The Matrix: Legacy
Thirty-Two
Kiss

"We're at broadcast depth," Asmodeus told Krsna.

"Good. Now jack me in," the Indian said softly. Asmodeus grinned and did so. He loved it; Krsna had no choice but to trust him. He loved this game, he really did. It was a dangerous game, true enough. But that made it all the more challenging, and one thing Asmodeus could not resist was a challenge.

He called up the construct and provided a lot of the sort of weaponry Krsna preferred. "YES! BOMBS!" the Indian yelled, starting to arm himself. Asmodeus smirked, then pressed a button.

Krsna paused as a bunch of small, silver spheres appeared. "What are these?"

"You ever seen Star Wars?" Asmodeus replied.

"Yeah."

"Thermal detonators. I wrote 'em myself."

"SCORE!" he yelled, grabbing three.

"Um, you'll only need one," Asmodeus said. "I haven't written the timer in yet. That sucker goes off, you and anything within fifty miles of you is gone."

Krsna nodded. "Last-ditch, then."

"More like for threats."

"Those too."

"You gonna take a gun?"

"Why?"

"'Modeus, when I shoot, the only thing safe is the person I'm aiming for."

"Ah."

---------

Avalon held Sati close as the subway zoomed underground, relieved that they had escaped. She coughed, softly at first, then harder and harder as the paroxysms racked her slender body. Damn... gas! she thought, trying not to choke.

She shuddered under the intensity of each cough, starting to feel faint because she couldn't get enough air. What the hell had been in that? The young woman clutched onto the seat in front of her, trying to breath, trying to control her body.

A strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her gently against an equally strong chest. The spasms continued as long fingers brushed her throat delicately. The tickle lessened, then ceased. She coughed one last time and slumped weakly against the man, getting her breath back.

Sati's gas-induced slumber continued, uninterrupted by the coughing fit most likely triggered by the gas. At last, Avalon managed to look up at the man offering her his support.

Cain.

Her eyes widened in sudden fear, but she didn't pull back. He hadn't tried to hurt her - yet - but she didn't trust him. "I won't hurt you," he said softly, "partly because Abel will kill me, but also because I... well, I respect you now."

Avalon blinked. That was unexpected.

"I didn't think that... that you could handle him. Handle what he was, who he was." He shrugged. "I was wrong. But before you start thinking I'm on drugs, I still don't like you. I'm just on orders to bring you to the château."

'Hell no!' she signed angrily.

Cain explained to her in short terms what was going on, and she sullenly acquiesced. White-clad arms reached down and took Sati from beside Avalon. "She does not need to see the inside of the Frenchman's manor," Seraph said. Avalon could see that his jaw was set, his facial muscles taut with barely concealed anger.

Someone, apparently, was going to die.

Seraph disappeared with Sati, and Cain escorted Avalon back to the château. The last place in the world she really wanted to go. But... Abel was there. Maybe this visit wouldn't be so bad?

---------

Ghost's body burned with pain. He'd been here before, though his tormentor this time around was a brutish werewolf who smelled quite disgusting. And he knew what he was doing; every move was calculated to bring Ghost the maximum amount of pain without making him faint.

Ghost would not give this 'Cujo' the pleasure of hearing him scream. Stubbornly, he retained consciousness, enduring the pain by slipping into his meditative trance.

At least until he heard a voice he'd hoped never to hear again for the rest of his life. "That's enough for now, Cujo. Get lost."

"Yes, lady," the brute replied before he walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing oddly in the dungeon tunnels. Ghost opened his eyes to see Persephone, the wife of the Merovingian, whom he had kissed in order to save his captain.

Ghost neither liked nor trusted her.

She slipped into the cell, looking down at the man strapped to a table. Ghost looked a mess; he was battered, bruised, and bleeding from the various 'instruments' Cujo had used on him. Cujo acted the brute in many ways, but when it came to pain, he was an artist.

Persephone smiled. "We meet again, Ghost." Ghost remained silent, watching her warily. She looked down on him, running her hand up his bare chest. "My, how your fortunes have changed since our last meeting." Ghost tried to give her his version of one of Niobe's famous death glares, but the black eye ruined the effect.

Again that chilling smile. "Now, is that nice?"

Ghost tried to speak, coughed, and tried again. "'Nice' is not in my vocabulary at the moment," he told her, his expression one that would, under normal circumstances, make the recipient run for cover. Persephone was immune to such looks, especially from half-dead, half-naked men strapped to a table.

Her hand ran across his chest a second time, the nail hesitating before dragging itself in a deep cut. Ghost hissed in pain. "'Nice' hasn't been in mine for many years," Persephone mused as she caressed his uninjured abdomen. "Isn't that too bad?"

"Harpy," Ghost growled. Persephone shrugged. "Perhaps I am, at that. Who knows?" Her finger ran up his stomach, chest and neck, stopping at his lips. "I wonder... if your kiss has altered any in four years...."

Before Ghost had time to blink, her lips were pressed against his. He resisted as best he could with his arms and legs rendered useless, which seemed to surprise the relentless witch. However, she persisted, but Ghost did not give in.

At long last she withdrew. "Hmmm...," she mused softly. "Your love has changed... no longer unrequited... but no longer for her, either." A cold smiled. "Your kiss is not a virgin's kiss... your love has indeed changed, Zen Ghost."

She smiled, almost reminiscently. "You should feel proud. The kiss you gave me was better than the One's." Ghost did not reply, and Persephone turned on her heel, leaving him.

Soon after, Cujo's rancid odour returned, and the torture began once more.

---------

The girl's knife skills had definitely improved, One thought with some glee. This would be even more entertaining than the last fight. Even two on one, she was holding her own. She'd been hit twice, but she was ignoring the small cuts and focusing on her main objective. One approved. She seemed to realise that he and Two were toying with her, and she didn't like that.

Then, to One's surprise, she got past his defences and scored a long cut down his arm. The cut was nothing more than a temporary irritation, he could simply phase and...

He blinked and looked down at his arm as he returned to tangible form. His coat had not mended; his arm was still bleeding. His eyes narrowed, and he viewed the coding of her switchblade.

Iron.

Their only weakness.

How had she known?

One barely had time to warn his Twin, who leapt away from her next strike. Her threat level had risen without warning; now they were serious. She fought well, but with both of them no longer holding back, the battle was soon over, ending with her trapped and held in between them. One plucked the switchblade from her fingers and cast it aside as if it offended him; Two held her tightly against him and enjoyed the feeling of her trembling against him. Still she struggled; she obviously was not enjoying this.

Not that they cared.

Two repeated his brother's actions from his encounter with her, nuzzling her hair and whispering something vaguely threatening in her ear. Both Twins had an arm around her waist, effectively pinning her, and were standing close enough to each other that her legs were trapped in between theirs, cutting short any possibility of her kicking either of them in the groin. Over her head, they exchanged triumphant grins; they were having fun.

"You hurt us," One purred softly. "This intrigues us greatly." "Yes, it does," Two replied in the same tone, leaning down so that his lips were brushing her ear as he spoke. Both of them smirked as she shuddered.

They were going to enjoy this.

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Funkless: Seth just doesn't like the Canadian Sector. It's a peeve. As for Seraph being Kris' grandfather… I will say 'No' to that right away. Rest assured, Krsna is 100 Indian.

As far as the iron goes… please stop reading my mind. Thank you. :)