TOUCHING GOD

Everything came full circle.

It had been a long, strange few years, Kristo had to admit, grudgingly. At least three since he had last been in the mountains of Tennessee, since the mists had kissed his face and the sweet rains fallen gently upon his skin. It was all sentimental bullshit, he knew, but, strangely, the rain was a welcome change. It poured down refreshingly on his skin and trailing over Kristo's muscles, as if washing away the sins of the past.

"Cleanse the world," he whispered to the sky, to nothingness around him. "Cleanse the world of any minor trespasses incurred this eve, of any hints to intruders, and any lingering shadows of existence."

A prayer.

Amon had hardly ever heard any of these men, the Thirteen, utter even what sounded remotely like an affirmation of divinity, let alone a prayer. Or, perhaps, it was a mental note to self. For, as Kristo stared up, into the inky heavens above, letting the falling, heavy droplets of water plaster raven black locks of hair to his face and his ebony clothes to his skin, the shadow walker bore not the serene look of someone making his peace with God. No, instead, Kristo's features held the set look of someone who was about to take his peace from God, even if he had to do it fighting. Kristo merely ran through what needed to be done there.

A droplet fell into Amon's eye, blinding him momentarily.

"Don't let something so mundane take your concentration," Kristo hissed, drawing something from the shadows about them. The sakabatto; he meant not to kill, not to harm, unless driven to desperation.

Brett didn't lift his stony gaze for even a moment. "We don't have the time for that."

Amon watched curiously as Kristo drew forth a tonto and wakazashi from the shadows, their gleaming blades catching what little light remained around them in the darkness of the night. "We never have had the time for that." Kristo spoke the words evenly, coolly, slickly, as he handed the wakazashi to Brett, slipping it into the fire elemental's waiting hand. "We never will."

The tonto was handed to Amon, the weight reassuring within his hand. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, you fool," Kristo growled. "With the rain and all, we're at a disadvantage, down one man outside."

The former hunter nodded. The rain had come from nowhere, or so it seemed, rolling down off the mountains high just as they rolled into the small, sleepy town in Tennessee. The storm seemed freak to Amon, but, judging by the looks on Brett's and Kristo's faces, it happened regularly like that in that part of the world. The two seemed unphased, in fact by anything that occurred as they drove into town, as though the pair had frequented that area before. However, with the moisture, Amon doubted Brett would even get a spark off outside.

They turned to the building, lurking just beyond the trees.

"That's our target?" Amon inquired softly.

Brett nodded.

Kristo actually gave response. "Yes. That's the little slice of hell we're walking into."

"What is it? A prison?" Amon bade for more information, desperate to know more about their goal, about the traps that lay ahead.

"Worse."

xxxx

"You what?"

Robin screamed across the telephone lines as Nycole just stood there, shaking. "They left. I couldn't stop them."

There was a moment of silence, dark and foreboding. No one wanted to talk. Neither Robin nor Nycole. Bear and Raven just sat on the couch, their faces dark and gloomy. Sakaki preferred to stare at his feet, studying the intricate layer of dirt and stains in the "well loved" carpet beneath. And Marcus? He grinned a sadistic smile.

But, then, a voice broke the silence, even and almost disturbingly tranquil. "Nycole, listen to me and listen very carefully, for these words shall not be repeated."

"Kathain?"

The empath, in her hope, forgot for a moment, forgot about everything that had happened to them over the last few years. She forgot all about Japan, about the STN-J. Her mind loosened the last fragments of memory of the Solomon attack, of what she had seen in the assassin, Leanna, of the brutal torture and purging of Kathain's mind. It all slipped away, like so many grains of sand in a closing fist. The harder Nycole tried to hold tight to the reality of the situation, the easier it slipped away. A fish, a bar of soap. It was all the same.

"No." For once, Leanna didn't speak seemingly scolding words. "What was once Kathain is now Leanna. What was once weak and imperfect has been perfected. What was once fragile is now tempered." Her words were unwavering, cool and calculated. "You need to gather the Thirteen and leave Atlanta. The city is no longer safe for you. We will find Amon, Brett, Kristo, and the other. Robin and I shall meet them there."

"Where will we go?" Nycole breathed.

Leanna let out a breath, as if thinking. "It does not matter. You need to leave and go as far away as possible." She stopped, concentrating for a moment. "I will find you and yours when we can. I will bring them together." A strange sentiment hung over those last words, swirling darkly and bitterly in the back of Nycole's mind. "You know have the power to do so."

"I do."

Leanna paused. "So, do as you must. We are wasting precious time."

"I will," Nycole breathed.

"There is one last thing," the precognitive held on those words, drawing out their deeply ominous hinting, as if savoring the effect. "You must secret away all of the Thirteen. All of them, Nycole."

"I will."

xxxx

They strode silently, stalking together, like wolves on the prowl. They were wolves, afterall, proud warriors of the apocalypse. They took to the animals, to the furred, feathered, and clawed kin of man. The Thirteen looked to them for strength, for comfort, and for solace.

Amon had become no different.

Crawling within his heart, within his very mind and soul, Amon felt a lingering, dark beast. It was the dragon. No. It was the wolf. No. A lion. The hunter didn't know anymore. Whatever it was, it was the seat of his power, of his strength. It was the seed of darkness within him, and it was growing. Amon shied from that dark nature, shuddering to feel the itching of his wings, trying so desperately to be free.

Brett seemed to hard no troubles, as the three approached the front doors, walking up those marble steps, to let his feathers free. In a burst of energy, those wings exploded out from his back, dark black and long. The edges seemed sharp and honed, like those of a hawk or falcon. These were the wings of a predator. Heat radiated from them as darkness burned behind Brett's eyes. The smell of ozone seemed to ooze and leak from off those dark, glistening feathers, as water beat down upon them. The rain cascaded down, in sheets, guiding off the wings by channels between the feathers, splattering to the ground, while Brett remained dry.

Kristo pooled the shadows about him, not showing his wings, but drawing the darkness of the night about his very body and form. He might as well have sprouted wings with the downright evil effect it held. Kristo seemed very much of the night kind akin to demons and monsters. As did Brett. The two made the perfect pair.

And Amon?

Amon just walked behind them, a human among gods and demons. He would not give in to the dark temptation to let his power go, to feel the energy flow from his fingertips. No. Amon was stronger than that. Far stronger than that. He would not be like her.

Like his mother.

Brett threw open the door.

"Can I help..." the night watchman stopped suddenly, his eyes having lifted from the National Inquirer long enough to catch sight of those massive wings of Brett's as they flapped menacingly.

He didn't stand a chance. In an instant, Kristo leapt into the night, into the darkness its self. The watchman didn't even have the millisecond to trigger the alarm. Instead, as Brett swept in on him from the front, Kristo slipped out of the night behind him. A blade drew up to his throat, to the bare flesh. Amon felt a dark lusting building within at the thoughts as Kristo threatened the guard so with the killing side of the sakabatto, the reverse katanna.

"Shh..." Kristo hissed the syllable into the guard's ear before slipping back, into the night and vanishing from reality with his hostage.

Brett, meanwhile, leapt over the desk to the computer console before him. Nimble fingers flew over the keyboard. Amon let out a deep breath, feeling the blood lust leave him, his heart, and his mind. He instead, focused on the action, focused on what was happening around him as Brett went to searching computer files for something and as Kristo returning from the Abyss.

"Did you?" Amon whispered.

Kristo shook his head. "No. It would be a senseless killing of an innocent man. We have no beef with him. There's no need to create another body when no one will believe his story."

Amon breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God."

"God had nothing to do with it," Kristo snarled. "I just don't want to dirty the shadows with too many corpses, s'all."

The former hunter nodded.

Brett jumped up. "Got him."

xxxx

The Masquerade had emptied long ago.

Dane breathed a sigh of relief. The night had been long, weirdness withstanding, long enough to exhaust him. He had been tired, tired of waiting and wondering, tired of pondering who in the hell that girl was.

The phone rang on the bedside table as he plopped down on the mattress.

"Hey." Dane didn't have much energy for a greeting.

He didn't need much of a greeting, for it was Taylor on the other end of the line. The singer seemed far too chipper for five in the morning. "You doing any better?"

"Yeah."

Dane could almost see Taylor nodding in agreement at that. "What happened in there?"

"Got spooked, I guess."

The singer had to ask, "By what?"

"I don't know."

xxxx

Leanna shook her head.

Robin had come to recognize this as a bad sign, a very bad sign. For the assassin to show any waver, and hint of opinion on anything, it had to be bad. Thus, as the other hung up on the pay phone, the teenager kept her eyes on the Mall, scanning in all directions for any possible movement among the monuments, for any change in terrain or environment that would hint at the Other Thirteen's presence. Her Craft remained on edge and at the ready, ever vigilant.

"How are we going to get to them?" The younger red head inquired curiously.

"We borrow."

xxxx

"Move!"

They ran, thundering down corridors, as they moved in unison. The Thirteen. Perhaps something in their blood. Something made them synchronized, in tune with one another. Their hearts beat as one while there minds locked, focusing on one concise target, one solid goal. Amon drew in a deep breath. The air tasted acrid and smokey, like the flames themselves, but he ignored it. They were Thirteen, elite of the elite, and Chosen among the Chosen, with no time for such petty trifles as the three worked under the cover of night and in a very small time window.

His gaze shifted to Kristo. There seemed to be a faint smile lingering on the shadow walker's face. A recognition, a memory of some kind haunted there, like a shade on the warrior's form, hidden in ever subtle feature. There also hung a smug satisfaction in every little glance of Kristo's sweeping vision, checking to the left and to the right, but knowing nothing could ever stop them.

They whirled around a corner, just in time for Kristo to kick in a door with a swift, elegant motion, perfectly timed and utterly precise. They three burst into the room.

Amon's eyes went wide.

"What the hell?"

xxxx

I love Chrimmas. I hope you are enjoying your own, angst filled Chrimmas, thanks to the Thirteen and their misadventures.