Welcome back to Triskelion!

If you're new here; this is the second part of a three-part series. Please start by reading "Triskelion 1: Battles of Shadow". You can find it in my writer's profile.

If you'd like a sneak peek of what this story is mostly about, feel free to skip forward in Part 1, to "Chapter 8: Pivot", and then start from top.

Now, before we get right to it, just a couple of Disclaimers:

1 - Trigger Warning: Let this be a general trigger warning for sensitive subject matters, violence, gore, swearing, death, disability, adult innuendos, abuse of drugs and alcohol, physical and mental abuse/torture, and LGBTQ-related trauma

2 - No Smut: Rest assured that there won't be any explicit adult scenes in this series. I understand that everyone has a different line for what they consider smut, but all mentions of sexual acts will continue to be implied only

3 - Publishing Speed: I pushed through the last chapters of part 1 quickly because the story has been incomplete for Iong enough. For part 2, I'm planning on a speed of 1 chapter per week, but it might be faster or slower, depending on whether the chapter sequence is already pre-written

That's it! Now, let's get started, I so hope you enjoy part 2!

The word is about, there's something evolving... Whatever may come, the world keeps revolving...

They say, the next big thing is here! That the revolution's near! But to me it seems quite clear... That's it's all just a little bit of history repeating

The newspapers shout; a new style is growing! But it don't know if it's coming or going? There is fashion, there is fad. Some is good, some is bad. And the joke rather sad... That it's all just a little bit of history repeating

And I've seen it before... And I'll see it again... Yes I've seen it before... Just little bits of history repeating

- "History Repeating", Propellerheads, Shirley Bassey (1998)

68 Years Ago

When the news had been brought to him that Alvertos Fenthorn had passed away, Dexter Vex had merely nodded in confirmation. He had thanked the messenger, and then had continued with his current poker game.

It wasn't as though Dexter didn't feel the expected sadness or confusion at the loss. Albeit he and Alvertos had slowly drifted apart during past decades, he still considered him a close friend to this day.

Maybe, he was simply too used to loss at this point, Dexter thought. Maybe, loss was the old friend that put its head back on his shoulder, whenever another old friend left him.

What were the odds, Dexter wondered, of surviving for as long as he had? Did this mean, he was ready to face many more years of living and losing? Or did this mean, he was destined to soon hit the limits of human existence, the same as Alvertos had?

Dexter had shooed away the unwanted thoughts, in order to focus on the deck of cards in his hands. He had gathered, if he was obsessing over mortality, maybe the loss did affect him more than he was willing to admit. And although his hand had been promising, Dexter did end up losing the poker game that night.

There had always been a part of him that had hoped that, someday, Alvertos might break away from his mundane life in the mortal world and return to Dexter's side. He considered that he felt disappointed that Alvertos never did return, maybe even a little bit resentful.

Most of all, however, Dexter couldn't wait to see the reason for it all. To finally meet the little girl that his friend had sacrificed everything for.

Now, Dexter was making his way along a gravel pathway, which took him through a modest graveyard. He walked past arrays of gravestones and crosses of varying age and materials.

Overall, it was a fairly average graveyard, where some plots were tended to and others had been abandoned a long time ago. Large old moss-covered willows and oak trees concealed the view between sections. There wasn't a single mausoleum, or statue, or fancy landscaping to be seen anywhere.

It was April, and the weather was that of a usual British day; grey and cool. An even blanket of clouds hung low in the sky, no rain was falling, and no breeze blew. Altogether, the day seemed unremarkable, as though it was paying homage to an unremarkable end of life.

Alvertos had been a fair bit younger than Dexter was. Although he had been no youngster either, had he grown up during the Renaissance Age. As far as Dexter knew, he had died of natural causes. This wasn't at all surprising to him. Alvertos had been leading a suspiciously mortal life for decades after all, and had visibly aged over the course of that time.

For the past couple of months, his adopted daughter had been taking care of him. Alvertos had suffered a series of strokes and, soon after, he had died peacefully in his sleep. Now he was lying inside a casket, which had already been shut and lowered into the earth.

As Dexter approached the gravesite, the view onto the funeral party was slowly revealed behind the shrubs and trees. The grave was situated one row over from the gravel pathway, which led to the close-by parking area. It was a pretty spot, inside a clearing but close to one of the willows. Though, it was a fairly lonely-looking grave, having been placed in a section where stranger was laid to rest next to stranger.

There were only a handful of guests still present at the party. All of them wore black of course; blouses and suits, dresses and skirts, dress shirts tucked into black pants. They all seemed like average men and women of the mortal world.

Dexter, himself, had put on a dark suit. Jacket, pants, and tie in matt black, as well as a shirt made from shining blue silk that complimented his eye color. A glance at the mirror earlier had told him, Alvertos would have approved. He did always have impeccable taste, that man.

Most people had already left, or were about to do so. Dexter had counted on that; he was purposefully arriving three hours late. On their way out, each guest took one last detour, past a young ginger woman.

She looked to be in her early twenties and wore a black, long-sleeved silken dress, which fell off at her waist in soft waves. She stood, serious and quiet, close to a brand-new white-granite gravestone. Her gaze was directed downwards, at Alvertos's coffin, which was sitting in its rectangular hole in the ground. Nevertheless, whenever someone bid her farewell, she would gift them a gentle smile.

Dexter secretively smirked for intrigue. There she was. Elizabeth Fenthorn, the mystery girl, all grown up.

Not that Dexter even knew what, exactly, Elizabeth had looked like as a child. He'd never seen much of her, had only ever caught one single glimpse of big brown eyes, freckles, and nearly auburn hair. But ever since their one and only brief encounter, twelve years ago, his curiosity hadn't faltered in the least.

Dexter was perfectly aware that he was disrespecting the explicit wish of his late friend, by talking to his daughter. However, he had long learned not to waver on the thoughts of the dead.

Hands in his pockets, Dexter stepped off the pathway and onto the moist grass patch that surrounded the gravesite. He walked up to the hole in the ground, stood next to Elizabeth, and followed her gaze downwards.

For a moment, they quietly looked at the shining pine wood coffin together. It was covered in a beautiful array of colorful field flowers.

Eventually, Dexter reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a shined silver flask. It had a circular shape and was decorated with fine elaborate floral carvings.

Elizabeth turned her head to look in Dexter's general direction. She mustered the flask in his hand. By the equally sad and curious glimmer in her eyes, Dexter could tell that she recognized the style. If she was only half as clever as he presumed, Elizabeth likely and accurately concluded that it had been a gift from Alvertos.

Dexter unscrewed the metal lid and poured some two-centuries-old whiskey onto the field flowers below. Then, he cheersed at the coffin and took a swig for himself.

Elizabeth bemusedly simpered at the gesture, but she didn't seem to have a problem with it.

"He never did like roses," Dexter said, once the liquor burn had faded from his pallet. He approvingly nodded to the tasteful flower arrangements everywhere.

"Much too cliché," Elizabeth agreed. Dexter found, she was speaking with a soft voice and a familiar calm Brighton tongue. With a similarly familiar tone of sarcasm, she added; "unlike whiskey flasks. Which, of course, aren't cliché at all."

"I saw him give a giant bouquet of field flowers to an accountant once...?" Dexter told her as he put the flask away, "she almost fainted for awe."

Elizabeth snorted amusedly. "Now that is cliché."

"Ah, you know us elder gentlemen; always looking to impress."

For the first time, she looked directly at Dexter. She mustered him closer with another bemused simper. "You don't look so old to me, Mister...?"

"Vex," he finally introduced himself, "Dexter Vex."

"A fun name you have there, Mister Vex." Elizabeth noted in the same eloquent tone that Alvertos had used, whenever he'd been in a mood to flatter.

"Thank you," Dexter nodded, "I like to think so as well."

The response seemed to amuse her. Another muster appeared to be curious. Dexter had to admit, it wasn't easy to figure what she was thinking.

Then, there was an inquisitive frown. "I'm sorry, but... You seem familiar somehow. Have we met before?"

"Hah, well..." Dexter chuckled and awkwardly massaged the back of his neck, "I wouldn't say we've met, exactly..."

Elizabeth pointed a finger at him as she clued in. "Weren't you one of Uncle Alvertos's secret friends?"

He had to grin at the label. "That's one way of phrasing it."

She nodded like that made sense to her. "I was wondering whether one of you might show up. I was going to stick around, to see if somebody might try and sneak in."

"Guilty as charged. And there I thought, three hours delayed would be delay enough," Dexter humorously replied. "I suppose that means, I'm not so secret anymore, aren't I..."

"I suppose not." She smiled and held out her hand for a shake. "Elizabeth Fenthorn."

"I know," he smirked and reached out for her hand.

Just as their hands were about to meet, there was a sudden feeling of unease that hit Dexter in the gut. Though, as he couldn't place it, he yet accepted Elizabeth's grip with a forming frown.

That's when she electrocuted his arm!

Dexter yelped, and Elizabeth squealed, and they both ripped their hands away immediately.

As the adrenaline surged through his body, Dexter panted and looked down at his hand. He searched for some type of damage, any indication as to where the electric charge had suddenly come from. Yet, his arm appeared to be perfectly fine. There weren't any burns, not a single mark on his skin.

Dexter tried to settle his pounding heartbeat. Aside from the quick burn, there had been a stab of intrusion to his chest. It had felt as though a sensitive had tried to poke around in his brain. Yet it hadn't been a hit to his head, but to his throat, and Dexter instinctually evaluated; an assault on his magic.

As both thoughts clicked in his mind and came full circle, Dexter realized in disbelief; the electric discharge hadn't come from an outside source. It had come from his own magic.

Elizabeth hadn't attacked him; she had tried to invade him. And in automatic self-defense, Dexter's magic had done... Something.

"What on Earth...?" Dexter breathed with remaining shock and disbelief. But the moment he glanced up and locked eyes with Elizabeth, he froze again.

Elizabeth looked just as shocked as him. Even more so, she looked utterly horrified. Her left hand was holding on protectively to her right. Her brown eyes were impossibly wide, watching him with defensive anticipation. With each passing second, her expression of stun and confusion evolved into one of horror and fear.

Dexter experienced another pang of shock when he realized; she had no idea what was going on. Even though his own bewilderment persisted, he carefully showed her the flats of his hands in pacification.

Elizabeth didn't move. She kept staring at him, eyes wide, one hand protectively holding the other. "What..." She asked, her voice barely a whisper, "...What are you?"

"Now, don't be alarmed..." Dexter attempted to manage the situation.

Yet, whatever she had felt, Elizabeth didn't seem to have enjoyed it any more than Dexter had. Whatever piece she had seen of him, whatever her first glance at magic had looked like; it surely was a terrifying concept to her.

Dexter opened his mouth to continue talking her down, but he wouldn't get that far. All of the sudden, Elizabeth flinched back from him. Then, quite alike a frightened bunny, she darted away.

"Elizabeth, WAIT!" He called after her, but there was no use.

She was already running past the gravesite, well on her way down a pathway, and quickly disappeared behind the thick trunk of an oak tree.

Dexter cursed and rushed after her. From the corner of his eye, he could see the last remaining funeral guests glare daggers at him. He ignored them and quickly followed Elizabeth down the path, towards a line of parked cars nearby.

She was going for Alvertos's racing-green 1955 Triumph TR3. Dexter was fast, and she was wearing a dress and pumps. Yet her bolting strategy had given her an advance so, Elizabeth reached the car before Dexter could reach her.

He knew, trying to stop her from getting in would only make her feel cornered and more scared. He'd never had any intentions of scaring her, thus, Dexter slowed his run and let the Triumph speed past him. He cursed the wind and walked uselessly after it.

Now all that was left for Dexter to do, was to watch the backlights of his dead friend's car fade into the distance.

Dexter anxiously paced back and forth inside his apartment. It was a bright and tastefully furnished but mostly uninspired space; void of any real decoration or plants, or the usual clutter one might expect to find at a home dwelling. Dexter never spent much time here, as he never spent much time anywhere.

His bag was already packed, sitting waiting on the sofa. Technically, Dexter was ready to leave, and he had a teleporter to catch later today. And yet, something held him back from rushing out the door. It wasn't hard for him to figure out what.

Every time he closed his eyes, Dexter could see Elizabeth's face, distorted with fear and terror of him. Never before had anyone looked at him like that. This wasn't to say that people didn't regularly shoot him judging or even hateful glares. But never had anyone looked at him like he was... a monster.

A part of him had learned his lesson. His late friend had told him to stay away from his secret daughter, and Dexter hadn't listened. It was time to listen now; to leave before he did any more damage. Yet another part of him couldn't bare the thought of hanging Elizabeth out to dry, and leaving her behind to deal with the mess he had made.

There was a knock on the door, followed by several rings of the doorbell.

Dexter abruptly stopped pacing and turned to look at his apartment door in disbelief. Could it be that Elizabeth had tracked him down here? This wouldn't be unlikely, as Alvertos had always been meticulous about keeping his books.

Did Elizabeth send someone else to confront him, Dexter wondered? Was this visitor someone entirely unrelated? Or was his rattled mind simply making things up at this point?

The doorbell rang again, and again, and one more time. Then there was more knocking, which grew more aggressive by the second.

Dexter forced himself to move. "Alright, alright!" He called as he walked to the door, "hold your horses, I'm on my way!"

The ringing and knocking stopped in response. He reached the door, unlocked it, and opened up the view onto the communal hallway outside.

Dexter wasn't surprised to, indeed, find Elizabeth Fenthorn standing there. Regardless, he froze and stared at her in shock.

Elizabeth looked both outraged and sickly. She was pale and trembling and breathing heavily. Her hair and clothes were soaked from the amount of sweat that was running down her face and back. Her eyes were wide with anger and confusion, but her brows were furrowed to an undeniable expression of pain.

Most notably yet, something seemed to be happening to her skin. Not only was it ashen and sweaty, it seemed to be afflicted with surges of some odd-looking magic.

As if patches of her body and face were being temporarily petrified, her skin went back-and-forth between looking like skin, and looking like spikey rock. Sometimes, around the pointiest of rocky edges, Dexter thought to see the curious material reflect the light and virtually sparkle. He soon realized that it wasn't really made from rock, but from rough unpolished crystal.

These surges were visibly uncomfortable, as Elizabeth flinched each time the scattered transformations moved position on her body.

"Elizabeth," Dexter asked in shock, "what's wrong?"

"You tell me!" Elizabeth immediately snapped at him, "this horror show has been going on, ever since you electrocuted me, at my uncle's funeral!"

Dexter hadn't believed that he could feel any more in awe about this entire situation, but he stood to be proven wrong yet again. Suddenly, everything made perfect sense to him.

Dexter had never seen anyone's skin crystalize before, but he was quite familiar with the other symptoms. He had observed this condition several times before and, many years ago, he had even experienced it himself. It wasn't common to happen much later than nineteen, let alone at twenty-one, but it was by no means unheard of.

Elizabeth Fenthorn certainly was no mortal. Whatever her magic was, Alvertos had done everything in his power to keep it a secret, even from Elizabeth herself. Now that Alvertos was dead, he could no longer act as a barrier between her and the rest of the magical world. Dexter, of course, had managed to walk right through that new undefended opening.

Somehow, by touching her hand, he had kick-started Elizabeth's magic. And now, she was having her Surge.

"Oh," Dexter said.

"Oh?!" Elizabeth echoed in utter disbelief. "That's all you have to say for yourself?!"

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Elizabeth didn't have time to be any madder at Dexter's sheer incompetence, as an especially painful-looking transformation racked her body. She cried out and curled forward, almost dropped to her knees, and Dexter darted closer to steady her.

"Don't you touch me!" She hissed and shoved him away.

They both stumbled backwards a couple of steps to find their respective senses of balance. For reassurance, Dexter retreated one step further and showed her his hands in pacification once again.

"Tell me... Right now! Who the hell are you...?" Elizabeth furiously panted, once the pain seemed to have subsided somewhat. "And what, on bloody planet Earth... Have you done to me?!"

"Umm..." Dexter said. "Would you like to come in?"