The Anointed

by Darkness7

Hard to describe this saga in a few lines but I'll have a go anyway. Brooklyn goes behind the clan's back to get revenge against Demona, which may eventually lead to the world's destruction when other forces intervene. Completed up to Chapter 20.

17. Encounter in St Petersburg

Encounter in

St. Petersburg

Author: Darkness

E-mail:

Author's note: I am very sorry to those who I may have kept waiting for the next part for so long. I'm afraid that I'm just not very good at writing small chapters. J

And another good excuse is that I'm preparing for college (God help me)!

Enjoy the fic!

St. Petersburg

It was lunchtime in the Great Russian city. As such the streets were lined with people making their way along the pavements, heading to cafes, restaurants to eat, or perhaps to the shops to do a few quick errands before getting back to work. Cars and trucks trundled along the crowded roads, under the careful supervision of the militia, the city's police force.

The air was damp from the previous night's rain that had washed away the snow, creating great puddles along dips worn into the pavement or along the edges of the roads, beneath parked cars. The sky was covered with white clouds that had yet to part so that the sun could shine down on the city.

Atop one of the several bridges that stretched over the canal were three people who were leaning on the old stone rails. A young man, a young woman, and an older man, who looked to be in his late forties or early fifties.

They were all dressed in farmer's clothing. The girl, who looked to be in her very early twenties, was in a plain brown cotton dress with white frilled sleeves, which were contrasted by a pair of very muddy black combat boots. She had a shy face with a button nose and very light green eyes. Her hair was ash blonde and in a small ponytail. She did not appear to like her current set of clothes very much.

The older man seemed more at home in his outfit. He wore brown trousers to go with his slightly too big black shoes with a simple cream, coloured shirt and brown jacket. He had no tie but had the top button of his shirt undone. He had a gruff face, was of medium height and fat. He had bushy, connected black eyebrows atop a pair of ancient sky blue eyes, along with a very short black beard that was connected to his moustache, while he had a neatly cut crop of short black hair on his head.

Between the pair the young man stood, leaning over the rail and looking into the murky brown waters of the canal that ran through St. Petersburg. He was very young, about eighteen or nineteen. He was thinly built but muscular, with a long shock of cotton white hair that was tied back in a loose ponytail. He was quite handsome by human standards, with high cheekbones and very clean skin. He looked down into the waters with a pair of hazel eyes that held considerable amounts rage and intelligence in almost equal measure. He was dressed quite plainly in clothes that seemed to have been designed for a larger person; a pair of earth brown trousers like his other male companion was wearing, along with a cream coloured shirt of cotton with a closed brown waistcoat. He had a brown farmer's cap on his head that actually looked quite good on him. The top button of his shirt was undone, so that part of a silver chain necklace could be seen. He was wearing a pair of black shoes that he seemed very uncomfortable in.

The young woman was to his right from the way he was leaning and the older man was to his left, also looking over the side while the woman had her back turned to the water and was looking past a decrepit and small, red car that had acted as their mode of transport for the past few days, which was parked in a turn in by the side walk. It was muddied all over. It was one of those mass produced pieces of rubbish that the Soviet Union had churned out that rarely worked at all. It was similar in design to a mini. She was looking out into the road along the bridge, watching the cars and trucks flow past and the lunch time crowds walk along the side walk, all going somewhere with some purpose or another.

"Rincewald," said the young man, as if testing the name out. He looked over to the older man. "How the Hell did you get that name anyway?"

Jeremiah Rincewald, necromancer and guardian of the Black Sun daemonstaff looked over at Brooklyn. "Well," he started. "I once read a book with this wizard that had a similar name so I decided that's what I'd be called, at least for a little while."

Brooklyn smiled. "So what you're saying is that you picked that name?"

"Yes. Why?"

Brooklyn shrugged. "It just seems a little daft if you ask me."

"Well I didn't ask you," said Rincewald flatly. "It just seemed different from most of the names I've taken. I just wanted something different for once."

"Hence Fuzzy?"

Rincewald nodded. "Exactly." He sighed. "When you have lived as long as Riana or I have had, chances are that you've tried everything there possibly is to try and very little of it commits to memory after a while. So you start doing things differently. Going under unusual names, doing unusual jobs…"

"Resorting to having sex with dead bodies," stepped in Riana, still looking out into the road. "Well…that's what some of the more pathetic of us resort to."

Rincewald glared at the back of her head. "Riana, my personal life is of absolutely no business to you at all. So keep your fucking comments to yourself. Okay?"

Riana replied by sticking a hand up and giving Rincewald the finger. The necromancer growled something under his breath before looking down into the water, saying nothing.

Brooklyn looked back down into the flowing water before deciding to ask something else.

"How old are you?"

Rincewald looked up from the water and at the gargoyle turned human. "How old?" He sighed and returned his gaze to the water.

"That's a tough one." He seemed to ponder on an answer before he looked up at Riana, who still watched the road. "How old would you say we are Riana?"

"I try not to think about it," stated Riana. "So I don't really know. We're old though. We've been almost since the beginning. You might want to ask Furcifer. He's the oldest of us guardians."

"Is he now?" said Brooklyn.

Riana nodded. "He picked us to guard the weapons, one for each. Told us to place them where we wanted and to keep them safe until those who thought they could handle them came along and contested for them."

Brooklyn grinned. "And they all failed except for me."

"No," stated Rincewald. "Not all of them failed."

Brooklyn turned his head to stare at the necromancer. "What did you say?"

Rincewald stood up straight and glanced over at Brooklyn. "I said not all of them failed," he remarked casually.

"Could you perhaps be a little more specific?"

"Well," began the necromancer. "Though no one has ever claimed the staff, the other weapons, the Lack of Conscience, the gauntlets that are here somewhere and the sword. They have all been claimed by some people."

"Define 'some people."

"Well," said Rincewald. "Every now and then in history some of the most extraordinary individuals have come along, and some of them, the ones who have felt pain or suffering of some degree and want vengance, either against one individual or against the world in general, get wind of them."

Brooklyn looked at Rincewald, stunned. The necromancer continued.

"The weapons were originally scattered across the earth at the beginning. But gradually over time, as different people were able to lay claim to the others successfully, they all began to make their way on to this continent." Rincewald turned about and lent his back on the stone rail. Brooklyn had started staring into the waters as he took all this in.

"Now the way the guardianships works," continued Rincewald. "Is like this. We'll take the gauntlets you're here to claim as an example. They were originally based in…" he paused and looked over at Riana. "Was it Korea?"

"Bangladesh," stated Riana automatically.

Rincewald nodded thanks and continued.

"They were only ever successfully claimed by about four people."

"With the aid of Iieo?" asked Brooklyn, referring to the daemon now known as Sin.

"Actually only one or two have received Iieo's guidance," replied Rincewald. "Some of them were led to them by other means. Hard to explain precisely. They just got…a feeling you might call it." He shifted, suddenly becoming a little uncomfortable. "Anyway. Once one of the weapons are claimed then their position is obviously no longer secure. Eventually, despite all our best efforts, usually the claimers are killed, or the weapons turn on them when they loose the will to continue for some one reason or another." He glanced over at Brooklyn, who still looking over into the waters of the canal for the briefest moment. "Of course…we've never had an immortal try this before. That's new." He saw Riana glare at him out of the corner of his eye, warning him.

"But none of them were the Anointed either," she growled under her breath, while her light green eyes stared dangerously into his sky blue. "None of them were the chosen."

"So what happened to the weapons after they'd been found and the wielder was killed?" asked Brooklyn. Rincewald glanced over at the gargoyle turned human. He seemed to have a smile on his face as he looked into the water now. He looked back over at Riana. The woman nodded grudgingly to continue. But there was still that danger lingering in her eyes.

He would have to watch his tongue from now on.

"Well," he began. "After the wielder was killed, the guardians can pick a new location for the weapon to be hidden. The last time the gauntlets were moved, they had previously been in the Gobi desert. The man who had claimed them successfully got on a boat and went to Europe to try and take the staff." He paused. "But something must have happened to him on that blasted boat. He decided to go on a killing spree. He used the gauntlets to make a plague and it rampaged through the ship, killed the crew, and left him and the guardian stranded on a bloody boat neither knew how to work. Gregor, the guardian, sensing that this gentleman was obviously not who he was supposed to be, waited for him to die of dehydration, stuck the gauntlets in a bag, and swam North. Once he got to land, he just wandered for a decade or two till he came to this little city. So he set up here."

"Why here though?"

"I think he preferred the climate. And the sun's not quite as cruel as in the desert." He smiled darkly. "And besides, there's a lot more people around here."

"Why is that a good thing for him?"

"He's a vampire," said Riana, turning about for the first time to look at the two men. "One of the very first. Our master's first great idea. And because he was chosen to be one of us, the guardians of His weapons, he's utterly immortal."

Brooklyn glanced up at her. "You mean like I am?"

"No," stepped in Rincewald. "There are different forms of immortality. Like you, we can die. But where as your body will heal itself from whatever injuries are inflicted upon it, our bodies will vanish, as our grip on the physical world is broken. It's like that with many types of daemon really. We return eventually, when our strength is regained enough for us to manifest a physical form again. Until that time, we stay in a form of limbo."

"So you're invincible really?"

"No," replied Rincewald. "We have our weaknesses. There are some ways that we can be stopped." He rubbed his chin and looked into the canal's murky water. "That man. Harrison. I dare say he'd know how to destroy us."

"Oh come off it Jerry, he's nuts." Said Riana. "He can't even think straight."

"Neither can you," growled the necromancer. "If you did think straight he wouldn't have ever bothered about us. He's probably tracking us down as we speak."

"Then let him come. When Brooklyn claims the gauntlets and we team up again with Gregor, old Benny won't stand a chance against us."

Rincewald frowned. "Maybe…perhaps. I think the best course of action though would be to just avoid getting attacked by anyone else until all of us are together. Then, we can just have at them. No one could ever stand against the five of us."

Riana looked over Rincewald contemptuously. She looked over to Brooklyn. "What do you think Brook?"

"I agree with Rincewald." Replied Brooklyn. "We should let me get the weapons and meet up with the other guardians. With you lot backing me, and the weapons at my disposal, I shall not only have vengance on Oberon. I'll also bring the Prince's reign to this world. And the human filth will be wiped away before it can do any more damage."

There was the echo of horns blaring in the distance as a traffic jam started to build up near the port areas. Several sea gulls flew overhead of the trio as they made their way back to the sea from where ever they had made up nests.

"The main problem though," stated Rincewald calmly. "Is actually finding him around here. This city is massive."

The others nodded. Riana looked over to the streets and spotted a newsagent. A smile spread across her lips. She tapped Brooklyn on the shoulder.

"Brooklyn. Those roubles we took from that farm family. Do you have them on you?"

The gargoyle turned human nodded, delving into his trouser pockets and pulling out a small wad of Russian notes. Riana took them from him, tossing a few over the side that were stained blackish red before turning about and heading to a crossing point.

"Where are you going?" asked Rincewald.

"I've got an idea how to find him. I'll be back in five."

"Well I must say you have certainly done quite well for yourself," said Furcifer.

"Thank you," replied Gregor Zaitsev.

They had just entered one of the many rooms that Zaitsev had yet to display to his old friend. The vampire's home was quite impressive. It was a series of interconnecting underground chambers that had all been built into the floors of the warehouse that Zaitsev had set up shop in.

The particular room they were in was about twenty feet by fifteen. Paintings of people Furcifer didn't recognise lined the ebony panelled walls. There was a black marble fireplace with scenes of Dante's Inferno carved into it. Above the fireplace a pair swept hilt rapiers were crossed over a wooden plaque with a gold Pentacle star engraved into it. Two massive couches of smooth brown leather sat opposite each other in the centre, a round mahogany coffee table lay between them. A single, but quite spectacular chandelier, lighted up the room.

"This is one of my more simpler rooms," said Zaitsev, with more than a hint of pride. "Quite drab when compared to some of the others."

Furcifer walked into the room from the door they had been standing at. He twirled around, taking in the splendour. "You miss the old days don't you?"

Zaitsev frowned and crossed his arms. "Which old days are you talking about? Old friend."

"The days of the Tsars, of course. I know you must have found Communism lots of fun and all, but I can tell just by looking at you that you miss being a snob."

"Well you could get away with more in those days," replied Zaitsev, coming into the room after Furcifer.

He was a very tall man, with a body that was going from muscled to fat. He had rounded head that was completely shaven. He looked out at the world with a pair of ancient, cloud grey eyes. His face was wrinkled slightly from age. He looked to be in his very late forties. His skin was pale with broad shoulders. His chest was still powerful while he sported a small potbelly. He was dressed in very expensive, black, pinstriped Armani suit with a dark green mandarin shirt with the top button open.

He smiled at Furcifer nostalgically. "I was a duke once. A member of the Imperial Court." He grinned. "I could kill nearly anyone I wanted and get away with it. Hell, it was so easy I almost felt sorry for them."

"Really?"

"Well…no, not really."

They both grinned at each other. "That was one perk about being an aristocrat, the other was the orgies."

Furcifer burst out laughing at that. After he calmed down they moved to a door on the opposite side of the room and entered it. This door way led to a stone spiral staircase that went only down.

"How deep is your lair anyway?"

"About three storeys below ground level. It's a fantastic place for hiding shipments."

"Is that how you've paid for all this?"

"Damn right. It's a win, win situation when you think about it. They give me their money, and I slowly kill them in exchange." Zaitsev looked over at Furcifer and smiled at him. "Sometimes I'm left wondering why we're here in the first place. They'll destroy themselves sooner or later."

"Perhaps," replied Furcifer. "But it just won't be quick enough for us."

"We've waited this long. I'd have thought you'd have more patience by now."

Furcifer frowned at him. "Well I haven't. Are you going to show me the downstairs now or not?"

Gregor frowned as well. He turned and led his friend down the well-lit staircase. He decided he'd show Furcifer the lowest level and work his way up from there.

After a moment's silence a thought occurred to Gregor.

"Are you sure this fella's the Anointed?"

"Positive," replied Furcifer immediately. Gregor could feel his friend's frown at the back of his head. "Why?"

"Well," started Zaitsev. "If he is, who you say he is, don't you think he would have been here by now?"

"Perhaps he's been delayed."

"If he's the one do you really think anything could actually delay him?"

Furcifer stopped and glared at Zaitsev dangerously. "Since when did you enrol into the Inquisition?"

Zaitsev stopped and turned about quickly. "Look. I just want to make sure that he is the one. I think you'll agree that we've had far too many disappointments already."

"Not this time."

"Why?" pressed Gregor. "What makes him so different from the others?"

"There's something about him," said Furcifer slowly. He glanced down at the stone steps, thoughtfully. "Something…unique."

Zaitsev folded his arms, his face becoming sceptical. "Many, of the candidates have been unique."

"I know that. But in him there is some greatness. Something you can feel when you're near him. Ever since he put on the Lack of Conscience and he was freed of morality, it's been getting stronger. We are preparing him for what he has to do. He has a great role to play my old friend. A very important role."

"Are you certain that role involves us, old friend? Our goals? Our ambitions?"

Furcifer nodded immediately. "Yes Gregor. I am certain of it."

Zaitsev nodded. "Alright. We'll wait and see if this fella's all he's cracked up to be then. I'll have my men start prowling the streets, keeping an eye out for him. I'll make my mind up on him if he ever arrives."

Furcifer smiled, clearly pleased. "Excellent. They should run into him fairly quickly. The three of them are quite easy to notice. Around here they'll probably stand out like a sore thumb."

Zaitsev chuckled and started down the stairway again. "It will be good seeing Riana again." He said conversationally. They came to the bottom and he opened the titanium door. He gestured for Furcifer to go in and followed in after him. They now stood in a fairly wide, well lit corridor of drab, grey concrete. Along the left side of the corridor were two heavily reinforced steel doors that had open grates near the top with steel bars along them. Further down the corridor widened until it ended with a pair of wooden doors roughly a meter apart.

Furcifer walked down the corridor a little and looked through the first grated door and into a cell with a pair of bunks, a toilet and a sink. The room was roughly ten feet by ten feet.

"Cosy," he muttered before turning over to look at Zaitsev as he came up to stand beside him. "Are we expecting guests Gregor?"

Zaitsev shrugged. "It helps to be prepared. And they've come in useful every now and then."

Furcifer nodded and looked down the corridor to the two black panelled doors. "And what are they for?"

"Those?" replied Zaitsev, smiling darkly. "Those are what I like to call my playrooms. Get me a fairly healthy person and I can just have hours of fun in there with them."

"Do I get to see inside?"

"No," replied Zaitsev. "Those are for me, employees, and victims only. Sorry Furcifer, but a man's got to have his own private little place."

"I understand. Now let's go and see if we can find Brooklyn shall we?"

Near the city centre: Several hours later

The centre of the city was made up mainly of cobblestone-covered ground. It was more for walking rather than driving, which was more for the outer areas. On a road near one of the outer areas a rather large vehicle pulled up in a space designated for tour buses in a car park close to a tourist centre.

It was an especially large vehicle, which looked somewhat like a double-decker tour bus. It was chrome in colour, with large tinted glass windows so that it was impossible to see inside. Its design was quite modern, with two pairs of wheels in the rear while one set was at the front. The hull looked especially thick though, as if it were also equipped with some armour. The only markings on the entire, silvery body, was a small black Nightstone Inc. insignia near the rear wheels.

The side door of the bus opened and four people came out, one after the other. The youngest of the quartet came out last, walking down the steps sideways and talking quietly to someone over his shoulder. When he came down the last step, he waved and the door then closed.

The quartet then walked down the road for a while until they had reached the city centre, mixing in fairly well with the rest of the population. The clouds in the sky were becoming darker, threatening to bring about another downpour if the sky remained as it was. It was getting quite late now. It had been only a few hours since most peoples' works had ended and so the streets were still quite crowded as the population now went about its own personal business.

A the quartet stood amid the bustling crowds, one of the group looked to the others and said:

"So…where do we start?"

He was in his early thirties and had a sort of rugged handsomeness about him. He was a little over six feet and very well built, with unruly chestnut hair and emerald coloured eyes. He was dressed in a pair of black boots, black jeans, with a camo green long sleeved shirt that hung open like a jacket, revealing a plain black t-shirt underneath. Covering most of his green shirt was a navy blue denim jacket that also lay open.

There were two women with him that looked roughly his age, and a younger man.

The first women looked to be in her early thirties. She was dressed in a black leather jacket, a black blouse with black trousers and black boots. She had striking eyes, the same shade of emerald as the man who'd spoken. She was thin and quite athletic. Her hair was raven black and reached down to her shoulders, while her forehead was slightly wrinkled from frowning too much.

The other woman was none other than Dominique Destine. Her flame red hair was tied back quite tightly back into a bun, while she was dressed in a navy blue business suit, a jacket and skirt, with a white blouse and a red silk scarf tied around the blouse's collar like a tie. She had on a pair of navy high heels with no tights over her strong legs. She looked especially annoyed over something.

The other male of the group was quite young, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. He was tall and thin, yet muscular, with a long shock of cotton white hair that he had tied back into a ponytail. He was quite handsome by human standards, with high cheekbones and clean but quite pale skin. He had a pair of kind, cloud grey eyes. There were the three small creases in the skin on his right cheek, scars that looked like they had been caused by some wild animal. Contrary to the rest of his group, he was dressed very colourfully. He wore black combat boots; with a pair of bone coloured combat slacks, a grey t-shirt that could be seen underneath a Hawaiian surfer's shirt of cobalt blue, depicting a scene with several women and a big red car from the thirties on a beach somewhere. Over this, lying open, was a denim coat of deep purple that reached down just a little past his knees.

Dominique Destine looked over at Fang, not bothering to hide her contempt for the mutate that had been turned human through magic. "Well, since we need food, I would think a supermarket would be a good place to start. Don't you?" She looked over at Malibu and Faith, ignoring the glare that Fang was giving her. "Now listen, this will go quicker if we split up the list and meet back up here in an hour." She handed Faith a small scrap of paper. "Take those two and go get the groceries. I'll get the meat." She turned about and started walking off briskly towards what looked like a butcher's.

"Hey Demms!" yelled Fang, clearly fed up.

Dominique stopped and turned about, glaring at them. "What?"

"None of us know Russian," growled Faith.

There was a mild thump as a very small Russian phrase book landed at their feet. Without another word Dominique turned about and walked off.

After a few moments Mal sighed. "You know, I don't think she'll never forgive us for this."

Fang folded his arms; still glaring in the direction that Dominique had taken, grumbling something under his breath.

"Perhaps," said Faith. She looked about her, at the throngs of people that flowed around them. "Well…let's get going."

Mal looked over at her. "We don't know the language Faith. And I doubt that phrase book might be much use." He bent down and picked it up. It was discouragingly thin. "How are we supposed to get anything?"

"Simple. She gave us a really thick wad of notes didn't she?"

"Well…yeah but…"

"Then this is what we do," said Faith. "We go to the store, pick up all we need, and just hand the cashier the lot. It's her money and she's a billionaire, so she's not gonna miss a few hundred is she?"

Fang looked over at Faith and smiled. "I like that idea."

Faith smiled back at him. "Great, then lets move. I think I saw a mall over there somewhere. Are you coming Mal?"

"You two are unbelievable," said Mal, grinning. He caught up with them and the trio started down the square, walking at a leisurely pace. The mall was a good distance away, and there was plenty of time.

"I can't believe we didn't stock up on food while we were at Demona's," said Mal after a while.

"Well we did have a lot of other things to worry about," said Faith. "I think you'll agree that food was pretty low down on our priorities."

"I guess so," replied Mal. He looked back over his shoulder to where Demona had disappeared, but felt a hand pat him gently on the shoulder. He turned about and saw Fang now walking beside him.

"Don't worry about her kid. She'll get over it."

"Maybe," said Mal, sticking his hands in his coat pockets. "I'm not sure. I mean, we probably should have told her that she and Brook were linked."

Fang shrugged. "I guess so. But there's no point in worrying about that now. It's done. No point in crying over spilt milk."

They walked on a little further.

"We should apologise," said Mal. "For what we did to her before."

"You mean blowing her up?"

"Uh…yeah."

Fang seemed to ponder over this for a few moments, stopping his walk and looking down at the cobbled pavement. "Hmm…yeah. Yeah I guess we should say sorry for that too. Just in case she kicks our asses after this is all over." They began their walk again. Eventually they reached the other side of the square and crossed the road over to a very large mall.

Fang's eyes drifted over to Mal, to the way he had that slight limp on his left leg as he walked as they went through the doors. Mal felt that he was being watched but Fang had looked away by the time Mal looked over at him. But he was able to catch the look of anger that he wore on his face for just the briefest second.

The interior was vast, with white dominating the interior decoration as it is with many such establishments. It was multi-storied, with each floor opening in the middle for rails to allow people to lean over and look down on those on the lower levels. It had a very large fountain at the centre, with the escalators nearby and an all glass elevator that actually seemed to be part of the fountain rising up from it.

Mal looked up when they neared the fountain. He could see the thickening clouds through the glass ceiling that was at least four storeys up from where they stood.

Mal whistled, clearly impressed. "Geeze. I thought they were in a recession or something?"

"I think it's built by foreign investment," replied Faith, looking around. "I don't even think the government can afford to pay its army anymore. There's no way they could have funded this."

Mal shook his head, still looking skywards. "Why can't humans do anything small?"

"Testosterone," replied Faith almost immediately. "Well…for men anyway."

"Hey!" protested Fang.

"Oh come on Peter," said Faith, smiling at Fang. "You never hear of women designing big monstrosities like this do you?"

"So? That doesn't mean we all think with our balls ya know."

Faith shrugged. "Whatever. Look, we should get going. I don't know about either of you but I'm desperate for a nice, big, latte. So let's get shopping done quickly and see if we can find a place around here that speaks English okay?"

Mal and Fang nodded and followed her up a nearby escalator.

After about half an hour or so they had gotten all the groceries they needed, and were heading upstairs to what looked like a nice enough coffee house. The cashier they'd had for when they were processing their purchases was remarkably honest and gave them exact change, and so they had more than enough left to buy a few buns and coffee.

There were several in the huge mall, but the one they had picked was on the first floor. It was simply designed, with most of the tables, round steel designers with glass tops and accompanied by quite comfortable chrome chairs. Scattered around the two dozen or so tables out on the tiled floors, many of which were near the glass and steel railings that gave a view of the fountain on the ground floor, as well as a view its elevator and nearby escalators, was a veritable forest of potted plants, many of which could actually be classified as trees. The majority of them were imported from the Far East, while others were palms that had been transported up from places like Kazakhstan. Quite a few had grown very tall and extremely wide, with their leaf laden branches even now resting on the cold floors, quite clean except for where the plants' dead, crumpled and brown leaves lay.

Faith and Mal took a table beside the railing after telling Fang what they wanted. The mutate turned human wandered up to the ordering point with what was left of Demona's roubles in one hand, the phrase book he had perused for a few minutes before in the other.

"Tiles," said Fang, haltingly, to the man at the counter, a rather large and impatient looking gentleman with wire frame glasses and dark eyes. "I would like…uh, let's see… a kitten, two chocolate muffins…uh… a glass banana, an extra large vanilla sock, and…ah damn how the Hell do you pronounce that again? Uh…and…uh, some pennies with cream. Table."

The man at the counter stared at him, baffled. "Come again?"

Fang sighed. "Great. Just great. I don't suppose you know English do ya?" The man stared at him and crossed his arms. "That's a no then?"

"Oh for frig sake," growled someone. Fang felt someone tap his shoulder impatiently. He turned around to look a fat gentleman in battered brown suit standing behind him. He looked on the verge of snapping.

"American?" growled the man impatiently, his sky blue eyes looking him over aloofly.

"Yeah," replied Fang, frowning. "Why?"

"Figures. Look, tell me what you want and then I'll tell him. Otherwise you'll be there all day. Okay?"

"Oh," managed Fang, a little surprised at the offer. "Uh…thanks."

"Don't mention it…ever."

After order had been successfully given and Fang waited for it to be handed to him he looked over the gentleman who helped him. "So what do you do?"

The man looked him over suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what do you do?"

The man seemed to shift uncomfortably as Fang looked over his clothes, briefly wondering what the bulge in one of his jacket pockets was. "I'm a…a caretaker…of sorts."

"You're pretty smart for a caretaker. Know any other languages?"

The man smiled, more than a little proud. "Well…I've picked up quite a few over the years. French, English, Russian, German, Italian, Georgian, Romanian, Greek and about half a dozen or so other languages that are still used and about a dozen that aren't. "

"And you're only a caretaker?" asked Fang, stunned. "Geeze. You sound more like a professor if you ask me."

"Oh…uh…thank you," replied the man, smiling in a way that suggested compliments were something terribly rare for him. He looked him over; the aloofness in his eyes had vanished now, replaced by a mild curiosity. "So what do you do?"

Fang stared at him for a moment. "Uh…well…I guess I'm a caretaker too really."

"Do you enjoy it? I always found mine to be terribly boring. That's why I turned to languages and…other things."

Fang cast a very quick glance to where Mal and Faith were sitting, on the very edge of the cluster of tables to his right, behind a couple of those huge potted plants and near the edge of the rail for some privacy. He smiled. "Yeah. I think do actually."

"Well that's good." Said the man, eager to keep talking. "My job had a lot of flavour once. A lot of appeal and supposed promise. Doesn't really do that much for me anymore. Truth be told I don't really much care for those I work for either."

"Then why don't you quit?" Said Fang helpfully. "Find some other job with more likeable people."

The man shrugged. "I made a promise. A very binding one really. I'm pretty much stuck with this job unless my responsibility gets blown up or something. Something I doubt will ever happen."

"Man. That sucks." Said Fang. He heard the man at the counter say something in Russian. He turned around and saw his order was ready on a tray. He paid for it and got less change than he should have from the coffee man and turned around to face the man who hated his job again. "Thanks for the assistance there," he said. "And I hope it all works out for you, Mr…?"

"Rincewald," said the man, smiling. "And I wouldn't advise worrying about it. It won't."

Fang frowned but managed a nod and walked over to his table while Rincewald went forward to place his order.

"Well," said Faith. "You took your time. Who was that you were talking to?"

"Just another guy with a problem," replied Fang, casting a quick glance over his shoulder to where the man was standing, giving his order. "Seemed like an okay guy though."

"Well that's very nice," said Faith. "But if you don't mind I'd like my latte now."

Fang handed her order over to her, a vanilla latte with a slice of rhubarb crumble and cream while Mal picked up his banana split and dug into it. Fang had a pair of chocolate muffins and a large black coffee.

"There's something I've been thinking about," said Faith, as she started stabbing her rhubarb crumble mercilessly with her fork. "You know when you told me you two can change into humans using a spell."

"Yeah?" said Mal.

"Well I was wondering if you could do anything else. I mean other than change from one form to another."

Fang and Mal cast glances over at each other and chuckled.

Faith raised an eyebrow. "What? What's so funny?"

"Oh nothing," said Mal, smiling. "It's just the idea that me and Fang being wizards is pretty funny."

"Or friggin scary," stepped in Fang, his grin even wider than his friend's. "Me, you and godlike powers? Fuck. That's more than scary actually. It's friggin terrifying!" He seemed to be having great difficulty not laughing out loud. "It wouldn't be ten minutes before we nuked something!"

"Ten? Come on Fang! We'd probably be laying waste to every inch of the world before ten seconds flat!" said Mal, showing a little more restraint but still chuckling madly. He managed to calm down though when he saw the look Faith was giving him. "Sorry Faith. But me and Fang aren't even very good with the spell that makes us human."

"That's right," said Fang. "It never lasts. For me, I think I can make it last about four and a half hours." He patted Mal on the shoulder affectionately. "But the kid here can almost make it last seven." He looked over at Faith. "After those few hours we've gotta recast the whole thing again."

"Yeah." Said Mal. "Usually it was Jezebel or Brooklyn that changed us because they could make it last as long as they wanted cause, well, they're light years ahead of us. Magically speaking anyway. We just do it like this every now and then to get a little practice in. It used to be me and Fang could only keep it up for a couple of minutes before Brook and Jezebel gave us a lot of pointers."

"Yeah," said Fang. He seemed to think of something and looked over at Mal after sipping some coffee. "What was it Jezebel said? About magic I mean?"

Mal took a scoop of his banana split and seemed to think it over as he ate, relishing the taste of something that, only half a year ago, he could taste only in dreams. "I think I know what you're talking about," he said eventually. "She said that everyone is capable of performing some magic. But what makes some people better at it than others depends on an awful lot of factors. Stuff like intelligence, willpower, your environment growing up, your personality, language skills, the list's practically endless."

"You're a fucking idiot," growled Rincewald, sitting down at the table and slamming the tray with their orders on it, spilling some of Brooklyn's café mocha onto the brown plastic, causing the gargoyle turned human to growl something.

Riana, sitting near the rail, their table behind yet another cluster of plants, glared at him. "How was I supposed to know it wouldn't work?"

"Looking up the missing persons? In a city this big? How the Hell did you think that would give any clues?" snapped the necromancer. "Do you've the slightest inkling how many people must go missing in a city this big in a single week?"

Riana shrugged and picked up her chocolate gateaux with extra servings of cream. "At least I'm trying stiff shagger. You aren't doing an awful lot other than complain like a little bitch."

"Fuck you!"

"Get in line!"

Brooklyn rolled his eyes and started sipping his mocha. –How the Hell did I get stuck with these two?-. He leaned over the table and glared at them. "Would you two mind being quiet? I thought that we wanted to keep a low profile? You're attracting attention we don't need so shut up."

Riana and Rincewald exchanged glares at each other but leaned back to their own sides of the table and remained quite for the time being. Brooklyn took a city map out of his pocket and spread it out over the table. "You two know the guardian here right? So tell me do you think he might be around here? I can't read Russian so please be detailed."

Rincewald took the map and spread it between himself and Riana, slurping a white coffee as he did so. "Well…knowing Gregor, he'll want someplace big and expensive."

"But also inconspicuous," said Riana helpfully.

Rincewald nodded grudgingly and seemed to think this over. He sipped his coffee nosily with one hand and tapped the glass table with his other. After several minutes he looked up at Brooklyn.

"Underground. He'll be underground somewhere."

"You sure?" asked Brooklyn.

"Absolutely."

Brooklyn looked over at Riana for confirmation. The woman had been looking down into her vodka while Rincewald had been tapping the table. She nodded after a moment. "The stiff shagger's right. That makes sense. He could be in part of the underground tunnels."

"No," said Rincewald, shaking his head. "That's not really his style. Sewers are too cheap."

"The metro then?" said Riana. "He might be there. It's underground and it's a pretty big place. Plenty of places to hide in."

Rincewald frowned. "No, I don't really think so. That could be where he hides the gauntlets, but I doubt he'd enjoy being near them all that much. He likes the outside too much to spend all his time in a crappy little hole somewhere."

Riana suddenly looked at him and then at Brooklyn. "Wait a second. Why are we listening to him anyway?" she looked over at the necromancer again. "When's the last time you ever talked to Gregor anyway?"

"Well it was a very long time ago but I still think…"

"Then how the Hell is it you think you know where he'd be staying?"

"Cause he's a complete snob," growled Rincewald dangerously. "Why? What makes you think you know him so well?"

"Gregor and I were always on the same wavelength and-"

"What wavelength was that exactly Riana? The only thing you two have got in common is you like killing!"

"It's still better than what you've got." Riana smiled suddenly, growing disgustingly superior. "Tell me Jerry. Just how long has it been since you actually killed somebody?"

Rincewald sat back and stared at his fellow guardian, regarding her very suspiciously. "Just what the Hell has that got to do with what we're talking about?"

"Oh nothing really. Just curious I guess."

"Well it's none of your damned business alright?"

Riana smiled, now practically oozing superiority. "Okay. Whatever."

"Enough from both of you," growled Brooklyn. "Can we just finish up here quickly? This is taking far longer than it ever should."

Rincewald and Riana nodded grudgingly and went back to their drinks, occasionally eyeing each other hatefully while Brooklyn looked down over the rail and at the throngs of people below him on the ground level of the mall. Between the legs of the table were two bags that would be used for rather long fishing rods, one of which shuddered occasionally, as if looking for attention.

"So anyway," said Fang, with a chocolate muffin in one hand and a nostalgic grin on his face. "I've got Derek in this sort of tiny steel box with this glass door, and he is completely stuck in there, no way in Hell he's getting out." He fought desperately to stop from laughing, as this was one of those things he could talk about for hours, if he could only keep a straight face. "And when I say tiny, I mean really fucking small." He snickered. "I mean this thing, it was about a foot in diameter, and maybe six feet tall, and the thing was that Derek was about seven foot, so that meant he was hunched over the whole time, it was so bad he had that big ugly mug of his rubbing against the glass like some psycho zoo animal, it was totally steamed up in there and fucking spittle all over the place."

"What were you going to do to him?" giggled Faith. Mal was beside her and in stitches from chuckling; he was actually hunched over on the table, although he'd probably heard this story a thousand times. He had quite a dark sense of humour, just like Peter really.

"I had no idea," said Fang, calming down, slightly. "I mean this was totally one of those spur of the moment things. I just saw the guns, and got this really big hankering for the good old days. I probably should have actually taken a minute to think at least something through but I didn't. I was tired, I was fed up with Derek barking orders at me, I hadn't had a donut in months and I was fucking sick of doing nothing but charity work."

"Well what about Maggie?" asked Faith, smiling. "What did you have in store for her?"

Fang shrugged. "It's a good thing she escaped actually. I would have probably stuck her in that little box with Derek for being such a mouthy bitch." He sat back in his chair. "Now that I think about it, I think Brooklyn did me a favour. I'd have probably ended up being stabbed to death as I slept or something. I don't think I'd be very good with power."

"Wouldn't that have been a tragedy?" said Faith, a playful smile on her face.

Fang nodded. He then grinned evilly and looked over at Mal. "Faith and I met at an orgy in a graveyard. Did ya know that kid?"

"Peter!"

Mal chuckled and sat back, finished with his banana split. "I kinda figured that bit out actually." Fang opened his mouth to say something else but Mal beat him to it. "And I think that's all the detail I want to know, thanks very much."

"Spoilsport," said Fang, smiling.

Faith shook her head and finished off her vanilla latte, before checking her watch. "We probably should get going," she said, rising. "I don't think we need Demona angry at you two more than she already is now do we?"

Fang and Mal nodded before rising. The trio then began to gather up a half dozen plastic bags worth of groceries that Demona had told them to get and the packets of sweets and chocolate that Faith and Fang had insisted that Demona had simply forgot to mention on the list.

"Oh fuck this!" said Brooklyn. He glared at Rincewald and Riana, who'd started giving off to each other again, while reaching for the Black Sun staff that lay under the table in a fishing rod bag. "If you two don't stop it right now I'll fucking leave the pair of ya behind! You got that? No more bitching! No more fighting! Or I'll friggin feed you to the staff! You understand?"

They nodded as Brooklyn wrapped his hand around the shaft. "And another thing…"

His voice trailed off and his eyes widened, as the staff shuddered, and the daemon within whispered to his mind.

"Well, I'll be damned."

He stood up slowly, taking care to bring the staff up with him, as it's covering vanished in pale blue flames, which then flowed from the daemonstaff up along his arm and then all over his body, causing a few passers-by to stop dead in their tracks and stare, wide-eyed at the human; whose pale skin was shifting to a deep crimson.

Rincewald stared at him from where he sat, a little stunned. "Brooklyn, what the Hell are you doing?"

Over the noise of tearing cloth, the shifting of bones and the screams of those nearby, the necromancer was barely able to discern what Brooklyn said. To him it sounded like, "He won't get away this time."

The trio paused as they heard several terrified screams on the other side of the cluster of coffee tables and potted plants.

"What the Hell's that?" asked Fang. There were several more screams before a small group of afternoon shoppers scrambled out of the first floor shrubbery and darted past them. As they did so, Faith put her bags down and reached into her black leather jacket. Fang and Mal glanced over at her and put their bags down aswell, though neither reached into their jacket and coat respectively, for the moment at least.

Several of the tables, chairs and potted plants suddenly began to shudder violently from where they lay, before rising a few feet into the air and propelling themselves at the trio at a dangerous speed.

"Holy shit!" yelled Mal. He threw himself to the ground as a chair flew through the space his head had been only a moment before. "DUCK!"

Faith was to Mal's left while Fang had been to his right. When a potted tree and two tables hurtled towards Faith, she had managed to dive sideways, below the tree and then narrowly dodging the two tables as they both smashed themselves into the tiled floor where the female Inquisitor had been upon rising, scattering glass and twisted metal across several smashed and dislodged white tiles.

Fang wasn't quite so lucky. He dodged a table, and then two chairs, his path taking him nearly right beside the rail, before a potted palm came at him. He was able to dodge that aswell, the tree smashing into the rail behind him, exploding the glass out onto the people walking on the ground level below while bending and tearing the iron rails from the floor from the force of the impact. In a brief reprieve he suddenly hunched over, muttering something incomprehensible. There was the sound of tearing cloth as the back of his denim jacket exploded outwards as a massive pair of bat-like wings began to sprout from his back. His mouth began to take on a slight muzzle shape, while his teeth began to grow profusely into very dangerous looking fangs, as his hands became talons and his skin began to grow thick, chestnut coloured fur.

Another potted plant flew towards him, but exploded as and arc of raw electrical power emanating from his clenched fists collided with it, filling the air with flying chunks of dirt, pottery and flaming pieces of tree. Out of the brown cloud of dirt came another steel table that Fang fired at, though his electrical blast did little more than crack the glass, as he had yet to complete the transformation fully and thus rely on the great power his electrical glands gave him.

The table hit him in the chest, lifting him up off the ground and sending him over the edge of the destroyed rail just behind him, breaking the deformed rail with his back, just before he plummeted towards the floor below, not even getting the chance to yell or scream.

"PETER!"

"FANG!"

Mal rose to his knees, hoping desperately that Fang wasn't badly hurt, before something crimson red came at him and kicked him roughly in the chest. The gargoyle turned human was lifted off the ground from the power of the attack, landing a foot or so away on his back, the wind completely knocked out of him.

He lay there for a moment, his head swirling and his chest and lungs aching as he tried to gather himself and stand. He managed to sit up on his elbows before his attacker came at him again, leaping at him and bringing a large, clawed foot, down onto his flat belly, the claws cutting through his shirt and ripping the flesh of his stomach. Mal had the breath knocked out of him again as he half gasped in agony and doubled upwards, before a tail whipped across his face and sent it back down, the back of his head connecting with the tiled floor with a very loud crack.

At that point he blacked out.

Brooklyn smiled as he looked down at his unconscious clone. "Wow, that was easy. I keep forgetting how fragile human bodies are."

The Black Sun daemonstaff shuddered in his right hand.

Kill him! urged the daemon Thzul'gzhu'vsra'kotllz from within the weapon. Kill him now Master!

"Silence daemon," growled Brooklyn, his eyes flaring with blue flame. "I want this little bastard to suffer first."

-So this is Brooklyn,- thought Faith grimly.

She had managed to roll behind one of several support columns for the next floor up on the mall and was now crouched down, not far from where Mal was lying, out cold by the looks of it. She had pulled a Glock 17, 9mm semi-automatic from a shoulder holster under her leather jacket, and at this point was taking cautious looks over her shoulder, past the column and past where the gargoyle was standing, impossibly, with the sun still up, to see if she could spot anyone suspicious looking.

Mal had said that when Brooklyn had tortured him, he'd mentioned that he hadn't been responsible for the slaughter in Sudeny, which meant to Faith that he at least one other person with him.

She risked a quick glance over at Brooklyn. The red gargoyle had a very long, black staff with what looked like a human skull on the top end and a serrated spear tip on the other side. His clothes, brown trousers, a cream white cotton shirt and a brown waistcoat were torn here and there, from where his tail and wings had come out. Thin lines of pale blue and black flames seemed to dance up and down along the shaft of the staff, while the air was thick with the smell of the daemonic spice.

Brooklyn pulled his foot, the claws moist with blood, from his brother's stomach, chuckling as he did so. He brought the staff up and around so that now the spear tip was dangling only a few inches from Mal's chest.

Faith's eyes widened as the staff began to shudder violently in the gargoyle's loose grip. She thought she could hear the echo of a roar within her mind. There was a very heavy feeling in her stomach as she realised what was happening.

There was a daemon bound into the weapon Brooklyn was wielding, and he was about to feed his brother's soul to it.

Before Brooklyn could do anything more, Inquisitor Thompson was around the support column, firing a volley from her Glock in her left hand as she rushed forward. Four rounds in total.

The first hit Brooklyn in the right arm, just above the elbow. Two more ripped into the leathery membrane of his wings, while the fourth missed his throat and cut a line along the back of his neck with a trail of blood vapour coming out of the wound as the bullet cut through a thing layer of flesh and then went on to hit a wall on the other side of the mall, destroying a tile in the process.

The gargoyle spun about and screamed, his left arm going up to cover the wound in his neck as Faith covered the distance between them in scant seconds before bringing her right leg up while twisting about on her left ankle, swinging her right foot up to deliver a devastating kick to his face.

The gargoyle twisted about before falling back onto his side, temporarily stunned. Faith took advantage of this by roughly kicking the staff out of his hand and sending it bouncing along the wrecked floor. Resisting the desire to check to see if Malibu and Peter were all right, Inquisitor Thompson instead quickly glanced around to assess the situation.

The mall seemed to be emptying very quickly. The floor they were on was virtually deserted, with the last few people making their way to an escalator on the other side of the gap in the floor that let the daylight shine down on all the floors as quickly and quietly as possible. She couldn't see mall security anywhere, which meant they'd heard the gunshots, and had probably called the militia.

-Not much time then.-

There was a whistling sound in the air, and then suddenly a snap, and Faith was jerked roughly to the left, as her pistol was pulled from her grip and sent skidding along the floor, stopping several feet away at a pair of jet black combat boots.

Faith looked up from the gun, and into the pale green eyes of a very young woman, with short ash blonde hair and a button nose. She was in a simple brown dress that didn't suit her, while she carried a long whip in her right hand and a Kukri dagger in her left.

Behind her, perhaps twenty or so yards from them, was a man dressed in a brown suit and with a cream coloured shirt and no tie, sitting on a chair beside a toppled plant, while a brown hat and several dishes and empty glasses lay on the table right beside him. He was fat and had a very gruff and tired appearance. From the look in his eyes, he wasn't going to get involved, for the moment anyway.

Faith looked back at the young woman, who was smiling evilly at her.

"You look like you could keep me busy," she said, looking the Inquisitor over with a professional's eye. "For a while at least."

Faith growled and slipped her leather jacket off, tossing it aside, revealing the harness that she had kept her pistol and three extra clips of ammo on. Attached to the back of it was an extendable version of her wooden tonfa. She reached over her shoulder and pulled it free, taking it in her left hand and pressing the button on the handle, releasing the thin, black steel shaft.

The woman cocked her head to the right and licked her lips as Faith reached over with her right hand and into the left sleeve of her blouse, and yanked a thin handled knife from a strap around her forearm. It had a four and a half inch black handle, with a six and a half inch blade.

"Name's Riana," said the young woman conversationally as they began circling each other, staying a few yards apart. "Who are you?"

"The Inquisition," replied Faith, stopping and taking a basic fighting stance.

Riana scoffed at that and came forward suddenly, striking out with her whip, but Faith dodged to the right and threw her blade at the on coming woman, much to Riana's surprise.

The blade went into her right shoulder, the blade tearing into flesh and causing Riana yelp, more in shock than anything else, loosening her grip on her whip while her left arm went up to try and pull the blade out as the wound began to bleed.

At that moment Faith came at her, lashing upwards with her tonfa, knocking Riana's Kukri back but not taking it out of her hand. While Riana's left arm went up, Faith's right shot out and grabbed the handle of the knife that was still lodged in Riana's flesh. When she got hold of it she pushed forward, while twisting the blade, widening the hole she had made and causing the blood to gush out of the wound.

Riana screamed something incomprehensible and dropped the whip. Staggering back, she managed to regain some balance and lashed out at Faith with her dagger, cutting the woman's right cheek.

Faith swore and pulled the knife out of Riana's shoulder, bringing her left foot up and kicking her opponent roughly in the stomach, knocking her back on to her rump. But Riana rolled back as soon as she landed and was on her feet in barely a second.

Taking the Kukri in her right hand, Riana began to circle around Faith, looking for an opening while the female Inquisitor chose to stay put and wait for her opponent to make a move.

She heard a groan not too far away from them, and turned slightly while backing towards the wall to make sure Riana couldn't get the jump on her while getting to see who was waking up. She almost swore when Brooklyn sat up and looked up at her, his expression going from confused and in pain to utter rage in a scant second.

"You little bitch," he growled, standing, and swaying slightly. "I'll take your friggin head off for that."

Faith looked him over quickly. His shirt was stained with blood but his wounds didn't seem to be bleeding anymore, and the two holes she had put in his wing had vanished completely.

"You're a fast healer," she said.

"Yeah," said Brooklyn, drawing a single edged knife from his pocket. "It seems to be getting faster every time that happens. Pretty cool, huh?"

He smiled evilly and started towards her, slowly. Faith glanced over to her left and saw that Riana was coming in from the other side at about the same pace. She quickly switched the tonfa so that the longer end of the shaft was out past her fist and flipped it over so that she now held the shaft near the rear head.

Brooklyn nodded to Riana and they both came at the Inquisitor at once. Brooklyn lashed out with his knife but Faith managed to block it with her own blade while using the grip handle of her tonfa to catch Riana's wrist with the Kukri. She quickly did a side kick to Brooklyn, hitting him in the stomach and sending him staggering backwards before twirling about on Riana, forcing the woman's dagger away from her while she tried to stab her in the chest with her own knife. Riana saw it coming though. She managed to catch Faith's knife hand by the wrist before it could get near its intended target.

The two women wrestled with each other for a moment, glaring into each other's eyes while trying to gain the upper hand.

And then Riana began to squeeze Faith's wrist.

At first it was just a small, sharp pain, but one that didn't really bother Faith all that much. In her career as an Inquisitor, she'd felt pain a great deal worse than this.

But then she could feel the pressure around her wrist get tighter than she thought possible from human hands, and suddenly she felt jolts of pain lancing up along her arm. Riana smiled triumphantly and started squeezing even harder, forcing Faith's grip on the knife to loosen before she dropped it entirely, gritting her teeth, not making a sound, lest she give her opponent any satisfaction from it.

This woman's strength was amazing…

Faith began to struggle as hard as she could, trying to get out of Riana's vice like grip. In desperation she started kicking her in the mid-section, trying to knock the wind out of her and get her grip to loosen, while making sure she didn't try anything with the Kukri in her right hand.

When that didn't work (only managing to get Riana to grunt and bend over slightly but nothing more), and she looked into Riana's hatefully smug eyes, she brought up her right foot, and then brought it down again as hard as she could on the toes on Riana's left foot.

Riana's eyes widened, while her grip loosened from the shock of the below the belt attack, yelping from genuine pain this time. Faith was quick to take advantage of this. She kicked Riana in the stomach again, and then brought her foot about as her opponent was reeling back, her grip on Faith now gone completely, and managed to clip her across the face with a follow-up roundhouse kick.

As Riana toppled backwards, her upper lip and button nose busted and bleeding, Faith backed off towards the rail, keeping her back to it so she couldn't get jumped from behind. She glanced over to where Mal was lying, becoming extremely worried as she did so.

He was still on his back, completely limp, the front of his shirt damp with his blood

However, between her and Mal stood Brooklyn, who had scrambled over and had gotten hold of his staff again. There was also the handle of Faith's Glock sticking out over his trousers.

"Well I've gotta say," he said, smiling and leaning slightly on his staff, as weak lines of blue flame ran up and down the rune inscribed shaft. "Fang definitely has an interesting taste in women." He took the staff in both hands, the flames becoming noticeably stronger.

He took several steps towards her, but stopped when he heard something akin to the growl of a large cat. They both looked over at the destroyed part of the rail, where it was coming from.

There was a pair of clawed hands, covered in chestnut coloured fur, holding on to the edge. After a moment more, Fang's head appeared over the edge, followed by winged shoulders and then the rest of him. He got up quickly, hunched over, his breathing somewhat erratic. His nose was bleeding a small stream, while most of his top clothing was torn or shredded. There was also a small blood flow between his lower gums, which were bared along with a set of dangerously sharp fangs. He looked over at Brooklyn with murder in his eyes.

"You, slimy bastard," he growled between clenched teeth. "You big, fucking coward."

Brooklyn glared daggers at him as Fang reached into his ruined jacket and produced a pair of shortened, dual edged, steel handled war knives. "First, ya go and beat up on Mal. Whose done nothing but try and help you. And now this? You fucking chicken."

Brooklyn's anger seemed to dissipate suddenly and he smiled with an air of complete superiority to his former friend. "Hey, if he wouldn't accept the truth, then he had it coming." He looked at Fang's twin blades. "So what do you plan on doing with those? Freak."

The blades of the knives that Fang had suddenly exploded into white-blue flames as Fang channelled electricity into them through the metal handles. He started forward slowly towards the gargoyle, holding the blades before him in a defensive posture.

"I'm gonna cut that cocky head of yours off, and then I'm gonna shove it up you ass. That's what."

"I thought the twisted little plan was to 'save' me?" said Brooklyn sarcastically.

"Hey. You're immortal ain't ya?" growled Fang. "You'll live."

Brooklyn chuckled and the flames running along the staff died down completely. He walked towards Fang, brandishing the staff in both if his taloned hands.

"Tell you what Fang," he said casually. "Since you aren't technically human anymore. I'll make you an offer." He stopped several feet away from the cougar mutate. "I'll let you and that," he said, with a quick, contemptuous nod towards Mal, who finally seemed to be stirring slightly. "…live. If you both just bugger off, and stay well out of my way and don't try and stop me anymore. How's that sound?"

Fang circled to Brooklyn right at a slow pace, and stopped when he was between the gargoyle and Mal's still unconscious body.

"That the best you have to offer?" said the mutate, the scorn in his voice quickly switching to sarcasm. "Oh great, future ruler of the world. You're nothing but a cheap Nazi with wings."

Brooklyn frowned. "Believe me. It's a lot better than the alternative."

"Maybe. But I still ain't interested. I mean you're a very sick guy Brook. Probably shoot me the second I turned my back."

Brooklyn glared at him dangerously. "Oh really?"

Fang shrugged and actually gave a wry smile. "Hell. It's what I'd do."

Brooklyn seemed to find this funny. He chuckled for a moment and then made an incredibly stupid move while doing this.

He closed his eyes.

It was only for the briefest of moments, barely a second to be exact. But by the time Brooklyn's eyelids were lifting again, Fang had covered the distance between them and was coming right at him, his two bayonets crackling with electrical energy, and stabbed Brooklyn in the chest with the blade in his right hand.

Brooklyn's entire body went rigid as he emitted a harsh scream of agony as the huge amount of electrical current ran through his body, burning him from within and frying his nerves mercilessly. As his screams echoed throughout the vast space of the inside of the mall, so too did the roar of the daemon within his staff echo throughout the confines of his mind. Though for it, the roar was more of rage than anything else.

Brooklyn was still holding the staff in both hands, clutching onto it so tight that his knuckles were becoming paler, as the occasional string of electrical energy ran along the shaft between his fists.

Suddenly though, along with the lines of electricity ran lines of black flame. The smell of the daemonic spice began to gain dominion over the newly emerging smell of burning flesh and cloth. It spread from the staff and over Brooklyn's entire body.

Fang pulled the blade out before the flames came near his arm, guessing that the flames would probably cover him in a second as well if he didn't get back.

He took several steps back as the flames that had enveloped Brooklyn vanished as quickly as they had appeared. Brooklyn swayed slightly; the hole that should have been in his chest from where Fang had stabbed him wasn't there, although the front of his shirt was damp and the same shade of crimson as his own skin.

Brooklyn's eyes were burning that creepy shade of blue as he looked up at the cougar mutate. He took several steps forwards as Fang started backing away from him, slowly.

"That was low Fang. Even for you," growled Brooklyn. He stopped advancing and took a defensive posture with the staff, the flames that still danced along the shaft of the weapon vanishing.

"Try that again. I dare you."

Fang didn't move, but the electrical energy stopped crackling along the blades of his war-knives.

Brooklyn smiled at this. "Okay. You don't use your powers, and I won't use mine. Deal?"

Fang nodded and suddenly came at Brooklyn again, slashing low with his left and high with his right. Brooklyn started off backwards, deflecting both attacks with his staff before countering with an upward slash with the spear end. Fang crossed his blades and blocked low, stopping the blade and then leaping backwards as Brooklyn pulled his weapon back and tried to bring the skull end down on Fang's head.

They circled for a moment and then came at each other again.

As Faith watched she heard a growl and turned just enough to see Riana come at her right from the corner of her eye, swinging her Kukri in a downward arc. Faith leapt back from her and twisted about, bringing the tonfa in her left hand up to deflect the attack.

Riana darted out quickly again and then came at the female Inquisitor, to the left this time. Faith blocked the attack, muttering a curse at how the force of the blow stung her wrist before she threw herself forward into her opponent's chest with as much force as she could.

Riana swore as she was knocked off balance. She stumbled back and swung her dagger in front of her to prevent Faith from taking advantage of her vulnerable position.

Faith came in low though, just below Riana's swings, making a sweep with her right leg, hitting Riana's ankles and knocking her legs from under her. As Riana fell back Faith suddenly leapt into the air, hoping to come down on top of Riana and hopefully pin her down so she could break her neck with the shaft of her tonfa.

But Riana's reflexes proved to be just as remarkable as her strength. As Faith came down on her, Riana managed to lift her feet up to her chest as her back hit the tiled ground. As Faith came in Riana's feet connected with her stomach. Riana used Faith's own momentum to send her flying over her by kicking her legs out and rolling back at the same time.

Faith swore as she flew through the air and brought her arms up to cover her face as she came down on the floor, at where Fang had destroyed one of the potted plants, and so the ground here had a lot of dirt and broken pottery around.

Faith skidded along the ground for about a meter before she came to a stop, the tonfa flying out of her hand and landing just a little way off to the left. She got on her knees and looked behind her, just in time to see Riana get up on her feet and come right at her.

When Riana was but about a foot away, she brought her left leg up, aiming for Faith's ribs. Faith had still yet to get up from her knees and so brought her arms up, but not in time. Riana's leg struck her in the chest, and Faith could distinctly hear the sound of at least one of her ribs cracking. She brought her arms up though, managing to catch Riana's leg before she could fall backwards or Riana withdrew for another attack.

Fuelled both by a building rage and adrenaline, Faith managed to hold onto Riana's leg while pulling herself up. Before Riana could react, Faith hit her across the face with a backhand punch with her left fist, drawing blood from Riana's top lip as Faith let go of her now outstretched leg and fell backwards. She rolled back as soon as she hit the ground and was on her feet in a moment.

Riana and Faith stood at roughly two meters apart. Riana was standing in a complex looking fighting posture, a smirk on her face as she licked up the blood flowing down her lip.

Faith was hunched over slightly, her right arm crossed over her chest to protect her damaged ribs. Her breathing was harsh and rasping. Each breath seemed to burn her lungs from within and her head and her vision wasn't totally clear from a sudden lack of oxygen. She shook her head to try and clear it, willing herself not to lose, not to this scum. She had to focus. This woman was abnormally strong and fast, which suggested she might have undergone some sort of enhancement.

From the look of her companions, she suspected that the daemonic was probably involved somewhere.

Riana licked her lips again as she came towards the female Inquisitor, slowly, but also with confidence. She knew this fight was hers now. Her opponent was injured and having troubles breathing, not that she probably wouldn't fight to the end anyway, but that was to be expected of one of her kind.

But in the end she would lose, just like all the rest.

Brooklyn and Fang locked weapons for a brief moment, giving each other looks of absolute hate before they broke apart. Brooklyn began to fall back, the staff in hands becoming a blur as he deflected thrusts, slashes and everything else that Fang threw at him as they danced along the tiled floor, their weapons creating sparks as the clashed.

Fang dashed in suddenly; swinging both his blades in a downward arc similar to an axe-handle smash. Brooklyn brought up his staff in both hands and met them with the shaft of his daemonstaff, blocking the two twin-edged, twelve-inch long chrome blades. Fang tried to bring his right foot up to kick Brooklyn away, but the gargoyle anticipated this move and shot his left foot up and caught Fang's ankle before he got his foot up more than a few inches off the floor, bringing it back down and pinning it to the ground. Brooklyn managed to steal a smug grin at Fang as there weapons and feet locked before the cougar mutate brought up his other foot, keeping his balance just long enough to kick Brooklyn in the crotch.

As both fell backwards from the force of the attack, Brooklyn's eyes seemed to bulge for a moment before he let out a piercing scream of agony, while Fang now wore a smug look. Both hit the ground at about the same time, with Fang rolling with the fall immediately and coming back up on his feet in barely a second, while Brooklyn managed to roll over onto his side and started to get up on his hands and knees, groaning in pain as he did so in roughly the same span of time.

Fang came at him quickly, kicking the crimson gargoyle in the ribs as hard as he could, knocking Brooklyn over onto his back. He brought up his foot, with the intention of bringing it down on Brooklyn's head, but Brooklyn saw the foot coming and managed to roll across the ground before Fang's foot connected.

Brooklyn managed to get up on his feet in time to meet Fang's next attack. The cougar mutate shot out his left hand, the blade in it gleaming in the florescent lights on the ceiling above them, at Brooklyn's right. Brooklyn blocked with the staff but Fang followed up immediately, aiming low and stabbing Brooklyn in his left hip, twisting the blade and opening the wound in his flesh as widely as possible before pulling it out and falling back before Brooklyn could attempt any retaliation.

Brooklyn screamed. The pain he felt in his leg was unbelievable. He staggered back as the left leg of his trousers became damp and a much darker shade of brownish red. He shook his head, feeling weak and dizzy all of a sudden.

Fang roared and came in again.

There was a feeling of pain before anything else. The sort that left him feeling as if someone was going at his head with a jackhammer.

So this was what a migraine was like.

The darkness, which had previously been all encompassing, now began to recede, as a crack of light appeared, and slowly began to dominate his vision, leaving just a collection of blueish spots that seemed to be dangling above his head, forever just out of reach, until they eventually faded away.

He groaned, both in pain and in vexation.

This was getting ridiculous.

Just how many more times was he going to be everybody else's punching bag?

He could see what appeared to be the bottom half of some sort of balcony, tiled a brilliant white and with over hanging fluorescent lights that stung his eyes if he looked into them for too long. Over the edge of this, he could see the edge of some sort of glass dome, with bright white rods of permanent scaffolding criss-crossing it, while above both this and the glass, the odd cloud, their outlines lit up by a setting sun that he couldn't see, moved aimlessly along a darkening sky. He shifted his head so that it was on its side, and immediately regretted dong this. He felt a sudden lance of pain rise up from his stomach as he twisted the rest of his body on the hard, cold floor so that he now lay on his side.

He began to feel dizzy and the spots returned. He could taste a strange mixture of blood and bile at the back of his throat. Shaking hands covered his stomach. His shirt and T-shirt clung to his mid-section, damp with a thick, warm liquid that flowed from small punctures that sent further lances of agony through him whenever they were touched. He briefly wondered just how much blood someone could lose before they passed out and died.

There was the echo of metal hitting metal, and the familiar sound of voices raised in anger, though whether it was from the pain he felt in his head or the way he was lying, it was difficult to discern both from where they were coming from and how far away they were.

Mal groaned and swore at the same time.

Fang, Faith or both could be in danger, and here he was, doing nothing, relying on others to do the fighting. To keep him safe, like some helpless child.

-I am not helpless.-

He grunted, ignoring the pain he felt surge through him, his arms pushing him up his knees now, fuelled by a rush of adrenaline caused by the rage he felt building up inside of him. His head began to swirl and he nearly toppled from a wave of dizziness, but he shook it off, willing it to go away.

-I am not weak.-

He stood up and fell forward immediately, but his hands shot out and pushed against a support column to keep himself upright until he could focus and stand on his own again. His head was throbbing still; the pain in his stomach was getting sharper. Another wave of dizziness nearly toppled him.

He shook his head again, his eyes closed tight and his teeth clenched, while holding on as best he could to the white washed stone column. He'd had worse than this; the scars and the limp he had in his walk were testament to this fact. This was nothing compared to some of the things he'd gone through in his life.

He pushed himself off the column, and nearly fell over before he could regain enough balance to lean against the column as the dizziness came back, just as the spots in front of his eyes. His stomach seemed to contract suddenly and he felt like throwing up.

But then again, he'd been a gargoyle when going through all those things, and their bodies were a lot tougher than the frail human form he was at the moment. It was amazing how easily they could be damaged.

He pushed himself off the column again, loosing his balance momentarily but then regaining it quickly. His breathing was becoming more controlled, and the spots in front of his eyes had vanished again. There were the sounds of fighting still going on, so hopefully he wasn't too late.

He reached into his coat, and pulled one of the two tonfa he had hanging on the empty loopholes on his pants that were supposed to be used for holding a belt. He held it tightly by the handle; it was very different from the plain wooden ones that Faith used.

Hers were wooden, but his were made of titanium, with the shafts hollowed to reduce the weight. But apart from that the dimensions were similar to any type of the weapon.

It resembled a police nightstick. The main shaft, with rounded, blunt ends, was twenty-one inches in length. Five inches from the top or "head" of the tonfa, a six inch long handle, in this case, a diamond black ribbed one with a chrome, blunt ended tip, came out at a ninety degree angle. He held onto this tightly, while the main part of the shaft ran under his arm, protecting it while the shorter, five-inch long end, jutted out below his fist, making any punch with it very dangerous.

In the months previous to Brooklyn's madness, when they all had been living together, Mal had found them hanging on one of the walls in one of Macbeth's many training rooms and had taken a liking to them. Unlike the swords that Brooklyn loved and the guns and knives Fang seemed interested in, these didn't look like they could kill instantly.

At least, they couldn't in his hands. Nobody seemed to actually know the proper way to use them in his home, but he seemed to get the hang of them after a while. Faith had also been kind enough to teach him a few moves, but unsurprisingly, a lot of them ended or began with pummelling the opponent's crotch with them, which often left him and any other males who watched her demonstrations, cringe a little.

He pulled the other tonfa from its loophole and turned around, managing to avoid toppling over.

Fang and Brooklyn were fighting quite savagely with each other, although it looked like Fang had the advantage. Mal stared at the crimson gargoyle, and then up at the sky that he could see through the glass ceiling.

It wasn't dark. So how the Hell was Brooklyn able to wander around as a gargoyle?

Brooklyn thrust out with the spear end of a bizarre looking staff he was carrying, aiming for Fang's stomach, but the mutate crossed both of his knifes and knocked the serrated tip down, just between his legs. He seemed to notice Mal was up out of the corner of his eye.

"Kid! Help Faith!" he managed to yell, before Brooklyn pulled the spear tip back and suddenly brought the other, much heavier end of the staff, with the black human skull in the corona, in a fast downward arc that Fang just managed to block with his crossed knives. There were several holes in Brooklyn's outfit, outlined in dark brown and red, but the cuts in the flesh all had apparently healed, leaving only a few scars.

Mal nodded and darted past them, as Fang stamped on Brooklyn's tail, which the gargoyle had been using to try and trip him up, causing him to roar in pain and howl insults at the dirtily grinning cougar mutate.

He saw Faith, fighting desperately with some woman in a brown dress with a huge Kukri dagger.

The woman in the dress struck out at Faith, who seemed to be having trouble breathing. Her Kukri dagger was met by Faith's black security tonfa, but the Kukri knocked Faith's weapon out of her hand with the strength of the attack, sending the female Inquisitor back while her weapon flew threw the air and over the side of the balcony rail, landing with a clatter somewhere on the tiled ground floor below.

The woman cackled madly, but Faith grabbed a twisted, battered steel chair that was lying on the ground by one of its protruding legs and hurled it at her opponent, catching her by surprise and hitting her in the face, knocking her backwards, as Faith came in suddenly and delivered a ruthless side kick to the woman's flat stomach, knocking her off her feet and sending the Kukri clattering along the floor, stopping near where Mal was.

Mal bent over and picked it up as he rushed past where the woman lay and over to Faith, who seemed relieved at his appearance.

"Are you alright?" they both asked, almost simultaneously.

"I'm fine," said Mal quickly, looking Faith over worriedly. "You look pretty bad though."

"Oh I'm okay," replied Faith quickly, through gritted teeth. She was bent over slightly, her right arm wrapped tightly around her chest. Her breathing was harsh. "Just…just give me a minute…I'll be alright."

Mal frowned, but knowing better, he said nothing, instead offering her one of his own tonfa, which Faith took immediately in her left hand, while keeping her right arm pressed against her chest.

There was a very low, infuriated growl from the woman as she stood up and ran quickly over to where a very large, black leather whip was lying. She scooped it up quickly and turned to face her two opponents.

She looked over Mal curiously, and a smile formed across her bleeding lips as she did so. "So who dresses you? Ace Ventura?"

Mal glared dirtily at Riana. "Fuck you lady!"

"Yeah," chimed in Faith, seeing an opening. "And at least what he's wearing doesn't make him look fat!"

Riana's smile vanished in an instant. She looked first at Faith, and then at Mal. "Fat?" She seemed to start shaking, while the man sitting in the chair burst out laughing.

"FAT?" screamed Riana, enraged beyond words. "Let's see how pretty you two are then when I cut your fucking heads off!"

She came at them, snapping out her whip at Faith, a move the female Inquisitor had been expecting. As it came at her, Faith twisted her wrist holding Mal's tonfa, swinging the weapon around until the long part of the shaft came out from under her fist and brought it up in front of her face. Riana's whip shot out and wrapped around the chrome shaft roughly. At the same instant, Faith pulled the tonfa back as hard as she could, pulling Riana forward, knocking her off balance as she came forward.

Mal came at her as this happened. Ducking below Riana's taut whip, he bent down low and went under Riana's arm. He then swung his right hand in an upwards-right hook, snapping his wrist as his fist came close to Riana's head, causing the tonfa to twirl in his hand in the same direction his arm. The rear, longer end of the shaft swung about in a blur, and struck Riana across the face, the force of the attack actually stopping her in her tracks and sending her reeling back, making her lose her grip on her whip, only to have it fly out of her hand as Faith pulled on the other end again.

Riana toppled, fell, but didn't rise immediately. Fortunately for her, Mal had backed off after he had floored her, while Faith was busy gathering Riana's whip together, so neither of them tried to take advantage of her moment's vulnerability.

Riana did rise though after several seconds. She stood up, swayed slightly, and then looked over at Mal and Faith. The two of them were standing side by side, at the ready. Faith was holding both Riana's whip, wrapped up, and her Kukri dagger, loosely in her right hand.

Riana checked her teeth with her tongue, and swore viciously when she felt at least two teeth were missing from her lower jaw. She looked at the two nothings in front of her. That had been the first to do her any real damage in a very, very long time.

Her glare locked on to Faith, who was matching her hate-ridden look with one of her own.

She raised her shaking hand and pointed at the weapons Faith had dangling in her hand.

"Give me those back," she growled, her voice barely audible. "Before I skin you alive."

Faith, who was still bent over slightly, looked down at the indicated weapons. Slowly, she raised her hand up with them in it, until it was right in front of her. She actually managed to crack a smile before she threw her hand back, sending the Kukri and whip over the rail behind her, down onto the ground floor, hitting the tiles with a clatter, that seemed to echo throughout the cavernous expanse of the mall's interior.

Time seemed to slow, as Riana looked over at the edge of the balcony for a moment, and then turned her gaze back to Mal and Faith. She looked at them, through suddenly cold eyes.

"Now I will kill you slowly."

Brooklyn struck first left, then right with the staff, surging forward as he did so, forcing Fang on the defensive. The cougar mutate started back, nearly tripping over some ruined pottery as he did so. Brooklyn slashed at him as he nearly toppled, cutting a line along his T-shirt around his chest, drawing a small amount of blood, and causing Fang to yell out in pain.

The cougar mutate fell back, trying to dodge any follow up Brooklyn might have. The second his back hit the floor he brought his legs up and rolled backwards onto one knee. As he came up, Brooklyn raised the staff up above his head in both hands, the spearhead pointing down towards Fang. As Fang was looking up at him, Brooklyn thrust the spear down at his enemy, aiming for his heart.

Fang swore and managed to bring his knives up. Everything seemed to slow down, as the serrated spear tip raced towards his heart, too fast and too hard for him to hope to dodge. While at the same time, his blades were coming up, far slower by the looks of it, to try and block or at least divert the path of the spear tip.

And then there was the deafening clang as the spear tip stopped, just a couple of inches away from Fang's heart. Brooklyn howled in frustration.

Fang's blades had managed to lock in with some of the serrated edges of the blade of the spear.

Eyes blazing white, roaring like a rabid beast, Brooklyn pushed the spear down with all his might. Fang, suddenly feeling very blessed, roared as well and tried to push the spear away with as much strength as he could muster, while trying to stand and get a better foot hold and reduce Brooklyn's advantage.

Straining, his arms shaking with sudden exhaustion, Fang pushed against Brooklyn, screaming hoarsely. He managed to get both his feet planted on the ground, his left knee bent down, pushing against the crimson gargoyle while his right leg was outstretched behind it, keeping him from loosing his balance. With great effort, Fang managed to force the blade away by an inch or so more from his chest, while raising it up so that now the tip was pointing right at his face. He could actually make out weird designs along the blade itself that stung the eyes to look at.

Fang managed to frown.

This wasn't going to work. Brooklyn might not be as strong physically as him (and that was only by a very sleek margin), but he had the distinct advantage of pushing his weapon down, while Fang had to strain to force it up, while trying to secure his footing to do so as well, making this exercise a whole lot harder.

He wouldn't be able to keep this up for a lot longer, and then Brooklyn would run him right through like a piece of meat.

His chest began to ache, as did his shoulders. He could taste blood in his mouth, while he could feel yet another tooth coming loose with his tongue. He looked up and right into Brooklyn's flaming white eyes, his face contorted into and animalistic snarl. Right there and then, it was easy to believe Brooklyn was insane. He seemed to have at least inherited the extra strength that any madman seemed to possess. He wondered if that amulet Brooklyn was wearing that Mal told him about could really destroy someone's conscience, make them utterly indifferent to the suffering of others.

Fang would have probably continued on with this thought for a moment longer, but he was suddenly snapped out of this train of thought by the sound of something he realised that he should have been prepared for as soon as he caught that glimpse of Brooklyn as he was climbing back up onto the overhead balcony.

The echo of sirens nearby, getting closer with each passing second.

-SHIT!-

He managed a quick look over at Brooklyn, who looked just as surprised as he did. He'd even turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder.

No sooner had Fang noticed this then he made his move.

Pushing himself forward and upwards with his rear foot, he used his knives to roughly jar Brooklyn's staff to the right, while putting all his weight on his left leg, which was the one in front, and twisting about clockwise on his left foot.

As Brooklyn suddenly found himself coming forward, the spear end of his staff heading down and forward into air, Fang was now just to his right, still twisting about on the balls of his left foot. Then there was a suddenly gleam of metal in the fluorescent lights, and Fang, now fully twisted about and safe from Brooklyn's thrust, lashed out with the blade in his right hand as his spin was just coming to an end, aiming for Brooklyn's head.

The knife cut right into Brooklyn's right cheek, slicing right through the flesh as if it were butter, scraping against teeth and cutting a thin, bloody hole into Brooklyn's tongue, before continuing on, cutting of the cheek's flesh, and out and along the beak, the blade cutting a line along the thin layer of skin the whole way along the right side of the beak, creating a trail of blood vapour behind it.

Brooklyn's eyes, their flare suddenly gone, seemed to widen as his mouth filled up with blood, that gushed out of the hole in his cheek, as he continued to fall forward.

Fang leapt back as it looked like Brooklyn was about to fall flat on his face, gripping the handles of his knives tightly, a confident smile on his face.

Brooklyn wasn't quite as tough as he thought he was.

But then Brooklyn stopped falling. He stopped several inches from the ground and stuck a foot forward and pushed him self upright, as Fang watched, stunned.

Brooklyn turned around and faced Fang, both his eyes and his staff blazing with pale blue flame. The huge gash Fang had made on his right cheek vanished before the mutate's eyes, leaving only scar tissue along the wound along the flesh and beak.

He looked at Fang, through flaming, hate ridden eyes.

"This farce," he growled, raising his right hand and pointing his open palm at Fang. "Is over!"

A bolt of blue flame shot out of Brooklyn's hand, aiming for Fang's head. The mutate saw it coming and ducked below it, the shot singing the tips of the fur on his head before flying across to the other side of the mall and detonating a support column, the force of the explosion shattering the glass in several nearby shops, while chunks of concrete filled the air.

Fang dived in at Brooklyn at about waist height, dropping his knives and grabbed hold of the handle of the Faith's Glock that Brooklyn had shoved into his trousers, pulling the handgun out, before leaping back, narrowly dodging a single handed swipe by Brooklyn's daemonstaff.

No sooner had Fang landed than he raised the gun in both hands and pointed it at Brooklyn's head.

But Brooklyn reacted before Fang had a chance to fire.

A small blast of daemonic energy shot out from the empty sockets of the obsidian skull on top of the staff. The streak of pale blue flame hit Fang full on in the chest, the strength of the attack lifting Fang off his feet completely before he could pull the trigger.

The mutate flew right through the air for a dozen feet, before hitting the ground and crashing loudly into the wreckage of one of the steel tables, several shards of glass that had been part of the design cutting into him as he bent the metal further before bouncing hard along the ground, only stopping when he crashed into the wall, smashing his head into the concrete and nearly breaking his neck. The gun flew out of his hand at this point, hitting the ground and skidding along the tiles, stopping about half way between Fang and where Faith and Mal were still fighting Riana.

Fang lay where he had hit one of the walls, most of his T-shirt burned away, the fur covering of his chest and belly was charred, smoking slightly, while his crumpled body on its side, utterly limp.

Brooklyn smiled and began to walk forward at a suddenly confident pace for where Fang lay, stopping to pick up the knife Faith had kicked out of his hand earlier, his smile becoming supremely evil.

"It's about time I skinned myself a kitty."

"PETER!"

Faith blocked Riana's left hook and kicked in the stomach, sending her staggering back. The Inquisitor turned about and ran over to where Fang was lying, ignoring the surge of pain she felt in her lungs, while hoping Mal could keep that hellion busy for just a few moments.

Brooklyn stopped as he noticed her coming. He growled in fury and threw the knife at her, but Inquisitor Thompson dived forward, wrapping her left hand around the handle of her trusted Glock as she rolled forward and then leapt up onto her feet, only a few yards away from Brooklyn.

As she brought the pistol up, aiming for Brooklyn's head, the crimson gargoyle's eyes flared pale blue, as he spoke a single word in the daemon's tongue.

Faith had the gun aimed at Brooklyn's head, but suddenly she couldn't pull the trigger. Her hand felt numb suddenly. He couldn't even lower her arm. It was as if some unseen force had seized control of her entire arm.

The smell of daemonic spice, coming in thick wafts, suddenly entered her nose, and she swore under her breath.

Grunting in rage, Faith's right arm came up, her hand wrapping around the handle, her fingers trying to squeeze their way into the guard to pull the trigger. But predictably, they too become numb, under Brooklyn's daemonic grip, the rest of her body following an instant later.

"Faith!" screamed Mal. "Hold on!"

Riana came at him but he lashed out at her with his tonfa, hoping to keep her away long enough to try and get to Brooklyn before he could do something to Faith.

But the man in the brown suit he'd seen watching them fight suddenly came at him from the right, swinging a black staff low and hitting Mal hard on the injured part of his stomach. Mal coughed in agony, doubling over and dropping his tonfa, as he felt the metallic taste of blood rise in the back of his throat again.

The man lashed out again, this time with the other end of his staff, aiming low, behind Mal as he doubled over, hitting the back of his knees and sweeping his legs out from under him. He landed on his back, getting the breath knocked out of him. He tried to get up, managing to rise to his knees before Riana came at him from behind, wrapping her arms around his and pulling them back, holding him tightly now in a vice-like grip.

Mal screamed and began to struggle for all he was worth, but Riana was a great deal stronger than he was as a human, and so his efforts were in vain.

"Hold him tight Riana!" yelled Brooklyn. "But don't hurt him anymore! If anyone gets to torture that little piece of shit it's gonna be me!"

Brooklyn then looked over at Faith; his eyes still flaming blue, the smile along his beak disgustingly superior. The smell of the daemon around him now was so thick it nearly overwhelmed her.

"My, my…aren't we in a bit of trouble?"

Faith was still standing in the same position, trapped in it. But her arms were shaking; drops of sweat were running down her wrinkled forehead as she grunted in effort to get control of her limbs back.

Her emerald eyes caught Brooklyn's triumphant grin as he spoke.

"B-b-bastard..." she managed to growl through gritted teeth.

Brooklyn chuckled and looked her over again. "You know, ever since I started this little quest of mine, I've had nothing but fucking trouble from your gang of bible thumbing nutjobs. So I'm gonna take a great deal of pleasure from this."

His smile vanished. He leaned forward, till his face was barely inches from hers.

"Put the gun to your head." He commanded. "Now."

To Faith's horror, her arms began to move by themselves. Her right hand let go of the gun, while her left held on tightly to it, and began to raise it towards her head.

She screamed and fought Brooklyn's control, fought it with every ounce of her being, fighting desperately for control again.

But Brooklyn's power, his will, was too strong, even for someone like her.

She watched her arm, with the hand holding her favourite gun at the end of it; move up in slow motion, like a movie almost, travelling along the side of her head until it went out of her field of vision. She then felt the barrel press against her temple. So hard against her skull that it hurt.

"And now," whispered Brooklyn. "Pull the trigger. And put yourself out of my misery."

Now things really did seem to slow down, as if perhaps it was just a scene in a movie. It gave her a feeling of detachment to the madness that was happening now.

She could feel her fingers moving, tightening around the trigger, and pulling it back.

Mal's voice, sounding as it were a thousand miles away, came to her ears, the words lost, unidentifiable, but the tone came in clear somehow.

Images of people that had shaped her life suddenly flooded into her mind.

Her father, Inquisitor Renier, Inquisitor Thorpe, Father (and now Bishop) Sanchez, Mrs. Felps, the teacher she had in kindergarten with the round face and wire glasses, and…

…Peter.

How can so much happen? How can so many people have such an influence on someone's life? To nudge or shove one person's course over decades until it leads them to die a pointless death on the first floor of a mall on the other side of the world from where they were born?

Faith Thompson shut her eyes, not wanting to give Brooklyn the satisfaction of seeing the sorrow she suddenly felt inside of her. Her last act of defiance, she realised suddenly.

To endure so much, just to die in such a way…

"Do it," whispered Brooklyn, eyes flaring. "Die."

Her eyes shut tight, praying silently for forgiveness, Inquisitor Faith; Alice Thompson's left hand gripped the gun tightly, keeping it pressed hard against her head, pulled the trigger.

And then…

To be continued…

Additional Author's note: Huge thanks to Caboose for tonnes and tonnes of moral support and helpful suggestions! You rock dude! Also huge thanks to everybody who actually takes the time to read my utter garbage! You guys rock too!

As usual, suggestions, comments, flames etc, etc all welcome!

The next part should be done and dusted in a few months time! J

Toodles!

Darkness