VOX

The Official Newsletter of Precedence Publishing's
"Immortal the Invisible War" Role-Playing Game
Volume 4, Issue 1- January 1999

Letter from the Editor

Well, if all goes well, this will be my final issue of VOX as the Editor.  Wow, what a year.  Where to start?  We all were looking forward to Pride Book Peri as the New Year rolled in, expecting just a slight delay.  Well, that delay turned into 2nd Edition (which is getting finishing touches on the 1st draft now) and the Peri Book was released on the web for free just a few months ago.  Pride Dracul was destroyed, but we found out that there was a lot more to the world than we thought.  The Abzulim had been making a return all along, and only now were any of us beginning to realize it.  We had our first live chat this year with Ran Ackels, using our new Live Event home on IRC.  Society Eternity began to take shape as an organization to bring together all the various fan facets of Immortal, and as we wrap up 1998, things are about to go official.

I can't tell you how excited I am, and how excited everyone at Precedence is about the formation of Society Eternity as an official legally recognized organization, and the continuing soar upward towards the release of 2nd Edition.  What was going to be an Internet Video promo, has now turned into a possible 2 hour television series pilot.  The Precedence team has offered up and put up a lot of backing on making contributions to the Society for the fans, and have shown a real commitment by their presence here in the VOX Newsletter.  It really says a lot about what's going on over in Tempe, AZ.

Well, this Newsletter will be a bit short this time around, but we have two articles from Precedence, and a few other good pieces.  If all goes well, next time you come to this site, you'll be directed to our new site with our own domain name.  Wish us luck!

Rick

IMMORTAL PERSONALITY
By Paul Brown III

Most good stories have well developed characters with interesting personalities. It is the unique expression of individual personality in the face of external challenges that makes a story entertaining. So the first part of a great Immortal series is to define your character's personality. This will help determine your attitudes and drive your actions within each storyline.

To land on a personality for your character try taking the following quiz. Before you start decide if you are going to answer the questions in terms of your own (real) personality or in terms of a fictional character. A fictional character could be entirely made up in your mind; or you might think of a favorite character from a book, the movies or on television. As you go along ask yourself how the fictional character would answer these questions?

For each of the four questions below choose an answer and record the values on a sheet of paper, Each answer in assigned a value of either - 2,-1,0,+1,+2. So when you are finished you will have a group of four numbers. Example: (+1, -1, 0, -2). This set of values is called a personality index.

Rational Vs. Emotional

Some people are more rational, while others are more emotional. A very rational personality might say something like this:
"It is important to think things through before you act. Everything a person does should have a reason for it. If you think logically you can solve just about any problem."

A more emotional person might say something like this:
"Knowing how you feel about something is more important than trying to analyze it. Trust your heart and your actions will always be right."

How rational or emotional is your character?
Very Rational  -2
Somewhat Rational -1
Neutral 0
Somewhat Emotional +1
Very Emotional +2


Practical Vs. Idealistic

Some people are more practical, while others are more idealistic. A highly practical person might say:
"Right and wrong have little meaning or value without context. What's the situation? Now what are we going to do about it? These are the kinds of questions that matter."

A more idealistic person might say:
"There is the way things are and then there is the way that things SHOULD be. All actions spring from our ideals of right and wrong. If something is wrong, then let's make it right!"

How practical or idealistic is your character?
Very Practical -2
Somewhat Practical -1
Neutral 0
Somewhat Idealistic +1
Very Idealistic +2


Altruistic Vs. Individualistic

Some people are more concerned with others or altruistic, while others are more self-centered or individualistic. A very altruistic personality might say something like this:
"None exists in isolation. Society exists for a reason and we all have our place within the group. It is just as important to consider the needs of others as it is to consider your own. Self-sacrifice is a necessary part of community life. The bottom line is that we are all more effective when we work with the system and agree to be bound by its rules."

A sincere individualist might say something like this:
"No one can look out for my interests better than I can myself. If each person takes responsibility for their own life and has the freedom to do what's best for them then the needs of society will automatically be served. As for those to weak or helpless to care for themselves, ever heard of natural selection?"

How altruistic or individualistic is your character?
Very Altruistic -2
Somewhat Altruistic -1
Neutral 0
Somewhat Individualistic +1
Very Individualistic +2


Conservative Vs. Progressive

Some people are more traditional or conservative, while others are more oriented to progress and change. A very conservative person might say:
"The best way to get ahead it to preserve and extend what already exists. Traditions come about because they have worked before and they will work again. Keep the home fires burning. You won't get cold and you won't have to start a new one."

While a more progressive person might say:
"Past solutions are usually not appropriate to current circumstances. Life is change and living in the past is little more than a dangerous form of escapism. If you can't accept today's realities then you'll soon go the way of the dinosaur.

How conservative or progressive is your character?
Very Conservative -2
Somewhat Conservative -1
Neutral 0
Somewhat Progressive +1
Very Progressive +2

Once you have completed the personality index for your character by answering the questions above you are now ready to establish your character's specific personality type. In the Immortal game we call each specific personality type a Predilection. There are many predilections to choose from in the Immortal rules or you can create and name your own if none of the ones in this book are a close enough fit.

If you are so inclined, you might even try to establish a personality index for every predeliction. This can be a useful when creating new characters and NPC's. Here are three examples to get you started.

Sample Predilections and their Personality Indexes
Builder (-1,-2,-1, 0)
Surrealist ( 0, 2, 0, 2)
Connoisseur ( 1, 1, 2,-2)

Paul

RANDOM CHARACTER GENERATOR
By Brianna Von Gries

Brianna Von Gries has generously donated to us a 1st Editon support file.

"I hope the enclosed file will be something that you can use. I used it to generate random NPC's for the immortal game (first edition rules), but it can also be used to generate avatars for your player characters."

Download the file by going to the Society Archive Site at http://members.aol.com/voxpress/ and going into the miscellaneous files directory and find the random.rtf file.   It is simply a word processing based guide using simple dice rolls to help you generate a large variety of NPC's for your game.

FOR THE BOOKS, MORRIGAN AND NIMROD SPECIALTIES

Continuing the tradition of the other Pride alternate workups, we now present two more facets for your amusement and enjoyment.

MORRIGAN - A time without wings
It is said that if there is a Pride more vain than the Anopheles, it is the Morrigan.  Those few twilights that the Morrigan choose to have stand by their side, they treat as if those twilights are the equals of the rest of the Immortals in the Prides.  The Morrigan are very choosy about just who they allow into their lives as the Masters of the Stratagem.  Ah you say, doesn't Loki's curse make dealing with these twilights near unbearable?  Don't the Morrigan hate the twilights and see them as something to just about be destroyed?  In many cases that answer is yes, but not always.  It is possible for a Morrigan to "uplift" a twilight as a being attuned to the sky, thus the twilight no longer affects the Morrigan with Loki's curse.  However, this process is long, arduous (for the Morrigan), and potentially deadly.

In order for a Morrigan to uplift a twilight, they effectively pass a point of their Soul (Free Immaculum) to the twilight, as they assume any and all natures that grant them the gift to leave the ground.  These natures pass to the twilight, and remain with the twilight (wings, flight, ethereal form, etc.) for a number of days equal to the Morrigan's total FI rating.  During this time, the Morrigan may *not* wear protective coverings (gloves, etc.) and obviously must live among the "grounders".  During this time if the twilight is killed, there is a chance that the Morrigan may forever lose the FI *and* the natures gained, thus becoming a flightless bird forever.  Obviously this is not done lightly by the Morrigan.  While in possession of the natures, the twilight may use them freely.  The twilight must already have a soul (at least one FI) to receive the natures.  The Morrigan's FI binds the natures to the twilight, the twilight cannot make use of the FI point passed by the Morrigan character.  Any Morrigan who has an FI rating equal or lower than the Morrigan's FI rating (at the time of passing the FI to the twilight) may freely touch the twilight without fear of Loki's curse after the uplifting period has ended.  Once the time period has ended, physical contact will bring back both the point of FI and the missing natures.  The Morrigan who uplifted the twilight may *always* touch without fear, regardless of FI gained by the Morrigan after the experience.  It is left up to the Narrator to determine a method by which the Morrigan may or may not lose the natures due to the twilight's death.

NIMROD - Shadows on the Other Side
The Nimrod, forever affected by the Dark Lady (as the Femme Darkle) have had all their himsatis darkened, becoming physical shadows, capable of investing themselves into their normal twilight shadows and separating from the Nimrod, joined only by the fragile line of Soulpower known as the Leash.  The Nimrod prophesized the theft of the Femme Darkle as heralding the beginning of the end.  The Phoenix themselves have forgiven their sisters, but they are still suspect of a darkness hiding behind the unsuspecting Nimrod.

A tale told long ago speaks of an ability the Nimrod carry, that all shadows *should* carry, but only the Nimrod seem to be able to achieve.  It speaks of a place much like Sheol, a warped shadow of the Habitat, a place with no name, where the light is the darkness, and the darkness the light.  It is into this place that the Nimrod may step, if they dare.  A place where staying too long could forever lose one's shadow to powers that seem to be not of the Sanguinary, but of something else.

The Penumbra, the secret serenade of the Nimrod, is rumored to actually empower from a dimension that co-exists with the Habitat, possibly of the same name as the serenade.  Nimrod can, by making an FI roll, step through shadows into this realm.  The realm seems to be colorless, and it is rumored that there is a link to the fact that Droves seem to grow more colorless as they get more powerful with taint.  Where there would be light in the Habitat, there is darkness.  Where there are shadows in the Habitat, light emanates from them.  While in this realm, a Nimrod may travel quickly.  A Nimrod can bring others in with her, but only those whose Himsati are shadow, will remain unharrassed by the strange shadow-denizens of this place.  Though they are not droves, it is said that these shadows are the very shadows of those Nimrod who have lost their Himsati, those who have been locked away, driven insane by the separation.  To take a non-shadow in is a move reserved to the Scourges, a means of punishment, of exquisite torture.

The mechanics are simple.  A Nimrod wishing to access the Penumbra realm, the Undershadow (to take a phrase from Roger Zelazney's Amber 2nd Series) simply makes a Free Immaculum roll based on the level of shadow he or she wishes to use to cross.  The more perfect the mix of light and dark, the easier it is.  Balances at 100/0 or 90/10 do not allow the crossing.

Once in the realm, all light conditions are reversed and everything is seen in grayscale.  The creatures that inhabit this realm (and there are few and far between that a Nimrod alone would see) are just like those created by the Penumbra.  It is said that the serenade draws one of these creatures out and into the offending Immortal's shadow, drawing the taint to empower the creature to remain in the Habitat in a way similar to how the Droves remain due to ripples. (Note Penumbra forgot to list duration, use amount success as level of ripple, and that is how long a Penumbra shadow can remain in the habitat for that serenade).

The Nimrod can remain in the realm for a number of hours equal to her FI and her Red Halo combined.  Once this time has passed, the shadow will automatically separate itself and go onto the leash.  It will begin to slowly fight against the Nimrod, becoming more and more independent, and slowly begin to refuse to follow the Nimrod's commands.  The benefit is that the Nimrod can add her visage rating to her Green Halo for purposes of determing any and all movement, including natures.  If the Nimrod remains for twice the time alloted (FI+Red in hours), she is expelled through the nearest shadow, sans her Himsati shadow, separated.  No shadow has ever returned to her Nimrod master once separated in this realm.

If a Non-Nimrod (but with shadow Himsati) comes in with a Nimrod, the time is equal to the Non-Nimrod's FI + Red Halo + the Visage of the Nimrod with them, but only in minutes instead of hours.  A silver cord effectively attaches the Nimrod to the non-Nimrod.  After the time in minutes is up, the non-Nimrod's shadow separates, but is attached by a silver cord to both the Nimrod and the non-Nimrod.  If twice the time goes by, the non-Nimrod shadow begins to attack the non-Nimrod and also begins to prematurely pull the Nimrod's shadow out as well.  The Nimrod adds her Visage to the non-Nimrod's Green Halo as well.  Pulling a shadow person through increases the resistance by one rank.

For those who do not have a shadow for a himsati, the process is unbearable.  Scourges will pull them into the Penumbra realm for brief periods.  The non-shadow can stay for a number of minutes equal to their FI alone.  Every time this time period passes, they suffer an automatic filling of "all" of their wound boxes of the appropriate level (first light, then impairing, then severe, etc.).  Once they have taken their mortal wound box(es) filled in, the very next time period that passes, their shadow rips itself from them, killing them.  There seems to be no way to stop this.  The shadows that are gained by the Penumbra realm this way are extremely violent.  It seems that since non-shadows have no place for the Nimrod to attach her silver cord to, there is no method of controlling the shadow which quickly grows within  Pulling a non-shadow through increases the resistance to get into the realm by six points, but more importantly, it must also be rolled to get them out.  The Nimrod does NOT add her Visage to the non-shadow's Green Halo.  If the non-shadow Immortal is pulled out before death, the Panacea will begin healing the wounds.

EXAMPLES:
Jusar (Nimrod) goes into the Penumbra Realm by stepping through Shadow that is 50/50 (target number 6) (she has 6 FI and 3 Red Halo).  She rolls a 6 and adds her 6 (FI) which gives her a 12.  6 points over the resistance, she easily steps through.  She has a 4 Green Halo and 2 Visage, so she calculates all movement as if she has a 6 Green Halo instead.  After 9 hours, her shadow will begin to form next to her.  After 18 hours, it will separate, getting more and more stubborn as the 18th hour approaches.  Should Jusar reach her destination in time, she can automatically step out with no roll, and her shadow will return to her with no problems.  If she doesn't find a shadow to step back into in time, well, she'll be forced out of the realm wherever she is standing (even if no shadow is in that spot in the Habitat) and lose her shadow forever.

Jusar (Nimrod) decides to take Josef (Banjax - Shadow Lion) into the Penumbra.  They step into the same shadow, but the target number is now 9.  Making the same roll, she pulls both herself and Josef through (she could have pulled two or three through, same target number, as long as they don't resist her physically pulling them through).  Josef has 6 FI, a 4 Red Halo, and a 3 Green Halo.  After 12 minutes (6 + 4 + 2 Visage of Jusar), Josef will be quite surprised to find his shadow having formed into his himsati shape and standing next to him, as if he had the Nimrod Gift itself.  He'll notice that not only is there a silver cord from Jusar to him, but also from Jusar to his shadow.  Odd, he doesn't have a cord to his shadow.  After 24 minutes, Josef's shadow will begin to attack him and Jusar's shadow will begin to come out as if her initial 9 hours had already passed.  If Josef's shadow kills Josef or gets loose from Jusar (it is a battle of Jusar's FI vs. Josef's effective FI), then poor Josef goes stark raving mad, and Jusar has to carry him out of the Penumbra realm.  All this time her own shadow is now out and getting ready to make a break for it too.

Now Jusar happens to get Josef out okay and now brings in Tom (Dracul - Gecko, no shadow).  Tom will not like this here at all, in fact it feels like his insides are starting to rip out after the first few minutes.  Tom has a 4 FI, so after 4 minutes, all his light wound boxes fill in.  After 8 minutes, all his impairing fill in.  This keeps up until his mortal boxes fill in.  The next 4 minute period after that, bye-bye Tom.  If Jusar pulls Tom out before that time, the Panacea will kick in and heal the wounds.  If not, well, you get the idea, Jusar never had a silver cord attached to Tom or his shadow, nothing there to attach to until it is far too late.  On top of this, the target number to pull him into the 50/50 shadow was 12, and she has to roll to pull him back out as well. . . hope she finds a well-balanced shadow to do that with, and quickly, before he is torn apart.

It is rumored that some Nimrod have attempted to take those Nimrod who have lost their shadows back into the Penumbra before their insanity starts to get to them, in order to possibly see if capturing another shadow somehow can cure them.  No one has been able to capture one of these shadows yet.

The Narrator should feel free to make up whatever you need in order to fill in any little details missed here.

Pathway to Hell Part II
Jeff Seidman

    Club 88 was located near the center of Downtown Milwaukee. It is a hideout for all of the lower dregs of society. It stands as a refuge in the middle of political and economic turmoil in a place without any rest. For Solitaires and Malcontents within the Stratagem, it is the best place to be to get away, and be one of the Shadows. It was Gavin's kind of place.
    This bar never had any signs. In fact, the only entrance was a back alley that was guarded by a bouncer. With most people he checks them for weapons and contraband materials; others, though, he lets by without a pat down. This is mostly do to the fact that the bouncer isn't stupid. He knows whom he can take, and who are too dangerous to mess with.
    Gavin walked by the bouncer, with a bare nod to him, before he walked into the long, dark hallway that leads to the bar. The corridor is barely wide enough for two people to stand side by side, and not high enough for some of the taller people to stand erect.
    A low thumping of bass starts to reach Gavin as he slowly walks down the cramped hall. The sounds of techno and industrial music throb all through Gavin's body as he approaches the ironic light at the end of the tunnel. As he approaches the end of the tunnel, he comes upon the balcony that over looks the entire club.
    A cloud of smoke wafts by Gavin's black-clad form, and blows his long coat all around his body. The loud, synthetic music surrounds him as he takes in the scents of sweat, cigarette smoke, and alcohol. The sheer blend of human degradation soothes Gavin in the light of his recent adventures. The bright lights coming from the dance floor, where a little over a hundred dancers are gyrating to the rhythmic sound, causes gyrating shadows to shed their darkness all over the occupants in the booths and tables surrounding the bar.
    The Club was set up in three sections, with the bar in the center. To the left was the bright dance club. To the right was the more subdued sitting area, with the only light coming from small lamps on the table. Behind the bar's lit case was a door that led to the secret meeting rooms. The door said private, but if you had the key, nothing was private.
    Gavin descended the spiral staircase, trying to look at everything he could without looking weird. The bar looked inviting, with its array of liquid amnesia and alcoholic painkillers. People come to these places to forget their yuppie lives and be in a place with an element of danger. Not Gavin, though. He's already been down that path too many times to remember.
    With a decisive shake, Gavin walks around the bar, towards the dark tables. To a normal human, this place might seem dark and foreboding, but to Gavin's immortal senses and powers, this place was as bright as day. He had no trouble seeing the under-the-table dealings. The crack heads getting high in the corner. The couple making out near the wall and the small time thieves exchanging insults. Under the cover of dark most of these events would be all but invisible, too bad for them there are many types of darkness.
    As Gavin threads through Club 88 the play of smoke gives him a familiar high that he has refused in many months. He used to think that he had finally gotten past his vices, but the need never goes away. The old twinges and urges come back, for just a moment, but still Gavin steers over to the bar.
    "Sprecher Beer." Gavin says, leaning against the bar, looking at the dancing mass.
    "You have got to be kidding me!" the Bartender says.
    Gavin turns his head to the bartender, and looks at him for the first time. He is a large man, who would be physically imposing to most other people, but not to a perpetual. Gavin's eyes flash and he stares intently into the bartender's dark eyes.
    "Is there something funny? I asked you for a root beer. Now go get me one." Gavin says as a whisper.
    The bartender just stands there for a few seconds and nods his head profusely. He then rushes to one side of the bar and quickly brings back a bottle of root beer.
    "Here you go, sir. Is there anything else that I can get you?" the bartender says in a very shaky voice.
    Gavin just walks away without another word. He strolls over to the dance floor, sipping on his root beer, slowly walking through as a path presents itself through the dancing horde. He walks past a black man wearing a suit, and a white woman wearing next to nothing. In this place there are no races, just dancers and escapees. Everyone trying to fit in and have a good time while they are still young enough to enjoy it. It's much different for immortals. In their lifetime they experience things not thought of by twilights. A perpetual is always young enough or old enough to enjoy whatever they want to. One of the advantages of being immortal is that experiences never stop; they just get louder.
    When Gavin gets to the middle of the dance floor, he stops, and holds his hands out. He closes his eyes, and reaches out with his immaculum, his life force and power. He opens his eyes and sees his multi-colored halo. He sees his many motes float and swirl around him. He sees his red resolve, his orange strength, his blue awareness, his green speed, his violet resilience, his yellow dexterity, his clear soul, his bright visage, and his black taint. Luckily the taint isn't many, or else he'd be in a lot of trouble.
    Each of these colored motes that, represent his essence, revolves around him in a spectral nimbus called the halo. He scans around and stares at the much dimmer halos of the people around him that mark these people as twilights.
    Gavin slowly starts to allow his halo to mingle with that of the people around him. He feels their life run through him. Their combined experiences, their love, their hate, their desire, and most especially their energy runs through him. Gavin starts to shudder with the sheer power held in this small room and the black motes that taint his halo start to change colors. One becomes yellow, another clear, and a final red. As the final black mote changes back to a color, Gavin pulls in his halo, and walks off the dance floor.
    It has been a long time since he has felt this clean. He finally feels as strong physically, mentally, and spiritually as he always should. Making his way over to a table in the corner, Gavin feels good. He no longer has the Sanguinary's taint on him, which is cause for celebration. He's been tainted for a long time, and he wasn't willing to sin to heal himself.
    People all over the sitting area shudder as he passes through them to a secluded table. Many of them remark that it's like someone just walked over their graves. This isn't a new experience for Gavin. Ever since he was uplifted into Banjax, people just tended to shudder in his presence and remark about "the chill of death" that they would feel. This is just another friendly reminder of his affiliation in the Stratagem. At least that's what Gavin thinks.
    The music is perfect cover for anything. With the heavy bass and loud computer generated sounds it tends to muffle any sound once it leaves the mouth. Conversation is near to impossible to overhear because so much of it is song. This is definitely     Gavin's kind of place. It's loud, violent, dark and dangerous.
    "Okay, I'll only stay here for a few more minutes," Gavin mutters to himself over his beer bottle.
    He looks down at his watch for the umpteenth time today. It's well after midnight, but time doesn't really matter to Gavin. Soon the few minutes turn into fifteen. Then that turns into a half an hour which turns into an hour. The lights mixing with shadow, the smoke mixing with breath, the alcohol mixing with sweat is almost intoxicating. The movement of the dancers, both mesmerizing and erotic, enchants Gavin to stay where he's seated. It's almost as if something is keeping him from leaving. It's a little disconcerting to Gavin, but he doesn't care. Gavin looks down at his watch, again.
    "Damn! 3:30. I can't believe it's that f*cking late!" Gavin mutters, but makes no move to leave.  Then something weird happens.
    It's as if a wave of force rolled forward from the edge of the dance hall, filling Gavin up with pure, eternal energy. It's a wave of immaculum and essence that hits Gavin. A wave like this can only come from one source, one death. Someone just died within Club 88, someone who is immortal. Gavin jumps to his feet, nearly knocking the table over. He reaches behind himself and pulls out a Browning High power 9mm-hand gun, and starts to move towards the spill.
    He knocks over people who would've yelled at him, if not for the gun, as he stalks toward the far side of the dance floor.  People don't seem to notice that anything happened. Twilights never notice anything if they didn't want to. As he approaches the dance floor, people start to notice the gun and scream.
    Soon the screaming turns into people running out of the bar, running away from the madman with the gun. Commotion and chaos rules as people mindless trample each other to get out of the way. The dance floor is emptied pretty quickly, leaving Gavin alone on it, when he feels a nudge from behind him.
    Slowly turning his head, Gavin stares down the barrel of a shotgun held by the grinning bouncer. Behind him are some of the criminal elements that make this bar their home. Each of them is holding some sort of gun, and each looks very willing to use. Even some of the women here look bloodthirsty, waiting for an excuse to fire.
    The music hasn't stopped, or Gavin would've heard them pulling out their weapons. Gavin turns full around, and grips his right wrist with his left hand in front of him. His gray coat hangs limply at his sides, concealing the menagerie of weapons beneath. Gavin stares at each person in turn, gauging how much of a threat they are. Most shudder as his gaze settles on them, while other take a step back. The only one that doesn't move is the bouncer.
    They all stay like this, each person staring at Gavin, and Gavin staring at each person, for what seems like an eternity: neither side willing to make the first move. The bouncer tries yelling something at Gavin, but the music is way to loud for him to hear.  Then, the music suddenly stops, leaving the entire bar in silence.
    "I'm only going to tell you once, drop your gun or I will kill you!"
    The bouncer yells, "If I surrender, what will you do to me?"
    Gavin mutters in a low voice, "Just drop your gun!"
    The bouncer yells, "Fine, but you are going to let me leave."
    Gavin rolls his eyes, and drops his gun.
    "Not likely," says some man behind the bouncer, and fires his gun at Gavin. It impacts on his chest, and Gavin staggers back.
Suddenly, all the guns are blazing, boring into Gavin's chest, head, arms, and legs. Blinding pain knifes through Gavin's body, sending red lances of light to explode in his eyes. He feels his bones snapping, organs rupturing, and blood bursting all over his body. He staggers down on one knee, and then onto his back. The pain, increasing with each hot breath, making him wish for sweet unconsciousness. A bullet rips into his eye, blinding him, and another flies through his cheek. He lies on the ground, writhing in pain, when the hails of bullets finally stop.
    "You didn't have to kill him!" the bouncer yells at everyone behind him, as they all holster their guns.
    "I say we did, and we did. If you want to make bones about it, then I believe we can talk. Otherwise, shut your f*cking mouth and do your f*cking job next time!" the man yells back, turning his back on the bouncer, and walking back to his seat. "Let's get some music back in here!"
    Pain still courses through Gavin's prone form as his panacea quickly heals the bullet wounds. Bone knits together, wounds seal, and body parts regenerate. Not for the first time in his life, Gavin thanks God for being immortal.
    The bouncer walks over to Gavin's prone form and squats down. The music comes back up and estranged dancers start to slowly walk back in. He places his hands under Gavin's arms, and begins to pick him up. Gavin's eyes pop open and the bouncer takes a step back.
    "Boo!" Gavin says, quietly, and plants his fist in the bouncer's stomach. The bouncer lifts a few feet off the ground, and collapses in a heap on the ground.
    Gavin stands up, the loud music and gyrating dancers shield him from the eyes and ears of the shady characters in the dark. The people who are dancing don't seem to mind that the bouncer is unconscious on the floor. Nor do they mind that someone was just walking around with a gun and was presumably shot. This must be a normal occurrence.
    Staring down at the bouncer, Gavin determines that he's not dead, but he did get the wind knocked out of him. Gavin will let him live, simply because the bouncer didn't want to kill him in the first place. The other people, though, are a different matter all together. Standing amid a frothing sea of human movement, Gavin allows his enhanced eyes to rest upon the mobster that shot first. The dancing people part for Gavin as he slowly makes his way off the dance floor. The darkness of the secluded seating area is more than ample for Gavin's purposes. With very deft movements, the Banjax screws a silencer onto the barrel of his semi-automatic handgun.
    As soon as Gavin left the dance floor, he dodged from shadow to shadow, from table to table. The man didn't even notice Gavin until he was sitting right next to him. The man's eyes first showed surprise, and then fear as he slowly looked to Gavin's hand. He slowly slid his eyes back up to Gavin's sad gray eyes and twitched violently. Gavin could clearly hear a click within the man's right pocket, but made no notice of the action.
    "That wasn't very nice, shooting me and all." Gavin says, looking back at the dancers.
    "What are you going to do, kill me?" The old man says.
    Gavin stares at the man for the first time, and notices something weird. Before, while his face was old and wrinkles, his eyes held a sparkle in them that can only come from living life on the edge. The sparkle is gone now, and his eyes already look glazed over. His hair is gray, and his hands almost skeletal.
    "I was thinking about it," Gavin mutters, still looking at the dance floor.
    "You won't leave this bar alive, you know. My men will kill you." The old man says slowly.
    "You mean like how they just killed me?" asks Gavin, bringing his eyes to rest upon the man's dead eyes. The full force of Gavin's glare and flat face is evident upon the man's expression.
    A small explosion goes off in the mobsters pocket, and a bullet flies through Gavin's rib cage. For an old man, his shot is pretty accurate, especially since the bullet strikes Gavin's heart. Pain again rages through Gavin's chest, and he can feel his flesh being rent by a piece of flying metal. The sensation of pain and heat burns throughout Gavin, and his head hits the table.
    "Told you wouldn't leave here alive." The old man chuckles, and drinks a shot of whiskey.
    He is about to raise his hand to call someone to take the dead body next to him away, but then a hand grabs his wrist. Crushing pain flies through the old man's arm, as he looks down into the pained expression of the perpetual sitting next to him.
    "Don't you understand, old man, you can't kill me. But I, on the other hand, can kill you." Gavin says, sitting strait in his chair.
Gavin forces the man into his seat, and lets go of his wrist. The old man instantly tries to get away from the table, but Gavin smacks the man with the but of his gun. Blood wells up on the man's cheek, as he collapses in his seat.
    "Your name?" Gavin says.
    "Anton...Anton Res"
    "Okay Anton, here's how this is going to work. You are going to die, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I'm sorry. Now your real choice is in how you are going to die. I can shoot you right here, or you will die within the hour from poison. What's it going to be?" Gavin asks in a flat voice.
    "What do you mean? How are you going to poison me?" Anton asks in apprehension.
    "Simple. You've already taken the poison. You know the alcohol. I slipped a sealed soporific in it. Your stomach will start to regurgitate everything it has in it, and cause very painful spasms. Soon, you will either die because your heart stops beating, or because your throat has closed up. I assure you, though, that the poison will be quite painful.
    "Then again, I could just cap you right now and get it over with. I'll lodge the bullet in the spine, killing you instantly and without pain. It is your choice." Gavin says, and puts the gun away.
    "I won't choose." Anton says.
    "Okay, Anton. Your choice is made. I hope you've had a good life."
    "What do you mean?" Anton yells.
    "I'll see you later Anton...unless you can manage to grab all of your cronies together and meet me in the parking garage next to the old Mecca tomorrow night." Gavin walks away from the table.
    "What about my antidote?" Anton cries.
    "Oh yeah, tell them each to bring two million dollars."
    "My antidote?" Anton nearly screams.
    "Dear Anton, there never was any poison...at least none that would work in an hour. You have a little less than 30 hours. Now either set this meeting up or I will come back and personally kill you. Got that, fat boy? Good." Gavin walks a few feet from the table, and then throws a leather wallet at Anton. "Oh yeah, you dropped this."
    A wave of pure energy washes over him once again, and Gavin revels in the power. He kicks the prone bouncer as he walks through the dance floor. He rushes through the crowd of dancers, and he gets to the end of the dance floor. Gavin places his hand on the gun hidden in the small of his back, and looks around. There is a door in the corner of the dance floor, which Gavin hadn't noticed before. The spill came from there.
    He steps off the dance floor, and slowly walks over to the door. With a fluid motion, he pulls out his gun, and pushes the door open. Inside is a long, dark hallway. A few Florissant bulbs light the way, though they don't shed enough light for most people to see. Gavin doesn't care, though, and shoots out the lights. The hallway is now completely dark, and the music masked the sound of his gun.
    The dark is where the true danger lies. Humans have always been afraid of the dark, simply because they were afraid of not knowing where they are. They would invent fire and artificial light to act as a beacon in the murky plain. Gavin was above this fear, because in reality he wasn't totally human. The deepest, basest part of his persona isn't humanity, but instead the demon face of a bat. He is a bat.
    As the door shuts behind Gavin, his eyes glow a dark crimson for a second. His ears lengthen to points, and his incisors sharpen and stretch. And then, the hallway positively glows with shapes. Sound acting like vision lights Gavin's way. In the dark, he isn't blind.
    The hall, like the entrance to the bar, is cramped and small. Bare cinder blocks make up the walls, giving the entire hall a rough feeling. A single door at the end of the dark passage is the only place that the spill could've come from. After taking a deep breath, Gavin walks toward the door.
    A muffled groan escapes through the thick wood, the sound of a body being hit by a fist. A short-lived cry and another thump fly through the barrier, mixing with the loud techno music of the dance floor outside. The feeling of energy lost and death gets stronger to Gavin the closer he walks towards the door. The feeling of both sides of the spectrum of life and death washes over Gavin again for the unknown time.
    He opens the door, and is instantly bathed in bright, red light. In the room stands a man chained to a wall, with the form of a girl at his feet. Two men, virtually twins, wearing white shirts and black pants stand in front of both of them, with a look of anger and amusement. On both of their hands are gauntlets made of blue crystal, seems to refract the crimson light of this small chambre of horrors. Luckily for Gavin, the hallway is too dark for either of the inquisitors to notice that Gavin entered the room.
    "What the f*ck is going on here?" Gavin screams at the people in the small room, trying to point his gun at both men at the same time. At Gavin's feet is a pile of dust, with a single egg-shaped object, which is carved with mystic runes, sitting in the center.
    "Who are you?" the men say, without any regard for Gavin's gun. The turn around, forgetting about the tortured people, and cross their arms.
    "It doesn't f*cking matter, who the f*ck I am. What does matter is that I'm going to kill both of you if you don't tell me what's going on!" Gavin yells, pulling back the hammer of his gun.
    "Dispatch him," One of them mutters, and turns around.
    With a motion almost too fast for Gavin to follow, the man on the left leaps towards him, lashing out with his gauntlet encased hand. He scratches Gavin's left shoulder, making him drop his gun, and leaving a light gash. Gavin takes a step back, with his left leg, and kicks out his right. The kick catches the man on his back, and knocks him to the floor.
    Gavin puts his right-fist on his left palm quickly pulls his hand away. Out of his palm comes a long, clear katana. The long sword radiates black light; making objects all around it glow with an intense eerie light.
    The man was on his knees by the time that Gavin was turned around. With a blinding motion, the sword carves through the air and the man's neck. Blood explodes ahead of the blade as it shatters bone, blood and marrow. The head rolls in front of the dead man, as the body finally collapses to the floor. The head and body quickly disintegrates, leaving only a pile of ash, two clear gauntlets, and small crystal.
    Turning around, Gavin stalks towards the other man with lethal intent. His muscles tense as he approaches the back of the torturer. Hot need for death and soul flows through Gavin's enhanced body, making everything seem to blur through red anger. His sword touches the man on his shoulder, not even causing a flinch. The man slowly turns his head around with a sneer of anger and annoyance.
    Before the man can even move out of the way of the dark blade, Gavin strikes down, cutting a line from the man's right cheek to beneath his left arm. His sword virtually flowed through the man's body, cutting through flesh and bone like air. The sneer disappears to form shocked horror, and the man falls to the ground. Unlike his friend, though, this man doesn't disintegrate to ash. Instead, he just lies limply on the ground in a pool of his own blood.
    "A twilight. This man was a twilight." Gavin mutters to himself, and slings his sword on his back.
    Gavin looks down at the pool of blood that's he's standing in, and feels disgust. He walks back towards the door, and grabs his fallen gun before he checks upon the two tortured people.  The man died, many days ago, Gavin figures with just a touch. His dirty, rotting form is covered in gashes and cuts. He's missing two fingers on his left hand, and his tongue. His long black hair flows over his shoulders, caked in blood and sweat. Even though Gavin has seen this kind of thing many times in the past, every time he sees it, though, is like seeing it for the first time. Revulsion and nausea try to push their ways up through Gavin's throat in sickly bile, but he pushes it back down as easily as turning on a light switch.
    With slow, delicate gestures, Gavin wipes the man's face clean with a handkerchief. He stares in his eyes, with the briefest of looks, and his mind is suddenly assaulted.  Gavin can see the two inquisitors, smiling in the face of the man they took off the street only days before. He can feel the pain of every wound as the twins are dealing it. His girlfriend on the floor made to watch every cruel incision. A splash of blood covers the single light bulb, shedding the entire area in crimson tones. And then something formed behind the two men. A woman covered in red clothes, though glowing so brightly drifted over to the innocent man. She extended one of her hands, and then...
    Gavin bumped against the wall as he staggered through the vision. That's the second time today that he's felt the cold light of the dead. His balance and equilibrium are all askew for a few seconds, and he almost falls over the girl lying on the floor, if it weren't for her whimpering.
    Grabbing the sides of his head, Gavin manages to gain back his balance and stares down at the prone girl. He leans down and stokes back the dirty, red hair that's hiding her face. She looks very tiny and vulnerable, lying unconscious on the floor. The remnants of a linen blouse and denim jeans, ripped up and soiled, are the only things that barely cover her body. Taking off his long coat, Gavin wraps the girl in it, and begins to collects things from inside the room. He grabs the voxes left behind by the two dead immortals, and the glowing blue gauntlets. After stowing them in his bag, Gavin picks up the girl and makes his way out of the small room.
    The instant that he opens the door, sound hits him like a wall. The rhythmic, loud noise coming from the end of the hallway is almost over powering, causing Gavin's sensitive ears to go into shock. For a moment, his halo of multicolored immaculum motes becomes visible as a few of the blue awareness motes turn into clear soul. With his senses significantly dampened, Gavin proceeds down the dark hallway.
    By the time that he reaches the end of the hall, the song stops. By this point, Gavin's ears, teeth, and eyes are back to normal. He waits a few agonizing heartbeats, hoping that the music will start once more. A second goes by, which leads to a minute before it actually starts again. Breathing out the air that he was holding in, Gavin opens the door, and steps into the fray.
The dancers are still dancing at their same frantic pace. The open displays of sexuality and promiscuity are prominent in almost everyone's dance, including the men's. Bats have collected on the rafters above the dance floor, and seem to be staring down at the dancers in tired boredom. When Gavin steps on the dance floor, though, that all changes.
    Some people who notice the girl wrapped in Gavin's arm yell questions at the immortal, which he feigns ignorance to. Others just ignore this strange man who is overly dressed for this place and continue in their erotic gyrations. The bats over head start to swoop down, high at first so no one notices, but they do get progressively closer. Before Gavin is out of the dance floor, the people are screaming about the bat infestation, and Gavin groans.
    "Not again," he mutters in resignation.
    The bats start to swarm around Gavin, squeaking things in their ancient language. The perpetual tries to ignore them, like everyone else, but offers a few positive remarks to the colony so that they will leave him alone. The bats disengage themselves from their two-legged brother and fly off, though the tunnel, to the night outside.
    It takes Gavin the better part of a minute to finally get outside. The screaming people who used to be tough and cool in Club 88, have been reduced to nothing more than mindless idiots by the swarm of bats in their precious dance club.

A Night in the Life
By Brad Quinn (ashpryder@aol.com)

Jackson McGill was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. It had become such a habit, in fact, that it never occurred to him that it could be any other way. Money and power had been his original desires, but now they were only tools of capture. They were his tickets, if you will, to the fulfillment of any other earthly desire, which might cross his mind. Which is not say that he was a hedonist or playboy of some kind, far from it. He was, however, determined.
He was a collector, and tonight he was expecting a delivery. A team of "specialists" in his employ had just recently been commissioned to acquire a rare old grand piano, a priceless antique with value far greater than its musical abilities. He glanced at his watch as he gazed out at the lights of Miami from the vantage of his penthouse balcony. A warm salt breeze billowed his silk shirt as he finished the last of the wine in his glass.
"Trying to decide which neighborhood to buy next?" came a voice from behind him. The voice was musical and low, laced with playful sarcasm, and distinctly female. "Hmph," was the noncommittal reply. "I thought you had gone home, Sarah."
He turned around and raised an eyebrow towards the woman who stood framed in the open glass door between the living room and balcony. Though lovely by almost any standard, she looked out of place in this particular city. Her skin was pale, her eyes deep blue, and her short chin-length hair was as black as the sky above. Her thin, wiry frame was barely concealed beneath a dark purple robe, which hung off her shoulders and was held closed by one of her hands. In the other hand was a wineglass identical to the one he held in his, only full. Her head was cocked to one side, looking at him, the slightest hint of a smile upon her lips. She was half his age. Another collector’s item.
"You only thought that because you had forgotten about me. I know how your mind works, Jackson. Only room for one obsession at a time."
She walked across the balcony to where he stood and poured half of the contents of her glass into his, allowing her robe to fall partially open as she lifted the remainder to her lips. She closed her eyes and smiled as the wind gusted against her.
"Besides," she continued, "why would I go home when I’m ever so eager to see your new acquisition?"
"How did you know I was expecting a delivery?" he said, eyes narrowing.
She turned around and leaned her back against the railing. "Really Jackson. Just because all I am to you is a shiny bauble, you shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking I’m stupid. I can put two and two together. I heard your end of the phone conversations. I saw those two spooks you are always having meetings with leaving earlier today. I noticed the extra security, and I noticed the brand new suitcase you bought. It’s cheaper than anything you’d ever be seen carrying, so I assume you’ve packed it full of hard cash to give to whoever you hired to deliver the goods tonight."
"Jesus," he exclaimed, "remind me not to underestimate you anymore." He was silent for a moment, then a thought occurred to him. "If you think I’m just using you, why do you stick around?"
Her smile widened, a smile of heartwinning beauty. "Because I absolutely adore your view, Jackson." She laughed. "It’s not like I’m not using you back. Besides, I know that somewhere under that numb, cynical exterior of yours is the decent person you used to be."
He snorted. "You think just because I used to have a wife and children that I used to be decent? You wouldn’t have the faintest idea. You didn’t even know me. Christ, you were barely out of diapers back then."
Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "Besides being a gorgeous woman and brilliant detective, I am also a marvelous judge of character."
"Well, aren’t you just the…" he broke off as he heard the door buzzer sound. The momentary light which had invaded his face quickly darkened over again.
"Guess it’s time," she said, her smile fading as well.
They both entered the living room at the same time McGill’s bodyguard, Elton, entered from a different room. Sarah moved to sit on the couch.
"Is it them?" asked Jackson as Elton checked his earpiece.
"Yeah, they brought it up the service elevator as you requested," he replied.
"Well open up."
Elton did so, swinging open both of the double front doors, the black outline of a gun flashing briefly beneath his grey sport jacket. Two men and a woman stood there, surrounding a huge wooden crate on wheels. The men and woman were all in their mid-thirties, neat and professional looking, wearing basic black attire. Their eyes looked haunted.
"Come in," Jackson said, gesturing. "That would be it, I assume?"
"Yeah," said one of the men, grunting as they pushed the crate inside the door. "We got it, but it wasn’t…easy."
"Elton, go retrieve their payment for me," Jackson ordered. Elton turned and left. He turned to the three. "Uncrate it."
They did so, which relative ease. By the time they were done, Elton had returned with a suitcase in hand. Underneath the crate was a majestic grand piano, clearly a relic of the past. It was made of a deep rich mahogany, with real ebony and ivory keys and burnished brass trim. Everyone in the room fell silent for a moment, gazing at it. Sarah let out a slight gasp.
"Magnificent," Jackson said, though his tone was business-like. "Your payment as we discussed."
He gestured to Elton, who handed over the suitcase to the woman. She set it down and opened it up to count the contents. The two men shifted from foot to foot. Finally, one spoke.
"Uhhh, listen. We were thinking maybe we deserved a bonus for this one," he said.
"Oh really? And why is that?"
"Well…it was just a really weird job. What kind of place is that to keep an old piano, anyway? Plus, it was…well, really strange things happened. It wasn’t a normal job."
"I told you it wouldn’t be. Did you encounter any hostile resistance?"
"Not exactly…it depends on what you mean by resistance."
"Did anyone try to stop you?" Jackson sighed.
"No…" he began.
"Not like a person or nothin…" interrupted the other.
Jackson held up his hand. "Then it’s the price we agreed upon. I told you, you only get hazard pay if someone shoots at you."
"Fine," he replied. He turned to the woman. "Is it all there?"
She nodded, and closed it back up again. The three filed out the door silently.
"Oh. By the way," Jackson called after them, "if I determine that you three are capable of keeping your mouths shut, there will be more work for you in the future. I’m impressed with tonight’s job. Goodbye."
Elton closed the doors and locked them. He stood silently for a moment, listening to his earpiece. After a few minutes, he nodded and turned to Jackson. "They’re on their way out of the building," he said.
Jackson nodded and turned to look at his new toy. Sarah stood near it, lightly caressing the top of the piano and looking at it with profound curiosity.
"You like it, I take it," he said, approaching her.
"It’s beautiful. For once I applaud your taste. It was worth whatever you paid for it," she replied.
"That has yet to be seen."
"I don’t know about you, but I feel…alive. Just having it in the same room makes me feel wonderful. Shall we play it?" she asked, almost bouncing.
"Not now. You should go home now. I have one more guest I am expecting this evening."
Without waiting for a reply, he walked over to the bar and poured himself another drink. He returned to the balcony and sat down, lounging and gazing at the stars above. He lay back, closed his eyes, and thought about how it used to be.
He didn’t always have this burning hatred in his gut. He wasn’t always the cold despot he was now. They had made him this way. They had been responsible for the deaths of his wife and family. They were going to pay for their crimes, if he had to spend the rest of his comparatively short life to do it. Lucky for him, there were other people out there who felt as he did. Who knew that the invisible tyranny of Them had to be destroyed. They played with the lives of human beings as if they were mere rats in a cage.
Yes, he was lucky. He never would have known who had killed his family if his new friends had not come to him to show him the truth. Of course, at first he did not believe them, he thought they were lunatics. But they had proof. They had showed him things, impossible things. He had seen a lot of impossible things since then. Tonight, with luck, he would see more.
A peal of thunder caused him to snap open his eyes. He frowned. He could no longer see the stars above him. Clouds obscured the previously clear night sky, and lightning flashed among them. He stood up and paced to the railing. The wind, formerly a breeze, now whipped around him angrily.
"My, my," he thought, "what do we have here?"
Far above, a man rode the winds.
He stood in mid-air, supporting himself only through the power of his song. Tonight, the laws of nature would obey him, and not the other way around. It was important to make an entrance.
The wild winds howled around him, causing his long black trenchcoat to flutter like a flag behind him. His hair followed suit, jet-black strands blowing about his head. He was tall, but not too tall. Muscular, but not too muscular. Young, handsome; but in a non-conventional way. His eyes had a slight epicanthic fold to them, but it was very hard to determine a nationality for him. He wore a three-piece black Armani, and but for the massive claymore strapped to his back one would expect to find him on Wall Street rather than at the center of a storm cloud.
He descended towards the figure his ultra-keen senses saw waiting on the balcony below him. As he neared, he spread his arms out wide in order to maximize the effects the wind was having on his clothing. He got the effect he wanted. When the man on the balcony finally noticed him, he stood transfixed, watching the billowing figure in black descend from the sky. As his feet touched flat upon the surface of the balcony, he quieted the song, which had held him aloft. Then he crooned a gentling tune at the wind around him, which immediately settled down to a stiff breeze.
"Mr. McGill, I presume," he stated.
"You certainly know how to make an entrance, don’t you?" Jackson said, all trace of emotion gone from him.
"I want to make sure you take me seriously," he replied.
"Believe me I do. But I did not expect you. Who are you?"
"My name is Raven Ashiwaru Pryder. I have come to retrieve something which you have stolen."
"That is an odd name, Mr. Pryder. What sort of name is that?"
"Lakota, Japanese, and Irish. In that order." Raven said. "But is that really what you want to talk about? You took that piano in order to get somebody’s attention. You have mine."
A slight wave of nervousness passed over Jackson’s features. "It’s not any more yours than it is mine, Mr. Pryder. I make it a point to know who it is I am relieving of their property, and I don’t know you."
"It belongs to a friend of mine. He asked me to get it back for him. That is my specialty. Finding and retrieving things. I’ll admit, he was foolish to have let you find it like that, but he is prone to impulsiveness on occasion, which can lead to security breaches."
Jackson shook his head. "I can see you are all business. Come on, it’s just inside here."
He walked to the open door into the living room, and gestured for Raven to go inside. Raven walked past him, his luminous eyes searching every detail of the room he was entering. It was extremely large and open. Most of the furniture had been moved up against one wall of the room, except for the piano, which sat in the corner opposite. A plastic dropcloth covered most of the floor.
"Redecorating?" Raven inquired.
"I was going to have the room repainted to better accommodate the new piano. But I guess I needn’t bother, if you really plan on taking it back." Jackson replied. "Drink?"
"No thanks. I’m afraid I’m going to have to break your windows in order to get this out the way I came in," Raven said, looking at the piano.
"To hell with you!" Jackson shouted, his venomous rage suddenly boiling over. "You’re not taking it anywhere! In fact, you’re not leaving here alive you monster!"
Raven turned towards him, a dangerous light in his eyes. "You think you can stop me, mortal?"
"Damn right! You walked right into a trap, you stupid idiot! Drexler! Now!" shouted Jackson.
Immediately a door opened and two men burst through, automatic rifles lowered. Ruby beams of laser light searched out Raven’s head, but he was already in motion, spinning and lowering his head so that the only target they had was his back. They took it, and two short bursts ripped into him, knocking him face down onto the dropcloth. They moved across the room towards him as two more men, these with submachine guns, appeared behind them.
"Shoot him again, make sure he’s dead," Jackson commanded.
"Rune bullets don’t grow on trees, Jackson," one of the men with the automatic rifles returned gruffly. "Don’t worry, he’s…"
He broke off as the front doors burst open and two men with automatic pistols rushed in. "Wait!" cried Jackson, but it was too late. The two men with submachine guns expertly gunned them down with two short tight bursts.
Jackson rushed forward, but stopped short when he realized the futility. "Ah Christ. They were a security detail I’d hired to guard the approach."
"What’s going on Jackson!" Sarah shouted, rushing into the room with Elton close behind.
"Sorry boss, she…" started Elton.
"Damnit! I told you to go home! Don’t you ever listen?" Jackson shouted back, trying to get a handle on the confusion.
"You didn’t tell your security detail what to expect tonight, Jackson?" said the man who had spoken before.
"Frankly, I expected them to be dead by now anyway, Drexler. They were just out there so that it wouldn’t appear to be too easy when the owner came to retrieve his Ark. However, this guy isn’t the owner, and he didn’t come in the way I expected him to."
"Jesus, Jackson," said Sarah, "I knew you had some scary friends, but…I didn’t know you killed people. Is this what you and your spook friends are always up to?"
"Sorry Jackson," Drexler said setting down his rifle and drawing a pistol, "but you know the Brotherhood can’t afford to risk her talking to anyone."
"Oh…oh my God, Jackson, you aren’t going to let them…" she was silenced by a gunshot to the head from Drexler’s pistol. She dropped to the floor, lifeless.
Jackson winced, but the coldness in his heart quickly overcame any feelings of remorse. He had liked her, but there would be others. He walked over to the bookshelf and picked up a Roman-style shortsword, drawing it from its sheath.
"Well. Once I remove our guest’s head and take his vox, there won’t be any body left," said Jackson. "However, now you morons have to figure out how to dispose of those three corpses you’ve left on my living room floor."
"Four," said Raven’s voice from behind him.
Jackson, who had been facing the bookshelf as he spoke, spun around. The attentions of Elton, Drexler, and the two men with submachine guns which had been focused elsewhere also snapped towards the center of the room, where the lifeless corpse of the other automatic-rifle wielding man was sliding off of the blade of Raven’s claymore.
Drexler was the first to recover from his shock. He dropped the pistol he was holding and immediately grabbed for the rifle he had set down. Before he could reach it, however, a surge of electricity ran up the length of Raven’s sword and a bolt of lightning shot from it, striking him in the chest and throwing him up against the wall, where he collapsed.
The two men with submachine guns opened up, though they knew that because they were not armed with rune bullets it was a temporary response at best. The bullets shredded Raven’s clothes and revealed that he wore some kind of armor beneath them, which was easily repelling their shots. Practically simultaneously, they dropped their guns and drew long knives.
Elton, meanwhile, had moved over to Jackson and drawn his pistol. He looked questioningly at Jackson, who gestured at him to shoot the man with the sword. He drew a bead.
With supernatural speed, Raven closed with the two knife-wielding men. Electricity raced up and down the blade of his ornate, ancient sword. With a grace and speed impossible for a normal man to achieve with such a huge weapon, he cut both men down in two swift strokes. He turned around just as Elton fired. Elton, who was an excellent shot, still got lucky. The bullet struck Raven in the eye, spattering blood and bone everywhere as Raven fell backwards.
"I got him!" he shouted.
"Quickly!" urged Jackson. "Get over there and put the gun right in his mouth and pull the trigger or else he’ll…"
He trailed off as Raven stood back up, the side of his face still reforming. "I hate it when that happens," he said.
Elton began firing at Raven again, but this time Raven somehow stepped to the side of each bullet, as if he knew where not to be. With each dodge he grew closer to Elton, until finally Elton ran out of ammunition. "That’s not possib…" he began to say, but the claymore silenced him. He fell to the floor in two pieces.
Jackson stared in horror as he realized that he was the only one left alive in the room. He gave a start as he saw Raven’s attention turn to him, and raised his shortsword.
"Do you think you can best me with that, Mr. McGill? I have studied the art of swordplay for longer than your entire family line has existed," Raven told him, smiling.
"Of course not, you foul creature. There’s no way that I could even get inside the reach of that thing you’re carrying with my little sword here. I just don’t plan to die without a fight."
"Its called Stormwind, Mr. McGill, and it too is older than your civilization. But if it makes you feel better…" Raven slid the massive blade back into the sheath of his back. "Care to try now?"
Jackson gave an almost inhuman growl and charged at Raven, arcing his sword-arm back. "Die, murderer!"
As the blade came down, Raven’s foot lashed out and caught Jackson’s wrist. The sword flew out of his hand, turned over in the air, and was caught in Raven’s left hand. With his right hand, he smashed Jackson’s nose in. Jackson fell to his knees, blood gushing from his broken nose.
"You stupid jerk! Did you think I was going to walk into a trap unprepared? You should have known something was wrong right away when I flew down to your balcony. The fact that I so openly displayed my supernatural abilities to you should have told you that I knew that you were already aware of our existence. Which should have told you that I expected a trap. I wore this armor, you see? It’s interwoven with Drove voxes, a special trick that my people know how to do. It makes armor hard enough to bounce even your special bullets off. I told you, my job is to find and retrieve things. My friend, whose Ark you stole, it is his job to know things. Like how you seem to have a penchant for luring our kind into deadly traps. He’s still not sure of the exact number you’ve killed, but he knows the general outline of your career, from the moment the Apocrypha first seduced you over to them until today. He managed to piece it all together.
"That’s why he allowed you to find the location of his Ark. He knew you couldn’t resist such a temptation, because you would be absolutely sure that he would have to come after such a prize. And that is why he sent me instead of coming himself. Because, quite frankly, I am the best there is. I’m going to get what I came for, and I came for your collection. So where is it? Where is your collection of voxes?"
Jackson laughed a gurgling, bloody laugh. "Why should I tell you? I’d rather rot in the pit of hell for all eternity than see one of your kind be reborn. So why should I tell you?"
"Because I will kill you quickly if you do. Because I could tear it from your mind if I had to. But mostly because it is time for you to make amends. They used you, Mr. McGill. The Apocrypha. They wanted your assets, your resources, and your connections. So they used you. They killed your family, and then they showed you everything they needed to show you in order to convince you that it was one of us. Really, it was not much harder than simply proving to you we exist. Who wouldn’t be frightened of those such as us, who are beyond any glimmer of understanding in your tiny mortal brains?
"So I ask you again, Mr. McGill. Where is your vox collection?"
With every word he spoke, a silent song was underlining his speech. The song reached out from within Raven’s crystal vocal chord and stretched into Jackson’s mind, where it began to subtly change his emotions. Raven could see the emotions almost as color, and he altered them to suit his purposes. The bright red of anger became a soft pink regret. Purple-black indignation became deep blue resignation. Hot orange sorrow was smoothed into forest green despair.
Jackson began to cry uncontrollably. In between sobs he told Raven about the safety deposit box where he kept the voxes. He told him the bank, the number, the password, and where the key was located. Raven nodded when Jackson was finished.
"Thank you. I want you to know that everything I told you was true. I will now grant you a swift death. But before I do, I will tell you this. I am going to find out all I can about the Apocrypha in order to destroy it. So rest easy knowing you will have your vengeance eventually."
Raven drew back his right hand, palm jutting outward. With one swift stroke, he drove the shattered remnants of Jackson’s nose up into his brain, killing him instantly. He let the body drop to the floor.
He stood up, and walked over to where Drexler’s unconscious form lay. The bolt he had hit him with was not quite enough to kill him. Good. He went to the kitchen, got a glass of water, and came back. He splashed it in Drexler’s face, causing him to stir.
"Good morning, sunshine. You and I are going to have a little talk," Raven said, smiling.
Several hours later, Raven stood up, having just snapped Drexler’s neck. He had found out all he could from him about what he knew of the Apocrypha. Raven then began to collect all stray fibers he may have left behind. He always wore gloves, so fingerprints weren’t a problem, but some of his clothes had been shot away and there was the extremely outside possibility that the fibers could be traced. Obviously sound did not travel from the penthouse to the floor below, but someone would eventually come up here and find the grisly scene. Lucky for him he had a background in criminology and preternatural senses to help him clean up after himself.
He collected the safe deposit box key. Then he gathered up the two automatic rifles and stacked them on top of the piano.
"Rune bullets," he sighed. "Where in the hell do they get those things?"
As he finished, he heard a groan coming from across the room. He quickly turned and located the source of the noise. He blinked in absolute astonishment. Sarah, the dark-haired beauty, sat up, holding her unscathed head.
"What…what happened?" she asked to no one in particular.
"Well I will be goddamned," Raven said, blinking.
She suddenly screamed and stood up, her robe nearly falling completely off in the process. "He shot me…I’m dead! Who are you? I remember…I had dreams…dreams about things I’ve never done, places I’ve never been, people I’ve never met…oh God, what is going on!"
"I wonder what old Jackson McGill would have thought if he would have known he’d been sleeping with the enemy," Raven said to himself. "My dear, I will answer all your questions in a minute. But first I have to return something to its rightful owner."
She barely heard him. As he pulled a pcs phone out of his coat pocket and began to dial, she went into a reverie of past lives.
"Hello. It’s me," Raven said into the phone. "Of course. Yes, and a few extras. Listen, I’m sending back a couple of rifles with rune bullets in them…yes, you can analyze them, but they are mine. I figure I earned them."
Raven sat down in front of the piano. "What was the tune again? Hey, I’m not a musician by trade. Yeah…okay. Thanks."
Raven turned back to look at Sarah, who was still reliving some long-forgotten memory. Then he leaned forward and played a short, unusual series of notes on the keyboard. Quickly he stood up and moved away from the piano as a ley-gate opened beneath it and it fell through, disappearing. The gate closed just as Sarah snapped out of her flashback.
"What am I?" she said, this time with more curiosity than fear.
"That, my dear, is a long story. But if you trust me for a bit, I’ll try to explain it to you."
She stood up and gathered her robe about her. "Alright. Show me."
He took her by the hand and led her out to the balcony. "Hold tight," he said, and gathered her into his arms. His vox sounded a song of freedom from gravity, and she listened with fascination to the strains she could now hear.
Up he went, back into the storm, which still raged above them, not having been quieted yet by his magical voice. It was a good night, he thought. He had gotten the location of the missing voxes, detailed information on Apocrypha activities, retrieved the stolen Ark, and found an Ingenue to top it all off. Yes indeed, he thought. I will be handsomely rewarded.
He brought her up into the storm cloud itself, where wind and rain whipped around them and lightning streaked the sky. Suddenly he realized that though this may be his natural element, it was probably disturbing to her, and he prepared to quiet the serenade, which had breathed the storm to life.
Before he did, however, she suddenly tossed her head back and looked straight up into the belly of the storm. "Yes…" she said. "I remember."
With a sudden abandon, she tore off the robe and flung it away, exalting in the pure pleasure of the natural fury against her naked skin. "I remember!" she exclaimed. She threw her arms straight from her sides, palms up, forcing Raven to grab hold of her waist and tilt backwards, so both of them were nearly horizontal, to keep her from falling. She shouted with joy to the uncaring heavens.
"I REMEMBER!"
It was, Raven reflected, a very good night.