Finally, after many moons, I am now able to update this story. Realfanficts has been hard at work writing this next chapter. So while we enjoy this let's all keep him in mind. And thank you once again for reviewing; Tsukikage1213, Realfanficts
Chapter Eight
Ashes of the Phoenix
"So where do we begin?" posed Lee. Shandrey could only guess that Ring was but one of many twisted surprises that Hotaru had at her disposal.
"We're going to need help, probably the closest thing to the Avatar that we have." At this Katara's spirits perked up. She was on her feet faster than she could make ice. "Pack for a long trip, we're off to Jerusalem." At this, Katara rushed off to gather what few things she currently had.
"I take it you mean to ask Elm for assistance?" When Shandrey nodded, he added, "So why are we going to Jerusalem?"
This time she shook her head. "Not 'we,' just Katara and I. You are going to stay here until you are completely recovered. You know what Elm would call you if he were here right now—a stubborn fool. And he'd tell you to 'follow the doctor's orders.'"
A small smile showed on Lee's face. He shook his head, and sighed. "Fine. But—" He was interrupted by Katara hurrying back into the kitchen.
"I'm ready to go."
"Good. Just let me get my bag, and we'll be on our way. I never unpacked from our last trip." She suited actions to words, and within a matter of moments, they were walking out the front door.
Lee finished his sentence as the door shut behind them. "—he's not in Jerusalem."
GOTHAM CITY, U.S.—January 8 (one week earlier)
The waxing moon shone down on a city that never slept. Yes, like the other great metropolises in the Western Hemisphere, most of its honest, average, law-abiding inhabitants were in bed at home, but also like that great city's kin, the night still had its life. Security guards secured their buildings, policemen made their rounds on foot or in cars, and nightclubs and bars had their regular nocturnal patrons.
Of course, not all who roamed the streets at night fit any of those descriptions. Criminals of varying degree engaged in underhanded business deals, and committed their unlawful acts, the ones newer to the city confident in their belief that they were unobserved, that the city's former protector was dead. They were partially right. The city's old protector had been killed in the Nocturna Council's global Occupation. But soon after the Re-establishment, that vacancy had been filled. Word had finally started to circulate among the outlaw ranks of two new vigilantes that prowled the streets—and one of them was to be more feared than the one who had come before.
Unlike his predecessor, one could never detect him coming, day or night, no matter how sharp their vision or hearing. One moment you were alone, and the next he simply appeared out of thin air, with the hood of his featureless, knee-length grey robe up to mask his features, and his deadly, unbeatable staff held in his right hand, gleaming from the reflections of any nearby light. Criminals of all calibers were relearning the meaning of fear.
The aforementioned Guardian currently stood on the level roof of a small department store, watching the entrance to the casino across the street. His tall form, combined with the brilliant lights surrounding the huge, transparent double doors in the front of the gambling establishment, cast a large, diffuse shadow behind him.
As usual, his hood was up, and his posture one of nonchalance, with hands folded on the top end of his weapon, and chin resting on top of those.
However, his demeanor suddenly changed upon spotting a man approaching the casino. This pedestrian appeared perfectly ordinary, with short, brown hair, average height and size, and bland, forgettable facial features. Other than the fact that he was dressed head to toe in an expensive, no doubt tailored business suit (Armani, by all appearances), there was nothing that overtly called attention to the man who had just rounded the corner.
His name was Manuel Christiansen, and he was far from ordinary. One thing that made him significant was that he the owner of the casino, as well as several other prosperous, legitimate-appearing enterprises scattered throughout the business districts of this and other major cities across the nation.
The other was that he was the second-largest crime boss in the country, specializing in illegal substances. However, he was too well-protected; the police knew they could not apprehend him without severe loss of life and property damage, so they'd called someone else in, someone with more experience in such matters—specifically, the man that was watching Christiansen casually stroll in the direction of the entrance.
Gripping his staff tightly in one hand, the Guardian stood stiffly, waiting…and the instant his target stepped inside, vanished from the rooftop, appearing at the door that had just begun to close.
--
The moment Christiansen entered, he was bombarded with the noise of gamblers big and small. As he moved toward a doorway in the back, he casually glanced around at the number the number of patrons filling the room, some at the slot machines, but most at one of the many roulette, blackjack, or poker tables, some with big grins and uttering cries of triumph, but more with downcast expressions at losing all they had brought and then some. He smirked a little at the sight of the latter.
His smile still fixed firmly in place, he made it to the back, going through the doorway and shutting it firmly behind him.
The room he entered was ornately furnished, a with several layers of red, velvet carpet covering the floor, and a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling above the table, which was made of what almost seemed to be one solid piece of mahogany, polished to a high sheen. Six chairs carved of the same wood surrounded the table; five were filled, and Christiansen sat down in the remaining one, a standard pack of fifty-two playing cards already in place on the edge of the table in front of him.
"So, ladies and gentlemen, what shall we play tonight?"
They soon set to playing poker with a will, and became so engrossed in it, none of them thought to check the main room, where the grey-robed figure had just entered and was, one-by-one, firmly requesting the occupants to leave, and that they do so quietly. No one argued with him. To put it simply, no one was willing to. Not even the pair of big, hulking men who were presumably the bouncers.
Once all the visible gamblers had been cleared from the building, the unknown being swept his gaze over the entire area, making sure he had gotten everyone. With a satisfied nod, he strode toward the spot where Christiansen had disappeared. He didn't bother to knock, flinging the door wide open and startling the occupants of the opulent chamber. The middle-aged gentleman opposite the entrance stood up sharply, a half-formed protest dieing on his lips the moment he realized who had arrived, and the blood draining from his face.
The tall, imposing figure gestured with his chin, saying only one word in a deep, menacing bass. "Out." Relieved that he was not the target here, the gentleman bolted clear of the room.
When no one else moved, the faceless man gestured pointedly, almost threateningly, with his staff. "That goes for all of you except Christiansen. He stays."
Each exchanged glances with the others, then with a collective, resigned shrug, they all rose from their seats and filed out, albeit at a much slower, more sedate pace than their other companion. The two elderly gentlemen paused to let the young women go through, and then calmly made their exit, the last one out shutting the door.
The unknown man and Christiansen stared at each other for several long moments, before Christiansen leaned back in his chair and broke the silence.
"I see the rumors are true. We do have a do-gooder interfering in our affairs." He seemed quite calm for someone in his situation—someone being confronted by an armed, unknown man at least six feet tall. There was not the slightest tremble in his high tenor voice.
"I've been authorized to use maximum force, meaning dead or alive. Are you going to come quietly?"
Christiansen smirked. "What would you say if I answered 'no?'" He subtly shifted his hand, rubbing it over the wooden table's surface.
"I'd say that was regrettable, but certainly not unexpected." Whoever it was under that robe suddenly whirled, the staff lashing out with unerring precision to knock back the security guard that was sneaking up on him. The guard slammed into the lever of a slot machine, which promptly rang and began dispensing coins. However, the security guard simply shook off an attack that should have broken his back and lunged again with blinding speed.
His opponent was just as fast, however; despite his height, he ducked under the attack and, utilizing his staff as an anchor to the floor, threw the guard over his shoulder to land on a startled Christiansen. The chair tipped backwards from the momentum of the guard, banging Christiansen's head hard against the wall, and knocking him unconscious. Before the guard could get up off his employer, he found a sharp, metallic edge a millimeter from his throat. The staff had a flat, eight-inch-long spear point extending from the end, the tip coming to a point so fine it couldn't be seen.
"This isn't silver, but it will kill you all the same, werewolf." Added to this was a low, guttural word that sounded like a cross between a bark and a growl.
The guard stared at him for two seconds (which was long enough to reveal that this 'man' was little more than a young teen), then turned his eyes away in a gesture of submission. The spear point retracted into the staff, and the other end was placed firmly on the floor.
"No need. I will not fight someone who knows that word. Which leader were you?" As the guard spoke, he got up, dusting himself off, still avoiding eye contact.
Though the face could not be seen under the hood, amusement was evident in the voice. "How many of the human leaders were able to say that word properly?"
"Only two." The guard glanced up briefly, awe in his voice. "One of them died near the end of the Occupation." He paused, then introduced himself. "I am Fenris, sired of Reynard."
"Is that old wolf still alive?" mused the man. "He'd be disappointed if he know his progeny was working for a drug lord."
"WHAT?!" exclaimed Fenris. His eyes flashed golden in his fury, and he growled almost under his breath as he stared down at his former boss.
He then—well, all that need be said is that Christiansen was not brought in alive, or really brought in at all, as there was not enough left of him to do so. Werewolves may have had fewer morals than humans, but they did not take kindly to criminals who preyed just as readily on children as adults.
--
After reporting the results of his assignment to the chief of the city police, and turning in Christiansen's armed guards, who had been too slow to respond, the unknown man walked out the front door of the station. He just stood there for a moment, fiddling with a device on his wrist, before vanishing from sight, staff, cloak and all…
--
…And reappearing in another section of the city entirely, this time inside a large, spacious room that could only be described as a study. This was as lavish as the room in the casino, though in a slightly different way.
The thick, expensive-looking carpet on the floor was a dark shade of blue with a slight hint toward purple. The highly polished metallic bookcases covering two entire walls were crammed full of books large and small, and the door in the third wall had gilded hinges.
The first thing the man did was hang up his staff on a pair of convenient upward-curving hooks just above the door, then remove his robe. This he also hung up, on a hook next to the staff's resting place.
The removal of the robe revealed that he was a couple inches taller than six feet, and that he had short, curly, bright red hair, hair red enough to have earned him the nickname carrot-top if it hadn't been for the three pure white streaks running through it. A visible scar ran from just in front of his left ear down over the cheekbone, and ended halfway between the eye and mouth. His eyes were still hidden behind the darkly tinted set of glasses.
These came off, however, when the man reached the large desk in the middle of the room, showing grey irises. But this was shown to be a further disguise when he removed a pair of contacts, exposing the startling truth; his eyes were two different colors. On the left was a brilliant blue orb the color of a sky that's just beginning to darken; the one on the right was a vivid emerald green.
There was a comfortable cushioned armchair behind the desk, but the man ignored it. Instead, he simply opened a drawer and put the glasses in, withdrawing a case and placing the contacts in it.
His task accomplished, he replaced the case, shut the drawer, and walked over to the remaining wall, from which hung a rather attractive set of drapes. These were decorated with colorful illustrations of birds, flowers, and other scenes from nature, but he did not stop to admire them, choosing to pull them back and reveal a window that looked out into a greenhouse, though it was unusually large, containing a number of trees as well.
A small stir of movement could be seen from the window, and the man watching lifted the corner of his mouth in a tiny smile. He opened the window and climbed out.
Before long, he came in sight of his quarry, a woman as tall and slender as himself, with long, black hair. Not much else could be seen, as he was sneaking up on her from behind.
He caught up to her just under the cherry blossom tree, tapping her on the shoulder and saying, "boo." His smile became a wide grin when she nearly jumped out of her skin, whirling to face him.
The wide, brown eyes were just barely slanted, and set in a face that wasn't quite Oriental in skin tone. They were widened even further from surprise, but that changed the moment she saw who had ambushed her.
"Elm, your home again!" she exclaimed, grabbing and embracing him tightly. He returned the favor.
"Don't I always, Mae?" he replied, a whisper in her ear.
"Yes, but in our kind of work, you just never know." She pulled back just enough to give him a long, thorough kiss. When she broke it off, she rested her forehead against his.
"I worry about you every time you go out."
"You should know I can take care of myself. I did just fine on my own for the last six years of the Occupation."
That was the wrong thing to say. She tensed, then shoved against his chest hard enough to make him stumble and fall onto the bench under the tree.
Mae closed her eyes, clenching her fists at her sides. "And whose choice was that, Elm? Was it mine? Was it the children's?" She bit her lip and turned away. "No, it wasn't mine, nor would Amyah or Jasper have made that decision if they had been old enough." A tremble entered her voice. Elm stood up and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her back to face him.
Tears entered her eyes, trickling down her cheeks, and he tenderly reached up to wipe them away. She grabbed his hand and held it there. "I went away in the year 2010. I spent what I thought was two years elsewhere, which would have been bad enough, only to come back and find I've been gone for six years. I missed six years I could have spent with you!"
Neither of them spoke for several minutes, simply standing there, holding each other, but finally, Elm spoke, quietly. "I really am sorry, my dear. I know I made a mistake. But I just wanted to see you safe. Call me selfish, but I didn't want to lose you." After a moment, he added, "And if it makes you feel any better, I questioned my decision every moment you were gone, wondering if I did the right thing."
She sighed. "I know," she whispered. "But I still…" She blinked away her tears, deciding not to finish her sentence. Instead, surprisingly, she laughed softly.
"I thought we had this conversation when I first came back four years ago."
He grinned, relieved. "If you can call it that. It consisted of you saying, 'I'm back,' me replying with 'I'm sorry,' then you slapping me across the cheek."
They shared a laugh at the memory, then linked their arms together, simply enjoying the scenery, and more importantly, each other.
ELSEWHERE
"And you're sure this information is accurate?"
Ring stared at Mifune, not providing any kind of answer. He shrugged. "Fine, if you say it's accurate, it's accurate. But why do you want me to do it? Wouldn't Mockingbird and her team be better suited to a mission like this?"
"They are busy elsewhere, on a mission that cannot be interrupted."
He looked dubious, but let it slide. It wasn't his business, after all. "I'll have my team ready to go first thing in the morning."
GOTHAM CITY—January 9
The building was burning all around him, but that did not matter. He'd finally caught up to his quarry. Seven long years and the death of many friends after he'd begun, he finally caught up to her in Jerusalem. She was attempting to get by him and get out, but he blocked her path. She would not escape this time. She would finally pay for making him kill his own father. "Elm," she called over the roaring of the flames, "why are you doing this?" She sounded almost desperate, but he was beyond caring about that.
"You should know why," he called back, bringing his staff out from underneath the robe and triggering the end containing the blade. She stared, and he briefly recalled that she'd never seen that aspect of it before.
Before she could contemplate it any further, he tensed and struck hard and swiftly.
It wasn't perfect, but it did slice cleanly through her neck. Her eyes widened in shock as grasping hands reached up to cover the wound, which, despite her efforts, bled freely. He watched impassively as she sank to the floor, collapsing back.
She gazed at him, even now not understanding why, but she found no pity in his eyes. "You should have left my father alone. Why, Tanya? Why did you do it?" he asked, nearly echoing her question to him. She merely blinked as an ember blew across her face. There was no sign of emotion other than pain. Not even tears—vampires lost the ability to cry when they turned.
In a sudden burst of inspiration, the answer came to him. "You've forgotten, haven't you? You don't remember what it's like to be human, what it's like to be normal. Do you, Mockingbird?"
There was no answer. Any she could have made would have been drowned out by the growing clamor of the fire.
He turned his back and walked away, not looking back once. And yet, he was aware of what was happening even as he left. It was as if he was in two places at once. He didn't physically see the wooden floor underneath her give way, as well as the ground underneath that, dropping her into a previously unknown underground spring. He didn't truly witness her latching onto another helpless victim of the fire and feeding off them to regenerate her neck.
Nor was he actually there when she looked up, revealing a single tear that trickled from the corner of her eye…
With a start, Elm woke from a deep sleep, his heart racing so fast it felt like someone was hammering on the inside of his rib cage.
What was that all about? He blinked once, unconsciously thinking aloud. "That's not how it happened."
He felt Mae stirring beside him, snuggling closer. "Hmm? Honey, did you say something?"
"It's nothing, dear, just a nightmare. Go back to sleep."
"Mkay…" she mumbled, already drifting back to unconsciousness, leaving Elm alone with his thoughts.
No, that's not completely true. The building was on fire… And he had been blinded by his rage, by his obsession; by his pursuit of what he thought was simple justice for the circumstances that led to his father's death.
And he had caught up to the object of his dark hatred in Jerusalem. However…However, I never thought of the fact that she had once been human, long ago. The fight lasted longer than that; it was our battle that set the building on fire in the first place. And there's no way she could have felt sorrow. Is there? He lay there a long time, that last question repeating endlessly over and over, haunting his thoughts. When at last he managed to obtain some rest, it was deeply troubled and restless, tormented by unseen and half-seen images and shadows…
--
The sunlight shone down into his face, waking him. He turned over, trying to get back to sleep, but it was useless, since Mae was already up, probably in her office getting some paperwork done, and he'd always had trouble getting to sleep when she was gone. Mentally shrugging, he yawned and stretched, rising to dress for a new day.
As Elm padded down the carpeted hallway in bare feat, a door opened to his right, and a short teenage girl stepped out beside him, leaning against the frame.
"Hello, Dad," she greeted him cheerfully, running a brush through her shoulder-length, mildly curled, strawberry blond hair.
He smiled warmly. "Good morning to you too, Amyah." He covered another yawn with his hand.
"Trouble sleeping?" she asked, her grey eyes twinkling with amusement. Absently she reached back into the room to put the brush away, then closed the door. They continued down the hallway, with him taking fewer steps to match her pace.
"Just a little nightmare," he answered, "nothing to worry about."
"Is that so?" she asked, raising one eyebrow, but leaving it alone. Soon they came to the end of the hall, with another room directly in front of them. From behind the door something that could only loosely be described as music blasted out. Neither of them could understand one word in ten of what the "singer" was saying.
"I swear," commented the girl, "Jasper has the worst taste in music. And I don't know where he gets it from—it's not like he really has any friends at school to influence his choices."
This brought Elm up short. "What?"
Amyah stopped too. "You mean you didn't know? Sure, he does his homework and class work, and you already know his grades, but he simply walks from one class to the next between bells, sitting there at his desk until it starts."
Elm frowned, absently scratching the back of his head. "How come you didn't tell either your mom or me?"
She shrugged. "I thought you already knew."
He sighed, shaking his head. "We'll have to have a talk with him later. It's not healthy to have no friends at his age. Even just one would be better than none." He shook his head again, turning to exit the hallway into the kitchen. "Well, there's not anything we can do about it right now." He clapped his hands, startling her. "So, what do you want for breakfast? I'm cooking."
--
An hour later, Elm was knocking at the door he and Amyah had passed, but it didn't work. The music wasn't any quieter than before. In fact, if anything, it had gotten louder. Finally, Elm decided to just open the door.
The room inside, just like all the other rooms in the mansion, was fairly sizeable. In this one, posters of different popular bands and singers covered the walls. But Elm had no eye for those. He strode across the room and switched off the radio, which promptly got the attention of the teenage boy on the bed.
"Hey, why'd you kill the music?" he asked, brushing aside several bangs of red-tinted black hair to show his blue-green eyes.
"I tried knocking, Jasper, but you couldn't hear me. We need to talk."
"Oh? What about?" He sounded annoyed.
"It's about school." He held up a hand to stifle the boy's protests. "It has nothing to do with your grades. In fact, I'm quite impressed with those. No, this is something else. From what I understand, you haven't made any friends."
"I'll bet Amyah told you that," Jasper muttered. "What right does she have? We're not related by blood." Speaking louder, he asked belligerently, "So? What's your point?"
Elm sighed. "Son, that's not healthy. I admit, when I was your age, I wasn't all that outgoing myself. But I still had a few friends." Elm stopped for a few seconds. When he began again, he mused, "Believe it or not, I even had a girlfriend."
"So, you want me to get a girlfriend? Is that it?"
That question snapped Elm back to the present, and he began to try and explain, but it was too late.
"Why don't you leave me alone? I'm happy the way I am, so just let me be. Leave me alone!" And with that, he angrily walked over to the radio and pressed the button to turn it back on. Walking back to the bed, he flung himself down and turned his back to his father.
It was no use pressing the matter, not like this, so Elm walked out the way he had come.
--
When Mae came out of her office, some time in the early evening, she found Elm sitting at the kitchen table, his head in his hands.
"Honey? What's wrong?"
He chuckled, surprisingly. "It's so strange. I can speak numerous different languages: English, French, Spanish, German, Japanese, Mandarin, Arabic, Yiddish, and even a couple different Sign Languages, among others, but I can't seem to communicate with our son." He told her his conversation with Jasper.
She sat down in the chair next to him, rubbing one hand softly over his back. "Do you think he'd listen to me instead?"
"Probably. If not you, then…" He was about to say more, but was interrupted by a buzzing.
Mae looked off in the direction it came from, toward the front door. "Who could that be? I don't have any appointments today. Are you expecting someone?"
Elm shook his head. "No. But don't worry, I'll get it."
He shuffled toward the massive oak doors, but instead of opening them, he turned just to the right and pressed a button, activating a small screen showing a view of the gates to the mansion, and the young man standing there.
"Whatever you're selling," Elm said into the speaker next to the screen, "we aren't interested." The young man protested.
"But sir, I'm not selling anything, I'm…"
Elm cut him off. "Whatever it is you want, you're not getting it. Go away, please."
The young man appeared crestfallen. He left with his head hanging, not looking at anything but the sidewalk.
"Why did you do that, honey?"
Elm looked her squarely in the eye. "He was more than he seemed."
He would have elaborated further, but Jasper walked out of his room, loudly blowing his nose.
Elm pointedly did not look at him, and therefore didn't see him sneeze. He did, however, feel the breeze that ruffled his hair, and the loud BANG. When he whipped his head around to look, Jasper was slumped on the carpet in front of his door, a dazed and vacant expression on his face.
Elm's expression was decidedly odd. "I think we now have another problem."
JANUARY 10
Elm opened the door to let someone in. This someone was apparently an elderly man, if the white hair and wrinkled face were any indication. "So, old man…" Elm was saying, "What took you so long to find us? Come on in!" Elm shut the door behind him.
"You haven't changed a bit, old man! Except for a few extra wrinkles, you're just as I remember you!"
"I see the last eighteen years have been good to you, too. Not even one more white hair! Though I see your emotions come more readily." Elm smirked but didn't reply.
As they talked, they both walked into the living room, where Mae was sitting on the sofa, writing in a notebook, and Amyah lay on the floor, reading a (rather thick) novel. She looked up as they came in, putting a bookmark between the pages and setting it on the coffee table. Mae also set aside what she was doing.
"Dr. Owen, I don't think you've met my adopted daughter, Amyah, though you knew her mother." Owen winked at her as she stood up, offering her hand. He gracefully accepted it, bowing slightly in a chivalrous fashion.
"You are as lovely as she was."
Elm hid a smile at the faint tinge of pink in her cheeks. "I do believe, however, that you know my wife, Mae?"
The old man nodded. "And her talent. I remember the names and powers of all members of Project Argonaut." He thought for a moment. "Let's see…you have the ability to form offensive and defensive weapons from your own substance, up to and including lasers and force field generators. Am I correct?"
By way of an answer, a dagger appeared in her hand. Almost casually she flipped it up, catching it by the blade on its downward journey. Instead of cutting a gash in her hand, it disappeared.
"And the ability to reabsorb them if you are in physical contact with them. A very useful set of abilities."
A slightly awkward silence descended. After all, what do you say to someone you haven't seen for almost two decades? Amyah finally broke it by offering the doctor a seat.
"Where are our manners? Doctor, please sit down." She gestured at one of the chairs next to the sofa, which Owen gratefully sank into. Elm elected to sit next to his spouse, draping an arm across her shoulders.
"I thank you, young lady. I may be fit for my age, but still, I'm not nearly as young as I used to be." He sighed regretfully. "I used to be an athlete, you know…"
Amyah nodded, impressed, but it didn't stop her from excusing herself. "I think I'll leave you alone now. No doubt you have a lot of catching up to do."
The old man smiled as she exited the room. "So many youth today, they're so disrespectful of their elders. It looks like you did well with her—"
Elm interrupted his musing. "Forgive me for being blunt, sir, but…why are you here?"
Dr. Owen blinked. "I apologize. You must be dying with curiosity. The simple truth of the matter is, I was in hiding during the Occupation. The place I lived in was so remote, not a lot of news came my way. So I wasn't all that sure at first, that we humans really had regained independence. I'd been hearing rumors of that pretty much since day one." He grinned. "When I finally came out of hiding, I heard all about how it happened. Frankly, I'm surprised you didn't take more of an active role."
Elm smiled, but it wasn't a happy expression. In it, he allowed just a hint of the sadness and pain he'd gone through to show. "Believe me. I did my part earlier on. If it hadn't been for me, Rome would never have been free. I bought us ten years—and paid a terrible price for it."
Another uncomfortable silence fell, until Elm forced a more cheerful expression. "But that's all in the past. You still haven't answered my question…why did you seek us out?"
Instead of answering, the elderly man began digging around in his pockets, looking for something.
"Doctor?"
The man didn't react to the question, but he did locate what he was looking for, letting out a quiet "Aha!" It turned out to be a device about the size of a large cell phone.
"I thought, that as the duly elected leader of the Argonauts, you should probably have this again." As he handed the silvery contraption over, he asked a question of his own. "Where did all the others go, anyway?"
This time Elm's smile was a genuine one, though a little mysterious. "They're alive, but a place they will never be found. I guess you could say the location is 'out of this world.' Trust me, when you originally gave me this thing to track them down, you did the right thing to ensure their safety." As he answered, he concentrated on the device, though his expression did not change.
The man waved off his comment, assuming a false air of modesty. "I was merely a scientist protecting my experiments." Despite his apparently callous statement, however, lay a not-quite hidden note of caring. To distract them from it, he chuckled. "Knowing your fondness for puns, 'out of this world' is probably quite literal. That would explain why that…" he pointed at the device he'd handed to Elm "…only shows three of you."
Elm's head twisted around to face Doctor Owen so fast, the movement was a blur. The smile was gone. "Three? But that…" He paled as his conclusion came to him, and swallowed hard. "That would mean Mockingbird's alive…"
At the mention of that name, Mae also paled, and the doctor graced them with a bemused look. "You mean Tanya Malkovich, the xenomorph?"
"Not just a xenomorph anymore, but also now a vampire in her original form."
"Oh."
Elsewhere in the city, late at night...
About four medium-sized helicopters were lined up in a row, black-clad operatives disembarking from each of them, each person carrying at least one obvious weapon. Mifune stood next to one of them, the blades rotating slowly down to a stop. He was currently talking to the man who had been at the gate of the mansion. "You weren't able to get any information?"
The young man stood at what any drill sergeant would have called perfect attention, even as he answered. "No, sir. They didn't even let me past the front gate. I don't know how, sir, but they must have suspected something."
Mifune didn't react, at least not in the way the young man expected. He shrugged. "That was only to be expected. From what I understand, in addition to his other abilities, he's a powerful empath."
"But…I was nowhere near the door!"
"I did say he was a powerful one, didn't I?"
Back at Elm's mansion...
About an hour later, Elm and Mae had managed to regain a semblance of calm, aided by the fact that the conversation had turned to a different topic.
"From what I can see, you've settled down into the role of the city's protectors. But I feel must comment on the names you chose." The scientist directed a wink at Mae. "I understand why you chose the name 'Amazon.' Such height and skill with weapons would have easily qualified you to be one of those mythological warriors, and from the same set of stories the original Argonauts came from. Highly appropriate, in your case."
He directed his gaze to Elm, his brows wrinkling in a puzzled expression. "You, however, are another case entirely. What does 'The Avatar' refer to?"
Elm raised his eyebrows. "I'm surprised you don't know. The Avatar was an actual historical figure—"
Owen interrupted, grinning ruefully. "That would be why. History was never my strong suit."
"Shame on you, Doctor," Elm teased. "The ancient Asian world contained many with the ability to personally harness and use each of the four elements—earth, air, fire, and water. These gifted people were called benders. However, each of them was limited to one of the four—with the exception of the Avatar. It was his role to keep the peace between the four peoples of the time, and in some cases, to protect the balance of the world, he had to use force to protect the world from itself." He paused, tapping a tooth with his finger, his gaze up toward the ceiling. "Though I'm not really the Avatar, I do match the description of him very closely."
"From what I can tell, you match it exactly. Why do you say you aren't him?"
"Actually, sometimes it was a her. Whenever he or she died, they were reborn. Anyway, the powers I have don't quite match up. The Avatar didn't have the ability to teleport instantly to any point he could see, though I hear the airbenders were quite fast. There's no mention of empathy, either."
"Is that all? Hmm." Owen adopted a thoughtful face. "That would actually explain a few things."
"What?" Elm asked curiously.
Instead of a direct answer, the response was another question. "Didn't you ever wonder why you were the only male Argonaut?" Elm began to shake his head, then stopped to think about it more closely. After a moment, he nodded. "It wasn't for lack of male participants. In fact, the numbers were fairly evenly divided between young men and women. We eventually discovered that for some reason, the process targeted those with the Y chromosome, eventually killing them. You, however, it failed to kill. Now, obviously, you are a male—"
"I should hope he is," interjected an indignant Mae. "We do have a son of our own." Elm chuckled.
"—so something else must have interfered," continued the doctor, unfazed by her comment. "It puzzled the entire research team, bugging them to no end. But finally, we found something else in your DNA, in a place most scientists don't think to look, as it's considered 'junk.' When we compared it to the DNA of several other people, we found this sequence lacking in them. It seems, my friend, you already had the potential for power in you. Our process just gave you some added abilities, or perhaps merely modified what you had."
Elm and Mae stared, first at him, then at each other, and back to him, their jaws hanging open.
--
Inside the fence protecting the mansion, about three dozen of the black-clad operatives waited, among them Mifune. They didn't stir until he raised his hand. At that moment, they moved to surround the place six stationing themselves near windows. As one, each tossed some heavy object through the glass in front of them, following with their own bodies.
--
Something came hurtling through the living room window, showering shards of glass over the occupants. A moment later, it was followed by an armed, black-clad figure. As it began raising its weapon, a powerful gust of wind hurtled it back out the window, to collide with several more trying to get in.
Elm, the source of the forceful breeze, whipped his head around as he heard heavy footsteps coming toward them from the kitchen.
"Doctor, I suggest you keep your head down." The elderly scientist didn't argue.
The first man through found himself brained by a club that Mae had conjured. His head snapped back from the force of the blow, and he collapsed in the doorway, relaxed fingers dropping his weapon to clatter on the floor.
The second was more cautious, reaching with his weapon to fire blindly around the corner. The bullets merely ricocheted off a shield of air Elm formed with his outstretched hands. When their assailant tried to enter, Elm physically grabbed the weapon out of his hand and kneed him in the stomach, then used the weapon to knock him out. He collapsed on top of his companion, and Elm discarded the weapon.
For a moment, nothing happened, but they had forgotten to watch the window. That mistake proved to have fatal consequences, when Mae found the muzzle of a gun pressed to the back of her head.
A gruff voice ordered them all to cease their resistance. When Elm turned around to take in the situation, something snapped in his eyes. It was as if a mask had been dropped over his face, erasing all sign of emotion.
He reached out his hands, taking control of the man's body, and forcing him to swing around and fire his weapon at his fellows. None of them stood a chance. Before the last body hit the floor, he found himself turning around to face those cold, emotionless eyes.
"Don't ever threaten my family again." Elm's cold, emotionless voice sent chills up the man's spine, made all the worse by the fact that he couldn't look away, no matter how hard he tried. "Now, get out of my home." Another gust of air, this one immensely stronger, propelled the man out. He counted himself lucky that all he had was a broken leg.
--
Though his expression was completely blank, his body language expressed what his face did not—Elm went completely berserk at the threat to his family. He strode confidently into the kitchen, bullets brushed aside by his elemental shield. With no more than one casual, fluidic motion, he forced one man to physically attack the other. The controlled man, under his influence, picked the other attacker up and dropped him upside-down on the floor. A sickening crack announced that his neck was broken.
Elm forced the remaining man to walk to the front door, open it, and exit the mansion, leaving behind his weapon.
Another man rushed into the kitchen from the hall, but Elm flung this one back against the wall, knocking him out.
Elm stared dispassionately at his handiwork, which had resulted in a man-shaped dent in the plasterboard (and revealing the metal pipe that the attacker's head had smashed against), then started in the direction his latest opponent had come from. The room containing his own chosen weapon lay that way.
--
"We are encountering heavy resistance, sir. Already we have eight confirmed casualties, at least six of them dead, and one badly wounded. Two are missing, presumed captured."
Mifune considered the situation only for a moment. "We knew this operation was risky when we started it. And although we weren't able to send in a scout, we do have some information given us by Mockingbird. He can't keep this up forever."
--
In the living room, Mae and Doctor Owen observed the dead bodies, Owen with shock, and Mae with resignation.
When Owen looked questioningly at Mae, she shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid he's reverted to the state he was in just after his time in the League of Shadows." She shuddered at the memory from so long ago, a memory of the completely emotionless husk he'd been at the time. "It was a defense mechanism he used to retreat from the atrocities he witnessed, and worse, the ones he was forced to commit."
She bit her lip. "It took me two months to bring out any emotion, and two years to break him completely free of it. If he isn't snapped out of it soon…he might never recover."
--
Upon reaching his study, Elm grabbed his robe and hurriedly put it on. He also grabbed a pair of boots near the desk and quickly slipped his feet into them. Finally, upon his exit, he snatched the weapon from its place above the door, not even slowing down much to do so.
He immediately turned into another room when he heard the soft tinkle of something fragile breaking. Eight more men, these with swords instead of guns, confronted him.
Giving them no time to react, he sprang to the attack. One reeled from a blow to the nose, blood flowing freely from the smashed facial feature, while another doubled over the end of the staff that smashed itself into his gut. Both dropped their swords, for the moment out of the fight. The latter fell against a table, knocking it over with a crash.
However, the other six had gotten their act together, and charged him as one. He ducked a swing that would have beheaded him, instead only losing a lock of hair, and blocked two more with his staff, lashing out with a foot to kick another in the groin.
With a burst of wind, he threw back the two who were pressing him with their weapons, then knocked the one charging from behind off their feet with a low sweep of his staff. That one accidentally fell on his own sword, crying out as the blade pierced his shoulder.
The next to face Elm felt his sword shatter as it violently collided with the staff, and the last thing he ever saw before forever losing his sight was that deadly weapon coming straight at his eyes.
Now, with two of their number decisively out of the fight, the intruders only increased the ferocity of their attacks, and Elm was forced back toward the door, which he had unthinkingly closed behind him. He narrowly sidestepped a thrust that would have pierced his rib cage, and almost lost an arm more than once, as the rips in the sleeves of the robe would attest to, though thankfully, no red stain appeared.
Finally, he was afforded a break when two charged him from opposite sides. Weaving his staff in a deadly pattern, he deflected the blades just enough that each hit their companion with a fatal cut.
The first two he had attacked by now had recovered their weapons, as had the one he'd kicked. Warily they tested his defenses, only one managing to penetrate, grazing his right temple in almost a mirror image of the scar on the left. The man who managed this, however, overextended himself, and Elm disarmed him, following it up with a savage blow to the man's throat. The man fell, hands clutching at his neck, eyes bulging as he fought unsuccessfully to breathe.
Staring at him in shock, the remaining three dropped their swords and backed up, then turned and ran, fleeing out the window through which they had entered.
Elm let them go.
--
Mae hadn't had to fight her way through the house, as she was simply following Elm's path. She perceived the results of his passing in the attackers strewn about, some dead, others simply wounded and/or unconscious. With each body she saw, she quickened her pace, determined to ensure that he would not remain this way.
Because she went unopposed, she arrived just as the last three combatants fled. Elm had let them go not because of any desire to do so, but from finding himself confronted by his wife. "Elm, you stop this right now!"
He blinked, not responding in any way, and she continued. "There was no need for all this. You know I wasn't in any real danger."
Still no response. She exploded, slapping him across the cheek, hard enough to leave a red, angry bruise the shape of her hand. He shook his head. "Darn you! I can handle myself in a fight! You didn't need to interfere!"
He blinked once more, this time raising a hand to where she had slapped him. A third time he blinked, and when he opened his eyes once more, the void was filled with emotion once more.
"Did you have to hit me so hard?" he complained. He held up a finger before she could answer. "Hold on a second." He whirled to face the man sneaking up on him. It was none other than Mifune who found a steel-toed boot toward his stomach. Mifune blocked it but slid backward from the force of the blow. Mae darted her eyes between the two. "Is this attack on my home you're doing?"
Mifune sent Elm the slightest of nods. "It was nothing of my own accord I assure you. But I require the old man." Elm smirked at Mifune's demands and twirled his staff. In the blink of an eye Elm teleported behind Mifune only to have the blunt end of the mercenary's sword tag him in the chest. Elm was instantly brought back into the physical spectrum and to the floor. Mifune backed away slightly, allowing his foe to rise. "I have been told by a reliable source that you enjoy 'leaping' from place to place. She has also informed me…" Elm's eyes grew dark. "…of how to keep you from doing it."
"Just try it!" As if sounding the call both charged one another. Elm's staff pounded down upon Mifune, forcing the samurai into a defensive position. Mae wanted to intervene, to assist her beloved, but at the pace which the two fought she would only be a hindrance. Mifune found a space with which he could utilize and force a powerful punch. Upon doing so a burst of flame emitted from his fist. Elm pushed him away gruffly.
"A firebender?!"
"A sample of Hotaru's own power, call it a curse of you wish." Mifune then proceeded to discharge multiple bursts of flame from not only his hands but also from metallic shaft that is his sword. Elm diverted the flames with fiery palms of his own. Mae finally snapped out of her revere and producing another blunt object pounded into the wall where a water pipe was stored. Elm sensed the flow of the water as soon as Mae had burst the pipe. Using his staff as a medium Elm directed the water directly at Mifune. Mifune's flames were extinguished immediately and the wave caused a fair amount of disorientation. He felt Elm's hands grab his gi and in the next second had teleported them both to the outside of the window. Elm returned inside in due time and Mifune was sent falling unceremoniously to the ground.
--
Elm had laid out one of the bodies in the hall, inspecting it curiously, looking for any sign of markings, any clue as to their identity. There were no identifying tags around the neck, nor was there any kind of ID anywhere on the body.
Out of curiosity, he pulled back the flap of the jacket, revealing a slight discoloration that looked to be part of a tattoo. Wanting to see it more fully, he pulled the flap down farther, exposing a single flame, overlaid with the sideways figure eight that stood for infinity.
Something sparked in his memory from nineteen years ago, and he gasped. But just as he made the connection, Mae hurried toward him from the living room with a fresh shock.
"Doctor Owen's gone!" Elm slammed his clenched fist against the wall in frustration.
Of the 36-man team that had gone into the mansion, about a dozen remained, and few of them intact.
Dr. Owen sat in one of the returning helicopters, bound and gagged. If looks could kill, those who held him would have all been dead and rotting by now. As it was, one of the more intact men who had captured him sported a black eye, and another a nose that was bent out of shape.
Yet another of those captors visibly shuddered, having trouble managing the pain in his broken arm, despite the fact that it was immobilized in a sling next to his chest.
He spoke to the person next to him, who happened to be Mifune. That man was rubbing his hand along the painful spot where Elm's blow had landed.
"I'm afraid…"
Mifune turned to look at him, wincing as what felt like a sudden burst of fire running up and down the back of his neck. "Why? Do you not trust in your Goddess?"
"I—I don't know any more. I've seen what she can do…but tonight, I feel like we came up against a force of nature, not a mortal man." He shuddered again, and not from the pain, this time.
Mifune kept his thoughts to himself, and he schooled his face into an expressionless mask not unlike the one Elm had possessed. It wouldn't do for them to know his thoughts or feelings on this matter. In a way, he was glad there was a new player in this game. Maybe he would tip the balance against that thrice-damned Hotaru, allowing Mifune to go free.
JANUARY 11
Elm and Mae sat once more in the living room, a living room that for all the damage done, didn't look all that different. The bullet-holes in the walls were barely noticeable, the curtains drawn over the wooden slats that were a temporary replacement for the shattered glass window, and the carpet was a deep, dark red anyway, so any possible bloodstains were not an issue.
But the two were not in any state to notice even if the damages were glaringly obvious.
"No, I'll not have it! I was separated from you once. It won't happen again!" Mae stood up, beginning to pace. Her teeth worried at her bottom lip in an effort to keep her from crying.
"But Mae, it's the only logical solution. And I won't be gone long."
She shook her head violently. "That's not the point. I—"
"Mae!" Elm interrupted. "Someone has to go after these thugs to make sure this doesn't happen again. And we can't take the children, so someone has to stay with them and make sure they behave." He didn't add that someone might also be needed to protect them. They both knew that it was a very distinct possibility that more might come.
Instead, he tried to appease her. "It's not like you'll be in another world. You'll still be able to call me on my cell phone."
"It won't be the same," she sighed, defeated. "Though I suppose you're right; it is better than last time." At this point, she finally quit her pacing, and sat back down. Not on the couch, however, but on Elm's lap. She took his face in her hands and looked him square in the eye. "But by God, you makes sure to come back to me in one piece, or I'll kill you."
"Is that so?" Elm asked, a gleam in his eye.
"Yeah," she whispered, and their faces inched slowly toward each other…
--
"So, let's see. You'll need your robe."
Elm put on the garment in question. "Check."
"Staff?"
He grabbed it from the hooks, balancing it on one hand before twirling it and placing one end firmly on the floor. "Check."
"Sunglasses?"
"No use for those. No handy camera system I can use to get around quickly."
Mae placed her hands on her hips. "That's unfortunate." She gestured at the backpack on top of his desk. "And anything else you need, I've already packed for you."
"Thank you, honey," he said, pecking her on the cheek. "And before you ask, I have my cell phone in the pocket of my jeans." He patted his hip reassuringly. Neither of them worried about it getting broken in a fight—it was a very sturdy little machine. "Try not to call too often. You never know when I might be doing something that requires concentration, or at least stealth."
Now she crossed her arms across her chest and scowled. "I'm not dumb, you know."
He winked at her, grinning. "I know that. But you know you can't resist me. Before long, the temptation to call will be unbearable."
She continued to scowl, but despite herself, the corner of her mouth twitched. Before she knew it, she was grinning too. "Oh, you," she said, laughing. "Go on, get out of here," she added, giving him a playful shrug. With one last kiss, and a fierce hug, he was off to the airport to book a flight.
Neither of them gave a thought to the tracking device Doctor Owen had given them. If they had even suspected Mockingbird was tangled up in all this, that oversight would never have occurred.
TOKYO, JAPAN—January 14
Elm quietly sat in the apartment he'd rented, his ear to the phone. One ring later, the other end was answered. "Hello?"
"Hey, Mae, I thought I'd give you an update."
"Is that all?" she asked playfully, "or could you…not resist calling?"
"Fine, whatever you say," he said, absently waving his free hand. "Listen, I haven't found any leads. Nobody around here that I can tell has any inkling of an organization that uses that tattoo. I'm at a dead end here. Did you get anything from interrogating the ones we captured alive?"
"Unfortunately, no. They all refuse to speak."
He sighed. "Since we have nothing else to go on…I've felt a prickling of danger from Lee. If I know him, he and Shandrey are going to retreat to their home in Kitsune Valley, to plan what they'll do next. I think I'll meet up with him there, and with any luck, the trouble he's encountered is connected to the attack on our home. If nothing else, I'll still need to talk to Shandrey about Jasper."
Silence was his only answer. "Mae? You and I both knew this might take a while. Mae?"
"Sorry. I'm just praying you find them, and soon. Be careful."
"Don't worry honey, I will. I will. Besides, I don't want you chasing me down and killing me."
"Ha ha," Mae said, halfheartedly, but still, her tone lightened. "So, I suppose you better get going."
"Yeah. Bye."
"Bye." He snapped his phone shut, already up and out the door. After paying his rent, it was off to Kitsune Valley…
KITSUNE VALLEY—January 15
Elm stood at the summit of the gorge, looking down onto the home built into the other side—Lee and Shandrey's home.
He didn't see them, but he did see someone else standing at the shore of the river, apparently waiting for something or someone.
Elm stared at her curiously. Other than a few villagers, Lee, and Shandrey, he wasn't aware that anyone else even knew this place existed.
And she didn't look like she was from around here, so she couldn't be a villager. He would have to be careful, just in case…
--
Katara waited at the riverbank for Shandrey to come back out. She'd stopped on the steps, snapping her fingers and announcing that she'd forgotten something. She'd asked Katara to wait near the river, so that's where she found herself.
She was too wound up to try and sit, and besides, Shandrey said it shouldn't take long to find what she needed.
She thought she heard someone coming, and turned, expecting to see Shandrey, but finding someone else entirely. Unconsciously, she stepped back, her eyes widening as she instinctively drew water from the river. Whoever this was, they were tall.
The person took a step forward, then stumbled over an unseen object. However, to Katara, it appeared as if they were lunging to the attack, and she hurled the sphere of water she had gathered, freezing it solid as she did so.
The other took a stance that appeared somewhat familiar. She found out why when they punched forward sharply with their right hand, hurling a ball of fire. It intercepted the ice, and where they met, there was a crackle of splintering ice, and an explosion of steam.
Her eyes widened even further, and unknowingly she breathed a single word. "Firebender!" She drew more water from the river, preparing to fight what her entire life had conditioned her to think of as an enemy.
--
He hadn't meant to, but somehow he'd provoked the girl into a fight. And he hadn't meant to use fire, either—it had just happened. If he'd had more time to react, he would simply have taken control of the water himself.
But unfortunately, he hadn't, and apparently his trained reflexes had reacted in precisely the wrong way.
Nimbly, he jumped over a water whip that reached for his legs, ducking another that attempted to immobilize his arms.
He let a third succeed, grabbing his left arm. But instead of letting it control him, he used it to hurl himself toward the girl, swinging his staff as he did so.
She ducked, barely avoiding being knocked out, and threw up a wall of ice between them, which melted when he tried to break through.
He only avoided being washed away in the inundation by hunching down and anchoring his feet in the sand, made wet by the very attack that threatened him.
When the water washed away, he stood up, releasing his hold on the earth, water dripping from his now thrown-back hood. This was getting annoying.
Katara stared, as he dropped his staff and took a more fluidic stance. She didn't understand how he wasn't gone after that blast. However, she wasn't the kind of person to remain indecisive long. She tried to reach out to bring in more of her element…and found she couldn't move.
"Listen," Elm spoke, and she had no choice but to listen. "I do not like dong this, but it's better than one of us dying needlessly. I don't know who you are, or why you thought I was attacking you. I do know, however, that you probably wouldn't be here if Lee or Shandrey hadn't invited you. Now, please tell me where…" he trailed off, gasping.
Even that speech was beginning to wear him out. He hadn't eaten in several hours, and his body was telling him so…in more than one way. His muscles were aching, sweat broke out on his forehead, and his stomach was beginning to feel queasy. He felt his arms beginning to shake; moments before his hold on her was broken, and he collapsed to the ground, retching, vomiting what little was left in his stomach.
He didn't see Katara stare, open-mouthed, as she tentatively took a step toward him, nor did he hear Shandrey running up to him, or feel Lee pick him up with his telekinesis. By this point, he had blacked out.
--
Before Shandrey could retrieve what she had forgotten, Lee stopped her. "There's no need to go to Jerusalem."
Shandrey blinked, but didn't question how he knew this. "If he's not there, then where?"
"He's just outside the valley." Ignoring her incredulous stare, he explained more fully. "He was never in Jerusalem, not since the end of the Occupation. He moved to Gotham, remember?" Shandrey slapped a hand to her forehead.
"I can't believe I forgot."
"We're all human. We all make mistakes."
Still shaking her head at her lapse of memory, she inquired, "So why is he here, now?"
"That I do not know. What I do know is that five days ago, something bad happened, and the next day, he left, not stopping until he reached Tokyo. The rest of the time he spent there, until he began m—"
He stopped, sensing something amiss, exclaiming "The river! You have to get to the river before someone gets hurt!"
Shandrey rushed out the door. Lee got up, following as fast as he could.
They almost weren't in time.
Shandrey hurriedly inspected Elm, barely taking notice of Katara in the background.
She shouted to Lee, as soon as he came into sight. "Quickly, get him inside. We need to get some food into him now!" As Elm lifted off the ground, she absently ordered Katara to grab his weapon, adding silently, "I just hope he's not lost too much to recover…"
There we go. Last chapter was a bit short and this one was enormous, good trade. Realfanficts deserves a big hand for a very well done chapter.