The Wounded World, Part 4 free porn video

Mantra is the creation of Michael W. Barr. Mantra and other characters originally introduced in Malibu Comics are the copyrighted properties of Marvel Comics, Inc. THE WOUNDED WORLD Part Four By Aladdin A story of Mantra Chapter 17 THE GANG OF FOUR Four Mighty Ones are in every man. A perfect unity cannot exist But from the Universal Brotherhood of Eden, The Universal Man, to whom be Glory evermore... William Blake I saw a lump of concrete glance off Gus's protective shield; its sudden impact startled the boy enough to spoil his aim. His laser-like attack lanced past my face and burned through the smoke overhead, but he was now more interested in the man behind him. "You're cheating!" the child shouted back over his shoulder at Hardcase. "Two at once isn't fair!" He apparently didn't want to play anymore, because without leaving me an opening to coax him into calm, Gus launched himself into the sky, leaving behind a viridian trail of flame like a pint-sized rocket. I fly with the speed of the wind, but I couldn't keep up with acceleration like that, and so decided not to try. Anyway, my most pressing responsibility was to help put out the fire. A quick bio-scan warned me that there were living people inside the flaming school building, firefighters and maybe even trapped victims. Careful to avoid the occupied areas, I encapsulated the conflagration centers with an irregularly shaped magical force field -- thereby creating an airtight shell that would starve the blaze for oxygen. Time was not on my side, so to speed things along I drew down the air pressure, leaving less oxygen in support of the burn. I doggedly maintained my mystical "grip" like a determined strangler until the combustion was quelled in all the areas I had singled out. By the time things seemed to be under control, I was about used up. Whatever extra "umph" I'd acquired through vampirizing Lauren had been expended. But the fire couldn't be my only consideration; I had to keep moving while hidden in mist, just in case Aladdin had been trying to get a bead on me. As a presidentially-authorized black ops agency, they didn't need to pay much attention to the law. Careful to keep a low profile, I zeroed in on Hardcase's bio-trace and, once I had it, made a wary approach upon what was Earth's senior and, arguably, most famous ultra. Not wanting to startle a man as powerful and reactive as Hardcase, I thinned my protective fog enough to let him see what was a measured approach. Whatever ran through his mind at the sight of me, he at least didn't throw any concrete my way. "W-We can't talk here," I said, alighting breathlessly beside him. "Can I carry you off to some place more private?" "Okay," he said, warily frowning. I took the man's muscular body into my arms, negated enough gravity to make the two of us as light as helium balloons, and then conjured an air stream strong enough to sweep us swiftly away. When I brought us down again we were trespassing in some local resident's backyard, but I didn't feel too guilty about it. When I released Hardcase and he stepped aside, I noted that he still wore the same costume that the god Ogma had conjured for him back on the Godwheel. The only big difference was that the facemask he'd used back then to cover his scarred features was gone. His movie-star good looks had made a triumphant comeback. Then again, Aladdin's analysts had for some time suspected that Hardcase possessed some sort of accelerated healing power. "Thanks," I panted, the smell of smoke still in my nostrils. "I was afraid that you'd swing a haymaker at me back there when I dropped down out of the sky." He smiled tightly. "I always try to avoid hitting pretty ladies. Anyway, 'Strike told me that this get-together was your idea." His grin grew more genuine. "It would have been a shame to lose some one like you to friendly fire, Eden." I did a double take. He knew my real name! My real ~inherited~ name, I mean. How? Were Hardcase and Mantra better friends on this world than he and I were back in --? Then I remembered. This world was a mishmash of differences and similarities in respect to the reality I knew back home. When Hardcase and I had last been together, I'd lost it. At the time, I was occupying a cloned male body and trying to settle accounts with my archenemy Boneyard. Hardcase and Warstrik had restrained me, but while wrestling against their combined strength, I had blurted out the fact that it was Boneyard's fault that my love Eden Blake had become Necromantra. That wouldn't have been a disastrous error, except that a few days later those same ultras had watched Necromantra transform into Mantra when Thanasi's evil spirit fled from her body. The equation was simple: Necromantra=Eden Blake-Manta. To make matters worse, one of the ultras at hand on was a mortal enemy of mine. Fortunately, he had been lost in an alternate universe right after that -- and I could only hope that he would never find his way back. "What did War -- What did ~'Strike~ tell you?" I asked. Hardcase shook his head. "Not much -- just that there was some berserk grade-schooler using super magic in Canoga Park. But that guy I was fighting didn't look like a kid. If anything, would have taken him for a circus dwarf." "He's a kid all right," I said with a sigh. "Maybe you read about that incident last spring involving a local boy?" He blinked. "A boy who was changed?" I coaxed. "Come to think of it, I ~did~ hear something about a youngster who got disfigured. His name was, ~umm~, August Blake." He looked at me with sudden understanding. ~"Oh, God!~ Your son?" I nodded. "I'm sorry. But what happened? Those reports didn't say anything about the boy having magical powers." "The magic just appeared and I'm not sure where it came from. A lot of crazy things are happening around the world tonight. Whatever affected him affected his mind, too. He's been acting like the whole world is his enemy." Hardcase frowned. "And with powers like his, he can really get even!" "Above all, we've got to stop him from threatening people and causing damage," I said, "but the two of us aren't nearly strong enough to take him on head to head. 'Strike is coming, as you already know. Yrial of the Strangers also promised to come." He rubbed his chin. "Yrial, huh? I met the Strangers shortly after they first got their powers. The whole troop of them suddenly showed up in my Malibu house and wanted advice on how to become first-rate ultra heroes. I ad-libbed an orientation talk and then took them out on a shakedown mission -- investigating an Aladdin facility at Groom Lake, Nevada. Yrial paired up with Choice and me when the nine of us split into small groups to approach the target." He cast a curious eye my way. "But I notice that you've come alone. Where's that excitable fellow who helped us fight Argus on the Godwheel? The one who was so devoted to you -- Lukasz?" I hoped he didn't see me swallow. "We're not together anymore. It's a -- long story." I changed the subject as quickly as I could. "'Strike said that you're living in the north suburbs these days. What's this about you leaving Ultra Force?" "I didn't want to be part of UltraForce after it voted to make itself the pawn of an administration the likes of the one we have now. It's not just the scandals -- it's also Aladdin and all the other federally inspired dirty work that Choice and I have turned up. UltraForce was a damned good idea at the outset, but it's going badly wrong these days." He trailed off, obviously not wanting to talk more about a subject that pained him. "You know, Mantra, I never did understand why you didn't want to join with the rest of us. Magic was something the UF was badly in need of." I shook my head. "I just wasn't ready to get tied up with any sort of group when Prime happened to approach me. I'd been having a bumpy time of it and was trying to psyche myself up for a major life change. It didn't come off, but there are other considerations. I've got a family, a civilian job, and just doing my own ultra thing at my own pace cuts into my available time too much." "Well, we could sure use you in the Paladins." "The Paladins?" "It's a working title for the new group that 'Strike and I were talking about. Choice suggested the name." "Keep me in mind and we'll see how things fall together." I checked myself at that point; there was nothing to gain in telling Hardcase my whole crazy story. "I see that Choice didn't come with you." A new sense of concern seemed to flicker in his blue eyes. "Choice has agreed to stay in reserve. She shouldn't be risking her health in battle -- especially not now." I sensed that there was a hidden subtext behind his comment, but didn't feel like prying. "I'm grateful for whatever help you can lend," I told him. "There's something going on tonight, something evil. My son got caught up in it by accident. Not too long ago he was just an ordinary kid attending that school back there." Hardcase glanced back in the direction of the school. "So, he suddenly got ultra powers and tried to burn down Canoga Park Elementary? That's a mean payback for getting too much homework!" The joke fell flat with me. "I wonder if he'd be less angry and violent if he hadn't been throwing a tantrum just at the time when the magic came on him." "What happened?" "I'd confined him to his room for being mean to his sister." "You're joking." I gave a small, bitter laugh. "My whole life would be a joke, except that it's so -- gut-wrenching." I took a deep breath and exhaled forlornly. The less said, the better. "I should check in with 'Strike and Yrial. By the way, Hardcase, did you notice that there was an Aladdin squad at the school?" "No, I didn't. It seems like those guys are always turning up when you least expect them." "Their new leader is called Wrath." His brows knit closely. "I've heard that name before." "The name is being recycled. This is a different man." "If he's Aladdin-issue, he can't be trusted." "Probably true," I replied, stepping away from him to give myself some meditating room. "Okay, fella, I've got to do some mind-to-mind communication." He looked on curiously as I touched my fingertips to my temples and concentrated: "Mantra here, 'Strike. Whereabouts are you?" I repeated the telepathic call twice more before an answer came: ~"Mantra, I had to swing into one of my local hidey holes to pick up some equipment. I managed to reach Hardcase after we talked. He'll probably be showing up soon."~ "He already has. He's standing here beside me now. I don't know how to thank you enough." ~"I could do a lot with a straight line like that, Luke, but when a kid's in trouble it's no time for jokes. Where should I meet you guys?"~ "Runnymede Park. That's several short blocks east of my house. We'll be waiting for you at the edge of a wooded stand. If there's any change of plans, I'll give you another buzz." ~"Okay, 'Strike off."~ I immediately sent out another probe, this one aimed at Yrial's mind. ~"Mantra, I was just about to get in touch with you myself," she responded. "I am somewhere north of Malibu, in what I think people call Thousand Oaks. I wasn't able to reach Shadowmage."~ Apparently she was coming in from the north, most likely from the Strangers' base in San Francisco. I filled her in regarding the arson at the school. "Try to get a fix on my magical feed," I said. "It'll guide you to us like a beacon. Then we'll rendezvous with 'Strike." ~"The mercenary?"~ "He's a lot more than just a mercenary. He's probably the best friend I have." That might have been an overstatement -- in this world, alas. Although the Warstrike back home was my close ally, I knew little about how 'Strike and Mantra related to one another here. Regardless, I was depending on him to help me bring Gus back from the brink. # Yrial joined us a few minutes later. The magic-wielding Stranger looked just the same as I remembered, except that her costume was now a basic green instead of violet. Tastes can change between universes, I supposed. Her wide headdress evoked the barbaric, as did the large gems set into her belt, boots, and tiara. Gold gleamed from both her wristlets and queen-sized earrings. But when one first meets Yrial, her eyes always distract him. They were rosy blanks that gave her face a demonic cast. I wondered whether this ocular peculiarity was a trait common amongst her own people, or was unique to Yrial herself. The Amerind sorceress was, by the way, the only crime-fighting ultra I knew of who used dark magic. Most black magicians are up to no good, but her Aladdin data file consistently reported courageous deeds in the service of society. If I still remained somewhat uneasy around her, it was because I had been forced to battle a world-class necromancer, Boneyard, for a millennium and a half. After all the hellos were said, I led my two companions across Topanga Canyon Boulevard, past the smoldering schoolhouse that abutted it. Yrial and I flew while Hardcase followed, leaping more than a block at a time. We quickly picked up Sherman Way and followed it to Runnymede Park. I considered telling my companions about the disaster facing New York but reluctantly held back. 'Strike would fill them in later, I was sure. For now, though, I didn't want to distract Yrial and Hardcase from the matter at hand. "Even if we can temporarily subdue a sorcerer of such power," I inquired, "does anyone know how to control the boy without making him suffer too much?" This question seemed to resonate with Yrial. "You are fortunate Mantra, insofar as you may benefit from knowledge that I have lately gained at sad cost. Do you remember Atom Bob?" "Of course. The dude in red and blue Spandex, the one who had some really fancy matter changing tricks. Lady Killer announced last spring that he'd gone on a vacation. Since that was months ago and he's still not back, I suspect that there has to be more to the story than that." "Indeed there is. Evil took possession of Bob. His powers increased to frightening proportions, as did his ambitions. He sought to eliminate the Strangers and seize a tyrant's sway. It took all of our ingenuity to subdue him." "So, you had to corral your own teammate? What happened then?" "I placed him into a magical coma. This alone made it possible for Lady Killer and I to convey him to a remote European clinic. There, we hoped, he could be confined and cared for. The doctors were committed to expunging the demonic drives that have taken possession of him, but thus far they have reported only failure." I shook my head. Dealing with metaphysical evil really wasn't what science was about. In fact, corrupt and politically driven scientists could easily be persuaded to serve the most despicable ends. Even Leonard da Vinci had stooped to building super weapons for a Renaissance tyrant. "What befell Atom Bob sounds a lot like what happened to the boy, Yrial," I said. "He has to be kept harmless until a doctor I'm working with can prepare an effective treatment. Is the coma spell teachable, or would you be willing to perform it yourself?" "I would do it, Mantra, to spare you the danger of practicing the thaumaturgy of chaos. My people performed dark sorcery long ago through necessity, but by doing so became shackled to the forces of darkness. Though we desire to climb up from the pit, we cannot find the way." I sensed emotional pain hidden behind Yrial's blank eyes. Even Archimage, an S.O.B. if there ever was one, had avoided using the necrotic arts. He must have known that using them would bring unpleasant consequences. But, if the shamaness was any true example, the practice of black magic didn't necessarily make one twisted in mind and corrupt in spirit -- something that couldn't be said for my enemy Necromantra. "I would run considerable risks to put this terrible thing right!" I told her frankly. This statement had come out more emphatic than I had intended. Yrial looked at me with heightened interest. "Why do you care so much about this unfortunate boy?" "I -- I know his family," I explained lamely. "They deserve better than this." "This treatment you speak of -- can the same means be employed to deliver Atom Bob from his plight?" I shrugged. "I don't know. I don't even know whether it will save the boy." She stared off into the darkness. "Still, there may be hope." I touched her arm in sympathy. "There may be." While I couldn't speak for Pinnacle, I didn't think that she'd object to cooperating with the Strangers. Their leader, Elena La Brava, alias Lady Killer, was the owner-CEO of a profitable fashion house. She had bucks up the kazoo -- exactly what Pinnacle needed to set up a cloning lab. In fact, if the billionaire Brandon Tark and the wealthy Elena La Brava were both brought into the project, things might actually go pretty well. I didn't relish the idea of putting Gus into a coma, however -- even though that might be easier for him to endure than an Aladdin lock-up. Hearing an engine roar, I looked back to see some kind of custom-job tearing up the turf of Runnymede park. When the high-octane monster skidded to a halt under the lamplight, I saw that it was a souped-up motorcycle of a type that would have make the most jaded male heart drum faster. But the figure in the saddle didn't look like the man we'd been expecting -- or, more precisely, the one I had been expecting. He was the same size as Warstrike, which was not much smaller than Hardcase himself, but I'd never seen that costume before. I easily verified his bio-signature as Brandon Tark's, but in that loopy outfit looked like the design of some second-rate comic artist. Tark still had red-blond hair and a taste for Spandex, but now wore red-colored chest-and-shoulder armor, along with a mask that concealed his eyes by means of two-way lenses. I would have said something derisive, but didn't feel up to levity. Actually, it was probably a good thing that this alternate version of Warstrike looked so different. I wouldn't mistake him for the friend I knew, and leave myself open to some slip that might rebound to my detriment. 'Strike dismounted and my two other companions greeted him. Tark apparently didn't know either of the duo well, and so, after the briefest amenities, he asked me to fill him in on breaking events. "Gus has already done his best to burn down his own school," I told him. "He's using the most powerful magic and seems to show no respect for life. Even though he's really only a young boy and not in control of himself, he's still extremely dangerous. When I tested his strength earlier I couldn't stand up to him at all. Even though Gus has no combat training other than video games, his instincts are incredible." "Do you have a plan, Mantra?" Yrial asked. I gave a weary nod. "That depends. 'Strike, what did you bring?" During our earlier contact, I had briefed Brandon on how Aladdin had captured Gus in an alternate future. Seeing as how 'Strike owned an impressive private arsenal, I had hoped that he'd have the equivalent of their government-issued equipment. "I've got some knockout-gas and some other gadgets that Gizmo designed a while ago," the masked man replied, "to help me bring ultra-powered bad guys back alive -- instead of the way I usually did it." I winced at his blunt jibe, imagining Gus's body tied to the fender of that monster cycle, but didn't rebuke him. He didn't mean to be in bad taste; he had himself lost a child. That was just the way that Brandon Tark talked when among friends -- unfortunately. He gave us a description of the other gadgets he'd brought. They seemed crude by the standards of Aladdin's ultra-subduing equipment, but they were all we had to work with. "Good," I replied with more affirmation than I felt. "We can make this our battlefield. Here's my plan...." # A few minutes later I was ready to send out a telepathic call -- this time to ~myself.~ "Mrs. Blake, Mrs. Blake, can you hear me? This is Mantra!" ~"M-Mantra? I do hear you. But how can you be inside my head?"~ "I have many powers, for I am Mantra!" ~"Have you found Gus yet? People say that he tried to burn down the school! Oh, Mantra! I didn't raise him to be such a bad boy. You're our only hope. You have to bring him home so he can be taught right from wrong."~ "You can count on us," I responded. "But what did you do to make him so angry?" ~"It was just a silly little thing. I slapped Gus because he made his sister cry, and then told him to stay in his room until he apologized."~ "A slap? That was a mistake. You should have been much more severe. Didn't you have a belt to strap him with?" ~"Gus had always been a good boy until this terrible thing happened."~ "Spare the rod, spoil the child," I told my alter ego. "I'm afraid that Gus must now spend many years in reform school." ~"That would be terrible! In reform school he won't be able to do any of the chores around the house. Wouldn't it be a better punishment just to have him do all the dishes until he goes away to college?"~ "I suggest even greater severity, Mrs. Blake, such making it his job to take the garbage out every day." ~"Well, yes, I suppose that would be better."~ "The mighty Hardcase and I shall find your missing son soon and bring him home. Then it will be up to you to teach him the error of his ways. If you are very strict with him after this, he may stick to the straight an narrow." ~"I hope so. But where are you, Mantra?"~ "Hardcase and I are on the south side of Los Angeles. We sensed strong magic here, but it turned out to be only an ultra-powered robber whom we easily subdued and took to jail. Don't worry, Mrs. Blake; we always get our man. Gus can run, but he can't hide. No super-villain ever escapes justice for very long. The next time you see us, we will have your son in tow." ~"Oh, I hope so, Mantra."~ The charade was over. I was calculating that Gus would be plenty mad after eavesdropping in on that "conversation." I didn't look forward to the coming fight, but for his own sake I had to be up for it. That strange sky still crawled overhead. The storm was sure to break at any second. Chapter 18 THE ROAD TO HELL The door of Death is made of gold That mortal eyes cannot behold... William Blake "How did it go, Mantra?" I looked back at Hardcase. "It felt right. I projected my thoughts toward Gus, trying to make it sound like I was talking with his mother. I wanted to make the boy angry enough to get him to come here looking for her." Turning to face the dark copse, I felt 'Strike's and Yrial's life-traces in their hiding places. The presence of Hardcase was known to Gus; 'Strike and Yrial would be a surprise. "Ready in your positions, everyone," I whispered. "If the boy comes seeking his mother, why should he come to this place?" Yrial whispered back. "I sent him a mental image of this park," I explained ingenuously. "Gus will recognize it. We're not far from his home and he's played here a thousand times." I don't know if Yrial was convinced, but question-and-answer time was over. A flash of green, like a bursting skyrocket, showed in the sky. At the same instant Gus's telepathic shout raked my mind, as indignant as a leopard's roar: ~"Mom! I know you're hiding down there! I'm going to fix you for talking to Mantra about being mean to me!"~ I had had no warning of his approach at all! Had the boy teleported? If he had, it would have taxed his strength tremendously and would, perhaps, give us the edge we needed to subdue him without injury. "Here I am, Gus! Come and get me!" I yelled back. ~"I don't want to hit you, Mom, so I'm calling up some friends to do that for me!"~ I saw a shimmer in the half-light and a troop of misshapen beings took terrible form -- a surreal mob that looked like figures from a video game. In fact, about twenty feet up in the air, Gus was brandishing a Nintendo joystick like a ferocious bandito waving a revolver. It must have been the one that Lauren referred to in that other timeline. I had only a couple seconds to take all this in before the conjured thought forms -- the "tulpas" in the terminology of Tibetan mystics -- were rushing me like an avalanche of nightmares: ninjas, thug knights, aliens, G.I.'s, golems, zombies, barbarians, fish-men, karate babes, and tentacled horrors that looked like seafood gone bad. An attack like this had to mean matricide. I could hardly conceive that any boy, even driven mad, could have worked up so much hated against his own mother. I staggered the horde with a crackling surge of magic as I sprang out of hiding. "Mantra!" he yelled. "Damn you! You tricked me again!" The tulpa warriors rallied and came on in ragged disorder. I fell back among my comrades and together we fought back like a family of panthers rushed by a pack of hounds. I focused my fire on the two zombies in front of me, but though they staggered and fell, they didn't stay down. They weren't living creatures, after all, but only animated game pieces operated according to rules that Gus was unconsciously dictating. They seemed able to absorb any amount of damage and come back for more. Their attack was wild, but without order. The four but fought back with coordinated tactics -- Hardcase and 'Strike concentrating on the flanks, while Yrial and I brought them up short at the front. Unfortunately, as fast as we'd burn off limbs or blast away torsos, our foes' missing body parts would rematerialize. "Grownups never play fair," the lad complained from overhead. "They're always telling kids not to gang up, but they do it all the time!" Amazing! To Gus this lethal business was just a game. I hadn't believed in what people said about the brutalizing effects of video games until that moment. The diminutive wizard was feeding his creations the power they needed to keep going, despite all we could do -- and an awesome power it was! By hitting his minions hard, we were depleting their young master, but he didn't seem to be weakening very quickly. Gus couldn't be that strong individually; he had to be feeding off some outside source of energy -- probably from that green bolt in the sky. The process was taking far too long. If we let the boy hold us at bay for much longer, he was bound to come up with some really of nasty ploy to undo us. Fortunately, I remembered what Lauren had done to NM-E at the Mall and accordingly struck the tulpa host with the ghosting spell. All of a sudden their fists, blades, zaps, and bludgeons started to fall on us as harmlessly as if we were empty air. "Good thinking, Mantra!" Yrial shouted. I nodded acknowledgment without meeting her glance. I didn't want to take credit for a stunt that wasn't really my own, nor admit that I'd borrowed it from a kid. The levitating Gus was looking confusedly at his discomforted army. He didn't seem to grasp what exactly had happened and that left me with an opening. Like Lauren had done, I discharged a narrow beam of destructive to shatter the Nintendo stick clutched in his fist. The boy looked shocked, like a swordsman foiled by a clever riposte. It was time to strike directly at the general, before he fled the field like he had when Lauren disarmed him. ~"Hardcase, the plan!"~ I yelled. Tom Hawke charged through the ineffective phantom horde as if they were made of shadows, a gas grenade in each hand. Instead of throwing them, he leaped high and closed with Gus. Before the distracted boy could react, a charge went off on either side of him, while still gripped in Hardcase's fists. My heart leaped with dismay, not just in fear for Gus's injury, but also because it looked like the impetuous ultra had sacrificed both his hands. I had underestimated his semi-invulnerability, however, and he seemed in good form as he struck the ground and rolled away, trying to elude a retaliatory strike. But the boy wasn't fighting back; he was choking. He might have made his protective shield into an air filter to protect himself, but hadn't thought of it. While Gus coughed and gasped, 'Strike came dashing into position with a rocket-propelled capture-net. The mesh was plugged into a power pack hidden behind a tree. Fired at Gus, it enveloped him in a flash, stunning him with a series of electrical pulses calibrated to stun but not kill a target. It was cruder than what Aladdin had employed, but I'd reluctantly agreed to its use since 'Strike didn't have anything better at hand. Though the shock immediately brought Gus to the grass with an audible thump, he kept struggling. His yells of pain ripped through me like the talons of a tiger. "Move, Mantra, now!" Yrial shouted. She was right; for Gus's own sake I couldn't let myself freeze no matter how much Gus seemed to be hurting. We had to carry out the plan; we weren't trying to harm the youngster but to save him. Dodging one way while Yrial dodged in the other, the two of us simultaneously discharged sleep spells at the screaming, kicking boy. More than anything I wanted to put him under and spare him the pain of the charged net. 'Strike was standing by to cut off the latter's current as soon as he dared to. But the lad simply would not call it quits! He lashed out with huge bolts of sorcerous energy that struck wildly, like whips of lightning. One hit my mystic shield and I felt the jolt in the fillings of my teeth. Not one of us could have stood up to the boy alone, not if he had had battle-savvy to concentrate all his power on a single target at a time. But, as things stood, he was dissipating his immense power in a broad, sweeping attack. One effect that his arc-welder-like flashes had was to leave me too dazzled to see in the dark; I could no longer make out every detail of what was happening. I only knew that unless we could drive Gus into unconsciousness, Yrial would not be able to subdue him, as she had recently quelled the nearly-as-powerful Atom Bob. Suddenly I sensed the fight was over. It was like someone had thrown the "off switch". Though the flashes had suddenly ceased, I still couldn't see well enough to be sure that the ghostly tulpas had simultaneously vanished. Hardcase was bellowing orders from behind the magenta spots then dancing before my eyes: "'Strike! He's out! Kill the charge!" "Stand back, Mantra!" seconded Yrial as she darted past me. Then I heard a sound. ~The child was crying.~ I stepped forward. "Don't, Mantra!" yelled 'Strike. "It could be a trick." I ignored him. That was my son in anguish! I could barely see the youngster lying there in darkness, bunched fetal-like on the turf, still tangled in the conductive wiring. "Don't cry, honey," I said. "Just be a good boy and go to sleep. All your owies will be gone by the time you wake up." I heard just a thin murmur of whimpering in reply -- rough yet weak. "Quick, Yrial!" shouted Hardcase. "Do your thing before he gets his strength back." At just that instant Gus's aura blinked out. The sorceress, alarmed, was the first to touch the boy. ~"Yrial!"~ I cried. "M-Mantra," the green-clad Stranger stammered in dismay! I sprang in. "Don't, Mantra!" 'Strike again warned. This time his hands were on me, trying to pull me away. I shook off his grip and dropped to my knees over Gus. I touched the boy, but though I strained my facilities to the utmost, I sensed no life. Yrial, probably hoping to try some life saving technique of her own, was crowding me. I pushed the death-sorceress back and poured my own bio-energy into the inert body. I wanted to fan its life-spark, wanted to keep Gus vital, but I could feel that he wasn't taking anything from me. Even so, I refused to give up, like a desperate lifeguard carrying on a desperate resuscitation until well after all hope has fled. Despite everything, the terrible truth finally stared me in the face. ~Gus was dead.~ My plan had killed him. ~I had killed Evie's brother.~ # How would she ever forgive me for such a ghastly blunder? ~How could I ever forgive myself~ Time seemed to hang in abeyance. My shoulders shook; I felt cold, wet runnels on my cheeks that flowed down my neck into my armor. Reeling, I felt 'Strike supporting me on one side and Yrial on the other, but their firm embraces had no power to comfort me. The whole ambush had been abysmally planned. ~What should I have done instead?~ "What should I have done instead?!" I repeated out loud. "Nothing, Mantra. We all did the best we could," 'Strike said. "We're all responsible, if anyone is." Half of me wanted to explode, to hurt these people, these people who -- with me -- had hurt Gus. The other half was telling me that it wasn't my own son who'd just been killed. ~But I wasn't listening.~ This was ~somebody's~ Gus. ~And those persons who had loved this boy, the adults who had reared him from infancy, the sister who adored him, would be heartbroken.~ Now that it was far, far too late to recover the loss, I could see my mistakes. Even if I had just stood off and let events take their course, it couldn't have turned out any worse. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, or so they say. If I'd let Aladdin confronted Gus, he might now be still alive, even if he were on his way to prison. I might have rescued him tonight or some other night. If not, there would at least remain some sort of possibilities. Death eliminated all possibilities. It would be so much better to have Evie sad but living from day to day and hoping -- with not necessarily a false hope -- that her brother would one day get well and come home to her. But the horrible miscalculations I'd made had dashed every hope. "We can't leave the little fellow lying here," I whispered roughly, my eyes burning. "S-Somebody has to call the police. If Aladdin gets here first, they'll take him to a lab and -- and cut him to pieces." I heard my own words as if it were some other person talking. Still lost inside myself, I felt 'Strike and Yrial helping me to my feet. I blinked the tears and blur away. Hardcase was standing in front of me, looking sympathetic but with nothing to offer. "S-Someone has to wait here," I stammered. "The b-boy can't be left alone. Somebody has to keep the vigil." Hardcase eased in closer. "We'll ~all~ stay, Mantra." I shook my head. "Not me! I have something to do." "Mantra...?" began 'Strike. "My ancestors used to kill an enemy warrior upon the grave of a kinsman," I told them. "That's what I have to do now." ~That~ certainly silenced the banter. My barbaric statement must have shocked Hardcase especially; he had me pegged as an upbeat suburban homemaker type, albeit with weird powers. Yrial, who only knew me as an ultra hero, was the first to shake off her surprise: "Mantra, do you hear what you're saying? You're not thinking clearly." I pushed her hands away. Yrial was the only one present who didn't know, or wasn't quite sure, that this slaughtered child had been my own. She could not appreciate how the violence of the last few moments had sliced my soul to shreds. "Mantra," Hardcase said softly, "you didn't cause this. It might not have been anything that any of us did. Gus was channeling power that was just off the scale. When he got weak, instead of stopping, he drew on it more even more desperately. It could be that he burned himself out, like a fuse destroyed by too much current. Don't blame yourself and don't do anything rash." I shook my head. "I have to tell a little girl that her brother is dead, and ~that~ on top of everything else the little thing has been through already. But she's in danger, too. There's an enemy waiting for the chance to take her --" 'Strike had firmed his hold on me. "Easy, Mantra," he said coaxingly. "I think I know what your saying. It's not a good idea to go after somebody -- not when you're in this state of mind." I fought free of his grasp and staggered clear. Hardcase nudged up closer, but didn't try to touch me. "What enemy are you talking about, Mantra?" "Necromantra!" 'Strike informed him when my own voice failed. "She's back." Hawke looked at me perplexedly. He knew of Necromantra, of course -- on the Godwheel she had come close to killing him -- but he thought of her as some sort of evil alter ego of Mantra, not a person alive in her own right. "I think that I'm missing a piece of this puzzle," he said. "Mantra," spoke up Yrial, "you should deal with your grief before you act on it. It is always wrong to seek out an enemy with murder in one's blood. No matter how debased a foe may be, his villainy alone cannot negate the evil inherent in intentional murder." I rounded on her. "You're a death-witch, aren't you? What makes you such a stranger to killing?" She shook her head. "You misunderstand me, Mantra. I will gladly help you bring any wrongdoer to justice. But you sound like you're seeking to commit ritual sacrifice. Long ago my ancestors, in a terrible crisis, slew their wicked captives in a ceremony of power. They had been driven to the act by a desperate plight, but that fact was not enough to absolve them. No worthy deed done by us in all the centuries since has freed the tribe from our ancestors' bondage to black magic." How could I explain that this was something that I ~had~ to do, not an option I could put off or leave alone? I knew that I might not remain in this same time-dimension for very much longer. If I left this body and the soul of this world's own Mantra did not return to it, Evie would be left without a protector against Necromantra. The witch had already been primed to kill her once. She would try again. "How could Necromantra have come back?" asked Hardcase. "Do you mean that she's possessing someone else?" "Forget, it!" I declared snappishly. "You don't have to understand. It's my battle and I'll fight it alone." "You shouldn't, not at a time like this," said 'Strike. "I'll go with you." "Thanks," I replied, fighting to not sound angry and uncivil. I should have acknowledged his camaraderie better, but I had too little emotional reserve left. "I have a cell phone, Mantra," said Tark. "Do you want me to call the ambulance now?" I nodded. "Yrial, Hardcase, can one of you stay with the boy?" I couldn't bring myself to demean Gus who had been by referring to him as a "body." The two searched each other's faces and reached an accord wordlessly. "We'll both wait until the medics come," the man assured me. "It's going to be very sad time for the parents," remarked Yrial. Her tone suggested that she personally knew something about bereavement. "Yes," I answered back with a bitter twang. It wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair. What was hardest of all to bear was the fact that Fate had called on me to play a hand of weak cards. ~And I hadn't played them very well.~ Chapter 19 Friends and Other Strangers The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity. He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence. William Blake "I've got to go," I told my companions, "but I'd like to ask you just one thing: Don't mention that you saw Mantra tonight." Hardcase and Yrial traded glances. "I'm not dodging responsibility," I quickly explained. "Aladdin believes that it has Mantra in prison and I you can understand why I don't want them thinking differently. The only way I can keep them from breathing down my neck is by tricking them into looking for the wrong Mantra -- after I manage to rescue the person they have in custody." It must have sounded like I was willing to use an innocent for a scapegoat, but the two ultras seemed willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. "It will be as you say," replied Yrial, though the look she projected was intense and searching. "Thank you," I said, needing to get away from them before my composure broke down. The last thing I needed was to play an emotional scene in front of near-strangers. "Where are we going?" 'Strike asked edgily. I shifted his way. "Never mind. I'll guide us along. Do you have enough room for a passenger on that hog of yours?" "Always," he affirmed with a nod. # The passage of about ten minutes found the two of us standing under the lamplights of a Van Nuys street and peering around a corner. There, wrapped in a shroud of shadow, loomed the 1950's style warehouse where Lauren had discovered Necromantra hiding. "Are you sure about this, Eden?" I regarded the man with gritted teeth. "How can you doubt it?" "Remember, bro, I once went the vengeance route myself. It's not something I'd recommend." "You tracked down and wiped out the gang that murdered your little girl. I'd have done the same. Why the change of heart?" He shook his head. "I hope you never find out." "I don't see it. The killers weren't able to kill again. That was something, wasn't it?" "It's something -- but not very much." My fingers curled up into rock-hard fists. "Then what would you have me do, Tark? It's Evie's life at risk. You, of all people, must understand what that means." "I do know what it means, Luke, and I also know that Necromantra is a psycho who has to be stopped one way or the other. I also grant that no one has a better right to take her out than you. But blood vengeance changes a person; I don't want you to become like me." "I'm already worse than you! You don't know one percent of the things I've done." "Maybe you have. You've certainly had enough time to do them. But think of this: Evie's already lost one mother. Don't make her lose another. Necromantra's no pushover." "I don't intend to meet her at ten paces, Brandon. She's a rabid dog not worthy of chivalry! This is going to be simple pest control." "Will it really be that easy for you? Thanasi used to be your friend. That won't mean anything while you're feeling the way you do, but you may think differently later one." I swung away from him. "Don't worry about it. It was the need for vengeance -- and very little else -- that kept me alive for almost sixteen hundred years!" "And how good did revenge make you feel after you had it? You've been given a second chance, Eden. You've got to see that. You can't let the mistakes of the past destroy any hope of your ever having a decent future." I rounded on him. "My whole existence has been nothing but a patchwork of mistakes and regrets, but this is no time for soul-searching. If you don't like my plan, stand aside and keep your hands clean. If you're so worried about redemption, start on your own." 'Strike shook his head. "I think this is as good as I get." "You're not a bad guy, down deep." "Do you mean I was a good man of business, Mr. Scrooge?" I snorted and looked away again, my jaws set. According to Lauren, Necromantra would be playing it sloppy inside her hideout. Even a green-as-grass magician would be able to detect the magic she was putting out from as far away as Canoga Park. I hadn't made her mistake, having ridden with 'Strike instead of flying under my own power. She wouldn't have been able to sense my approach. "I've been wondering," whispered 'Strike. "Who is Thanasi's spirit possessing now?" He deserved to know, but I had to force the words out: "My... my daughter." "What? Evie? You mean --?!" "No, not Evie. Eden and I had another daughter. Marinna." His neck arched back. "Another daughter? I don't get it. When did you two have time for that?" "It's... complex. But just believe me; it's true." "Okay. But if the witch is actually your daughter, how -- how can you even consider --?" "What she is makes me even more determined," I told him. "Necromantra destroyed not only Eden but our daughter, too. She deserves to die for that." I had left Tark with a lot of legitimate questions, but he seemed not to want to force the issue. "Look, Brandon, if you're going to risk your life for me, I have to tell you what I've been holding back." He shrugged. "If you have a good reason to play things close to the cuff, it's okay with me." "No, the reason isn't good enough. You need to know that I'm not the Mantra you knew." "What's that supposed to mean?" "The body is the same, but what's inside it came from...another place. My spirit's been dislocated from -- from another universe. Don't ask me how." "Come again?" "I'm the Lukasz of a parallel world, not this one." It took almost fifteen seconds for the ultra to make reply. "I'd like to disbelieve that," 'Strike said at last, "but I've had a few odd things happen to me, too. Supposing you're on the level, Luke, is your world just like this one?" "Mostly," I said. "The major difference is that Gus wasn't mutated there. In fact, yesterday -- current time -- I took him and his sister to the mall to buy school supplies. Suddenly I ended up in the future -- not the future of my own world, but of this one. I popped into next Wednesday morning, to be exact. What happened tonight the newspapers were calling the Night of Terror. But by the time I arrived that story had been eclipsed by the blast in New York City." "So it is going to happen. Is there anything else I should know?" "There are a lot of little things that probably aren't important. For one, Warstrike had better fashion sense than you do -- not great, but better." I had tried to smile, but who could manage levity, considering all that had happened and all that was yet to happen? "But if you're from someplace else, what's this vendetta against Necromantra all about?" What indeed? I tried to reason it out, both for his benefit and my own. "The people here are so much like the ones I know, Brandon. Even you. The more I share their lives and problems, the harder it is for me to remember that they're not the people I love. They're suffering terribly, partly because of the choices I've made since coming here. I don't know how long I'll be here and I want to help them before I'm whisked away again. This body might drop dead if that happens. Evie might be left alone against my enemies." "Grim," he muttered. "Brandon -- if Evie is left with no one -- would you be able to do anything for her?" I couldn't read the expression behind that facemask of his. "I could send her to college." I closed my eyes, knowing he was right. How could a stranger help Evie by protecting her from rogue ultras and helping her deal with the loss of her mother and brother? As far as anyone was aware, the billionaire Brandon Tark didn't have any prior relationship with the Blake family. Evie's guardians -- probably her dad and grandmother -- wouldn't permit a total stranger to approach within a mile of their little girl. "I don't know what else you could do," I admitted. "The best thing that can be done is to take Necromatnra out of the game tonight." "But there ~is~ a chance that the real Mantra -- our Mantra I mean -- will be able to return? After all, you -- or the other Mantra -- told me how Thanasi had possessed her ex-husband a couple different times and he came out of it all right." I shrugged. "It might work that way; I don't know. All I can say is that when Archimage had me switching bodies all over the place, the souls I usurped were always gone for keeps. But if Eden ~does~ return, you'll be there to fill her in on things, right?" "Uh, sure -- just as soon as I understand them myself." I looked back at the warehouse. I shouldn't have been standing there talking so much. Was I holding back because, at the core, I hated this dirty business? "We're going to have to have a long chat later on," I heard 'Strike say, if barely. "Yes," I responded distractedly, "we have to talk." "But I'm afraid there might not be much time before I have to head out to New York." I sighed. ~"That's~ definitely something that we have to talk about. What good will it do for you to become an international fugitive?" "I'll be all right. You've warned me; I'm not going to go blundering into some misunderstanding. I'll let the authorities know in advance that 'Strike is on the job, trying to trace down a terrorist act that he's gotten wind of. I might even hint that I'm on the trail of Amber Hunt as the chief suspect. By the way, I'd like to take Hardcase and Yrial with me. I should have brought up the idea to them before we roared off." "Don't worry. I'll contact Yrial with telepathy just as soon as this mess is sorted out. And, anyway, I've already promised to go, too." "I'll let you off the hook," he replied. "Evie is going to need you." I'd been trying not to think about how Evie would react when she learned about Gus. How much more heartbreak could the child bear? No more talk. ~If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly.~ We moved in closer, like footpads in the moon-shadows. Leaning against the cool brick of the warehouse, I used my magic -- only briefly and passively -- to make damned sure that there really was someone inside, someone giving off an intense magical aura. I wasn't familiar with Necromantra's mystic signature -- our previous battle having lasted only a couple of minutes -- but I sensed sorcery aplenty. Was it possible that Thanasi had come to L.A. to raise demonic forces against Mantra? Might Evie be in danger of attack only hours from now? I hoped I could get the truth out of the witch before she was dead. I espied a knothole perforating one of the boards that were nailed over the windows. Into the gap I pushed my index finger, far enough to touch the glass on the other side. "Got a cutter?" I asked my intrepid Watson. "I never leave home without one." I transformed the wood board into a punky rot, a refinement of my life magic skills that I had learned only recently. Now the dexterous mercenary needed only a moment to apply his tool to cut out and remove a small disk of the windowpane. He helped me heft up one of the tanks of paralyzing gas that 'Strike had brought from his arsenal for possibly use against Gus. It was Soviet-era crap, I'd been told -- one of those nasty toys that the Kremlin's present-day masters, the worst of the old KGB, were selling to the Islamo-Fascists for fun and profit. Tark had acquired a supply through his contacts with some Iranian anti-mullah democracy group -- one that needed American dollars now that the current administration had cut off their CIA funding. The bread-loaf-sized tank came with hose useful for channeling the gas into a confined space. I pushed the nozzle through the windowpane and opened the valve. Even in my then state of mind -- which was pretty ghastly -- I couldn't have stomached assassinating someone by asphyxiating him. But the chemical was supposed to be odorless and not deadly; it's primary purpose being to facilitate political kidnappings. As soon as I sensed a lowered state of biological activity within, I was as going to rush in protected by a magical air filter and finish Necromantra off with the Sword of Fangs. It was not chivalous, but the Dark Age centuries that formed my foundational character had not been chivalrous in the least. It was dog-eat-dog back then. I especially recalled how the few Viking warriors who were decent enough to spare their victims' children were laughed at by their peers. Let's face it; hero-villain duels are for comic books. Giving enemies a chance had gotten me killed plenty of times -- a fate that I couldn't risk now that I had a family to return to. What bothered me most was that Evie and children like her would have been shocked by their hero behaving so. They think that Mantra's wonderful, that she's the embodiment of everything courageous and noble. That was image of me that the media presented; I'm the reality. Because I don't want kids to act like the real me, I have to pretend to be something I'm not. Whenever the mask slips, I try not to let anyone see the barbarian face beneath it. The gas was being leaving the canister with a faint hiss. Just when I thought that things were breaking my way, I sensed a raw burst of magic inside. It was like a powerful generator switching on. "Look out!" I exclaimed, just loudly enough for 'Strike to hear. But sorcery was already surging our way, like a berserk elephant charging its hunter through a canebrake. I sprang into the air. If Necromantra saw 'Strike she could take him out with a thought -- just as I could. I felt her behind me, as obvious as an Independence Day sparkler. I'd made myself conspicuous and she'd taken the bait. "You bitch!" Necromantra yelled from the roof below. "You'd actually poison me like a sneaking rat?" "I was just softening you up before finishing you off with cold steel," I shouted back. "And by the way, when you mix metaphors you're showing off your crass stupidity!" She shrilled a battle cry and climbed after me with pantherish leap, surrounded by a luminosity that looked like titian fire. "You've either turned weak or cowardly," she taunted. "I wouldn't have back- shot you -- I'd have wanted to see the agony defeat in your dying eyes!" I wanted to face off with her high enough to be clear of the tall buildings, but ascended erratically to keep her from getting a clear shot. My retreat about over, I plucked the magical ring from my belt and with a surge of directed will, triggering its transformation into the Sword of Fangs. This feud had to end, so I gritted my teeth for what might be the fight of a lifetime. Though the master necromancer Boneyard had prized the Sword of Fangs as a weapon par excellence, the sight of it clutched in my fist evoked a ripple of laughter from Necromantra. "What do you expect to do with that butter knife? You ran me through with it once and the thing barely even slowed me down." That was true, but Necromantra would never have been so stupidly cavalier. Thanasi often hurled taunts at a foe just to get him off balance. This pretense of boasting warned me that she was primed to strike. The woman suddenly sprang in, her spiked whip flailing. I dodged nimbly and tossed a searing bolt her way -- a discharge that dazzled the eyes with the incandescent hatred behind it. The bolt might have burned a hole through a stone wall, but like 'Strike had warned, Necromantra was no pushover. My most powerful magical attack flared harmlessly against her magical force field. The brawl became a free-for-all from that point on. The exact choreography of the fight is irrelevant; we were moving instinctively, reflexively, and almost without calculation. Some of the magical power we evoked sounded like Jacob's Ladders, while other bolts that were cast rattled the windows below with their thunderous peals. The starbursting spells were many-colored; our death duel must have resembled a fireworks display on the Fourth of July. Most of Necromantra's spells blazed red, by the way, while mine normally come out green. I always thought it was because she drew her power from death -- from hellfire and the blood spilling -- while I gather in mine from the bioelectric auras of that which lives and grows. Necromantra exulted in being a necro-witch, reveling in death dealing to a degree that Thanasi -- before his madness -- never had. Oops! I'd barely dodged a close one. I wasn't at my peak; putting out the fire at the school and doing battle in Runnymede Park had dulled my edge. Necromantra, contrariwise, should have been at her best, but I sensed lethargy in her, too. Maybe the covert spells she'd been working inside the warehouse had sapped her even before I'd arrived. Or was it that she had gotten a debilitating whiff of that KGB gas? From the excited yells coming from the street below, a good many onlookers had been being drawn in by the deadly dogfight -- catfight -- taking place in midair above Slumtown. The down-and-outs of the neighborhood would probably be enjoying the spectacle of two sexy sorceresses going at one another like a couple of foxy boxers. Had the street people been able to see the two of us at battle a couple years earlier, we would have looked more like the grunts on Wrestlemania. But as comrades of the old days we had no reason to fight seriously. We were a team, allies, not mortal enemies. ~ What had changed Thanasi? During most of the time since 451 A.D. he must have been a true and faithful friend. No dissembler could have carried on a treacherous charade for so long a period without showing his hand. What had made him -- her -- into a backstabber and psychotic killer? ~ As we angled to kill one another, I realized that I might never know. My opponent and I maneuvered with the recklessness that comes naturally with fury, and fired at one another from every angle, but we were pretty much evenly matched. I could have lost with a single wrong move. Despite all my planning, I had gotten mired down in just the sort of knockdown, drag-out slugfest that I had hoped to avoid. It's funny how a second wind can come when one thinks he has already given all he has. I felt a new rush of vigor and immediately bore down, determined to burn my way through my enemy's shielding. Emotion counts for a lot in combat. Thanasi had no choice but to finish me off and vice versa. But maybe my foe's emotional reservoirs were even deeper than mine. People most hate what they most fear -- and one always fears most those whom he has unjustly wronged. Or maybe not. After Necromantra had murdered Eden, my own hatred had blazed volcanically. I had never felt anything like it since the black day one which Boneyard had sacrificed my wife Marinna. Now that I knew that Eden's killer was alive, I wanted to crush her like a bug. She would be an ever-present danger to my family as long as she lived. But, damn it, we had been friends -- true friends, I'd thought. I had never imagined that things would come to this. ~But now nothing but death could sever the bond that was mutually strangling us.~ Suddenly there came a jarring blast that rived the darkness around us - - not one of my making, or even of Necromantra's. By the time I had shaken off the shock of it, I could see that Thanasi had plummeted in freefall to the warehouse roof. She struck it like a bag of meal and then bounced to the concrete walk below. What was left of her had to be a crumpled pile of broken bones. I descended at a measured speed, still wary of a trap, despite all. As I alighted beside Necromantra's suffering shape, I saw the blood streaming out of her nose and mouth, saw the shattered bones that protruded through bruised and abraded skin. She looked like she should have been dead already, but my life-sense told me that the woman was still holding on. It was then that I heard shuffling boots. 'Strike was hurrying up, clutching a man-sized rocket-launcher. He drew up in front of me, as if ready to weather out a stormy rebuke. "I didn't know if you'd want me to butt in, but like you said, this is pest control." I nodded to him in what was almost a trancelike state. Did I resent his intervention? I had just wanted it over with, and now it was. ~But not quite.~ Somehow I still had the presence of mind to realize that the crowd was inching in closer. In a cloak of dense shadows I was hard to see, but they'd be getting a good ID on me if they came any nearer. I didn't want to be spotted in public as Mantra, so I flashed into my Blackbird outfit, a costume that only a few people on Earth have ever seen. A low moan drew my attention back to the suffering creature that had once been my friend. She just wouldn't die. In fact -- against all logic -- she seemed to be getting stronger. Her magic, I knew, could repair near-mortal wounds with breathtaking speed. The broken woman, so pathetic to see, would be up and at my throat in mere minutes -- if I permitted it. I couldn't let that happen, but I couldn't let 'Strike do the job either. The deadly cup was mine no one else could drink it for me. I know that the mind does flash back to the scenes of life at the point of death, and sometimes something similar happens at the instant of murder. Why was I remembering so many of the good things the two of us had shared and not the loathing that blazed in my breast? But the good was a ghost and only the evil remained. This terrible thing had to end. I had to deal with things as they were. ~And I would deal with them like the barbarian I'd been brought up to be.~ I ~knew~ this, but something still stayed my hand. I realized that I was gazing up into that strange purple sky. Was my gaze an unconscious appeal? I felt like a rat on a treadmill; no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to leave the terrible past that we two had shared behind. ~But to spare Necromantra would be suicide, not redemption. I had to think of Evie, my last remaining child.~ I raised the Sword of Fangs over my head and it hung there while I took a tortured breath. I can't even remember the decision to bring it down. The actual act of assassination took no more effort than the cutting of butter. Necromantra's head rolled from her slim neck and the stump remaining pumped scalding gore over my thigh-high boots. I shuddered, wondering if I would ever feel clean again. ~Thanasi, why did you make me do it?~ A collective gasp broke the stillness. The crowd had just witnessed a Dark Ages-type vengeance murder. It had shocked them, but they didn't know who the murderer was. They didn't even know the victim. ~None of them had ever seen Necromantra before.~ Nor did they know that I had been father, mother, friend, and enemy of the one who lay slaughtered. They were too horrified to wonder why this had happened. But I could wonder enough for all of them. ~Why, Marinna? Why did this have to be?~ Chapter 20 SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES A truth that's told with bad intent Beats all the lies you can invent. It is right it should be so; Man was made for joy and woe. William Blake It was time for me and 'Strike to get away from prying eyes. We rendezvoused at his cycle a few minutes later. The look he gave me at our reunion only added to the awkwardness of the situation. He has shot a woman in the back; he wouldn't want to be thanked for that, so we regarded one another silently for a few uncomfortable seconds. "Feel better?" he finally asked. "Don't be funny." "Well, what happens now?" What indeed? I shut my eyes, trying to block out the color of the blood I had shed. Why is human nature so infernally perverse? Why is it so easy to forget our final enmity that Thanasi and I had shared and remember our centuries as friends? That bloody head will haunt my nightmares forever, I think, but just then I would gladly have played volleyball with the thing rather than have to confront Evie with news of her brother's death. I only wanted to put smiles on that little girl's lips; why was it that life with me so often brought her grief? 'Strike was shifting his booted feet, waiting for some sort of answer from me, but I didn't have one. Instead I turned my back to him and phoned in to Aladdin. They patched me through to Wrath. "Where in hell did you disappear to?" the commander of A-Team demanded. "It's hard to explain," I replied edgily. "After you left Evie and me alone in the van, I suddenly heard Gus's voice calling me. He wanted me to come to him and I couldn't hold myself back. I think he was using mind-control. Anyway, I remember getting lost