Redemption
Chapter 4: Infinity of Armies
Pain. All encompassing, total. Nothing else existed. Agony, sting, suffering, Pain. Pain.
Pain.
Pain... Pain was his friend. If he was in pain he was alive; if he could scream he could breath. The Dragon roared, and let the pain carry him back to consciousness. A light in the darkness, and then he could see again, feel again. He felt the ground, the sharp rocks digging into the small of his back, his skin and bones moulded now to its shape. His right hand, crushed, lay across his chest, bones and blood seeping through. The light faded again. Numbness. He was going to fade away again, enter the darkness, be the darkness. His bruised left hand reached up caught the mangled stump that was his other hand, and twisted it. Numbness. He twisted it harder. Another bone broke. Pain... Pain! He awoke a second time, screaming. The light was there, again, his friend, his ally. It started to fade again, but he twisted his hand one last time - Pain! - and the Black Dragon, the Master of Death Queens island regained full consciousness with one last shout. Above him, someone was whistling.
***** Hand in hand, they pummelled each other. Hand in hand, they punched, hand in hand, they broke the impact of each others blows, hand in hand they bled on each other. Now and then, they broke the contact, let go, time enough to invoke some technique or breathe for a space, but always, again, their handshake re-formed, as they continued their dance of death, slowly smashing the life out of each other. For Ares, it was logical. She was gripping his crippled hand with her valid hand, conceding him an advantage; moreover, glued together as they were, they were forced to stay in close-combat, the only way he might have a chance of beating her. Smiling inwardly, he summoned the purple tornado, watching rain of blows impact on her armour and body; blows she could not avoid while she clung to him thus. If she wanted to fight at such a disadvantage, that was her problem. For Gol, it was logical. He was giving up his shield arm, his main protection, while she still had her strongest arm to hit him with. Moreover, glued together as they were, he was inconvenienced in close-combat, which seemed to be his speciality. Smiling inwardly, she spun in the air, swinging him like a rag-doll and smashing him on a broken boulder. If he wanted to fight at such a disadvantage, that was his problem. It was all, they knew, Entirely Logical.
So intent were they on each other, neither of them registered the shout "Harmony of the Oceans!" until it was too late. Too late being, in this case, half a second after they were hit by a tidal wave.
***** Dez of the Jackal stood there for a moment, basking in the stunned silence of his arrival. He was clad in a night-black metal, delicately crafted and sculpted, that seemed to ripple when he moved like metallic fur. Everyone could see their distorted reflection in his armour, some ghastly nightmare of their own features staring back at them. His head was entirely concealed by an eyeless Jackal mask, the same animal that had crooned through millennias of egyptian history to announce the coming of death. The moment passed, the stunned silence ended. With a howl of rage the trainees were upon him. Rage at being a trainee, at spending all their existence beaten and beating themselves for a glittering, impossible goal. Rage at their instructors, who would beat them to a pulp to harden them evermore. Rage at the black saints, at the ones who had succeeded where they would most likely fail, rage at the chaos of the day, at not knowing who to hit, at not knowing what to do. Rage at a universe that toyed with them, rage at their own fear. And whatever else Dez was, to them he was above all else one thing: a target. No doubts, no questions. They flew at him with an anger that was barely human. He danced. All combat is a dance, to some degree, a search for perfection in every gesture, every move repeated a million times until it flowed to perfection. And Dez danced it with a grace unlike any other flying over each fist, spinning under upturned legs, body twisting thought air like a bird. Feet and hands touching ground and flesh for the barest instant. Each time he twisted, another body fell. Each time he lunged, there was one less trainee trying to land a blow on this flying serpent. But there were still many left, eager to succeed where their friends had failed, anger just flaring stronger. And then Nachi joined the fray. The disciples didnt even notice the wolf saint, their previous enemy, so intent were they on Dez. Nachi lashed out, with the sword of War, using all his science of combat to land a deep gash on the Jackals left cheek. Dez spun again, seemed to float on air, as he landed a fluid, perfectly calculated strike to Nachis neck. The wolf Saint reeled from the blow, then recovered, as Dez spun to his next victim, ignoring him. The Jackals back stood open for a terminal blow. But Nachi hesitated. The sword trembled in his hand. His neck still smarted from Dezs blow, but he knew there was no chance that strike could have knocked him down. It had been perfectly timed - but far too weak. And in that split second, he saw many small wounds on the Jackals body, small scratches where the trainees had managed to leave their mark. Nachi looked down at the bodies around him, wasting a precious second. They were all still breathing. The last three trainees hit the ground with a cloud of dust, and Dez spun round again, and stiffened, staring at the figure that stood over him with a sword. "You pulled your punches," Nachi said. "You didnt want to kill them, you spared them, even when you knew..." the sword point flashed down, pointing at Dezs bleeding wounds, "... that it would mean more damage for you." The jackal-head bowed. "Guilty as charged, my friend," the voice from it said. "Why kill disciples, innocents, when you dont have too? But I seem to have underestimated you, though. Put down that sword, and run, little one; this battle is between me and the black Saints, no reason for a trainee like you to get mixed up in it." Nachi laughed, all the tension draining out of him, all the energy of the fight dissolving in that one sound. "It seems we havent been properly introduced, Dez. I know the Wolf armour isnt much to look at, but it still is a sacred armour, blessed by the Gods. I am a Saint of Athena, Dez. I am Nachi de Lupus, Nachi of the Wolf." He felt the four Black Saints look at him in astonishment as he said that, felt their gazes rivet on him. He remembered Bel behind him, saw Dez take up a fighting posture in front of him, and the laughter died in his throat. The situation had suddenly got a lot more complicated.
***** The whistling continued, an old tune, a hymn of blood and war, death and freedom. It soared, it swooped, it filled the universe, and the Master could hear the righteous anger of the oppressed, could nearly smell the impure blood drenching that hungry earth. It mixed well with the suffocating mortuary shroud of burning sulphur and ash that reached his nostrils. His heart swelled in his chest; his eyes might be half-dead, his crushed hand the only feeling left in his battered body, but he was still alive, he was still the Master, and, most of all, he was still on the island of the Death Queen, the home of his mind and soul. He felt his strength returning, bit by tortured bit, and he rasped the chorus, in defiance and in time to the unseen whistler: "... quun sang impure abreuve nos sillons." The whistling stopped, and a shadow fell on his face again, as something stepped between him and the light. The Black Dragons glazed eyes pointed straight upwards; he darent close them a second or even blink, lest the dark abyss suck him down again. A voice. A voice hed heard once before, once... it had been talking about death then, too. "I'm impressed." The voice was harsh, but a tiny sliver of grudging respect coloured it. The Master smiled; somehow the admiration of this unseen stranger was warming him inside. "Not by you,", the voice continued. It was a voice so hard, it seemed to only have room for one extra emotion at a time. This time it was faint amusement. The Master felt his heart sink again; he must really be in a bad state, to let the words of some invisible enemy dictate his mood. The ringing in his ears had subsided a bit, though a strange, rhythmic, almost hollow sound seemed to take its place. Bom, bom, bom, over and over again. With a start, the Master realised that the figure was drumming his fingers on the Black Dragons armour; repeatedly hitting his breastplate. Bom, bom, bom... The drumming wasnt idle: every deliberate impact was a hammer to the fore-brain. So much controlled, arrogant strength; no-one he knew could drum their fingers remotely like that. Except for one person. One person he knew very well. He remembered his own fingers beating out the same pattern as he dressed down some novice black saint, safe in the certainty of his own strength. That voice too... The voice of someone who dedicated his life to avoid showing any trace of weakness. Ever. He smiled again, his self-control returning. Whatever else was happening to him, he had found a kindred spirit. He levered himself up on one elbow, enjoying the pain as he did so, and pointed his glassy eyes in the vague direction of the unknown figure. "Who were you impressed by, then?", he managed. The drumming continued for a deliberate five more seconds, before stopping. "Our dear friend the Void Hunter.", the voice answered. "The guy who smashed you up, if you prefer." Again that faint amusement. "Calculated perfectly. He knew youd be able survive. Just." The Master had taken many violent blows in the course of his life, fists and weapons impacting with unthinkable violence on his naked flesh. He had felt the strength of a punch that had killed him, years ago; but even that could not compare with the brutal impact of those few words on his stomach. To know that all his efforts, his survival had been expected... And not only expected, but calculated, weighted, all the efforts he had made to survive, as he crawled back from the brink, all that had been coldly planned for. Someone had restrained his blows just enough to make him survive, to the dot. They had denied his humanity, his strength, his pride. For the first time in his life, the Master of Death Queens island felt like crying.
***** The wave lifted them both into the air, briefly soaring, like birds on a quest to impale the sky. Then, a sickening pause, their stomachs catching up with them, gravity starting to assert its rights. Bile starting to rise to their mouths during that strangely peaceful moment when they look at the mouth of the volcano... from above. Then its over, the wave lashes them back down again, torrents of water accelerating them, shouting stars falling to their doom, the seas infernal pressure driving them down towards the waiting earth. At the last second, Gol let lose with her "Spirit of fire", dissolving the wave to steam, which released them. She and Ares then hit the ground. Hard. "I apologise for interfering in your private duel," said a voice, soft and musical, "but it didnt seem you were getting round to killing each other anytime soon, so I had to butt in." Ares was already gazing blankly at the heavens, forced his eyes to focus. Gol had to drag her body round, before she too beheld the figure atop the rock pinnacle: a form clad in armour silver, blue and green, all the hues of the oceans. The beautiful blond figure bowed, briefly: "Nikolai, Water Hunter. Marshall of the attack division of the Gods." Ruby eyes flicked briefly from Gol to Ares, measuring them briefly, the faintest trace of sadness on them. "I dont know who you are, but neither of you bear the cross of Lorraine, the symbol of freedom. Im afraid our orders are very specific on that; I dont know you, you dont know me, we might have been friends had we met in another life. But for the moment, youre going to have to die." Ares gaze met Gols for the merest fraction of a second. Your best friends and your sworn enemies can read you mind perfectly in just one glance. After all, those are the people you most resemble. For thousands of years, through its birth in the infernal flames spewed from the burning heart of our planet, through the thousands of years eons upon eons, night after day after night where it stood, lashed and crippled by the elements, a pebble was waiting for its destiny, dreaming the dreams that pebbles dream, waiting for the moment when Nikolais foot would dislodge it and send it careening down the cliff. It fell. "Spirit of Fire!", "Purple Tornado!". The synchronisation was perfect, their bodies as one. Gol and Ares sped towards each other, flying on wings of perfect hate. The impact was terrible, a glowing inferno in the heart of a hurricane, an exploding sun of raw cosmos. From it, two figures, Gol and Ares were ejected, stones from a spinning wheel. Hand in hand, they converged on Nikolai like angels of Death. The Water Hunter took both impacts straight on the breast-plate, and was sent reeling, spinning through the air from the force of the double blow. The pair watched him fly with smiles of ecstasy on their lips. Then, with perfect synchronisation, Ares hand met Gols neck, just as her elbow buried itself deeply in his sternum. They both fell to earth together, winded and exhausted. The pebble hit the bottom of the cliff with a faint "ping!". Nikolai spun in the air, righting himself on the run, then landed perfectly, a smooth somersault. A brief pause, as the Water Hunter got his breath back and surveyed the pair. A sardonic grin, then: "Youre weird, you two, you know. I hope youve been told that before." Ares levered himself up on his valid elbow, a wild smile on his face. Adrenaline is a drug, by far the strongest of them all, and with his heart beating the wild tam-tam of war, all his being was screaming with an orgasmic mix of pain and ecstasy. "No, youre the first!", he shouted. A smile answered his bravado. "I admire your spirit," the Water Hunter said. "Youre really worthy opponents, in soul if not in body." His smile disappeared. "Unfortunately, this fight is over. Prepare to receive the Oceans harmony, the ancestral technique of generations of Water Hunters." The smile again, but this time, utterly without humour. "And this time, at full power." "Ah, shut up!", drawled the Shield Saint, the mad energy of excitement taking over. "Purple Tornado!" Again, "Spirit of Fire" was simultaneous, again Shield and Furnace converged on each other, fists barred. But just before impact, a huge geyser lifted them up, propelling them upwards with irresistible force. Simultaneously, six other water-geysers erupted from the ground, speeding towards the heavens, shooting up even faster than the pair of saints were rising. The six geysers rose ever onwards, soaring as if to leave the planet behind. Then, like some perfectly timed fountain, the six streams of water merged, and simultaneously started falling. Like some hammer of the heavens, the huge celestial river dived downwards, accelerating, faster and faster, slashing straight towards the still-rising bodies of Ares and Gol. A hammer of the heavens, and the ground was to be the anvil. It hit. The impact alone crushed bone and shredded steal, but that was only the beginning. Ares one eye gazed down at the earth that would be his tomb. He was moving towards it so fast he could not make out any details, beyond the general sharpness of the rocks. He closed that last eye, held Gols hand, punched her for the last time... And there was a third figure in the watery inferno. He spun a staff around his head, and heavens hammer dissolved, water fading to harmless mist, neutered. One arm around Gol, one arm (the one that held the staff) around Ares, and there was barely enough time to stop the fall before impact. Just enough time to avoid a broken leg, but not enough to avoid a torn ligament. Wincing, Ushio straightened, let Ares and Gol drop the last harmless meter to the ground. Now that he could take the time to see, the Shield Saint realised that it was not a staff Ushio was holding as he gazed at Nikolai so haughtily, but a trident. The trident of Poseidon. Lord of all the oceans; the Sea-King.
***** They were all waiting. Dez, immobile in the eye of the storm, waiting to see who would make the first move. The black saints, eyes flickering from Jackal to Wolf to each other, none wanting to commit, to move, to do a gesture that would set them irredeemably on one side or other. And Bel, northern star and fury, was waiting... for her patience to run out. "Viking Tiger Claw!!" she screamed, throwing her body forwards, letting loose with the hundreds of claws of light, sharp as steel, cold as the wind of her birthplace. They soared towards Dez, ready to shred anything in their path, fast as lightning... but Dez was even faster. The first claw decapitated the air where he had stood, as he sailed, gracefully, above it. Bel modified her aim, and the tiger claws climbed, seeking the Jackals blood.... as he literally ran up the face of the cliff, left to right to left again, a dance too rapid for Bel to follow, her claws shredding merely the cliff behind him. A toe, pressed for the briefest instant on the ledge at the top of the cliff, and the Jackal somersaulted backwards, turning his body, flipping backwards, sailing through the deadly beams of light Bel of Dzeta was projecting, and falling straight down, towards the target that waited twenty meters below... Nachi of the Wolf. Bels claws were still arcing towards him as he fell, landing gracefully in front of Nachi. The sword of War hesitated in the Wolfs hand for the faintest second. And then it was far too late, Nachi being hit simultaneously by Dezs powerful punch to his front... And Bels tiger claws to his back. His body flew upwards like a broken doll, as Bel stopped her attack, too late. "Jackals cry!" Dez shouted, summoning his aura for the first time. An immense, invisible surge of energy flew from his hands instantaneously, twisting and shredding the air between him and Bel, devouring her body and trainee-armour in a fraction of a second. Her body hit the ground a second before Nachis did.
Dez turned to face the four black Saints, who hadnt yet had time to move. "Gentlemen," he started, "it seems we have much to discuss." "Wait a... fucking minute...", came a voice from behind him. Nachi, crawling to his feet, using the sword as support. "Im not dead yet." "Profanity, my dear Nachi?", said the Jackal, half-turning, half-amused. "I hope youll erase that bit from your next book." "I fucking well wont, you worthless piece of shit!", the wolf Saint shouted, feeling a weight lift from him. For the first time, he could let loose, swear and curse. His forces were returning with each swear-word. He smiled, then continued: "Sorry, Dez, I apologise. That was uncalled for." There was a deep laugh from behind the Jackal mask, a sincere laugh of honest amusement. Then a sudden pensive silence; Dez seemed to leap from mood to mood at the speed of light. "Tell me, Nachi, what do you believe in?", he queried. The Wolf Saint wedged Wars sword under him as a crutch, stood up fully. He paused, giving the question the reflection time it merited. Four Black Saints stared at them both, completely overwhelmed by the pace of events, mutely whishing the universe would stop playing hardball with them and become comprehensible again. "What do you believe in then, Dez?" Nachi finally pronounced, his serious façade entirely returned. "Me?", the Jackal head raised up, looking at the horizon. "I, Dez of Egypt, Horus Falconer, The Falconer of the Jackal, what do I believe in? In Egypt, in my Gods, of course, in beautiful words... but most of all, in Honour. But you havent answered my question yet, Nachi." The head was now level with Nachis eyes again. "I... I believe in..." his eyes tightly closed, he saw Jabus hand shred the air again; that image would forever haunt him. "I despise cruelty, I despise injustice and hypocrisy, and I...", his fists were clenched white with certainty; this was the first time he sorted it out in his mind, and as he said it, he was sure: "hate... the slaughter... of the weak or the innocent." "Very commendable, Nachi de Lupus," Dez started. The black saints were now following their conversation with undisguised fascination. "Youve very carefully told me what you didnt believe in. But what do you believe in?" For some reason, Nachi felt a great chasm opening behind him, waiting to engulf him, as the Jackal continued: "You despise injustice, but do you believe in Justice?", the chasm was growing closer, it was under him, "You hate hypocrisy, but do you believe in Truth?", his feet were trembling on the brink, "You know what you dislike, but do you BELIEVE in any ideal at all, Nachi?" And with that last word, he was falling, head over heals, in a chasm of despair, as the Wolf Saint looked at his own soul and found it blank and colourless. His legs grew weak, and he fell to his knees again, his eyes closed in supplication. "Thats why you didnt kill me when you had the chance," Dez concluded, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle. "You define your morals by what you are not, by your enemies, not by what you are. You didnt know enough about me to hate me. Youre too much of a cynic, a rhetorical manipulator. A writer, not a warrior." Nachi suddenly felt a soft wetness on his face, like a warm rain. He opened his eyes again: in one fluid kick, the Jackal had decapitated one of the disciples that lay around his feet. "I am a warrior!" Dez howled, his voice utterly transformed. "I am a killing machine! I will fight to the death, mine or my enemies, because I believe in my Cause! I may spare those I feel like, but no-one can count on my pity, no one can expect it for I am a killer! Now fight me as one!" Nachi was on his feet again, rage inflaming his soul, his grey aura burning, tinted with red. The dead disciples blood evaporated from his face in an instant, as Wars sword blazed totally red, scything the air towards Dezs neck: "Wolf Claws!" The Jackal waited, his pose pensive, as if he was trying to figure some complex mathematical formula. Swinging through its final curve, the sword cut... through nothing... And Dez was upside down, jumping through the air, behind Nachi. Still head down, he let loose the "Jackals cry!" before even touching the ground, crushing Nachi against the cliff face, ten meters away. Dez extended an arm downwards, stopped his fall to earth, and flipped back on to his feet. Ignoring the Wolf Saints unconscious body, he kneeled next to the disciple he had just decapitated. "I know it wont mean anything to you now," he murmured, "but I am truly sorry for that." And in that second, all four black saints made their decision.
***** The ghost of a tear passed over one eye; it seemed to clear it, purify it. Shadows grew darker, light glowed brighter, and the Master of Death Queens island could see again. The lone tear ran down his face, where he swallowed it, defiantly. And gazed up, straight into the silver face that dominated him. The silver mask, rather. A silver mask that floated in the empty air, staring at him like the face of judgement. He blinked once, slowly, and sighed. Information; that was what was lacking. He was fully prepared to accept that he was having a conversation with a disembodied silver mask, if there was no other choice; but he should get rid of all other possibilities first. He shook the mangled stump of his right hand, sending his own blood careening through the air. A few specks splattered, hanging in thin air. He smiled. Another shake, more blood splattered, and there was a message he could see, written in the letters of his own blood. The message was the shape of an invisible leg, now outlined in red. No... not quite invisible. Now that the specks of blood stuck to it were giving it a shape, he realised that it was black-brown, shifting as it moved, colours flowing and perfectly matching the rocks behind it. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he could make out the rest of the armour, the rest of the figure. The shape of the opponent who wore the silver mask. The mask nodded once, very slightly, acknowledging his trick. "A duel," the silver mask said. "An... unusual duel, here. Between all three of us." Movement. Now that he could make out the figure better, he suddenly realised that a hand was stuck out at him. A left hand was there, still clad in armour, open, waiting. He lifted up his own valid left hand, put it out. They clasped, and shook. Heart against heart, metal against metal. "Eric, Earth Hunter." The eyes smiled, beyond the silver mask. "Conqueror of Death Queens Island." "Sergei, Master of Death Queen island, Black Dragon Saint." He smiled himself, in return. "Executioner of Earth Hunters." The two remained immobile, smiling at each other, across their Scouts hand-shake. Kindred spirits, and they both knew it. "And whos the third?", queried the Black Dragon. "God, of course," came the answer, "who is everywhere and all knowing. Ian, the Void Hunter, in other words." Their hand-shake broke. "You see, Sergei, if I leave you here, you die." The decree fell, an axe cutting straight through the shared moment. They were still friends, but enemies once more. "Slowly, and at length, but youll die. As I said, he calculated it perfectly; and he had only a split second in which to do it. He knew youd survive... just. And I would be faced with the choice. It was quite a shock seeing him; I though I was the only Hunter on the island." The figure moved back a bit, took up a rock in either hand. His armour was the same colour as they were, as he hefted them. The same colour as every rock on the island. The Black Dragon shivered, going cold again. How long had the Earth Hunter been here, been spying on them? "Do you live..." Eric went on, dropping one of the rocks. It fell by the Masters left ear, and shattered. "...or do you die?" The other rock fell with a thud. A thud that echoed through the ages. "Is this some kind of test?" the Master managed, finally. "Yes," came the answer. "A test for me." More movement. The figure was sitting down besides him, making himself comfortable. Relaxing. "A test for me, the Earth Hunter." the voice went on, much gentler this time. "A test devised by a mind so sharp, he can devise an entire convoluted plan, in the middle of a fight, in a fraction of a second." The Mask was suddenly looking elsewhere, pensively. "You see, he cant enter my mind. He cant follow my thoughts, and so he doesnt trust me. You are my test; hes in your mind now, clear and sharp as a buzz-saw, in your mind, looking out through your eyes, judging me." He waved down, as the Master just stared. "Are you in there, Ian, enjoying the show? Do you like the pain and suffering you inflict? No, of course not. You hate it. Thats why youre so damn good at it." A sigh. The Master lay back, marshalling his forces. Maybe he had the strength for one last blow... All his cosmos, one do-and-die knock-out. They were deciding his existence; well, he definitely had his word to say! The voice was talking again, distracting his attention. "I dont think I can let you live." The sentence was there, final. He would have only one chance to appeal. The Master readied his last valid fist... "I cant let you live," the voice went on. "Whether I am the Earth Hunter, loyal servant to our mistress, or a spy in Ians army, in neither case can I let you live. I cant take the risk." Black cosmos was beginning to form around the Masters hand; he fought to keep it hidden. "So tell you what," the grating voice continued, "Ill cut you a deal." The Black Dragon hesitated, cosmos still flowing to his fist. He should act now, lest he lose his chance... The mask was in front of him again, and again, he felt those eyes watching him. They never seemed to waver, outstaring even his. "Do go on," he decided, finally. "Well see what you have to offer." "What I have to offer!", a chuckle answered him. "You negotiate well from a position of weakness, my dear Dragon. Let me put it to you this way... Why do you think Ive been saying all these bad things about Ian, when hes in your mind, staring at me, listening to every word I say?" The Masters cosmos died, as he started to search his own thoughts. Was it true? Was it? And if so, what could he do against it? What could he do against an opponent who knew every move hed make, at precisely the instant he decided it himself? "Can you... can you shield me from him?", he eventually said. He bit his tongue when he realised how weak and imploring that sounded. "No." The answer was again without appeal; the Earth Hunter was not one to bother with excuses when simple statements would suffice. "Me, I am protected. You... Youre nearly strong enough, but not quite. He cant read all your mind, all your memories and your plans... But he can read your thoughts as you think them." Eric leaned closer, until the Master could feel his breath on his cheek. "And that gives us our one chance, our only chance. He wants to know all your memories, all your plans, all the standing orders of the Death Guard, those perfect spies spread throughout the world. He wants to know all of that. And so do I, for a different reason." A pause, and suddenly the silver mask was up close to his face. "Because Im a spy, Sergei. Im not the true Earth Hunter, I killed him long ago. And if you tell me all you know, Ill use that knowledge to avenge you." A supreme effort. The Master forced himself up, onto his elbows, and looked his opponent straight in the mask. "I could never know if youre saying the truth," he said, proudly and defiantly. "Yes," came the answer. "And neither can Ian." As the Master digested this piece of news, he went on, "you see, we have a fantastic window of opportunity here. If I am truly a spy, you can tell me everything, and Ill use it against your enemies. But, if I am really the Earth Hunter, if I really am Ian lap-dog, I would behave in exactly the same way, pretending to be on your side to pump you for information. You cant tell the difference, but neither can He!" The Master felt his brain start to hurt; the reasoning was tortuous, but it offered him a slight ray of light. Was it possible, what Eric was saying? Could they conspire against this mind-reader, to his face as it were, without him knowing? The Earth Hunter held out a hand, two fingers raised. "There are two possible solutions here, my friend, the oldest dilemma of them all. Either," left finger, "either Im your friend, or," right finger, "Im your enemy. As simple as that. I cant give you proof either way, because He would know. The choice is yours." "Just out of interest... what will you do if I refuse to tell you anything?", the Black Dragon said, his voice sharp and low. "Why, kill you of course," came the brutal, simple answer. "But Ive already told you that; either way, I cant let you life." "See," he continued, "the deal I want to cut you is this: you tell me all you know about Death Queens island, about your spies, about the Death Guard, everything there is. And in exchange, I promise to do all I can to protect the surviving black saints after this battle, Gol included. And avenge you." "Surviving?", the Master blurted out, wincing at the sudden pain. "Who is fighting?" "According to Ian, there are at least seven different powers with different agendas decking it out on this island. Well... seven he knows about. Death Queens island is a bloody battle-field." "Which... Which ones are fighting on your side?" the Master managed, his throat suddenly dry. "On Ians side, I mean..." A curt laugh. "Why all of them, of course." Another brief pause, then a rhythmic tapping. The Earth Hunter was drumming his fingers on the Masters armour again. "You see, Ill repeat it again: either Im your friend, trying to know all I can so I can continue the fight... or I am in Ians service, tricking you to pump you for what information I can. Either way, you cant tell the difference... And neither can the Void Hunter. You will have to take the decision, to trust me... or not. Either way, I will have to kill you, after." A hand moved; the mask fell, and shattered. The Master and Ian looked up together, for the first time, at the face of the man who called himself the Earth Hunter. The Master let his hand fall back, slowly; green eyes under dirty- blond hair stared at him. He looked into those eyes, wishing he had the power to read minds himself. And made his decision. "Ian will know, if what youre saying is right," the Master said. "The second I start thinking of these things, Hell know. So youre not only asking me to trust that youre on my side, you, a complete stranger, youre asking me to trust that youll be more powerful than him. Than Ian; than God, as you called him." He looked up at those green eyes, again, for a brief eternity. Kindred spirits. "Ill tell you," he said. And as he talked, the other two protagonists in the drama listened, the Earth Hunter with his ears, the Void Hunter with his mind. To names, to organisations, to ranks, to fall back plans; to call signs, to pass-words, to codes; to plans, to standing orders; to the thirty-seven elite spy-assassins that formed the Death Guard, to the fifty-one other black Saints that formed the spirit, the soul of Death Queens Island. To their secret orders, what would happen if Death Queens Island was destroyed, to the seeds of its resurrection that he had spread across the world, awaiting this day. To the secret language all the black saints shared. The Earth and Void Hunters listened to all of this. The Master knew that, if some of his Saints had betrayed him, as seemed certain, the accursed Ian would already know most of this. But Eric... Eric must know all. Eric was now the last hope of Death Queens Island, the isle that had valued its pride above its very existence, the island that was dying under him as he lay, his body shattered, the last of a long line of harsh, cruel, and magnificent Masters. An island that had died once before, as a sacrificial pawn caught up in a pointless battle between Athena and her Sanctuary. He had resurrected it, then. Now was the time to pass the torch. The Black Dragon lifted up his left hand again, clutched at his opponent. Again, that blessed handshake, again that shared moment. Darkness was starting to return, veiling his eyes definitely this time. "Into your hands, Eric, I commend my soul," he murmured. "I commend the fate of my children, all Black saints, loyal or traitors, I give you whats left of Death Queens Island." A cruel grin was starting to play on the Earth Hunters lips. His face had hardened, and he laughed. "Thanks for that," he said, contempt dripping from his lips with every word. "Ill see to it that your information goes to good use, truly!" His hand shot out, shattered Sergeis spinal column. The Master turned his fading eyes away from his executioner, denying the Void Hunter a view of Erics face. His hand reached up, caught on the nape of the Earth hunters neck, and caressed it, gently. "I know you have to keep up appearances, dont worry," he murmured, eyes averted. "The Master is dead, long live Eric..." He started humming the Marseillaise again, covering any sound the Earth Hunter might be making; he burned to look again into his eyes, to be sure, to know. But then Ian would know to, and it would all have been in vain. "I... I trust you," he said, staring straight into the infernal darkness that was beckoning for the last time. A pause, then he jumped straight into it, faced it, let the darkness become one with him, wash him away, swallowed it, and died. "Shiriyu..." His hand went on caressing Erics neck for another two seconds, before it too collapsed. Was it just his imagination, or had he felt a tear on his fingers, in that last second? With the Master dead, the Void Hunters door was closed as well, and the Earth Hunter was alone now, truly alone. Ian and Eric let nearly identical smiles flirt briefly on their faces. "Mission accomplished," both Hunters murmured, under their breaths.
***** The Void Hunter dreams... His life, his entire existence, and those of countless others are all wrapped up in his projects, in the star spanning schemes that twist the destinies of the world. Every moment of every day, he thinks, waits, and listens. The anger boils inside him, but his brain can control it, must control it, as he advances cautiously in the darkness, a mere man playing with powers so far beyond him they could obliterate his entire existence in an instant. And winning. The Void Hunter dreams... But when he dreams, he escapes. Escapes to other worlds, to imaginary worlds that do not depend on him for their very existence. In his dreams he can shout, dance and sing, fight and love, without the fear that his slightest action will send them all screaming over the abyss. Worlds where he can let go. But now the last refuge of his dreams is closing on him, the real world seeping in as well, and as he tosses and turns, all his nightmares, all the delicate forces he balances so well soar in his thoughts, and dance around him, grinning. The Underwater Empire, where the insane Sea-King presides over all the Oceans, so mad that not even the Void Hunter could follow his actions from one moment to the next, and Ushio, his new ally... The Sanctuary, devastated but still formidable, and all Athenas Saints dispersed throughout the world, some helping, some hindering his grand designs... Asgard, the northern empire of cold, still wary, and the conspirator that lurks in the shadows, waiting to take it over in one swoop... Death Queens island itself, the dead Master and his Death Guard, seeking, trying to understand the game that was being played, vainly trying to clear the oppressive darkness that hugged then close... While resistants plotted in the shadows, trying to finally bring light to that dark island... Istanbul, where the Archangels waited, looking to the sky for some sign in the war to come... Egypt, half-hearted supporters... Nachi and his rebels, servants of a cause they knew not... And so many others, so many sanctuaries, powers, dominions, gods and men, plotting to grab a bit more of the blanket of creation, while overhead a raging fire burns, coming to a head on Death Queens Island, the macabre dance going ever onwards... He awakes... Sadder and wearier now that his last refuge from his duties is thus fallen, but he would never let that make any difference, of course. "Are you alright, master Ian?", says the worried voice at his side, the Heaven Hunter looking up with adoring, pained black eyes. They were still tinted with gold, Mike sweating, searching the dark threads of the Future to aid his master. Ian said nothing. He had slept for the barest minute. Sergei, the black Dragon, the Master of Death Queens island, had thought to escape his power by dying. But it was not to be... Ian had followed him on his final journey. He had followed Sergeis soul beyond the gates of hell, to the dark shadows and eternal, frozen and lifeless flames that lined the realm of the dead. He followed The Master, beyond those tranquil, half blessed, half corrupted waters. To the one place he could never go... until today. The Master of Death Queens island had a soul as hard as diamond, and had known death before, had come to this place before, and his soul sailed towards it with assurance. And, following his thoughts, Ian entered at last into the one domain that had always been closed to him. And saw at last the eternal face of his greatest enemy. He had bowed deeply to it, before retiring. The Master of Death Queens island had served him as well in death as in life. And, finally overcome by the effort, he had allowed himself to rest. He had seen the face of the most powerful God, the Doom of all creation. And only one thing stood between this God and total chaos, and that one thing was Ian, Void Hunter. And, safe and warm in that knowledge, he had rested. He had slept for the barest minute, but it was enough. Enough to regain his forces, enough too to know that he would never know true peace in Morpheus arms again. He could never really sleep now, never let go for an instant. "Master Ian...", started Mike, his voice ringing with power as he saw the future flex, grow, and change. "A civilian airliner has been affected by the storm of power emanating from this island..." a bead of sweat appeared on his young forehead as he followed that elusive fate, bent the slippery eel of destiny to his will "...it will... it will crash into this island soon... and... and... the volcano will erupt under the impact..." the black eyes looked at the magma surrounding them "... and it will harm you master Ian, so you should move, my master..." he finished, the power fading from his voice. The future was dark again; the small corner he had lifted was fallen. "It might harm you too, Mike," the Void Hunter said softly, caressing the childs hair. "Oh, it will kill me, Master Ian," the boy answered, indifferent. He shrugged. Ian sighed, and scanned the sky with his mind. The plane was there, flying over the silver sea, at the limit of his perceptions, and another power too, a massive power, approaching fast... from the Sanctuary. "Very well," he decreed. "We shall leave." He scanned the island one last time. "Victory is now assured." He looked down at the Heaven Hunter: "Mike, listen carefully. Is there any way we can deflect the airliners path without revealing our presence? Just enough to save their lives?" Mike looked up at his master, a look of genuine astonishment spreading over his features. His brow furrowed, as he struggled with the idea, searching for words: "But, master Ian... whatever for?"
***** Nikolai was amused, not annoyed. Not annoyed... but slightly impatient. A strange figure had appeared, and saved Gol and Ares, the weird couple, from the wrath of the Oceans Harmony. This battle was starting to look a lot more interesting, all of a sudden, a taste to really savour. But there was still a job to do, an island to clear, and he couldnt afford to waste time with one opponent, no matter how worthy. "Who are you, stranger?", he barked. The red-haired figure in the strange armour lifted his head and his trident, looking at him for the first time. Something twinkled in his eyes, a sparkle of holy insanity that caused Nikolai to pause. "I have seen the sea," Ushio started. "I have seen the sun fade to green above the glowing plankton, I have swam with the killer whales and fed with the sharks, seen the glittering corals where no light ever penetrates, seen the strange fish that glow like the rainbow in the darkness, the fish with mouths bigger than their bodies, those of shapes beyond the imagination of any man. I have seen the sea, as no-one has seen it." He paused, his eyes, lost in the sky, slowly focused back from all the miracles he had seen, back to the real world, to the dust and the fire. "You really done that?", said Ares, fascinated. Ushio threw back his head and laughed. It was a laugh of freedom, a laugh of joy, a laugh of someone who rediscovered happiness, rediscovered the childhood that he had never had. He was insane, of course, but no more than most Saints, and he was happy. "Lets just say its been an interesting few days," he concluded. He grew serious again, an expression of melancholy spreading over his face. "And I have something to prove, now." He looked at up at Nikolai, stepped away from the Flame and the Shield, straight towards the Water Hunter. "And to answer your question, I am Ushio, Steel Water Saint." "Nikolai, Water Hunter," came the sardonic answer. Nikolai liked his lips, excitement building within him. Water Hunter against Water Saint... It already sounded like a legend. And there was a huge, oppressive aura floating around this Ushio guy. When hed won this epic fight, children would know the name of his family for generations to come. "Just dont disappoint me," he said to Ushio, coldly, then smiled. His aura started to glow, the blue green of the sea covering him, as a soft music seemed to fill the air. Ushio stood, immobile, waiting. "Harmony of the Oceans!", Nikolai exploded, releasing the power of the seas. The huge geysers erupted from the ground, screaming towards the heavens once more. Ushio disappeared into the heart of the biggest of them, as it slammed into him, as invincible as the ocean itself. Unstoppable. It was stopped. The great geysers parted, split into two, Ushio floating in the midst of the fury. The trident spun in his hand, over and over, leaving a trail of blazing sparks in its wake. Whoosh... Whoosh... Whoosh... the trident spun, sparks glittering of it like stars of shattered diamonds, the noise building up to a shattering climax, the trident moving too fast to see, the whine so loud it hurt to hear it. And every time the trident would touch water, the liquid was gone, dissolved by its awesome power. Nikolai piled on the power, but nothing was getting through that glittering trident. He eventually fell to his knees with a groan, his mightiest attack shattered. The Steel Saint stopped the trident in one smooth gesture. In the sudden silence, everyone was looking at him in awe. But the expression on Ushios face was anger, as he walked towards Nikolai, every step resonating with power. "Harmony of the Oceans!" The attack didnt even have time to build up to full power; with a dismissive flick of the trident, the Water Saint had dismissed it. "Dont waste your energy," he said to Nikolai, as this last fell down, exhausted again. "Nothing you do can hurt me in the slightest." "Harmony of the Oceans!" This time, Ushios face was suffused with rage. The trident broke straight through the geysers, stopped, quivering, a millimetre in front of Nikolais throat. "I said stop it!", Ushio screeched. Nikolai went limp, looking up at the figure of death that dominated him, and let a few tears tear his cheeks. It seemed that no-one would remember him, after all. Ushio was trembling. The tip of the trident trembled with him, threatening to end Nikolais life with every vibration. "Do you know what this is?" Ushio asked, anger subsiding bit by bit to grim determination. "This is the trident of Poseidon, lord of all the oceans. One of the most powerful weapons in existence. It commands the seas, and I could destroy this entire island with it, if I wanted to." At that, Gol finally struggled to her feet, worried. Nikolai just let his shoulders slump a little more. "A perfect killing machine," Ushio went on, ignoring them both, "in my hands. The hands of a killer. Do you know, Nikolai, how hard it is for me not to end you life this very second? Every fibre of my training, of my conditioning screams it." He suddenly smiled, the anger released. "But a man is more than his training." The trident tip lifted, pointed up towards the sky, straight into the sun. Ushio crooked his arm back, turned his body. For a second, he was the perfect silhouette of a javelin thrower of ancient Greece, armour glittering in the sun. His arm flew forwards, motors in the Steel Saint armour whining as they multiplied his forces. The trident flew through the air, spinning lazily, flashing in the sun as it soared towards it. Then, for a second, it hanged in the sky, pointing the way to heaven, before dropping down once more. It forked the surface of the sea, and disappeared with the tiniest splash. Ushio lowered his arm. "Now, Nikolai, we can fight." The Water Hunter recovered his composure quickly, casting a last glance at the spot where the mighty weapon had hit the waves. "Where did you get that weapon?", he asked, awe suffusing his voice. No Water Hunter could remain indifferent before the weapon of the lord of all Waters. "Poseidon, the Sea God?" Ushio smiled. "No, his successor. En garde, Nikolai!" The Hunter gazed at him indifferently. He shrugged: "What do you mean, Ushio? Youve got rid of that trident, and I can now feel you have no Cosmos at all. Ill spare you, of course, as youve spared me, and you cant hurt me. Youre just a man, Ushio, an innocent caught up in things that dont concern him." He let his gaze drift back towards Ares and Gol, the pair struggling to get up, both unsure whether to lash out at him or each other. He started walking towards them, ignoring Ushio completely. "Our battle wouldnt have the slightest interest at all." Ushios face went white, a sudden spike of uncontrollable rage as years of repressed feelings came out. "Face me, Nikolai, and Ill show you what a man can do!" He threw himself forwards, fists taught, let loose a mighty punch. His eyes still on Ares and Gol, Nikolai caught the fist, twisted Ushios arm, and smashed him to the ground in one gesture. "Not much, apparently," he said.
***** Ians mind flashed across the airliner, briefly melding with every soul on board. Jumping from person to person, flirting with ideals, dreams, memories of those who would die, from the pilot in the front to steward in the rear. Every single one was touched in turn by the Void Hunter, as he soared away from the accursed island. Many warriors know the spirits of their closest friends; the luckiest know those of their enemies. But only Ian knows those of every single person who will die because of him, every life he has to take.
***** There were four black Saints gazing down at the Jackal, at the prone form of the Wolf, at the decapitated disciple who lay there, unmourned and unloved. Four Judges, rendering their verdicts, explaining their reasonings, and passing their sentences. Aria, of the Black Whale, bore the cross of Lorraine with pride. She was a survivor of the worst the island and life had hurled at her through the years, but always, an emptiness had gnawed at her, the godless island worshipping violence and friendship had never fulfilled her yearning for a cause worthy to die for. She had stumbled on a small cell of the resistance, by accident, and was preparing to execute them all at that very instant, when Remi had looked at her straight in the eye, and had just said: "Do you want a cause worth dying for?" From then on, shed been hooked, pouring all her energy, all her enthusiasm into their fledging cause, seen it grow, trembling, threatened from all sides... but still growing, getting stronger with each passing day. Others had despaired, but she never had; she knew this day would come. This day of epiphany when the resistance would dare come out of the night, show their face to the light, with the Hunters and their servants come to deliver them all. It was an experience she would qualify unblushingly as orgasmic; her life had reached its summum. She nodded at Dez, acknowledging and thanking him. "We are so grateful youre here," she intoned.
Adrian of the Black Lyre bore the cross of Lorraine as well; like Aria, he had believed in this revolution, suffered for it, attracted to the idea of the weak triumphing over the strong, the just defeating the powerful. But he had been appalled by Dezs casual execution of a defenceless apprentice. Sure, the resistance had to be underhand and backstabbing by its very nature, but still... He remembered Remis speech, the kind the Lynx Saint was fond of giving, about the nature of their cause. Hidden deep within a cave carved by ancient lava, coughing in the damp, tired and afraid, they had listened, mesmerised, as Remi talked, firing their souls with words: "... we must hide, we must lurk in the dark, we must be cowards, we must fade into the night. There will come a time when we might have to kill, we might have to fight like cowards, as bad as those who we fight. What is the difference between us, then?", he had paused, letting the dripping water and the mesmerised gazes frame the moment. "The difference is, we do it because we have to. We must be cowards, because our cause would not survive us being brave. Giving in to our desire for bravery, for action, for glory... that would be the true cowardice. When the Master kills, he always has the choice, the Island would not fall into the sea if he spared a life. If ever I kill, you have my word, all of you, that it would be because there is no other choice..." Adrian looked at where the head of the disciple had rolled, then back at Dez. He shook his head, slowly. "Im sorry," he said, "Im sorry, Dez and Aria. I just dont believe in us anymore."
Nava of the Black Charioteer didnt have any crosses painted on her armour, hadnt had any contact with the Resistance, beyond the three executions the Master had ordered. They were enemy, that was all she knew. And gazing into the empty eyes of the dead disciple, there was nothing more she needed to know. "Die!", she shouted, running forwards.
Oujio of the Black Lion was the last judge, the last one to make his decision. The Master was dead, the whole island had felt the shock of his passing. And here was this Dez, unhittable, fast as lightning, his whole body seemed made of tempered steel. Oujio had never believed in causes, but he believed in people. And this Dez was the pure embodiment of someone worthy of being believed in. As Nava rushed past him, he tripped her up, catching her in an arm-lock. He was unwilling to use all his force against a mere woman, though, and she twisted out, landing a few meters away gazing at him with fury.
Four judges rendered their decisions. Two against two. Two stayed loyal to the ideals they had started that day with, two had betrayed them. Two for Dez, two for the island. Nava and Adrian faced off with Oujio and Aria. And they were just inflaming their cosmos when Dez strode between them, arms outstretched. "No," he said. He gazed at Aria, loyal, and Adrian, torn, in turn. "You remember what your orders were, no? The minimum casualties possible; none at all if we can avoid them." Adrian looked from him to the body of the dead disciple. The meaning could not have been clearer. "Ah yes," said Dez, "but that was different. I did that as a personal gesture, to do a service to a friend. Nachi needed help, he was dying from his inability to hate, so I sacrificed a life to save him. Any disciple here is a warrior, so he must expect to die if a war starts. I regret it, but it was a personal decision; the sin will be on me. Not on the cause." "Nachi a friend of yours?", asked Oujio, astonished. "And it was then that the great fist of illusion struck," started Dez, voice far away. "...the fist that penetrates spirits like paper, reveals your greatest fears to the burning light of day, and makes you a slave to the grinning puppet master that wields it, laughing as your mind dissolves in a lake of molten fury. The Phoenix had struck, and had shredded my soul..." The black saints were staring at him with a common astonishment that re-united them for an instant. Dez sighed, and continued: " "Sacred Wars", page twenty-three. Yes, Nachi is my friend, as is Kipling, as is Hemmingway, as is Omar Khy-am, as are many others of the same mould." "Im glad to be included in such an illustrious list!", a voice shouted behind him. Dez smiled, but didnt turn round. "Nachi!", he called. "Right on schedule." "Face me!" said the Wolf Saint. The Jackal continued looking forwards, his mask staring at Adrian if at anyone at all. "Do you know why I never write, Nachi? Because when you write, you lay done your emotions on a page, for other to read. Whenever someone reads you, they get richer in emotion and in feeling. But the more you write, the poorer you get yourself." He finally turned, staring at the bleeding Wolf Saint as if for the first time. "Thats wrong, Dez," Nachi answered. "I know thats wrong..." Dez smiled, showing teeth. "Lost for words, eh? Maybe theres hope for you yet!" He picked up the head, turned it slowly round until it was staring straight at the Wolf Saint, then dropped it with a damp thud. "Remember, Lupus, a killer. Now fight!" "Down, Nachi!", a voice shouted. The wolf saint dropped, instinctively, and the "Viking Tiger Claw" erupted over him, heading straight for Dez. Delicately spinning on air, the Jackal spun through the attack, avoiding the tiger claws as they arced through the air... and then impacted on Oujio, tearing the black lion apart in a fraction of a second. "Jackals Howl!" the invisible wave howled, Bel the target, straight in the middle of the sights. The invisible wave reached out for her, an invisible hand crushing anything it its path... Until it was stopped dead by an icy white light. A white tiger, carved of frozen steel, was floating just before Bel, shining with power. The tiger exploded into pieces, and Bel stood proud, clad in her Dzeta armour. Her cosmos glowed colder and more powerful than ever before. "I think, Dez, that you are too in love with the sound of your voice to just shut up and fight." She grinned, a wry smile on the lips of the Northern Star. "I often feel like that myself, but the time for talking is now over! I am Bel of Alcor of Dzeta of Asgard, from the kingdom of the north. In the name of Asgard, I challenge you!" "And in the name of eternal Egypt, I accept your challenge." He moved on garde, putting his hands out in front of him. "Aria, I apologise for this." "Wha...", started the Black Whale Saint, but before she could finish her sentence, Dez was crouched low on his feet, spinning, releasing his "Jackals Howl" like a scythe. Round and round... Full circle, three times. Three times it impacted on the Wolf Saint, sending him flying, three times Bel was crushed though her armour, three times Adrian, Nava and Aria felt the impact of the storm. And all were tossed before it, a salad of broken saints in the hurricane. And there was a sudden silence, but for the sound of five bodies hitting the earth.
***** Nikolai kept Ushio in an arm-lock for a few moments, waiting for Ares or Gol to make a move. He shook his head; the Steel Saint had honestly thought hed be able to defeat him without cosmos; the very idea! He was still musing on this when he felt an immense force levering his arms apart, forcing them up. He looked down, his eyes widening in astonishment as he saw that it was Ushios arms that were overpowering him thus. He tried to resist, but his grip was slipping by the second, until he thrown back with overwhelming force. Winded more by the surprise than by the impact, he spluttered: "Ushio... there is no way you could have ever done that without cosmos! Its impossible!" The Water Saint straightened, patted his glittering armour with pride. "Say that to a pair of Rolls-Royce engines and a hundred kilos of the best Japanese metal alloys." There was a slight "wheer" as Ushio unfolded his arms again. "A technological armour?" queried Nikolai, sceptical. What a strange idea... "Spirit of Fire!" Gol was flying through the air, black fire coursing along her arms as she flew towards the Water Hunter... and fell brutally to earth, Ares vice-like grip on her ankle. The Shield Saints valid eye met with Ushios, and they looked at each other, truly friends for the first time. That one gesture was enough to cement them together forever. "Hes yours," Ares said to the Water Saint, drawing an incredulous laugh from Nikolai. He shifted his gaze to Gol, still struggling to free herself from his grip. "Leave him," he said to her, "hes Ushios now. We dont have the right to intervene." Gol glared at him, her eyes as hard as the Masters, then suddenly burst into tears. These werent tears of weakness; they were tears of rage, of frustration. "You dont understand," she said, grinding her teeth. She spat at Ares, hitting him straight on a cheek. "Feel the air, use your cosmos, dammit! Listen to the soul of my dying island! Dont you notice anything missing?" Ares closed his eye, let his thoughts drift across the surface of the world... He could still feel the aura of the island, the aura of ancient ash, blood and suffering, ground so deep into the island it permeated every grain of sand. Take a rock from this island, sculpt it into the face of a grinning child, paint it pink, and the stench of death would still linger forever. It was the same aura, a thousand years of pain, overpowering anything else... And yet, something was indeed missing... Something big, something he couldnt quite put his finger on, something hauntingly familiar... "What is it?", he finally asked. With a sudden surge of strength, Gol ripped her leg free. "Cant you feel it?!?", she nearly shouted her voice dripping with pain, "the Master is dead! Our father is gone!" Ares stayed silent, whipped by the fury of her words. She pointed a finger straight at Nikolai, trembling with rage and frustration. "And its one of those fuckers who did it, Im sure! Now theyll pay!" She turned towards the Water Hunter, took a step. "Stop," Ares implored, quietly. "Dont do it." "For that Ushio guy?", she asked, pausing. "No. For you." Gol turned round to look at him. "Blind vengeance is the most ugly of emotions," the Shield Saint continued, "it carves at your mind and your soul. Its not like anger, pure and life-affirming; its cold and dark." Gol continued glaring at him, eyes narrowed. She shifted her weight slightly, from one foot to the other. Ares took a last glance at Ushio, then nodded a sad good-bye. He dragged himself to his feet, in front of the Black furnace as she still stood, incinerating him with her eyes. He planted a quick kiss on her lips, then retreated, and opened his arms, a position of supplication. "Release your anger on me," Ares said, mouthing his last words, resigned. "Thanks," the Black Furnace Saint said, smiling again. Then: "SPIRIT OF FIRE!" The torrent of black flame was incommensurable, a river of black and blue, sparkling with holy fury, outshining the sun in its darkness, an energy level far beyond what Gol or Ares had ever seen or imagined before. And this time, the Shield Saint wasnt protecting himself. The lashing fire swallowed Ares whole, he dissolved into the inferno that transfixed him, then hit the cliff behind him, smashed through it, emerged into a ravine, then hit the cliff face on the other side, its power barely dimmed. Four cliffs of eternal rocks were tunnelled open before Gols fury was spent.
Nikolai watched the battle, half a trace of admiration and half a trace of puzzlement forging his features. "Interesting," he murmured. His gaze flicked over to Ushio. "Oh yes, I nearly forgot. Our duel." He lifted his hand. "Harmony of the Oceans!" Before the Water Saint could make a move, he was swallowed up in the geyser, propelled, screaming, to the sky, where the hammer of the heavens waited for him. The other geysers hit with perfect synchronisation, a beautiful fountain that returned him to earth, shattered. Nikolai, Water Hunter, gazed up into the air once more, where something had caught his attention. There it was... A huge plane was hurtling towards the island, totally out of control. And it was heading straight for them.
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