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Author's Note: To answer some questions from the reviews: Harry2, Brutal2003, you will get most of the answers regarding Angelus right here in this chapter. Just read on. And Darklight, some more info regarding Faith (including her relationship with Logan and whether or not she has adamantium bones) will be revealed in an upcoming story arc, tentatively titled 'Solo Missions', as Faith heads off on a (you guessed it) solo mission to the world of New Texas (extra credit to anyone who can tell me from what fiction-universe that world hails from).

And now, on with the show!

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Power Politics 4: With No One the Wiser

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The White House
Washington DC, USA
January 11, 2000

Parallel 047

#

Your name is Rupert 'Ripper' Giles and in your own world you were Sorcerer Supreme, the most powerful mage alive. This is not your world, though, so things aren't quite as easy as they used to be. Thinking back, maybe things were a little too easy back home. Maybe that is the reason you grew complacent and let your guard down.

Well, that and the fact that, despite all the trappings and arcane mysticism of your position, you are still a man. A man who made a fool out of himself for the love of a beautiful woman.

Feeling your attention wander you forcefully focus your thoughts back on the here and now. You are Sorcerer Supreme, but your opponent is a crafty mage himself. Additionally this world you are currently in has but very little in the way of magical energy for you to access. Most magic, as you well know, is the direct or indirect result of demonic activity on the Earth plane. Chaotic forces that have bled over from those realms where the laws of nature never had any meaning in the first place.

This world has been spared any sort of contact with the demonic, at least until today. There is a certain magic to be found in nature itself, as all living things have a power of their own, but it is power on a level much lower than you are used to dealing with. Thankfully you have your own innate power to draw on, as well as that of the artifacts you carry.

The All-Seeing Eye of Agamotto is not a weapon per se, even though it has been used as such more often than not. Its primary function is the piercing of illusions, the unveiling of secrets. Now it has risen from its resting place on the chain around your neck and placed itself on your brow, right over the position of the mystical third eye. You close your natural eyes, seeing exclusively in magic now.

Wilkins is strong, you realize. For a century and more he has dabbled in darkness and has absorbed much of it into his own being. He is still human, but only marginally. Willow 12 informed you that he was planning an Ascension, wanted to transform himself into a greater demon. You can see that this process is already partially underway, but remains unfinished for now.

Even as you deflect the offensive spells he is throwing at you the Eye of Agamotto allows you to see his weak spot. In magical combat the mindset of the opponents is often just as or even more important as their physical health. Magic depends on willpower. Determination. Despite his almost playful demeanor Wilkins has both in abundance. Yet there is a broad chink in his armor. One you intend to exploit before he might come upon some way to hurt you in turn.

But a moment later Wilkins starts screaming as his skin crawls with insects, rodents, and germs the size of his fists. He can feel them under his skin as well, can feel them carrying their poisons into his blood. Some part of him knows this is but an illusion, but that part is drowned out by the violent phobia the Eye of Agamotto has shown to you.

We all have something we fear, you muse as you slowly walk towards the screaming bundle of flesh Wilkins has become, a gesture from you preventing the sounds from reaching beyond the room. You are well aware that a fear has taken hold of your own thoughts. A fear you will have to conquer one day soon lest it destroy you.

Now is not the time, though. With a sigh you prepare to begin the incantation Willow 12 has developed with you in order to take care of Wilkins once and for all.

#

Congress Antechamber, United States Congress
Washington DC, USA
January 11, 2000

Parallel 047

#

Your name is Charlie Young and you are the personal aid to the president of the United States. When you came to the White House less than a year ago you were looking for a job as a bicycle messenger, but instead your application was put on Josh Lyman's desk and before you knew it you became a near-permanent companion of the most powerful man in the world.

Said man having the uncanny ability to be extremely loyalty inspiring one minute and rather exasperating the next. Latter is the case right now, as the president has somehow managed to forget his lucky pen in the car. He has a lucky tie, too, but that one is for speeches before the democratic party. The lucky pen is specifically for speaking to Congress and he wants it in his pocket. It not being there means you have to run back to the car and get it.

Passing through the empty lobby, though, your trip back to the car becomes delayed.

There is a man lying on the floor. A black man with a mustache and blood running down his face. His legs, what you can see of them, seem to be broken in numerous places and bent out of shape just for the fun of it.

A moment later you see the second man. He is big and dressed all in black leather, a long coat draped over his shoulders like the wings of a carrion bird. He stalks around the fallen man in a circle, a predatory smile on his face. The lower half of said face is covered in faint scars, almost as if he was burned there a long time ago. A moment later his eyes fall on you and your blood runs cold.

"Hi there, kid! You here for the speech, too?" The words sound friendly and casual, but the tone sends chills down your spine. You want to turn, run and get some of the Secret Service agents who should be all over this place, but something about the man's eyes holds you in place.

Those aren't human eyes.

"Why don't you stay there and watch a little?" the man suggest, though it's unmistakably meant as an order. One you can't help but obey. "Believe me, voyeurism can be quite the entertainment."

He looks back towards the fallen man, who tries to crawl away. Even with his eyes no longer upon you moving is an impossibility. You can't do anything but stand frozen and watch.

"Don't mind the audience, Trick," the man tells his victim. "Where was I? Oh yes, I was about to tell you why it was an incredibly stupid idea to try and get past me all by your lonesome. You thought you were smart sneaking past the do-gooders down in the tunnels, weren't you? Figured you could get into the Congress chamber and ... what? Slaughter them all? Not that I mind slaughter, really, but I'm afraid I have other plans."

The downed man ... Trick? ... tries to speak, but now that he has raised his head you see that his jaw is broken. No, broken is too harmless a word for it. It is shattered. The lower half of his face is in ruin.

"Let me guess," the man in black says, still grinning. "You are asking yourself why a bastard like me is doing his merry best to stop your evil plans from coming to fruition. Several reasons, actually. One, I don't care for vampires that work for humans, even if the human in question is a right bastard himself. It's the principle of the thing."

Vampires? Did he just say vampires? You are quite certain that you heard correctly, but vampires? Is this someone's idea of a joke?

"As far as the other reason goes, well, I feel in the mood for an exposition. You know? Like in the movies where the villain tells the heroes everything because the hero can't possibly escape anymore? Not that you're a hero or anything. Or any of us, really. But seeing as you're going to die very soon I feel it only fair that you know who you made the mistake to tangle with, little vampire."

He leans against the nearest pillar, taking on the air of a storyteller.

"You see, once upon a time I came upon a bastard called John Constantine. He was a mage with enormous potential. Under the right circumstances he might have become my world's Sorcerer Supreme, but instead he spent his time as a conman, ripped off people, played cheap games, and even occasionally tried his hand at being a hero. I couldn't stand him, but found him somewhat amusing in his ill-deserved arrogance."

Mage? Sorcerer Supreme? This is getting more insane by the second, yet somehow you can't help but find it fascinating. Somehow the notion that this man might be talking crazy seems unlikely to you. Even though he isn't looking at you the image of his eyes has stayed with you. No way were those human eyes.

"Our first meeting had not gone over too well with me, so imagine my glee when I came upon him one day and found him in a very miserable state. Something about the love of his life having left him or such. Just lovely. Pathetic, but lovely. He was drunk, dirty, walking the streets as a homeless bum. Oh, what fun that was. I played with him a little, not nearly enough actually, and then drank his blood, intending to kill him once and for all.

"What I didn't know at the time, though, was that the good Constantine had a very special mix running through his veins. It seems that some years earlier John was forced to make a deal with a demon. Not just any demon, mind you. Nergal, one of the high dukes of Hell. A greater demon, not the kind of hybrid scum you have running around on Earth. Well, not this Earth, but the kind you and I come from. Anyway, as part of the deal Nergal gave John a blood transfusion to heal some crippling wounds and the brew was still in there, pure evil pumping through his heart.

"Drinking that ... it was at the same time the most painful and most enjoyable sensation I had ever experienced in my entire existence. The stuff burned like acid, melted half my face off, leaving me scarred for eternity. It nearly dusted me right then and there, but instead something else happened. I changed. For the better, mostly. Or the worse, depending on whom you ask. Anyway, I haven't been a normal vampire since that day."

All this talk about magic, demons, vampires, and such should make you laugh, but you don't fell like laughing. If your body wasn't frozen like it was you are quite sure that a stain would already be spreading across the front of your pants. The man squats down and looks Trick in the eyes.

"Can you see it, Trick? Does that tiny little demon inside you recognize its betters? Sometime when vampires drink the blood of a human they acquire his memories, even some of his skills. Can you imagine what drinking the blood of a devil made of me, Trick?"

Trick shivers, still trying to crawl away. The black-clad man casually steps on one of his hands, instantly shattering it. Trick arcs back in pain, but nothing but a few pitiful sounds emerge from his shattered mouth.

"There was one major drawback to the whole thing, though," the man continues as if his victim wasn't trying to scream in pain. "It only hit me when I tried drinking from a human being again."

He shakes his head, sighing in frustration. "It was a disaster, let me tell you that. The demon blood had permanently changed me. Pure evil running through my veins, not that watered-down version you have in yours. As a result of that, though, human blood not only has no taste anymore, no, it is worse than that. It is toxic. Humanity, that little spark of the divine that flows through every mortal's veins, is like poison to me."

He pounds his fist against one of the pillars, leaving a dent. "I imagine the Almighty had one hell of a laugh about that, don't you think? Here I was, the most evil creature manifest on Earth, and I couldn't drink human blood anymore. But wait, it gets worse than that. I found that the only thing that could sustain me now was demon blood. Vampires, all sorts of critters, everything that goes bump in the night. My former brethren, my only food source now."

Brushing a hand through his spiky hair he lands a painful kick in Mr. Trick's side. You hear the sound of bones breaking. The smile returns to his face.

"But bitching about it wouldn't change things, right? So I adapted. I mean, I can still kill humans." He gives you a brief glance that almost causes your frozen knees to buckle in terror. "Not drink them, of course, but snapping necks doesn't require coming into contact with human blood. So that works out just fine. And seeing as your average vampire or lowlife demon is now about as easy for me to kill as any mere human, well ... you get the picture, I'm sure."

He squats down next to Trick, who is still trying to crawl away. It's hard to do with broken legs and smashed hands, though.

"I'm currently in something of a jam, you know? Forced to play ball. But hey, doesn't mean I can't find my fun here and there. It's been a while since I had me a good drink, Trick. I've come to realize that I don't really need it anymore, but you know how it is. Sometimes you just want to have something nice, even if you're not thirsty. You don't mind, do you?"

Without waiting for an answer, not that Trick could have given him one, the man grabs his victim by the lapels of his suit jacket and drags him upward, burying his mouth in Trick's neck. A horrible sound gurgles out of Trick's crushed throat and, even though you can't see it, you know exactly what is happening. That monster is drinking that man's blood. It's impossible, but it's happening. Right here in front of you.

It seems to take forever until Trick grows still. His dark skin grows alabaster-white and then, from one second to the next, he isn't there anymore. His body crumbles into dust. The black-clad man still kneels, his hand brushing over his mouth and coming away bloodstained.

"Ah, it's been too long."

Then he looks up at you and being frozen in place doesn't protect you this time. Your legs fail you and you crumble to the floor, trying to scoot away from the terror in front of you. The man's face isn't human any longer. His features have shifted, human skin stretching across bones that don't belong in the human animal. Fangs too large to fit into his mouth, bone spikes growing out of his forehead, and the eyes ... dear God, the eyes.

Not eyes, no. More like windows. Windows looking out across a world in flames.

"Then there were two," he says, rising to his feet. "Don't think I've forgotten about you, kid. What do you think? Want to dance with the devil here in corruption's own playground? Show some of these politicians what they've got to look forward to in the afterlife?"

He strides towards you as your back hits the wall and there is nothing you can do. You find your mouth uttering every prayer you know, but no heavenly intervention occurs.

And then, suddenly, it does.

"Angelus," someone growls, running into the hall. Someone who certainly does not look like an angel. Someone who is at least eight feet tall and looks like a wolf walking upright.

"Ah, Daniel. No problem with the rabble down below, I gather?"

Two more people arrive, both of them looking delightfully human. The fact that the woman is sporting some kind of metal claws the length of her forearm barely registers anymore.

"Step away from the boy," she snarls, raising her claws threateningly.

"Oh, please! Am I supposed to say 'or what' now? Rattle off a few hero-villain clichés? I thought we had more style than that."

The wolfman makes a step toward him, spittle dripping from his snout. His teeth, you see now, are bloodstained as well.

"Step away now!"

The man, Angelus, gives the three of them a look of distain, but then steps back. You have the distinct feeling that you just used up a life's worth of luck. His face changes again and a moment later he is looking perfectly human. You wonder whether you imagined all of this. Too many long hours working for the leader of the free world. Yes, that must be it. Just your imagination working overtime.

"You left us high and dry down there," the man with the sword says accusingly. A sword? Why is he carrying a sword? Maybe it was something you ate.

"Yes, well, pardon me for not feeling too bad about that. Besides, Trick managed to sneak past you. Someone had to prevent him from, I don't know, killing every member of the government or something. What do I know?"

All three of the newcomers look at the ground. There is a puddle of blood there, sprinkled with some kind of fine dust. Wasn't there a man there earlier? A man who ... no, not possible! Men don't crumble into dust. You are quite certain of that.

"Nice work then," the clawed woman says, the steel blades suddenly retracting ... into her hands? No, she must have taken them off or something. "Got a call from B and the G-man. They took care of matters in the White House. Time to tidy up and make a discreet exit."

Angelus nods, but then looks at you again. His eyes, although human now, still make you freeze in place.

"Just give me a second here."

The other three all stiffen and your own blood runs cold once again, but he merely looks at you and his eyes turn black as coal.

"This is your lucky day, kid. Just remember! Nothing happened here. Go do whatever you wanted to do earlier. Oh, and give the president my regards, will you? He is a gifted speaker."

"Charlie?"

You blink, not sure what just happened. You are standing in the antechamber of the Congress and for some reason your knees are shaky.

"Charlie?" the voice asks again and you turn around to see Josh Lyman, the White House deputy chief-of-staff.

"Yes?"

"Do you have the president's lucky pen? You know how he is with that thing."

"I ... I went to get it, but ..."

He steps closer, a look of worry on his face.

"You okay, Charlie? You're looking pale. Don't tell me the president gave you his flu or something."

Did something just happen here? You look at the floor, but it's looking tidy and clean enough to eat off. Wasn't there ... blood? No, why should there be blood?

"I guess I ... I don't know. I'm gonna get the pen now."

Not waiting for Josh to say anything you walk toward the exit and the car. If the president doesn't get his lucky pen soon all hell will break loose.

You are not quite certain why that thought sends such a cold shiver down your spine.

TO BE CONCLUDED