Chapter 5! (my update-launcher is set to fully automatic :) ). I hope you are still enjoying this story :)

Thanks for the reviews :)

edit: my update-launcher is jammed :P sorry about that, life is kicking my butt right now, but don't worry, the next update should happen around july/august :)

re-edit: if you want to know what Marshall looks like, here is a link to his 'official portrait' :P : "https":"/""/""ibb"."co"/eKx4Fd (just remove the "")

Blake's p.o.v.

Owen Blake felt a drop of sweat run down the nape of his neck as he stumbled forward. Fortunately he had instinctively ducked as soon as he had felt the ominous breeze behind his head and he hadn't taken the full brunt of the blow. Actually he was slightly surprised that the impact had not been more violent. It had felt like someone poking him hard in the back of the head. Perhaps his attacker had misjudged the distance, or the necessary amount of strength to bring him down. All this went through his mind during the few seconds it took to catch his balance. He knew that his opponent would expect him to turn around and face him. So he didn't. Instead, he rapidly glanced over his shoulder, bent his right knee then extended his leg, sending a powerful back kick into the man's chest. The moment his foot connected and he heard the man give a surprised gasp, Blake immediately spun around and adopted a fighting stance. His opponent had doubled over and apparently needed a moment to recover.

Disarm him…

Blake's eyes immediately shifted to the man's hands. Browning 9mm in his right hand. A swift, precise, basic front kick took care of that. Now the left hand…

What the…

Before Blake had a chance to move, his opponent lunged at him, swinging a machete in a horizontal slashing motion, almost slicing open his stomach. Blake's reflexes kicked in and he leapt backwards. The guard charged at him again. This time, Blake sidestepped him and, as he spun around, delivered a brutal elbow strike to the man's nose, shattering it. He then took full advantage of his opponent's momentary incapacity and moved to position himself behind him. A vicious stomp kick to the back of the knee and the man went down. Blake caught him as he collapsed, pulled him close, and snapped his neck in one swift motion. He let the body drop to the floor and took a slow, deep breath. The nape of his neck felt like it was soaked with sweat. He could even feel it trickle down his back. Blake's gaze settled on the machete next to his attacker's dead body. That really was a suspicious amount of sweat. His eyes remained fixed on the machete as he raised a hand to the back of his head.

Outside the castle, Illya's p.o.v

Illya made a conscious effort to relax and unclench his jaw. Everything was quiet on the moor – except for his occasional stifled coughing fits. The moon cast an eerie glow over the still landscape. From where he was standing, partly hidden behind a pile of rocks, he had a good view of the old, imposing, castle house. He raised the binoculars and zeroed in on the ground floor. No movement. Earlier, as guests were still arriving, Illya had seen security guards patrolling in front of the door, but they had since retreated inside the castle. Only the pale electric light filtering through the windows suggested that there was something going on inside. That and the impressive number of vehicles parked in the courtyard. He stepped to the right to get a better view and cursed inwardly as his shoe produced an annoying squelching sound. As he was moving away from the road to find a vantage point, he had stepped into a shallow bog-hole, which had done nothing to improve his temper. Waiting for the explosives to go off while having no idea of what was going on inside was really starting to get on his nerves. And, of course, he was worried about his partner's safety. Although he would have never admitted it in front of anyone – at least not in that particular wording – he actually cared about Solo. Of course Illya knew that Owen Blake was a competent field agent. But entrusting him with his partner's life…that was a different matter. Gaby, Solo and him were a team. Cowboy and him had been on so many missions together and he had always been there to keep the stupid American alive. And Cowboy had done the same for him…with much less class of course, but still. He should be inside the castle right now, watching Solo's back, not Blake. He angrily pounded his stupid congested chest with his fist. It certainly wasn't going to help his stupid bronchitis but he needed to release his frustration. Hopefully this initiation thing would go smoothly and Blake wouldn't need to intervene. He very much doubted that it would be the case, however, knowing his partner's propensity for getting in trouble.

Blake had better know what he's doing…

Blake's p.o.v.

Blake could feel the back of his head throbbing as he hurried, as stealthily as possible, along the dimly lit corridors. Thankfully, after quickly – and blindly – feeling the edges and the inside of the wound, he had come to the conclusion that it wasn't life threatening, although it had been bleeding profusely. Blake knew that scalp wounds tended to bleed a lot and, although he had been unable to have a look at the gash, he was fairly confident that his brain wasn't showing through his skull. He had hastily secured a wad of gauze to the back of his head to minimize the bleeding and had started heading for the reception room. He was getting close now. He had decided that he would use the room's back entrance since, according to his previous observations, he was less likely to encounter any machete-wielding guards there. He had put the headset back on and he could hear Solo still playing the part of the squeamish, clumsy businessman in an attempt to buy some time. He knew that he would need to detonate the charges soon to stop what was happening, but he wanted to wait until he was close enough to maximize the element of surprise. He let out a short sigh of relief when he finally reached his destination. Then he heard what sounded like a faint grunt of pain through the speakers.

No…

Quickly, he set his backpack down on the floor, pulled out the thermal goggles and put them around his forehead. Then he set off the explosives.

Reception room, Napoleon's p.o.v.

While he was considering the vast array of his non-existent options, Napoleon had come to a point where he couldn't raise the dagger any higher without having to stand on tiptoes. The only thing he could do now was to keep pretending he was going to kill Marshall until the very last moment and hope Blake would finally barge in to save his colleague's butt, and Napoleon's cover. If not…he'd have to improvise again. In a desperate attempt to buy a few more seconds, he looked up and searched for Davies's face in the crowd but his 'mate' was nowhere to be seen. Disappointed with Napoleon's performance, he had probably retreated to the back of the crowd or was drinking up the whole refreshments table to forget about the embarrassing scene he had just witnessed. Painfully aware that everyone was holding their breath, impatiently waiting for him to finally murder poor Marshall, Napoleon turned his head to look at Cleary and forced a cheerful smile.

"Well, here we go!", he said with feigned enthusiasm.

He started bringing the dagger down and saw Marshall's eyes widen in a perfect combination of fear and disbelief. At that moment, a series of loud booms caused everyone in the room to jump, several guests even cried out in surprise.

"What…what was that?", Napoleon asked in a trembling voice.

He just had the time to see Cleary's confused gaze before the lights flickered, then went out altogether.

"Hey! What's going on? Is this part of the initiation?"

His question was drowned out by the panicked, overlapping voices of the cult members. With no windows, the room was pitch-black and apparently, none of the guests had thought of bringing a flashlight to the event. Napoleon blindly reached down to place a reassuring hand on Marshall's shoulder.

Oops, that was his face…

Suddenly he heard a crashing sound, probably the door being kicked in, and gunfire resonated through the room.

Finally, and not a moment too soon…

Napoleon could hear the cult members screaming and blindly scurrying to find shelter from the gunshots. He, on the other hand, didn't move. He remained at Marshall's side. They had agreed that Blake wouldn't shoot directly at people. Besides, he needed to make it easy for Blake to identify him since all his partner could see was a human-shaped heat source.

"No! Please don't kill me, I'm not even a member yet!", he screamed in a terrified voice and as loud as he could.

His sudden outburst achieved the desired effect and, a few seconds later, he felt Blake's hand on his shoulder.

"Get Marshall out of here.", he whispered

Blake said nothing for a second. He was probably surprised to hear that Marshall was alive.

"What about you?", he finally said as he fired another two rounds. Probably to make sure that the cult members stayed out of earshot.

"I'm staying. You'll have to hit me to make it look plausible."

"I know. Take this."

Blake grabbed his hand and he felt something being pressed against his palm. He brought the pill to his lips and quickly swallowed it. Then Blake struck him, hard, and pain exploded in his head. He didn't even have to fake the whimper which escaped his lips.

Dammit, Blake, I said hit me, not punch my head off…

He patiently waited for everything to go dark, then vaguely remembered that the room was already pitch-dark. Blake hit him a second time and even though he was already starting to lose consciousness, it still hurt. The last thing he felt before unconsciousness engulfed him completely was Blake's hand squeezing his wrist.

Blake's p.o.v.

He inserted a full magazine in his gun and chambered a round before quickly stepping over Solo's lifeless shape. As he reached the side of the table, he fired his gun twice, in two opposite directions. He heard a few screams and saw the cult members cower in fear. This would give him enough time to cut Marshall's bonds. He set his gun down on the table and, while he unsheathed his knife, put a reassuring hand on the younger agent's chest. He could feel Marshall's heart racing crazily under his palm.

Like a little rabbit's heart…

He leaned close to Marshall's ear.

"Don't worry, I'll get you out of here.", he whispered as he patted the agent's chest in a comforting gesture.

From the corner of his eye, he saw movement. A silhouette was slowly making its way along the wall to his right, probably looking for the door. He picked up the gun and fired a round into the silhouette's leg. Silhouette went down screaming. Nothing else moved. Good. Without wasting any more time, he rapidly sliced through Marshall's bonds with his razor-sharp combat knife.

"Can you walk?", Blake whispered as he helped the younger agent off the table.

"I think so…"

"Lean on me, I'll guide you."

Blake wrapped Marshall's left arm around his neck and slipped his own arm under his armpit and around his waist to support him. He frowned as his hand brushed against the younger man's back and Marshall hissed in pain.

What the hell is that?...

Blake's gaze and gun kept shifting from one cult member silhouette to another as he and Marshall made their way toward the door but no one tried to stop them. The man he had shot was still whining pitifully. He had probably failed to hit an artery. They cleared the door and Blake gave Marshall his gun to hold while he fished something out of one of his tactical vest pockets. He tossed the tear-gas grenade inside the room and closed the damaged door as best he could.

"That should keep them busy for a while.", he said in a hushed tone as he took the gun back from Marshall's hands.

"Solo?"

Blake's mouth twisted into an apologetic grimace he knew Marshall would be unable to see.

"He'll be fine, he's unconscious."

As they began to hear screams and coughing sounds through the door, he adjusted his grip around Marshall's waist and they set out again. The younger agent was weak and was leaning on him rather heavily. The fact that he couldn't see anything wasn't helping either. At least once they got to the ground floor there would be moonlight filtering through the windows. But that also meant that the guards would be able to spot them more easily. Hopefully, Kuryakin would be there to help. Suddenly, a deafening sound filled the corridor and something ricocheted off the wall to his right. He ducked while protectively pushing Marshall behind him at the same time.

Shit…

End of chapter 5 :)