the humming murmur that dwelled on the edges of her perception. Allowed herself to feel the words and the thoughts of the humans. Her fine coat of tawny fur gave way to weak and unprotected pink flesh. Finely balanced muscles shifted to surround ungainly long bones as her legs twisted into arms. Her back stiffened and forced her up into a sitting posture as she assumed her homid form.

There are some blankets in the closet, managed Charlie as he nervously fidgeted.

Leona growled at him. Charlie shrugged and turned away from her, his eyes anxious and nervous. Leona sniffed in annoyance as she shook her head and allowed her wild mane of blonde hair to drape about her bare shoulders and chest. She reached out and took up Snapback's and the ronin's hands. Across from her Charlie did the same.

Now focus upon the wood grains of the box, said the ronin. Wait and look deep within them. Leona did so. Even as she started to watch a droplet of water fell from above and splashed upon the polished finish of the box. The droplets fall, like tears from above, intoned the ronin softly. They were our tears as we stood in the darkness alone

Leona felt as though all the light had suddenly fled the room. Even the box seemed to fade away into the shadows. All that was visible was the small puddle of water as another tiny droplet fell upon it. Leona watched the pool quake at the impact of the drop. The water shivered and shook in surprised pain at the impact. But then the pool would calm, grow bigger and larger for the gaining of the drop.

You see it, don't you? The ronin's voice sounded distant, as though he were speaking to them from some deep hole and wasn't sitting right next to her. Leona gripped tightly at his and Snapback's hands, feeling as though they were all that held her tethered safely from a fall into the eternal void around them. The water suffers from the joining, yet it is made stronger. So must you know the suffering. You will hurt to hold together, you will suffer for your loyalty. But know that only together can we succeed. We must not separate from the pool and become individual drops. We must not allow division!

There was a sudden flash of red before Leona's face. She jerked back in surprise as she felt a fine spray of mist hit her face. She could smell the heady aroma, it wasn't water, it was blood. She saw a white furred wolf spiraling away. Watched its frightened eyes as it spun through the air and faded into the void. Then the void seemed to take form, it shrank away to reveal that the void was the dark depths of two black eyes. Leona couldn't see the face, but could almost feel it sneering at her.

The beast known as Tyranthraxus is the Corrupter of Souls. He is trickery and deceit. He will lie and mislead you at every turn. The eyes seemed to melt away, or perhaps only grow larger. Again Leona was engulfed in the darkness. She heard distant cries and shouts, as though a great outcry was being raised. She saw a small, slim shape, a woman whose hair grew into great clouds of black feathers. She opened her mouth and screeched in frustration before being drowned beneath the swarming feathers. Only now the feathers seemed to shift, becoming shadowy and fanged visages of wolves. You must hold fast to yourself and your pack, only then can you survive.

A figure suddenly stood amongst the field of wolves. The shadows all seemed to draw away, leaving him alone in a darkness beyond shadow. His back was to her, and his shoulders hunched. The man's arms were caked in thick red blood that slowly dribbled down his hands and dripped from his fingers. The wolves seemed to creep back, their fur became tinged with the blood, the hair becoming a crimson carpet of gore. There was a flash of silver light as the Garou rune for duty flared into view. Leona squinted her eyes as she fought against the glare. She watched as the rune slowly reshaped itself, the silver flowing like water, into the rune of death. The scarlet wolves soared into the air, lashing around in a spinning storm. Their razor sharp teeth slashed and tore at the man, he howled in sorrow as he was buried beneath the swarming, snarling shapes.

The rune of death slowly melted again, forming a gleaming puddle that shined with an inner light. The blackness slowly seemed to withdraw as another splash of silver landed upon the drop, causing it to quiver and shake. Leona blinked her eyes and realized the drop was only the puddle upon the box. She looked up at Charlie and Snapback. Snapback's face was clouded and confused, he looked at the ronin through slit eyes. Charlie's face was drawn and flushed, he looked wide-eyed at the ronin.

What was that?

A warning about The Pit, a memory of things that once were and should never be again. He reached out and grabbed the box, silvered droplets of water raining off it as he picked it up from the floor. You are as ready as you shall ever be, we should go.

snarled Charlie as he rose. I want to know, and I don't want some evasive nothing for a reply. Who are you, and what do you know of The Pit?

the ronin slowly turned back to them, his face calm and unreadable. I have no name to give.

snapped Charlie as he rose. You know the other heroes well. You have secrets that even Jo doesn't like to talk about. But if we are to travel with you and be as one to succeed in the Pit then no secrets may be held from us. You know of the Pit as you know of many things. Tell me why! The ronin's head had sunk lower during Charlie's speech, yet now he glanced up, dark eyes glinting dangerously.

You want the truth? Is that it? The ronin smiled horridly as he looked Charlie in the eyes. I am he who is spoken of in whispers. I am the one meant to walk alone. I am The Eighth Hero of The Pit.

The forgotten hero, breathed Charlie in shock. The breaker of the circle and betrayer of the tribes?

Leona felt an uneasy tingle at the base of her neck as she eyed the figure. She knew now why Argent had warned her of the ronin. He was The Eighth Hero. The hero who had fallen from his path and slain two of the other heroes during the battle of The Pit. He was the hated betrayer. An example of the darkness that others had to avoid within themselves.

Why didn't you tell us, snarled Charlie angrily, you are not a Garou!

You never asked, said the ronin quietly. it felt good to help once againeven if only for a little while.

We shouldn't have had to ask! Dominic was right about you the entire time! Leona glanced up at Charlie in surprise, his face tight and red in anger. You are urrah, you are a fallen one, one of the Wyrm's own! Charlie stormed forward as he shouted. The ronin quietly stood his ground, meekly accepting Charlie's tirade. You act as though you have advice to give, as though you have honor? The poem, of course you wouldn't have wanted to hear the poem! I should have known Jo was up to something when she was so elusive! A ronin indeed, Charlie spat violently.

Jo told you that, asked the ronin softly.

snapped Charlie. She had me all thinking you were some great tragic warrior. Instead you're Charlie's face grew calmer, though his scowl didn't lessen in the least. His next words were quiet, yet spoken as though they were pure poison. He spoke the words of the poem, words of the final hero. The Eighth Hero, a wolf the Wyrm did tame. His skills of cowardice and fear, cast down in the darkness where friends lie slain. His actions and evil are cursed here, he is a wolf who no longer has a name.

To the ronin it looked like no harsher words could have been spoken. Leona watched, as with each syllable of the poem the ronin's face seemed to become slightly paler. She saw his hands slowly curl into fists. Spotted the muscles of his arms twitching with barely restrained urges to attack. Yet his eyes he kept on Charlie, as though he sought this punishment, as though he desired the hatred. Finally Charlie finished, his sneer slowly slipped away to just be replaced by the face of a boy who has had a dream broken.

Why what, asked the ronin calmly, even though his muscles remained tight and ready. Why didn't I tell you, or why did I do it?

This is what Dominic kept accusing you of. It was never made clear in the poem. What did you do, how did you betray them?

Will knowing make it easier for you, asked the ronin calmly. I doubt it, leave the past alone Charlie, let it stay buried. Leona hopped to her feet and crossed her arms across her bare chest as she snarled.

I thought we were supposed to trust each other.

That's right, Charlie said with a nod. Are you trying to be a separate drop of water? The ronin jerked his jaw slightly upward. His eyes seemed to flick up to look at the ceiling. His gaze lingered there, his eyes watching a drop fall, and looking intently at the small piece of water that was left behind afterwards.

Very well, I'll tell you the story. The true story of The Pit.

The ronin took a deep breath as he forced himself to enter once again into those passageways. To not forget, but to remember


The spirits grow uneasy, this is an evil place. Moros Argent swung his talisman spear before his eyes, the rune covered shaft glowing with a faint blue luminance as he scanned the area. Avoid the right passage, it leads only to death. We must go up, to the left passage.

The others listened to his words and then turned to Marn, the Galliard of the Get of Fenris who led their pack. His thick brown hair hung in coiled braids around his stern face. One of his thick hands rubbed along his chin, scratching at the wild brown whiskers there. Before them lay a carved entrance, with two possible paths. The entrance was an arch, formed from stone into the shape of two coiling serpents. Their scales inscribed with twisted and wild writings. The language of the Dark Litany, the writing of the Black Spiral Dancers.

You know what I think? We're trusting the spirits a little too much here, literally! They all turned to the slim shape who leaned nonchalantly against the wall. She pointed to the passageway. Look at where we are, now if-

You overstep yourself, Chatterbox, quickly cut in Quentin. The Theurge brushed aside his wavy black hair to clearly reveal his bright blue eyes. Old Graybeard, he indicated Marn, is alpha here, he makes the decisions. From where he had been lurking near the back Dominic stepped forward and lay a restraining hand on Jo's shoulder, cutting off her protest.

Relax Josephine, Quentin is right. You are not one of us. You have not a voice in the pack. The Corax muttered to herself as she slouched back against the wall. The others once more turned to Marn, who nodded and motioned to the left.

We trust the spirits. So saying he started forward once more, the others falling in behind him. The ronin brought up the rear, his keen senses alert and ready as he watched for any ambushes.

Are you ready then, Slash? The ronin glanced up at the slight laugh as Quentin spoke the words. Despite being a highly talented Theurge and a serious student of the mystical arts Quentin had an uncanny knack for flippancy at the worst of times. For instance, the lousy nicknames he had created for each of them. Quentin again brushed back his ever unruly black hair as he smirked. You seem tense, Slash, almost as if something were wrong.

We are in a bastion of the Wyrm, pointed out the ronin softly, it is thus wrong by its very nature. Suddenly he paused, his nose twitching at a sudden scent. His eyes narrowed as growled. Do you smell that?

Suddenly the very walls themselves seemed to attack. Large insect-like creatures whose exoskeletons resembled the black rock of the tunnel leapt from all sides to the attack. Beady green eyes gleamed in the darkness as barbed tails snapped and hissed in the air. The ronin fought in a blinding whirl of speed. His form shifting and changing like the wind as he twisted and danced amongst them, leaving a trail of death in his wake. Marn bellowed as he lead the push through the creatures, his mighty claws ripping a path.

Ahead could be seen the glow, the glow of The Pit. He pulled out his weapons, silvered claws that he strapped to his wrists. The three blades on each claw extending over his hand to create a deadly tool of death. The cold metal burning him even as it would burn his foes. They burst out upon a walkway of stone above the bubbling green lake that lay below. The eerie light filled the massive cavern, illuminating the Maw, the dark temple that rested above The Pit. Forms surged forth from the bubbling green morass. Twisted abominations impossible to describe and horrific to gaze upon. The beings of nightmare swarmed up onto the walkways and made to engulf the small band.

Here's where I take my leave, Slash, laughed Quentin as he raised his hands. The spirits suddenly swirled around him. Spirits of anger ripping at any that came too close, spirits of the wind lifting him into the air, spirits of stone protecting him from injury. Marn and Dominic rushed alongside him, the three cutting through the strange creature.

There was a squawk of surprise as Jo was suddenly batted aside by a collapsing body. Moros, the Silver Fang Theurge toppled back, a dozen black barbs embedded in his chest. The ronin snarled as he spun and leaped to the Theurge's side, his claws ripping through any of the beasts that got in his way. He fell to his knees next to the wounded Silver Fang and snarled in worry. Argent was looking at his own wounds, then turned to look fearfully up into the ronin's eyes.

I need to get out of here, I'm too weak now to aid Quentin with the ritual.

But can he do it alone? The ronin glanced warily back to the temple where Quentin was even now starting the ritual. I heard you two speak of it, the danger and strain

He shall have to, gasped Argent, his eyes swimming with pain and a touch of fear. I cannot go on! I have to get out of here! He shall have to do the best he can.

Get him to safety, snarled the ronin as he looked up at Jo. The thin Corax nodded timidly as she rushed to aid Moros. The ronin turned and sprinted along the pathway to aid in the defense of Quentin. The joking young Theurge now their last hope. Swarms of the pit pushed in around them, trying to crush their very souls. Marn, mighty Marn, his claws and fangs drenched in gore as he fought the hordes, stood proud, urging the others on to greater glory. Behind him crouched Quentin, protected from danger by the skilled Galliard. Quentin, his magic strong within him, prepared the ritual that would send the Black Crystal into oblivion. They had to protect him, and so he battled the hordes.

Beware, there is danger about! The ronin quickly ducked as the sleek white form sprang past his head to land amongst a fresh swarm of the creatures in a shower of gore. Snowflake, beautiful even coated in the blood of her slain foes, smiled at him as she sprang back from the angered beasts. Even as she did he sprang forward, meeting them even as they tried to pursue her. The creatures were caught off guard, and his claws tore deep into their unprotected flesh. Then he twisted away, and she was there once more, the last of the beasts falling to her perfectly timed assault.

They stood side to side as they held the walkway. They moved as one, each of their motions part of an intricate dance that only they knew. They flowed as water, becoming together more then they were apart. The creatures flailed wildly at them, but such clumsy attacks couldn't touch the perfection of his and Snowflake's style. As he struck she retreated, as he ducked she leapt in, as she slashed from the right he would bite the left. The beasts swarmed forward in a mad rage, and in a swarm they died.

Suddenly First-to-Find exploded, his body torn apart by a wave of darkness. Malise, the mad sorcerer had finally arrived. His dark magic spun about him as he tried to save his temple and his god. The dark creatures of the pit fell away before them. The ronin's senses swam with the battle, his eyes locked on Malise. He leapt towards the sorcerer. His claws hummed through the air as he sailed in for the kill. Malise laughed, his magic energies swirling about him. Suddenly a blur leapt up in front of him, blocking his path. A jaw opened and clamped down on his throat. He reacted without thinking, striking with blinding speed, his silver blades hissing in blurred streaks. Claws Flashed! A throat was torn!

He fell back to the hard stone of the walkway. Blood gushed and flowed out of the mangled flesh of his neck. He hissed in pain as he grabbed at the brutal wound and tried to staunch the flow of the blood. He glanced over to his attacker, and his world crumbled around him. Snowflake lay upon the ground, a bloody gash along her ribs from where he had struck her. She glanced up at him weakly, her eyes brimming with confusion. Blood speckled her lips, his blood.

Malise howled as green flames crackled around his fingers. His hand snapped forward as a roiling wave of thundering green fire spun out to destroy him. The ronin kicked out with all the strength left to his body, his muscles straining as he shoved out against the stone. He twisted in midair, curling his body up and rolling away from the edges of the flame. The impact of the blast jarred him, the edges of his red fur were singed by the intense wave of heat. Stone cracked and split apart as the walkway shattered under the force of the magical assault.

He heard a weak cry of surprise. He twisted about in time to see her. A fragile shape of white fur caught in the edges of the blast, her body thrown back and over the edge. He roared in denial as he once more commanded his muscles to sudden action. He sprang forward, his body landing roughly upon jagged and superheated stone. His fur smoking and burning as flesh was scorched. But he ignored it all as he lunged half over the edge of the walkway, his eyes locked on the trailing arc of her hand.

He reached out, his hand grasping only air as he stared down into fear filled eyes. But it was too late. Her small white body tumbled helplessly down through the air. Like a snowflake. And then she was gone. He howled in sorrow at the loss.

He turned over weakly to look up at Malise. The mad sorcerer-priest floated in the air above him. Malise snarled as he raised his hands for the final strike. The ronin felt his body go limp and weak, his will to fight gone. Suddenly there was a loud squawk of outrage. Malise looked up in surprise as a black raven swept in towards him. It slammed hard into his gut, wings beating, claws scratching, beak tearing. He squealed in pain as dozens of deep gouges and cuts were ripped into his belly. He batted at the raven as he turned and quickly fled, the bird cawing violently as it pursued.

The ronin weakly sat up and turned towards The Maw. The steps of the broken temple ran slick with blood. Marn leaned against one of the toppled pillars, half of his face torn apart, blood leaking from the cavity that had once housed his eye. Dominic stood at the top of the steps, his once silver klaive now drenched in blood. He snarled in defiance at the beasts that still stumbled up the steps towards him.

Suddenly there was a cry. Quentin's hair suddenly lifted around his head as though caught in a great breeze no other could feel. A blindingly bright light emanated from his hands as he raised them and pressed them against the Black Crystal. There was a thunderous clap and a wave of energy billowed forth from the temple and washed over the chamber. Where it touched the abominations they dissolved with cries of fury and loss. Dominic and Marn screamed in shock as they were blasted forth from the temple, their bodies crashing down hard to the ground.

The ronin staggered through the strange haze of the dissolved Wyrm creatures. He paused by Dominic, who groaned as he tired to pull himself back to his feet. The ronin went to aid him, but the Shadow Lord only snarled and shook him off. The ronin quickly turned away and rushed over to aid Quentin. The young Theurge lay collapsed on the floor before the Black Crystal. He was dangerously close to the deep pits that had been shattered in the floor during the conflict. The strange gem now seemed more like a dead piece of dark stone then the malevolent crystal they had come to destroy. The ronin quickly leaned down and pulled Quentin up and away from the precipice, the young man sighed as he regained his senses.

I did it, did you see? Quentin turned to glance at him, and the ronin felt his body freeze at the sight he saw. Quentin's eyes had changed, no longer were they bright blue. Instead they were deep pits of black, darker then even the most starless of nights. Quentin slightly pushed him back and nodded in thanks. We have done well. You should see to the others, I am fine. I simply need to see to the final stages of the Crystal's destruction.

The ronin glanced back at the Crystal. Indeed it did no longer spark or gleam. Instead it was pitch black, the same black as Quentin's eyes. In fact that was the very feeling he got from it, as of an eye. Watching, waiting, learning of its surroundings. He looked into the blackness of the Crystal and saw why it no longer glinted in the light. It had glinted as the light had shone through it. But no longer could anything shine through it, for now it was full. Filled to the brim with pure darkness. Quentin shifted, his hand reaching out for the Crystal. In but an instant he would touch it, and release an untold of horror. The others were too weak, too far away to do anything. There was only an instant till his hand touched it

In the flash of a splitting of an instant the ronin's hand snapped out, his clawed grip wrapping tight about Quentin's wrist and holding it fast. Quentin spun back towards him, his black eyes burning as his lips curled back in a snarl. His other hand rose, a brief flare of fire flickering around his claws. But they were unnatural flames, as black as the darkness of the Crystal. They seemed not to cast light, so much as to absorb it. The hand lashed in for the ronin's torn throat, the fires seeking his flesh.

Movement came without thought. Years of training sending immediate responses to his limbs. Claws flashed! A throat was torn! Quentin's face grew shocked as he staggered back. Blackness suddenly seemed to seep out of him and return to the Crystal. His eyes locked on the ronin's. The bright blue orbs wide with horror and betrayal. Then he fell, bright red blood frothing out over his pale brownish blonde fur.

Are you gone mad! A black blur smashed into him from the side, sending him sprawling to the ground. Dominic Rends-the-Darkness' stood over him. His face twisted up into a scowl of fury. He raised his blade, the klaive's silver glow shining under the blood to create a morbid reddish hued light. In that light he saw Marn drop down next to Quentin. Saw the leader of the pack glance up at Dominic and shake his head slowly. Dominic spun back to him, his eyes as hard as ice. What have you done?

The Crystal, gasped the ronin, his voice hollow and moist from his throat wound. Blood dribbled out around his lips as he tried to speak. it changed him. His eyesthe eyes of darknesslike the Crystalhad to

The Crystal? Marn turned and bent over it. His back faced them as he crowded over it. Dominic waited silently, his eyes never wavering from the fallen form of the ronin, his grip ever ready on his klaive. Slowly Marn turned around, the Black Crystal gripped in his bloody claws. His face drenched in the gore of his wound, his remaining eye narrowed and angry. He held up the Crystal, the dim red light of the klaive glinted through its gleaming sides. What of it? Quentin banished the darkness, and saved us all. For this you slew him?

Hey! I'm back! The slim form of the Corax came lightly running up the steps, her long dark hair tossing around her head. Her eyes suddenly widened in confused surprise as she saw them. She slowed and came to a stop. Her mouth fell open and worked silently for a few moments, finally she managed a few quiet words. What happened?

This is none of your concern, snarled Marn as he turned and stormed out of the chamber. Dominic, bring him. Now!

Come traitor, Dominic hissed coldly as he grabbed the ronin and roughly lifted him to his feet. Jo watched with a quiet look of confusion and sadness on her face as he was shoved past her. Dominic's face was cold and his eyes burned with anger. The gleaming blade of his klaive was kept near to the ronin's back, forcing him forward. We have methods of dealing with your ilk


What are you?

The question seemed to roar around her. She felt her body tumbling in the wind. But the wind was stale, stagnant. She tried to reach out her hands, to find anything amidst the darkness. But her arms were held firm in some strange shifting restraint. She gasped for air, her throat feeling dry and dusty. There was a bitter tang in her mouth. Blood. She was fairly certain it was her own. And there were the screams. The screams of spirits that surrounded her.

I am his.

Had she said that? The answer didn't seem right. She was no one's but her own. She tried to shake her head, but a splitting pain suddenly filled it. The blinding flash of light flooded her senses, burning and tearing at her mind. And then the darkness was back. Flowing through her like cool molasses. Thickly coating her burns in a salve of serene, relaxing, calm. She sighed slightly and relaxed.

Who are you?

This would seem to be a question with many answers. Often had she lain awake nights wondering this very thing. Was that where she was? Was she asleep? Was this a dream? If so, when had she fallen asleep? She did feel tired. But something didn't seem right. Something in the back of her head, struggling to get out. Pushing against the blackness.

I am the Chosen.

She was one of the chosen. But was she the Chosen? There was a difference in the two, she was certain of this. The darkness flowed through her, promising ease and pleasure if she would only let it coat her all. But that seemed wrong. She had never let anything enter her so totally. Her mind seemed to shift. Steel doors clamping shut and blocking out the darkness. She breathed in deeply as she concentrated on the cool liquid. Pushing it back from her.

What shall you be?

Each push against the darkness felt like a titanic effort. It was as though she were trying to run through thick, black, mud. It was hard to breathe, her lungs burned, her muscles ached. But she still fought against it. With each shove of her thoughts the liquid seemed to flee before her. With each step forward the path became easier. Soon the slow push became a walk, which became a run, which became a headlong dash. A dash towards awareness.

I shall be Him.

For whom shall you die?

Even as she spoke the word the other voices fell silent. The chanting and cries of enraged spirits ceased. She growled as she slowly forced her eyes open. She knew who she was, she knew what she was. They seemed angered that she did. Their ritual had failed, and she remembered.

I am Syntax, Theurge of the Glass Walkers. I am Garou. I am a chosen of Gaia. And I live yet.

Around her the Black Spiral Dancers fell silent. She was held aloft by a pair of tentacled Banes. The two dark spirits hissed in frustration as they saw her eyes clear and her gaze grow focused. She saw the two that had claimed her. She remembered fighting them, but they had been too skilled. She had lost. She remembered them picking her up, taking her with them. She had been captured.

The thin dark furred one that had killed Moros stood silent and motionless. His black robes drawn in around himself. His cold blue eyes glaring at her. Next to him lurked the female. Her wispy white hair hung around her waist, curling about the tattered blue summer dress she wore. Smears of blood and smudges of dirt stained her otherwise flawless skin. Her delicate lips curved upward into a mocking grin. Finally, standing directly before her, was a fearsome figure. Clad in ceremonial robes fashioned from the flesh of once living things, the Spiral stood tall. An ornate and rune encrusted staff was clutched in one hand, dozens of bones dangling from it, while even more were braided into his patchy gray fur. Only one eye looked at her from his sunken features, its ghastly green glow seeming to gleam with an evil that was not meant for this earth. She knew this one.

Fer-guath, master of the hive, she hissed quietly. She knew that she was doomed.

Yes, my dear, came his sibilant reply. He leaned towards her, his thin mouth splitting open to reveal dagger-like fangs as he grinned at her. At least you have my' name correct

The ritual began again. She screamed.


All of them spoke against me in council, each of them telling of the horrors I had committed while succumbing to the madness and evil of that place. The ronin continued on with the same quiet and calm voice he had been using to tell the entire story. He could feel the muscles of his body tense, his throat was feeling raw and sore. He could see it all so clearly, each moment of that leap towards Malise. Each horrible instant as his claws tore into her and she was cast down. All of them spoke against me, save for Jo, whose word was not accepted in a Garou council. He actually felt his lips twist up slightly at the thought, remembered how'd she yelled at Marn and Dominic, recalled the frustration in her dark eyes as she had heard his sentence pronounced. She had not been sad, just frustrated and annoyed, he almost smiled. She left Detroit then, for many years she traveled elsewhere. She was not pleased.

And they performed the Rite of the Lone Wolf, asked Charlie softly.

The ronin remembered it as the council had handed down the sentence. They had taken him to the heart of the caern, surrounded by packmates, friends, his fellow Garou, his family. Dominic himself had spoken the words. He had slowly described each of the ronin's accomplishments. At the end of each the entire collection of the tribes would utter, this deed is no more, it is forgotten.' Finally, when he had been stripped of everything, including his name, Dominic had turned his back. Then so had each and every member of the caern. He had walked away then, alone, unnamed, unremembered. I left the caern, I have not seen it since. I have been, from that day forward, a forgotten wolf, a nomad, a ronin.

spat Snapback as he rose and turned to the others, we should leave this place, return to the caern! We are polluted by his very presence.

sighed the ronin softly as his jaw jerked upward in a slight nervous tick. He glanced up at the water stains around the AC unit. The brownish blobs seemed to twist and dance before his vision. They seemed to be the faces of his packmates, faces looking on in judgmentand then turning away. Perhaps this was all a mistake. I am as much a danger to you as I was to them. You should not travel with me.

He slowly rose to his feet. He looked at each of them one last time. And then slowly turned his back to them. Leona twisted her head about and emitted a few strangled breaths of air, the sound of human vocal chords trying to emit a wolfish whine of confusion. However Charlie still stood quietly by the door, his eyes looking at the ronin carefully. His anger from before seeming to have drained away as he had come to terms with the situation.

You should come with us.

The word came out of three throats at once. Snapback's a snarl of anger. Leona's a gasp of confusion. And the ronin's a soft whisper of hope.

You are not urrah, said Charlie plainly. I have looked into your eyes and seen nothing but loathing and self-hate for what you have done. Now is your time. Tyranthraxus rises again. Gaia needs you to fight for her once more. The tribes need you. We need you. Charlie held out his hand and looked the ronin dead in the eye. His face burning with the purity and belief he felt for his words. Come with us, I think we'll need you to last through the night alive.

The ronin looked at the offered hand. He glanced at Leona and Snapback. The large metis had his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed in anger. Leona's face bore a look of uncertainty. Her wide eyes watching him with a contrasting mixed glance of distrust and respect. He looked back at Charlie, looked at the fervor burning in the young pup's eyes. It was the look that Charlie had used when Dominic had spoken. The look a hero deserved. The ronin tilted his head back and looked once more at the water stains. However this time they seemed to only be distorted blots upon the ceiling. He waited, but they took no form, nor gave any message.

This choice was his alone to make.