Legend Killer

by Belle Elegant

Dean, Roman and Randy Orton are avatars of the Saint of Killers, and the only people in the world that can wield his guns; magic revolvers created by the Angel of Death and will destroy anything, mortal and immortal alike. Though they humanity's sole hope against invading demons from Hell, there are other forces who will stop at nothing to control the Saint.

22. Chapter 22

A huge thank you to my beloved beta reader, kiss316. Also, a huge thank you to everyone who reviews this story. I treasure each and every one of them.

Legend Killer Chapter 22

Warnings: Violence and swearing

…...

"Shit. C'mon, son, don't give up on me."

…...doesn't matter...

"Yes it does. You can fight. You have his strength."

…........just want to rest...

"Don't do that. Bad things will happen if you die like this."

…...don't care...

"I know you don't and I can't blame you. You've been dealt a shitty hand your whole life. It sucks but they need you. He needs you."

…...so tired...

"Orton?"

…...

"Randal!?"

…

Crouching over Randy's broken, violated body, Mark sighed. He removed his wide-brimmed hat and ran a hand through his graying hair. He remembered the first time he laid eyes on US Marshal Randal Keith Orton. When they carried him into Mark's office, the young man was delirious, suffering from a bullet wound in the stomach. They told him Randy and his deputies were escorting a vicious criminal to jail and Randy had been shot in a failed escape attempt. After slicing Randy open to get at the bullet, Mark saw the damage and knew there was nothing he could do to save the young man. Though he did his best to patch Randy up, the only thing productive he could do was to keep a vigil by Randy's side as he laid in agony for days, his fever raging beyond Mark's ability to control.

And if being gutshot wasn't bad enough, there were the terrible burns on the back of Randy's neck and shoulders that compounded his suffering. Unlike normal burns, these were always burning hot to the touch, no matter how many cold compresses Mark laid on them in a vain attempt to soothe Randy's torment. It was obvious someone had done that to Randy deliberately.

As he watched over Randy, he learned a lot about the young man's life. Randy, in his delirium raved about Ted's and Cody's bloody torture. Other times he spoke about fighting in the war and sometimes about raiders burning his home down while his family trapped inside burned alive. But most disturbing was when Randy's fever burned hottest that he spoke about a demon named Benoit and meeting him. Mark grew concerned when he heard that. It was also during that time he learned how Randy got those burns and Mark was afraid he was going to be sick.

But it wasn't always about the horror in Randy's life. Once, when Randy was sleeping restlessly, his skin hot and dry to the touch, Mark had just placed a cold cloth over his forehead when Randy's eyes flared open. "Father?" he whispered as he looked up at Mark. The young man's voice was dry from dehydration but the hope in his confused eyes was heartbreaking. Before Mark could respond, to tell him that his farther had been dead for many years, Randy's eyes closed again and he drifted back into unconsciousness. Mark studied him thoughtfully. An uneasy thought came to him but it was too early to tell for sure.

Mark had honestly thought he was watching yet another young life ending far too soon. But somehow, miraculously, Randy rallied and pulled through. Mark remembered his astonishment when he woke up from a brief nap about a week later and found Randy's fever had broken sometime during the night. Mark stared incredulous when he saw the bullet wound had stopped seeping and Randy was sleeping peacefully. But the haunted look in his eyes when Randy woke up told Mark that even though the young man was healing physically, mentally he was still tied to the ground watching his friends be tortured to death. With unease, Mark recognized the rage that filled the young man, eerily similar to another whom he had encountered in a different place. He made a note to keep an eye on the young man as he began to figure out just who it was that Randy resembled and why Randy had mistaken him for someone who had been dead a long time.

It was the conversation they had after Hunter's visit that cemented Mark's suspicion. Hunter hadn't changed; he was still arrogant and overbearing. But it was Randy's reaction to the judge that laid the final piece of the puzzle. As he watched them talk, Mark realized Randy was suddenly wary of the man who had been his surrogate father. He answered Hunter's questions in single syllables, growing more and more withdrawn until Mark stepped in and told Hunter that Randy needed to rest. It surprised Mark how protective he felt about Randy. Despite everything he had been through, the young man had fire and spirit. He was determined to get back on his feet in spite of Mark's advice to be patient and let his body heal.

"Okay, just think about what I said. I hate to lose you," Hunter was telling Randy, who didn't respond. Hunter got to his feet and nodded at Mark. He then went on his way, looking strangely satisfied.

"What was that about?" Mark asked Randy after Hunter left. "You aren't staying with the Marshals?"

Randy studied Mark for a long minute, as if wondering if he could trust the doctor. Then he looked away. "I can't. They were sacrificed because of me," he told Mark, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Ted and Cody?" Mark asked.

Randy nodded once, still not looking at Mark.

"You mean because Benoit was a demon?" Mark asked, remembering Randy's delirious ramblings.

Surprised, Randy looked at Mark square in the eyes for the first time. Mark could see the wariness there. In a flash of insight, he realized Randy didn't think Mark would believe him or think he was crazy. "How did you know?" Randy asked.

"You talked a lot while you were sick," Mark explained.

"I'm not crazy," Randy told him as if he didn't think Mark would believe him. He looked away again.

Any sane person might have tried to convince Randy that it had all been just a bad dream, brought on from the bullet wound and resulting fever. But Mark knew better. "Was it Benoit who did that too?" he indicated the burns, which were finally starting to cool down, although they were still a deep, unnatural black.

Shuddering, Randy went deathly pale under his tan and curled his hands into fists but he didn't answer Mark's question, at least not out loud. Randy's reaction was enough to tell Mark that he was right. "What do you intend to do?" Mark asked, changing the topic.

Surprised, Randy glanced up at Mark, and again Mark was forcibly reminded again of someone else when he replied coldly. "I'm going to kill them all."

As Randy grew stronger he began to grow restless, hating to be confined to his bed. Mark knew it wasn't going to be much longer before Randy was recovered enough to leave. Mark tried to keep a close eye on him but despite his best efforts, Randy disappeared one night, leaving his badge behind. Mark reported it to Hunter, knowing the judge would find out anyway. Not long after, Mark began hearing rumors about Randy killing various people without rhyme or reason. Everyone was at a loss to explain why Hunter's favorite had suddenly gone rogue, except Mark who had seen the burns across the back of Randy's shoulders and knew why Randy was doing what he was doing.

And what the young man was sacrificing in the name of vengeance.

In the deep darkness, Mark bowed his head and grieved. Death didn't usually affect the Undertaker. It wasn't the first death he had seen. But this one was particularly bad and not just because of the sheer brutality. Randy's soul, damaged by years of using a weapon he was never meant to wield was trapped in his corpse, unable to move on.

And even that wasn't the worst part of this whole debacle. When the Saint of Killers came back, Mark had no doubt the human world body count would reach biblical levels. What was coming would make the War Between the States seem like a playground fight. And after he was done exacting his vengeance for his son here? Well, the angel's presence only made it obvious the Saint's next target would be Heaven itself. Mark wondered if he had made a mistake when he met the rage-filled soldier amidst the frozen the fires of Hell. The decision to exchange his sword for the human's body was the first impulsive one he had ever made. Someone else could be Death while he finally could experience life.

But there was no taking it back now. He wracked his brain for a way to avert the oncoming storm, and came up empty. He had tried to warn them but they didn't listen. No one in history had ever been a threat to the Creator before and the fools had panicked, making the situation infinitely worse. He could only hope the Saint didn't come back right then. As if on cue, the torch flared and flickered and Mark raised his head as he sensed the imminent return of the one who had disappeared. "Well, shit," he muttered to himself.

And in reality, there wasn't much else to say.

As they approached the entrance to the mine, Dean, Roman and Seth could easily sense the Beast's overwhelming presence. They pulled their horses to a stop just as it emerged from the dark and stood in the opening, blinking in the sunlight. The mere sight of the Beast terrified the horses and they refused to come closer, tossing their heads and trying to rear. All the riders quickly dismounted and turned the panicking animals loose, letting them run away. Roman, Seth and Dean stood shoulder to shoulder as they sized up their opponent. By the feel of it, the Beast was once again at full power, maybe even stronger than ever.

The Beast's chest, arms and the lower half of its face was covered in drying blood. When it saw them it ran its tongue out and laughed in delight. It shifted its weight from foot to foot, almost dancing in anticipation.

"Shit!" Dean said staring at it, unknowingly echoing Mark. "That can't be good."

"What do we do now?" John asked, feeling sick. It looked like Crowfoot's apocalyptic vision was coming to pass and there was fuck-all anyone could do about it.

"You three will have to fight it. Cena and I will try to get to Legend Killer," Punk told them. John gave him a look that spoke volumes about what they would find when they did, but if there even a slim chance Randy was still alive down there…

"Wait, what do you mean you three?" Seth asked, appalled. "You mean me too?" He knew just by looking at it, the Beast was so strong now it would have no issue tearing him apart. The arrogance that had masqueraded as his courage had deserted him.

"Whose blood do you think that is? You are responsible for this whole mess and if you don't help fix it we are all dead!" John gestured at the Beast. It didn't take a genius to figure out it was Randy's blood covering the Beast.

"They will need your help," Punk said calmly, ignoring John's outburst. "They are not strong enough to fight the Beast and win."

Seth looked nervous. "Yeah, okay." The Authority he answered to wasn't going to be pleased with his screw-up. He had truly believed that his wards could keep the Beast away from Orton. Too late he realized he had been arrogant and overestimated his power against that of the Beast's. But that was a moot point if the Saint came back and found his son had been killed while in Heaven's custody. He had to fix his mistake or the Creator itself would be in mortal danger.

The entire heavenly host could not stand against the rage of Saint of Killers.

"Can they beat it?" John asked Punk. Even though he had no supernatural powers, he could tell the Beast was insanely strong. Punk only shrugged. He wasn't going to guess.

Dean and Roman didn't even have to look at each other. They didn't need to be told they were certainly going to lose this fight. The Beast was stronger than ever and there was no help from the earth spirits this time. But they would never back down, no matter the odds against them.

"You guys ready?" John asked them.

"Yeah," Roman answered, his gaze never left the Beast. He didn't know if the Saint was going to come back. The last time (was it only truly just last night?) they faced this monster it had already been weakened, and they had help from the earth spirits. Now, it was at full strength and there was no help in sight. All he knew for sure was he was going to do his best to protect Dean. He didn't allow himself to think about Randy, trapped down there alone in the dark.

"Let's do this," Dean said. His eyes were fever bright as the thrill of battle started to sing in his veins.

Side by side, Roman and Dean walked forward. At first, Seth followed behind them but then he sucked up his courage and moved to fall into step beside Roman. Dean cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders. The Beast watched them with amusement. Its power rolled off of it like heat waves. At some unseen signal, the three split up, Dean going left, Seth going right and Roman straight up the middle. The Beast lowered its head and charged at Roman. It moved so fast Roman barely had time to brace his feet before the Beast tackled him. The impact took him down to the ground. Roman cried out as he felt his sternum crack from the force of the blow. But the Beast didn't get a chance to follow up before Dean was on it, punching the demon for all he was worth. Roaring in rage, the Beast turned on the lunatic, forgetting Roman. Dean took a step back and spread his arms wide, making himself a bigger target, daring the Beast of come after him. The Beast obliged by launching itself at Dean. Despite being prepared for it, Dean didn't quite get out of the way in time and the Beast took him down to the ground with such force all of the air whooshed out of Dean's lungs. Flat on his back, he barely got an arm up to block the Beast's hands from grabbing his throat and tearing his head off.

Then Seth was beside the Beast, channeling all his power into a powerful kick that lifted the Beast off of Dean and through the air. The Beast landed hard but with an agility that was belied by its size, it was immediately back on its feet, roaring a challenge. Seth stood his ground while Roman and Dean regained their feet. Side by side the three stood, magnificent in their strength but by now they knew it was inevitable they were doomed to lose.

Hideo, Bálor and Owens had ridden up just as the Beast leveled Dean. They had never seen it before and Kevin whistled in amazement. "If I had known about this, I would have told you guys to go fuck yourselves," he told Bálor. Their horses were going wild at the Beast's proximity and they were forced to dismount. The horses bolted, desperate to get away from the battlefield.

Nearby Punk and John were making their way to the mine entrance. They were almost there when the Beast looked right at them. It charged at them, but Dean reacted faster than Roman and Seth, launching himself at the Beast. The Beast caught him out of mid-air and with unbelievable strength threw Dean bodily at John and Punk. They were able to get their arms up in time to catch him but they all went down in a heap of bodies. The Beast stalked towards them but Roman ran up behind it. It roared as Roman jumped on its back and wrapped a strong arm around its neck, trying to choke it down. It struggled, clawing at Roman's arms, leaving deep gouges. But Roman refused to let go.

"You okay?" John asked Dean as they untangled themselves from the pile. His and Punk's bruises were not important compared to what the three fighters were sustaining.

"I'm better than okay," Dean promised, eyes bright. "It will take much more than what the Beast can dish out to keep me down." He twisted to his feet and hurried back to the fight. Just as he got there, the Beast managed to get Roman off its back and holding on to Roman's arm, slammed him down on his back into the dirt. Roman cried out as he felt his arm break and some of his ribs. The Beast braced his foot against Roman's side and pulled. Roman screamed as he felt the ligaments and muscles start to tear. The Beast was going to pull his arm off!

"Roman!" Dean screamed and in an act of desperation, reached down and dealt the Beast a low blow. It shouldn't have affected it, but the Beast turned a bit green and released Roman's arm. It turned and glared at Dean who laughed in its face. He stopped laughing when the Beast grabbed Dean by the throat and slammed him down to the ground. Immediately Seth was there, running at the Beast and hitting it in the face with his knee. Blood exploded from the Beast's nose but it didn't slow it down one bit. It grabbed Seth by the midsection and threw him over backwards. With the agility of a cat, Seth landed on his feet and without stopping, he jumped back in the air and twisting his body, kicking the Beast in the head. The Beast staggered, shook its head and lashed out. It was too fast and it caught Seth right in the solar plexus. Seth doubled over, his arms cradling his midsection. Even though he was as strong as Dean and Roman, that blow had severely damaged several of his internal organs. He slumped to the ground, hoping he could heal himself enough to live a few more seconds. But the Beast was right there and he knew he was out of time.

"They are getting their ass kicked," Kevin observed dispassionately.

But then Dean, the lunatic who just wouldn't stay down, jumped on the Beast's back and wrapped his arms around the Beast's neck. He pushed his fingers into the Beast's eyes, trying to blind the demon. Desperately, the Beast threw itself over backwards, trapping Dena underneath it. Dean felt his head slam into the ground, but he refused to let go. Blood spurted out of the Beast's eyes. It reached up and pried Dean's hands away. Then it slammed its head backwards, Dean saw it coming and managed to turn his head enough so only his cheekbone was crushed. Dean's eye was already swelling shut and he was dazed as the Beast climbed off of him and turned around. The blood did nothing to mask the sick fury in the Beast's eyes. It moved in to crush Dean's skull. With one huge foot, it stepped down on Dean's head. Dean screamed as he felt his skull starting to crack.

"Dean!" Roman shouted in terror as he scrambled to his feet, broken arm and ribs forgotten. He knew he wasn't going to get there in time to stop the Beast from killing his brother. "NO!"

An icy wind roared through the trees and the air turned bitterly cold. Still flat on his back, Dean's eyes flashed green and the Colt Walkers appeared in his holsters. Faster than the human eye could follow, he drew one of the Colts and fired it point-blank right in the Beast's face. Before the report finished rolling off the nearby mountains, the Beast's body flopped to the ground beside Dean and was still. Still on the ground, Dean's eyes rolled up in his head and he passed out.

Incredibly, the entire fight had taken less than three minutes.

The silence that followed was broken by Roman drawing in a breath and angrily demanding, "It's was about damned time! Where the fuck have you been, old man?" Actually it was way past damned time!

The Saint slowly turned his gaze to Roman. He looked as satisfied as a slab of granite could. "Taking care of some business," he said, his voice was gravel and cobwebs.

Eyes huge, Bálor gasped at the sight of the Saint. He was taller than Roman by several inches but not overly tall. The spirit himself was a middle-aged adult with longish red hair and pale green eyes. But there was something about it that just screamed incredibly dangerous to Bálor. He found himself pressed up against Hideo's side, unconsciously seeking reassurance from his long-time friend. None of the regular humans could see the spirit but they could feel it. They shivered at the icy rage that still lingered in the air. Even Kevin looked uneasy. However, Roman was unfazed. Holding his broken arm tight at his side, he marched right up to the Saint and got in his face. "Taking care of some business? Well it better have been fucking important, because we needed you!"

The Saint narrowed his eyes but he answered. "If you must know, I was securing this world from future invasions from other realms."

That caught Roman up short. The Saint had been rather ambiguous in his reply. Then Roman glanced down at Dean, unconscious, blood still leaking from his ears and nose and felt a fresh surge of anger. He was about to berate the Saint again for his tardiness when a movement at the mine entrance caught their attention.

"Oh shit," John breathed what sounded like a plea, his breath steaming in the icy air. They followed his gaze and understood exactly what he meant. Behind them, Punk had made his way to Seth, who was concentrating on healing himself.

Dressed in his full undertaker regalia, Mark was coming out of the mine, effortlessly carrying Randy's lifeless body. Seeing them all standing there, Mark stopped and knelt down, gently laying Randy's corpse on the ground. Then he stood up, and took a few steps back, the black of his coat darker than the mine tunnel.

The spirit jumped into Roman before he could protest. Green-eyed he stalked forward, urgency and denial in every step. "My son?" he asked, reaching a hand out to the broken body of the one he had come back for. The bones of his skull showed faint below his skin.

Mark didn't say anything. He just shook his head.

For several heartbeats, there was no reaction, no movement as the Saint of Killers stared at the blood-covered body of his son. There was no breeze nor did the birds sing. No one, neither human nor part demon dared to move, not even to breathe. The world held its breath. Then his hands curled into fists and ice began to form on the ground in a circle around Roman's feet, spreading outward. Then Roman threw his head back and opened his mouth wide. "OOOAHHH" the spirit's rage and grief were terrifying. He crouched and slammed a fist into the ground, which shook under the impact. It just a minor tremble at first, but soon began to intensify into a full-blown earthquake that sent them all to the ground. They could hear screams in the distance from the town and the rending of wood as trees splintered and fell. Buildings made of wood and brick tore apart under the stress. Thick black dust billowed from the mine entrance as the tunnel collapsed, forever sealing off the chamber where Randy had died.

Slowly the Saint stood up, his head bowed. "They will pay for this! I am going to kill them all!"

As Roman turned and stalked towards them, intent on the town, Punk grabbed Seth's collar and shoved the angel forward. Seth landed on his knees directly in front of the Saint, shaking with terror. The Saint looked at Seth, his eyes turned solid white and glowing like ice in the moonlight. He put a hand on one of the Colt Walkers with his good arm.

"Wait!" Seth pleaded, his eyes were wild. He had never felt such heart-stopping fear in his entire life. "I can heal him!" he offered, saying the first thing he could think of that would maybe get the Saint to spare his life.

"My son is dead because of you, you miserable worm," the Saint said. "What good will healing his body do?"

Seth swallowed hard and said, "Not just his body, I can heal his soul. His soul is trapped in his body. I can make it so he can move on."

"You are lying!" the Saint snarled. He drew the Colt and aimed it at Seth.

"NO I'M NOT!" Seth screamed, one heartbeat from sobbing. "I can heal his soul, just please let me try."

The Saint was visibly tightening his finger on the trigger when Mark stepped between Death and the angel. "Wait," he counseled. If he was bothered by the real possibility of getting shot by a Colt Walker, he did a remarkable job of hiding it.

"He is responsible for this. I will kill him!" the Saint insisted.

"That's true. He is responsible. But only for his death. Maybe you forgot but you are responsible for his damaged soul." The Saint froze but before he could respond, Mark went on. "Maybe he can fix what you destroyed. Give him a chance." The fact that he was arguing with Death personified didn't seem to matter to Mark Calaway. "What do you have to lose? And if he can help your son like he claims, then isn't it worth taking the chance? It's not like he can escape from you."

The Saint paused, scowling. He knew Mark was right. "Do it!" he ordered Seth. "And if you don't, I will kill you and not even your Creator will be able to bring you back." The scorn in his voice was scathing.

Terrified, Seth crawled over beside Randy's limp body and reached out to touch him. His entire body was shaking so hard he could barely stay upright. When he touched Randy's corpse his eyes shot open in horror at the damage not only to Randy's body but his soul as well. He hadn't bothered to check it when Seth had healed Randy before. It never occurred to him to try to use his power to heal a soul. But now, with his and the life of the Creator on the line... He found himself staring up at Mark, who for the first time was showing emotion. He was willing Seth to do what he claimed he could do, Seth realized. He nodded. "His soul..." he said, unable to disguise his horror.

The Undertaker nodded in sorrow. Looming next to him was the Saint of Killers, glaring down at him. The Saint growled and shifted, but didn't fire the gun he kept aimed at Seth.

Gathering all his courage, Seth reached out again. The damage to Randy's soul was terrible. Slowly, he channeled his power and started to heal it. The demon mark remained inert, having been completely drained by the Beast. Gaining confidence, Seth called upon more and more of his power. He soothed the torn edges and gaping holes of the spiritual essence that was Randy Orton. It took a long time, and Seth was sweating with the effort it took but he didn't stop until Randy's soul was completely mended. Then, after he did all he could do for Randy's soul, Seth moved on to repair the broken bones and torn tissues. The crushed spinal cord and the broken skull were the hardest, yet Seth didn't quit. He used all his power to fix what the Beast had destroyed. Darkness gathered at the edges of his vision and he was on the verge of collapsing when he glanced up at Mark again, as if asking for permission. Mark nodded in approval. Completely drained, Seth slumped to the ground, exhausted. He had used every last ounce of his power.

For the first time in years, since the night Benoit had sacrificed his friends Randy's body and soul were whole again.

Despite the company he was in, Kevin absolutely could not keep his mouth shut. "What was the point of all that? He's still dead."

"Thank you for letting us know," John said sarcastically, glancing at the Saint in apprehension. "But I don't know of anything we can do to fix that."

But Mark, who had turned back to the Saint of Killers, was holding him with his gaze, and said, "I do. And if I can bring him the rest of the way back, will you reconsider your vengeance?" his voice was mild.

Hope flared in the stony eyes as they searched Mark's. The Saint nodded once. "If you can do that, I would consider sparing them," he said.

The tall undertaker turned to Randy's body and knelt beside him opposite of Seth. He reached down and opened Randy's mouth with his hands. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth directly against Randy's, blowing deeply. Randy's chest rose. They all watched, fascinated as Mark took another deep breath and once again, exhaled directly into Randy's mouth. He did that three more times, then he sat back and curled a large hand into a fist. He brought it down hard directly over the Legend Killer's still heart. The he resumed his position beside Randy's head, pressing his lips against Randy's and breathing.

"What the hell is he doing?" Kevin asked.

"Breathing for him and making his heart beat," Punk said, his eyes bright with hope.

None of them dared to move as they watched Mark work on Randy. For an incredibly long minute, nothing changed. Then, they all jumped as Randy suddenly gasped and his eyes shot open. He coughed and clutched his bruised chest. Rolling onto his side, he squeezed his eyes shut and just focused on breathing. They all stared in shock. Somehow, without magic Mark had brought Randy back to life.

"How did you know to do that?" John asked in wonder. He had never heard of such a thing.

"It delayed me many times in the future," Mark said cryptically. He rested a hand on Randy's back, comforting him as Randy tried to mentally orient himself. Randy shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then looked around. They all watched as Randy weakly sat up. No one moved to help him though; Death still loomed too close and none of them dared to draw his attention. Then Randy looked up and met the granite gaze of his father. For a second the Saint's expression softened just the slightest bit. "Son, I'm glad you're alive," he started to say but Randy's expression darkened. It took him three attempts to get to his feet, and he only stayed there because Mark reached out and steadied him with a hand under his arm. He was still suffering the effects of being dead but his eyes were hard as his father's. "Where were you?" he asked. His voice was as cold as the air around the Saint.

"I was in Hell, killing demons so they can no longer come here," the Saint said. "I was doing it to protect you."

"Protect me? Protect me?!" Randy snarled, thoroughly enraged. Though he was usually a bit more level-headed, he still had his father's temper. "The FUCKING BEAST beat me to death while I was chained to a wall! Is that how you protect me?" He shouted as he got right up into the Saint's face.

Shocked, the Saint was starting to get pissed again and to prevent an all-out shouting match between the Saint of Killers and the Legend Killer, Mark stepped in between them, gently pushing Randy back a step. Honestly, he was the only one with the guts to do it. "Calm down, both of you. Randal, you go over there." He pointed to where John, Punk and the others were watching apprehensively. Glaring at his father, Randy growled under his breath but he didn't argue with Mark. He stalked away, almost falling over before he got to them but Punk and John moved to catch him. Turning back to the Saint, Mark looked him dead in the eye. "Did you kill all the demons?" he asked curiously.

"Yes," the Saint replied. "Hell is now empty."

"What about here?"Mark asked.

"There is a couple left," the Saint said, looking over at Bálor. "But once they've been taken care of, that's it. No more demons."

"And Heaven?" Mark asked, lowering his voice so the rest couldn't hear the answer.

"What do you think?" the Saint growled, eyes flaring white briefly. Mark studied him and nodded, not surprised.

"Then I think you need to leave for a while." Mark raised a hand to forestall the oncoming objection. "Just for a while. Give him time to cool down. He's been through a lot and he needs time to process it. Go finish up what you need to. And in the process, learn what you are and what you can do."

But the Saint glanced over at Randy, doubtful. Mark understood. "You don't need to worry, I'll watch over him," he assured the worried father. Mark had no intention of telling the Saint exactly what had happened to Randy down in the dark. The last thing humanity needed was an overprotective father with rage issues who could kill anything dealing with an unstable son who had been severely traumatized.

Nodding, the Saint looked over at Randy with regret. "I should have been there for him. I didn't want him involved in this but when I saw what Benoit did to him, I could not deny him his vengeance. I didn't get there in time that time either." Then he sighed and said, "All right old friend. We'll do this your way. Let me take care of one last thing and I'll be on my way. But promise me, you'll take care of my boy."

"I promise."

That was enough for The Saint of Killers. He turned his gaze to Itami and Bálor. "You wanted to talk to me?"

Finn shuddered but he was brave. "I want you to kill Bálor," he said. There was only a slight tremor in his voice.

The Saint regarded Finn. "If I do, you will both die. The demon has partially merged with your soul. The guns cannot tell the difference between you and your demon."

Finn looked crushed. The Saint had been his last chance to get rid of Bálor. Itami put a hand on Finn's arm in an attempt to comfort his friend. Finn smiled wanly. He knew what Itami was doing and appreciated it. "I'm sorry Hideo," he said. "Looks like you are stuck with me." Without Hideo's ongoing help, Bálor would completely take over Finn.

Hideo shrugged. "It's not such a bad fate," he said philosophically. "It could be worse, you could be stuck with Owens." Finn laughed in spite of himself. Hideo had a good point.

Then the Saint turns to Seth who was still lying on the ground, weak as a kitten. "Even though you healed my son, you are still responsible for what was done to him. For that, I will kill you." He aimed a Colt at Seth, but once again Mark intervened.

"I agree that he must pay for what he did. But he still holds an innocent soul captive. Let them deal with him," Mark said, indicating Punk and Hideo.

"What did you have in mind?" the Saint asked, eyes narrowed.

Now, Punk motioned to Hideo who quickly came forward. They knelt beside Seth. At Punk's direction Finn and Kevin pinned the angel down. Seth was so exhausted and frightened that he couldn't even form a protest when Punk took a massive skinning knife and cut the back of his shirt from the collar to the waist. Taking a small jar of black ink out of his pocket, Hideo quickly painted a series of symbols down Seth's spine with a steady hand.

Suddenly, the angel realized what they were doing. "Wait, stop!" Seth pleaded; starting to panic and trying to fight back but it was too late. Punk and Hideo had already started the seal. Punk chanted a prayer, and Hideo joined him. At the last second, Hideo slammed his palm into the middle of Seth's upper back. Seth slumped to the ground unconscious. The ink glowed briefly then soaked into Seth's skin, permanently staining it.

"Will this suffice?" Hideo asked the Saint in Japanese.

The Saint nodded, understanding him perfectly. "That is sufficient."

Smiling, Hideo bowed briefly to the Saint. The Saint tipped his head in acknowledgment. Then he looked at Randy one last time and abruptly departed. Roman staggered in shock. His eyes were wide as he sank to his knees. Being possessed by the Saint, and seeing in his mind what he had been up to since leaving them left Roman with too many images in his head. Images of Hell silent and dark.

And Heaven.

He tried not to vomit. Mark walked over to him and held out a hand. Grateful, Roman reached out and grabbed it with his good arm, using it for leverage to stand. For a second he searched Mark's face. Mark actually looked proud. "Well, kid. We did it. We saved the world."

TBC