FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (1/?)

5,000 BC.  The Middle East

“Long I have hunted you.”  Amir Arsalan glared imperiously at his adversary, barely noticing the blazing sun relentlessly burning down on him.

“And how fruitlessly you have wasted that time!” His rival let out a rumbling laugh, his forked tongue darting out to stroke his pointed fangs.  The creature was seven feet tall, yet broad and wide enough to appear squat.  A curved, rhinoesque horn jutted out of the centre of the beast’s forehead, between and just below a pair of slanted yellow eyes that despite the day’s heat seemed utterly frozen.  The creature’s corpulent, saggy body was covered in seaweed-coloured scales.  “Three Slayers have I slain, no mere mortal can stand against me!”

 

“But then,” Amir reached into his cloak and unsheathed his shamshir, emerald studs glinting on its curved blade.  “No Slayer has ever possessed Shamshir-e Zomorrodnegar!”

“How!” Fulad-zereh recoiled at the sword, leaning back at the waist.

“I took it from,” Amir paused and savoured the moment.  This snarling marauder had caused so much suffering and misery, it would be fitting to give a little back.  “I took it from the rotting corpse of the witch who spawned you!”

“RAAAAAAR!” The monster’s roar split the cloudless sky as its batlike wings unfurled from behind its vault-sized back as it launched itself into the air.  “You still have to strike home!”  The creature swooped down at him with a rapidity that belied with its gargantuan bulk, its three pronged claws slicing at the air between them.

Amir stayed still, unflinching gaze fixed on the descending monster.  A claw lashed down at his face.

And then he wasn’t there, two steps to the beast’s left, his blade lashing up and into the monster’s side, just under its armpit.  “RRRRRRRR!” Fulad-zereh spun around to face him, greeny blood arcing out to soak the sand.

“It appears striking home was not as difficult as you suspected,” Amir calmly stated, a mocking smile parting his lips.

“Savour your victory, it will be your last!” Sand flew as the monster bent his head and charged.  Amir smiled, leaned to the left then darted right.  The creature’s right paw swung up in a decapitating swing.

Except Amir’s sword met it before his head, the blade curving up to slice through the creature’s wrist.  “AHHHH!” Blood burst from the creature’s stump.  Even so it didn’t falter in its berserker charge, Amir only just managing to lean away from the monster’s flailing horn, having seen it pierce armour in the past.

“Oooof!” The air gusted from him as the beast’s much larger body crashed into him, knocking him to the sand.  Rolling away from the screaming beast’s kicking feet, he drove his blade up.

“GGGGGGGGGGGG!”  Blood fountained from the beast’s mouth as his blade skewered its heart, back arching, tearing the blade from Amir’s hands.

“Ahhh!” Amir cried out, hands shading his eyes as a golden blaze encompassed the thrashing demon, tears spilling from his eyes.  A screeching assailing his eardrums and brimstone filled his nostrils. 

Amir blinked as the assault on his senses abruptly halted, his sword and the demon mysteriously disappeared.

*                                  *                                  *

160 BC, The Middle East

Blood filled Judah’s mouth, his eyes bulging in fanatical fury as he battled, iron-thewed limbs refusing succour to the fatigue besieging him.  Ignoring the multitude of wounds adorning him, blood soaking him, he glanced at his fellow Maccabees, their most loathed enemies swarming around them.  “HOLD THE LINE!” His bull-like roar was heard even over the battle’s chaotic furore.  “WE MUST HOLD FOR THE OTHERS TO WITHDRAW!”

A Seluecid darted in, his face contorted and eyes bulging in rage.  Judah sidestepped the invader’s charge, his blade lashing down to slice into the man’s naked thigh, cutting open  his artery even as Judah reversed his short sword’s swing and drove his elbow up and into the Seluecid’s face.

The man’s head snapped back, the sound of his nose shattering lost in the battle’s din.  And then Judah was thrusting his blade up and into the man’s left armpit, skewering his heart.

Judah spat blood as he cursed under his breath.  It had all gone so wrong, the Seluecids had besieged Jerusalem so he’d led a cavalry charge on his enemy’s cavalry,  thoroughly routing them.  But then when they’d chased the routed troops into the steep hills surrounding Jersulaem, reinforcements had arrived, in turn routing his men.

Such was war, its tide could change in a second.

And now all was left was to fight a desperate holding action so his brothers might have the chance to escape.  Another Seluecid charged in, Judah ducking under the rival warrior’s hacking blade and crashing his shoulder into the warrior’s chest.

The Seluecid stumbled back a step and Judah back-handed at him, his sword crashing into the warrior’s cone-shaped helmet.  Eyes glazing over, the warrior slumped to the ground, blinking furiously as he sought to clear his head.

A chance that Judah was determined never to give him.  Leaping forward he raised his blade.  “Uhhhh!” Pain blazed through his side as a spear thudded into it.  Legs suddenly weak, he swayed drunkenly from side to side, his suddenly uncooperative arm unable to raise his blade to block a sword thrust through his chest.

A darkness descended as the battle’s roar suddenly dwindled into the distance as he fell to the ground, spasmodically thrashing in his last moments.

FIC: 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (2/?)

Brigham City, Utah

“Brother Solomon, we are blessed!”

“Of course we have been blessed, Brother Andrew,” Brother Solomon closed the bible he had been meditating upon and glanced towards the newcomer.  “For are we not of the Latter Day Saints?  And are we not the Danites, those honoured to protect our faith from those who would tear it down?”

“All true and very wise,” the younger Danite’s head bobbed.  “But I was referring to the discovery that Sister Angela’s youngest daughter has been Called.  We have a Slayer amongst us!”

“We are blessed indeed,” Solomon murmured.  Let Mithras and his wanton bitches return and attempt to start a group here, they’d be in for a very unpleasant shock indeed.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Vatican City

Bang!  Bang!  Bang!

Monsignor Pedro Alvez looked up from his typing when the impatient knocking on his office’s door interrupted The Three Tenors’ soaring rendition of ‘Nessun Dorma’.  Sighing slightly at the upcoming intrusion to his sanctuary, he leaned across his desk and turned his CD player off.  “Who is it?”

”Father Daniel sir, I have the information!”

“Ah, interesting.”  Pedro forced his racing heart under control.  “Please, Father Daniel come in.”

”Thank you sir,” the cherubic-faced younger man hurried in.

”Please,” Pedro nodded towards the chair at the other side of his desk.  “Take a seat.”

”Thank you sir.”

 

The moment the man had sat Pedro spoke.  “And the numbers?”

 

“We have three Novices who we believe were Called.”

Three.  Pedro pursed his lips.  That was most disappointing, he’d hoped for more, however realistically the majority of nuns were too old to be Called as Slayers.  Doubtless there were many new Slayers amongst the church’s billion strong congregation, however they couldn’t rely on them deciding to put their skills to work for the Church.  “Have each Novice recalled to the Vatican-.”

 

“I’ve already organised that sir, two are on their way, the third leaves Seoul tonight,” Father Daniel eagerly interrupted.

“Well done,” he nodded at the younger priest’s initiative.  “Once they’re here, we’ll integrate them into our vampire-hunting teams.”

”But sir!” Father Daniel gasped.  “The Slayers are demon-spawned, we cannot use the powers of a demon-.”

“Using the powers of a demon to do the Lord’s work,” he angrily interrupted before moderating his tone.  “We walk a tightrope, but with the light of the lord to guide us we will be safe.”

                                                *                                  *                                  *

Lubyanka, Moscow

“The Director is ready to see you now, Colonel.”

Chekov rose at the secretary’s announcement, hiding his trepidation behind a brusque nod.  His stomach tightened as he started down the dimly-lit corridor, the Lubyanka was such a shadow on recent Russian history, he couldn’t help but feel nervous, and almost smell the ash from the traitors and incompetents Beria and his successors had fed into its infamous ovens.

Stopping outside a sturdy wooden door, he knocked.  “Enter, Chekov.”

Opening the door, he strode into a long room, its walls bereft of decoration.  The pinstriped suited man sat behind the room’s solitary desk was grey-faced with hawkish eyes, emaciated cheekbones, and a hooked nose.  A predator and a man of influence. “Sit down.”  The man looked up from his laptop to peer into him.   “How did you find the files?”

“A lot to take in sir,” Chekov rumbled, if anything that was an understatement.  As the head of the government’s operation dealing with the supernatural, he’d been well aware of vampires, werewolves, and demons, but Hellmouths, towns collapsing, and the world order being radically changed by the Mass Calling had tilted his entire world-view on its side.

“Yes,” the Director nodded.  “It is quite possible everything has changed.”  A hunger burnt in the Director’s deep-set eyes.  “How many Slayers do you estimate there are in Russia?”

“Demographics suggests anywhere between fifteen to twenty Slayers, sir.”  Chekov replied. 

“Demographics?”  the Director queried.

“Sir, from what we understand Slayers are only ever female and Called in the teen years,” he explained.  “Unless this spell has changed something, activating every Potential regardless of age, Russia has eight and a half million teen females.  To judge from what is occurring globally we would expect approximately one in every five hundred thousand of these girls to be Called.”

The Director nodded.  “And do we know where the Hellmouth’s demonic energy has settled?”

Chekov grimaced.  That was also highly unsettling, the idea that there was a portal on earth between this world and others.  Worse still was the idea that although Sunnydale had been the world’s active Hellmouth, with its demise the demonic energy that had been housed there would be diverted to one of several other inactive portals throughout the globe, including Russia’s own Omsk or Kazan, in effect turning the portal from off to on.  “Not as yet, sir.”

“I see,” the Director’s fingers drummed on the desk.  “Have you begun rounding up these girls?”

“I already have men searching for any reports of freakishly strong teens.”  He cleared his throat.  “However, I believe we had a number of Watchers in this country under diplomatic passports due to our agreements with the Council?”

“Your point being?” growled the Director.

“In the days immediately following the Mass Calling, before we were actually aware of what had occurred, two of these passports left the country, and one more has disappeared.”

“Huh,” the Director leaned back in, brow creasing in thought.  “Was the missing one under diplomatic passport?”

“No,” Chekov didn’t have to check his brief.  “She’s a Russian national.”

“Let her go,” the Director decided.  “It’s likely the Slayers with them are already indoctrinated anyway.  We should concentrate on the unexpected Potentials, we’ll  scoop them up and draft them into the military.”

“We aren’t going to utilise them towards fighting the supernatural, sir?” Chekov’s brow furrowed.

“Huh,” the Director chuckled.  “We’ve tolerated those Mithras bastards for long enough, let them do their job!”  The Director shook his head and scowled.  “No, we’ll train these Slayers and put them to work in Chechnya.  Let them feel some terror for a change!”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Beijing, China

The Minster of State Security smiled as he entered.  “I assume you have my report?”

“Yes sir.” As head of State Security’s Supernatural Security division, the last few weeks of Bao Hu’s life had been the most hectic by far. “Four men we now believe to be Watchers left China within the last month, taking with them seven girls, and an additional five girls were killed in the last year by weapons that we believe to belong to the Harbingers of the First.   Nevertheless it is estimated there will be at least one hundred and twenty-five Slayers in China.”

“Excellent,” the Minister of State Security beamed.  “I want the girls rounded up to begin basic training for the Chinese army.”

”Sir?”  Bao Hu leaned forward in his chair, eyes widening.  “I thought it was policy,” centuries-old policy at that, “for any Slayer to be given into the care of the Council?”

“There are many Slayers now,” the Minister replied.  “Let the Council use them to protect the world, these Slayers are ours to use for the betterment of the state!”.

FIC: 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (3/?)

LA W&H

“Ah, Ms. Morgan,” Manners nodded as the lady lawyer strode into his office, “and how is Ms. Kira Dim adapting to her new Calling?”

“You should ask our wet works team sir,” Lillah smirked.  “She put three of them in the infirmary yesterday.”

”Excellent,” Manners beamed with grand-fatherly pride.  It was a shame they’d only managed to locate a solitary Potential but the Powers That Be seemed to shield their girls from their eyes.  Their forces globally were attempting to ‘collect’ any Slayers, even though it would take considerably longer to brainwash them, they could find, but various governments, intelligence agencies, and even crime cartels were also attempting to recruit them, with the Council also having what could only be described as a head-start. 

Manners sighed.  And that was another problem, Summers was an incompetent and arrogant leader, but in the Senior Partners’ original plan, the Council would have been decimated far later in the timeline, not having the months and years it had had to recover and re-organise, meaning it would scoop up rather more Slayers before their plan concluded.

Not that it would ultimately matter, the ending would be the same.  Fire and blood for all.

Turning his mind back to the present day, he smiled again at his lawyer.  “Given how poorly Angel responded to our offer, it’s been decided to put your Slayer in the field against him.”

 

“Of course sir,” Lillah replied.  “I’m eager-.”

“Not just yet however,” Holland interrupted.  “We’ll work up a schedule, blood her in the field against lesser vamps, get her working with the black ops team, have her establish operation protocols.”

”Yes sir, I’ll organise patrol routes that keep her away from the areas Angel and his gang work in,” Lillah commented.

”That’s the idea, I want you to minimise the potential for encounters between her and either Angel or the Brotherhood team, perhaps sending her out hunting in the towns that don’t have permament Brotherhood presences – Sacramento, Fresno, Oakland, San Jose, ” Manners instructed.  “And then when I’m satisfied she’s ready, she’ll strike.”

*                                  *                      *

Damascus, Syria

They were one of the most fearful of all secret societies, the Hashashin, seemingly supernaturally capable of penetrating any security, of striking down any victim regardless of the body of men who might guard him. They moved as if they were deadly shadows and struck with a fury that shattered the nerves and the resolve of their most stalwart foes. Their dark organisation’s very name had given the English language the words "assassin," one who kills for fanatical or monetary reasons; "assassinate," the act of killing suddenly and treacherously; and "assassination," the murder of a prominent person.

Most of the early members of the secret society were followers of the Nizari branch of the Isma Iliyya sect of Shiite Muslims and were located primarily in Syria and what was now Iran. In 1090, Hasan ibn Sabbah had the mountain citadel of Alamaut in northern Iran and made it his where he as leader could live in relative safety and direct his forces throughout the middle east. Hasan became known as the "old man of the mountains," and he set about creating a fanatical organization composed of devotees, known as fedayeen, who did whatever he commanded with blind obedience.

Hasan had frequently bought boys from poverty-stricken parents and reared them in the camps where he had gathered young men to be trained as suicide commandos, leading them step by step to higher levels of combat proficiency. At the same time that he was shaping his men into fierce warriors, he also indoctrinated them spiritually, convincing them that as they advanced under his tutelage they would come closer to the sacred and ultimate mystery that only he could reveal.

In order to be certain that no doubts remained among the initiates that he was deity made flesh, Hasan supplied them with generous amounts of the drug hashish, then hypnotically guided them to the lavish gardens of heaven where they were allowed to witness for themselves the beauty of the afterlife. When the youths regained full consciousness, they were convinced that they had been allowed a glimpse of their future dwelling place in paradise.

Although the Hashashin came to be feared by Christian Crusaders and even Islamic royalty, their membership probably never numbered more than 2,000 fedayeen at any one time. Because Hasan had indoctrinated his warriors to the belief that death in the pursuit of orders guaranteed an immediate transference to paradise, they fought with a fury untouched by the normal fear of dying in combat. Masters of disguise and of many languages and dialects, the Assassins might one day appear as simple peasants working around a castle wall and the next emerge as highly capable warriors springing on their victims from the shadows. The Assassins inveigled themselves into the services of all the surrounding rulers, posing as loyal soldiers or servants, but always awaiting the bidding of their grand master to strike if ordered to do so. A powerful sultan who defied the orders of Hasan might suddenly find himself attacked by Assassins who for many years had been regarded as trusted servants but had only been hiding in his service until such time as the grand master ordered his assassination. As the power of Hasan's secret society became known throughout the East, a monarch never knew which of his seemingly faithful retinue was really an Assassin only awaiting orders to murder him.

However those days of influence and power were centuries gone, their august order having dwindled to but a few dozen, and their legend almost forgotten and blown away in the winds of time.  Now though one of their number sought to bring them to undreamed of heights.

“The weapon is a symbol, should the right leader wield it, he could unite the entire Arab world, drive the Israelites into the sea and make the world kneel to his will!”

“And what of the other parts of the prophecy?”

Adad’s eyes blazed with fanatical intensity.  “The prophet was wise, but he did not have a warrior’s heart or spine, he dared not to dream!”

Sargon nodded quickly.  “Of course,” he replied.  He himself had doubts, but one had to have more nerve than him to risk Adad’s fanatic temper.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Yazd, Iran

Azima glared around the room, her strident tones ringing out to fill their drab surroundings.  “Shamshir-e-Zomorrodnegar is no myth!  It was a magical weapon created by a sorceress of unimagined power!  With it in our grasp, I can teach the zealots a much needed lesson!”

Jaasir licked his lips nervously as the witch talked.  Azima was a striking woman, tanned and lithe, with a strong, firm jaw and challenging dark eyes.  She didn’t assume the typically submissive position demanded by his faith and group, but no-body who’d seen her powers dared to attempt correct that.  Since her arrival, she’d risen quickly in Neda Omid’s ranks, displaying a sharp tactical mind and a ruthless daring that together with her presence had soon cowed their group’s leaders.  “What would you have us do?”

Azima fixed her eyes on him, gaze boring through him.  “Shamshir-e-Zomorrodnegar need only be found and I can use the power within it to cast such a spell that will never be forgotten.”

Jaasir nodded.  “So be it.  Praise to the prophet.”

Azima’s smile had shadows flickering in it.  “In Allah’s name,” she agreed.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Chelyabinsk, Russia

Sergi Golov stared bleakly out of his office window.  The sight of the expansive gardens of his estate just outside the city had never failed to make his heart soar until now.  But then he suspected that his billions he’d made from the mines he owned would never again bring him happiness.  “My family, my wife and two sons, were holidaying on the Spanish coast in my yacht, when a terrorist group set off a bomb in the harbour they were in, destroying my yacht and killing my family.”  The chair creaked under his rotund weight as he turned to the room’s other occupant.  “A Middle-Eastern group called Neda Omid claimed responsibility.  Their name means Call Of Truth if you can believe that?”  Golov shook his head.  “Call of Truth, what cowards these bastards must be to hide behind such an innocuous name!”

“Hey, if you want a philosopher call Stephen Hawking, at least he’ll entertain you by talking funny.”  Golov stared blankly at his costumed guest.  “Hey, tough crowd.”

Golov found it hard to believe that this idiot was the man to do what he wanted.  But all his sources claimed that this man was the one he needed.  “Fifty million roubles,” he spoke, voice husky with desire.  “Fifty million, I want them all dead.”

His guest leaned forward.  “They’re dead, as sure as my name’s Cary Grant.”

“But your name’s not Cary Grant!” He spluttered, his guest keeping him constantly off-balance.

The man seemed to smile under his mask.  “But I’m as charming, just ask the ladies.”

A\N:  If anyone of Persian\Iranian\Middle Eastern descent is reading this and is aware of the legend of Amir Arsalan, I’m more than aware I’m playing very fast and loose with it.

FIC: 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (4/?)

“Hello Xander, and how are you?”

Xander blinked as he recognised the cultured tones crackling out of his cell.  “I’m fine, Lara,” he paused, “how can I help you?”

“Ah to business,” the famed explorer’s soft laugh sent tickles down his spine.  Hey, he was involved, not dead.  “I assume you have heard of Amir Arsalan?”

Xander blinked again.  Who?  “Let’s pretend I haven’t.” 

“Very well,” Lara’s chuckle did interesting things to his ear.  “Amir Arsalan was a Persian hero of antiquity, one of the greatest actually.  His story began with the destruction of his village, an invincible demon called Fulad-zereh slaughtering all but him, leaving him alive to tell all of his great power.”

“Wow,” Xander muttered, he could see where this was going a mile off.  “This Fulad guy really needed to read the evil overlord list.”

“Pardon?” Lady Croft queried.

”Eh, nothing,” Xander flushed.  “Please, go on.”

“Grief-stricken and enraged, Amir Arsalan sought out his kingdom’s mightiest mage and had him forge a sword ‘Shamshir-e-Zomorrodengar’ out of pure magic.  Then Amir took the sword and carried it to be blessed by the wisest clerics and enchanted by the most powerful mages of the five kingdoms blighted by Fulad-zereh, while all the time battling bandits and evil wizards who sought to steal the sword and twist it to their own dark purposes.  However, at the moment of the casting of the final spell, Fuldah-zereh’s mother struck and stole away the only weapon forged that could slay her son, leaving Amir for dead.”

Despite himself, Xander felt himself drawn into the story.  “Go on.”

“It took him close to a season to recover, but once he did, he tracked the witch back to her liar and waited for her return.  Once she was asleep, he sneaked in, killed her in her sleep, took his sword, and escaped, slaying her demon guards as he left.  Then he tracked down Fulad-zereh and killed him, the sword mysteriously disappearing at the moment of victory.”

“And what’s the punchline?” Xander queried.

“The punchline is I’ve picked up rumours the sword may have returned,” Lara’s voice picked up tempo.  “Can you imagine the chaos such a weapon could cause in the wrong hands?  Iran’s Grand Ayatollah gets a hold of it, and uses his possession to ‘prove’ his divinity and righteousness, and uses it to whip his followers up into a holy war.  Or a terrorist group using the sword to draw acolytes towards it.  Or a witch using the power focused in the sword for a spell.”

“Okay,” Xander grimaced at the blood-stained ideas Lara was flinging at him.  “But can’t you go?”

”Love to dear,” the English noblewoman replied, “but I’m stuck behind the Bamboo Curtain, dealing with a scarcely less sensitive negotiation, its just my counterparts have no idea what they’ve got, otherwise trouble abounds.”

”Okay,” Xander sighed.  He knew he really wasn’t going to enjoy the conversation to come with Faith.  “You’ve got my email address, send me the details.”

 

“Thanks darling, toodle pip!”

“Yeah,” Xander shook his head, “toodle pip.”  His head was beginning to throb with just the thought of the conversation he and Faith were going to be having in the very near future.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Xander glanced around the busy airport, wishing with all his might that the engines roaring overhead were just a little bit louder.

“I am not wearing one of those burqa things!” Faith growled.

”Yes you are,” Xander snapped.

“No I ain’t!”

“Yes you are.” 

“Like hell I am!”

Xander ground his teeth together.  This was going to be a very, very long flight.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Chicago

The pain, the unimagined pain.  His breath coming in wheezes, his limbs growing limp while one thought, one name, pounded out a tune in his head.  So many years ostracised, so much disapproval.  Why then was his son’s face the only thing he could see before him as his heart beat its last?  “Marc….”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

It was a nice office, antique looking rug lying across the tiled floor, shelves filled with various antiquities from mostly middle-eastern countries, while behind the desk and attached half-way up the wall there stood a sizable, glass-doored book cabinet.

A very nice office except for the chalk outline on the floor between the desk and the book cabinet.

“What have you got?”  Patrolman Sanders almost jumped at the unexpected growl.  Spinning around, he was confronted by a towering, square-jawed man with dark brooding eyes and the muscles of a heavyweight contender dressed in a crumpled suit and stood in the office’s doorway.  A man with the air of someone who not only expected to be obeyed, but without question.

“Elias Spector, 63, a rabbi and middle eastern scholar,” he quickly reported.  “The body’s gone to the morgue, I’m just securing the place.”

“Huh, huh.”  The man had a disinterested air as he continued rattling off questions, Sanders answering as best he could, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.  Finally the detective nodded and turned to leave.  “Thanks for your co-operation, officer.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Rage coursed through him as he strode away from his murdered father’s office.  “Frenchie,” he growled into the cellphone, once again he would have vengeance to inflict and blood to spill, but this time it would be very personal.  He didn’t have any leads, but that was alright, he had ‘divine’ inspiration guiding him.  “Get the plane ready we’re going to Tehran.”

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (5/?)

Tehran, Iran

As a city dating back to close to six thousand years old and one that had had a staggering variety of cultures and civilisations take up home there, Tehran’s architecture was an amazing mixture of styles, the very old, and the very modern.

Faith on the other hand was too busy bein’ pissed at the confining clothes she found herself in.  Damn it was dry and hot, what she wouldn’t do to be in a pair of shorts and gym vest.  “I can’t believe you’re makin’ me wear this!”

“I’m not making you wear that,” Xander snapped as they made across a busy street.  “The nation’s law is, a nation that isn’t exactly caring about women’s rights, and a nation that isn’t exactly interested in obeying the Geneva Convention.  Piss people off here, and they’ve plenty of torturers to go around.”

”Let them try, I’ll show those sexist assholes ‘bout girl power!” Faith threatened

“Faith, will you,” Xander shrugged, “oh I don’t know how to put it….”

 

“Shut the hell up?” suggested Kennedy.

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” Xander agreed.

Faith huffed.  Oh there was gonna be a whole hell of a lot of payback.

                            *                              *                                  *

Tara decided to do what she usually did when her gang started arguing and change the subject.  “What’s your plan, Xander?”

“Lady Croft gave me the address of a Middle Eastern mythology scholar who know everything there is to know about Persian mythology,” Xander replied.  “I’ve organised to meet with him and see what he can tell us about the sword.”

“Oh so masterful,” Faith muttered.  “It’s like watching Sun-Tzu plan it is.”

                            *                              *                                  *

“What’s your plan, Marc?”

Marc glanced at his best friend and pilot as their plane taxied down on a very exclusive airfield situated just outside Tehran that was used by many of the nation’s foremost politicians and businessmen in addition to foreign entrepreneurs.  Being as it was an exclusive airport, usual customs protocols were blithely ignored, the very rich able to bring and take out anything they desired out of the country.

Which, given his unique requirements, made it ideal.

“I got hold of my father’s,” grief and rage momentarily choked him, forcing him to pause.  “My father’s phone records over the last three months.  In the last month, my dad was on the phone with a Amir Nadeh every day at least once.  I checked this guy out and apparently he’s a scholar in Middle Eastern mythology-.

”You think this Nadeh might have found out about your connection with Konshu and had been trying to get to you through your dad?”

Marc nodded at Frenchie’s query.  “It might be.”

“Then it could be a trap.”

 

“Could be,” Marc agreed.

”And you’re still going?” Frenchie queried.

“They killed my dad.”  A dad he hadn’t spoken to in years, but a man who had nevertheless brought him into this world and brought him up.  He couldn’t be the man he was and not react in this way.  Duty and cold will clung to him more securely than any corporeal chains.

                        *                                  *                                  *

He was on his game, ready to wreck carnage on his enemies, fully informed and equipped.  In short, he hadn’t forgot a thing.

Those terrorists that stood in the way of truth, justice, and him pocketing a hefty cheque didn’t stand a chance!

“Sir,” his hired pilot’s voice crackled through the intercom, “we’re in position.”

 

“The rest of your fee will be in your Swiss account within the hour,” he replied as he rose and walked across to the plane’s door and flung it.  Wind roared in, almost flinging him out until he grabbed a hold of the door’s frame and steadied himself.  He’d jump when he wanted to and not before.

”Sir, we have in-coming from the Iranian Air Force!”

And when he wanted to was apparently now.

He stepped majestically out of the plane, ready to make yet one more successful parachute jump, so many skills, so little time.  He gasped as he dropped like a stone, the wind whooshing around him.  “OH NO!” he squealed.  “Readers, get sowing!  Readers!  I forgot my parachute!”

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Every bone shattered as he hit the ground, blood shooting out of his pancaked body, dying so quickly he didn’t have time to feel the crushing impact much less have a chance to scream as he landed on the ground just outside VEVAK’s stone-walled headquarters.

Just like he planned.

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (6/?)

“In Allah’s name!” Javed Avez almost threw up as he stared down the mess of a corpse that had just splattered to the ground outside his organisation’s headquarters.  “What madness?  What would possess him?”

“That’s why we’re here,” Ali Mahood replied as he crouched at the far end of the smashed mess that had once been a human being.  “The superiors want it taking inside for inspection to see which group of infidels dared to send him and why.”

”Yes,” Javed wrinkled his nose, he was an expert with a cattle prod and a whip, but his stomach had limits, and the stench coming off the stain in the ground was definitely testing them.  “Let’s get the body into a bodybag.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

School Of Literature And Humanities, Tehran University

Amir Nadeh’s hands trembled as he glanced up at his office’s clock on the wall opposite his desk.  He’d been trying to call his old friend and fellow scholar, Elias, all day, but his friend had steadfastly refused to answer his calls.  The papers they’d been working on hinted at incredible possibilities, perhaps even proving long-thought fantasies were in reality, fact.  But the secrets he’d been working on would be of great interest to the authorities, perhaps even threatening the lives of those who knew them.

And then there was the young man purporting to know the glamorous Lady Croft. 

It was all too much for a mild-mannered academic whose only dream was to be published.

The opening of the office door dragged his gaze from his clock and towards the entrance.  His brow furrowed as a trio of swarthy, bearded men glided into the room, crowding it with their formidable bulk, stony eyes impaling him.  His heart thundering, he began to rise.  “I don’t believe-.”

”Owww!” A coarse-palmed slap to the side of his head sent crashing back to his chair and his wire-framed glasses spinning off his head to clatter onto the cluttered desk.  “What-.”

 

“Up professor,” one of the man rasped, his breath stale and hot on Nadeh’s face as he leaned forward and across the desk to reach around, grab his collar and pull him up.

“Oh god,” a caustically husky voice mocked from the door, “this is the superior Islamic man I’ve been hearin’ so much ‘bout?  I’m like so wet right now.”

 

The man nearest the door began to turn only to crumple to the ground, his left leg twisted at an unnatural angle.  The thug in the centre of the room spun to face the interloper, his hand dipping inside his sports jacket, only to fold when a burkah wearing western beauty blurred into the room, heel slamming into his gut, then knee snapping up to crash into his jaw to lay him out cold.

“Infidel!” The third raced towards the slightly-built westerner who dropped into a crouch, leaned sideways towards him, reached out to grab him by his belt and shirt, then straightened, and flung the man headfirst into the wall, filing cabinet dropping onto him.

“Looks like you’re all infideled out,” the striking brunette drawled.

“You’re her,” Nadeh gaped, “the legend come to life.”

The girl’s eyes zeroed in on him, eyebrow quirking up in amusement.  “Is that a line?”

“N….no, the Slayer, you’re the Slayer!”

“Hey look Xan,” Faith chortled.  “Fame at last!”

“Funny Faith,” a tall, powerfully-built young man strode purposefully into the room, “Professor Nadeh?”  He nodded dazedly, eyes fixed on the bewitching brunette.  “Hi, I’m Xander?  Lady Croft rang you about me?  We should hurry out of here in case they have any friends hanging around.”

“In case,” Faith snorted, “that’s optimistic.”

Xander shot the Slayer an irritated look before reaching over the desk, grasping him by the elbow with considerably more gentleness but no less firmness than the thugs.  “Sir.  I think it’s best we leave.”

“Yes, yes, but,” he stuttered and stumbled as the young man eased him out into the corridor, the young man and his trio of accompanying women blithely ignoring any students who passed their path, their pace hurried but not panicked as the four seemed to instinctively yet unobtrusively position themselves in a protective cordon around him.

Amir’s eyes watered as they exited the building and entered the open air car park, his scholarly eyes watering at the unused to blazing sun.  He was usually indoors, either lecturing or researching, at this time of day.

“See the tinted windowed SUV?” the smaller of the two brunettes commented.  “Gas coming out of its exhaust pipe, engine’s running.”

“Noticed it,” Xander passed his keys to the girl, “get our car and bring it over to us.  We’ll wait here, make sure no-one gets in behind us.  Faith, watch the stairs behind-.”

The young man’s voice trailed off as the SUV reversed out of the car park to screech to a halt in front of them.  “Never mind.”

“Yup,” the Slayer drawled.  “Optimistic.”

“I prefer realistic.”  Xander sighed and shook his head as men began piling out of the SUV.  “Tara, stay with the professor.  Ladies,” the young man glanced at the two brunettes, “shall we?”

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (7/?)

Neurons fired into life, electricity igniting in his skull.  Bones forced themselves to mend and organs re-started themselves, pumping blood through his previously lifeless form.   All which sent painful tidal waves across his body, burning with such intensity that he would have screamed himself hoarse if he wasn’t so used to pain.

And a big, big fan of being whipped by naked lovelies.

It had been his plan along of course.  Fling himself out of a plane, crash to a messy end outside the base of the Iranian secret service, get carried in for inspection rather than have to fight his way in.  Then when inside, heal, and then steal the information about the Iranian funded Neda Omid before sneaking out.  After all, escaping the place would be a lot easier than breaking in.

And those fine people at Weapon X thought he couldn’t plan!

“I love it when,” he groaned, sweat pouring off him as he unzipped his body-bag and climbed out into the empty morgue, “a body comes together.  Especially mine.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

”Xan,” Faith shook her head as she started forward, noting the men’s varied selection of weaponry, “you are a certified horse’s ass.”

“Be nice in front of strangers, dear,” Xander reprimanded.  “Or at least professional.”

“Whatever.”  A bearded man so big it was difficult it was to decide where his neck ended and his shoulders began lumbered into the attack, swinging a bladed chain at her head, the weapon slicing through the air.

Faith’s hand blurred up to grab the chain just in from the blade.  The moment her fingers had closed on the chain, Faith tensed her bicep and yanked her fist towards her.

The man stumbled forward, dark eyes widening as he attempted to set his feet, lurch back and use his far greater weight to reverse his momentum and fling her towards him.  Faith shook her head.  “Don’t think so.”  At the last moment Faith saw a knife coming up in her rival’s spare hand.  Faith’s right hand slashed down to karate chop the man’s wrist, bone shattering under her attack and the weapon clattering out of the man’s grasp.  The moment her blow hit home, Faith reversed her swing, her fingers shooting up to jam into the man’s treelike throat.

The man’s head shot back, eyes bulging and spittle showering out of her mouth as his windpipe collapsed.  Even as Faith released her grip on the chain allowing the man and his weapon to slump to the ground, another man lunged around the side of the falling thug.  Faith’s leg snapped up and out to the side, her heel slamming into the man’s knee, a crack like a billiard cue hitting a ball erupting as the man fell forward into her upswinging elbow to his jaw.

“Ah shit!” Faith’s heart skipped a beat as a thick-set man even bigger than the two she’d put down stepped out from behind the SUV, a mini-uzi in his hands.

Then a cowled giant dressed in a white cape over a white jump suit with a half-moon embossed on his vault-sized chest dropped out of the air, grabbed the man’s gunarm at the wrist and slammed it down so the gunman shot his own foot, then drove the man’s head into the side of the SUV.  “Fuck me,” Faith gasped as the thug slumped to the ground.  “That was cool.”

Her fists came up as the towering man stalked up to her.  She wasn’t getting any demon vibe off him, but the way he moved, fuck he was deadly.  “Faith.”  Suddenly Xander was by her side, grabbing her arm.  “This is Moon Knight.”

”Good guy?” Faith didn’t take her eyes off the advancing figure.

“Depends,” the man’s growl sent shivers up her spine, “you ain’t been muggin’ old ladies have you?”

”Eh, nope.”

”Good guy.”  The man ghosted past her to stand by the professor.  “Professor Nadeh, if I might ask what was your -.”

“Sir, Mr. Moon Knight,” Faith snorted, partially at the diffidence in Xander’s voice, partially at her boytoy’s choice of words, Xander glared at her then returned her gaze to the apparent super hero.  “We all want answers, but I think it would be prudent to leave here before any more of these thugs arrive.”

The super-hero’s gaze snapped to Xander.  Faith bristled inwardly as the caped warrior’s gaze bored a hole in her man, one hostile word, one hostile move, and she’d put him down hard.  Then the hero nodded.  “You’re right,” he grated.  “We better get a move on.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Wade grinned as he leapt off the morgue table and decided to dress.  After all, it would be embarrassing if he chopped three quarters of his Johnson off during the fight, and ended up just normal-sized.  It would grow back of course, but you never knew when you were going to meet Ms. Right.

Or even Ms.  Right Now six times.

Wade tugged on his uniform before noticing something very important laid out on a counter by the sink.  “They left me my weapons!” He jumped up and down on the spot, clapping excitedly.  “My luvly wuvly weapons, oh yes daddy loves you the best!”

He’d have to thank them.

Before he killed them.

Whistling a merry tune, he strode to the door and kicked it open, walking into the dank corridor outside.  “Lucy I’m home.”  He drew his katana.  “OH LUCCCCY!”

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (8/?)

“So Moon Knight, guessing from the costume you’ve got serious issues.”

Xander groaned at Faith’s comment, but the costumed super-hero just chuckled from deep with his cowl.  “Like you wouldn’t believe, kid.” 

Xander’s eyes narrowed as he noticed a trio of police cars flying through the parking lot’s wooden barrier.  “Looks like its time for us to go.”

 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“I’m so happy!  So happy!” Deadpool trilled joyfully as he danced in and out of whizzing bullets, blood adorned the drab corridor’s walls and spent shells and dismembered corpses riddled the floor.

“Look Mom!” Deadpool squealed as he leaned back at the waist, practically folding himself in two, as bullets flew overhead.  “I’m doing the limbo!”

Straightening the moment the bullets had flown overhead, eyes narrowed to the over-turned tables at the far end, fearful faces bobbing over them as the men crouched behind the furniture fired at him.  Dear reader, if I was a philosophical type I’d be ecstatic about bringing destruction and terror to those who normally oppressed the innocent.

Of course, I was much too busy having fun to be deep and thoughtful.

Deadpool leapt into the air, eyes fixed on the rising muzzles as he dropped between the trio cowering behind the desk, his left katana taking a head while his right blade did the same on the other side.  Upon landing he spun to face the remaining gunman, leaning away from their frightened gun-fire before thrusting his blade through their neck, blood spewing everywhere.  Yanking his blade out, Deadpool turned and headed around the corner.  “People really need to hire a better class of goon,” Deadpool muttered as he continued on his way.  “Slaughtering and butchery is getting to be a bore.”

Deadpool spun to the left at the sound of a door opening only to quickly sheath his swords when a tanned petite beauty with her silken mane tied back appeared in the doorway. Deadpool dialled back on his natural charisma so not to intimidate the woman.  “Hiya honey,” he drawled, beaming as the woman reached into her uniform to start undressing.

Or pull out an unpinned grenade and drop it in the space between the two of them.  Same diff.

“Ahhh!” Deadpool screamed as he dived away from the grenade’s explosion, the explosion shaking the walls, and its concussive power flinging him into the wall with enough force to crack it.  “Jeez, crazy chicks,” he coughed as he stood and stared down sadly at the charred corpse of what had been a serious Deadpool-hungry babe, “gotta love ‘em.”

Sighing slightly, he jogged towards the steps at the end of the smoke-scorched corridor only to duck back around the corner when he was met by a torrid of gunfire.  “Really?” Deadpool shook his head as he pulled out a grenade.  “Is that what you call welcoming?”  He screamed as he leant around the corner, took two in the chest, the impact shaking his spectacularly-hunky frame, and threw the grenade to the feet of the two gunmen stood on the landing a dozen steps above him.  “I’m going to report you to the Iranian Tourist Board!”

The explosion shook plaster from the ceiling above, scorched the walls to the left and right, tiny fires igniting on the worn carpeted floor, and flung the men off their feet and into and through the window behind them, glass showering everywhere.  “Guys,” Deadpool yelled as he hurried up the stairs, “they say it’s not the fall that kills you it's the sudden stop at the end, but in your case I’m guessing it won’t make much of a difference!”

Reaching the landing, he glanced to the left, grinning as he saw the door he wanted, the brass plaque hanging central on its dusty glass window.  “Mansab,” he muttered as his foot slammed into the door with enough force not just to knock it open, but rip it off its hinges and knock it onto the floor just before the office’s desk.

The office itself was shrouded in darkness, curtains drawn on the window above the bureaucratic-looking four-drawer high filing cabinets set against the left wall.  Filing cabinets were pressed against the rear wall, just behind the desk, and to the right wall as well.  Which made this place a really, really boring-looking place for a hip and happening assassin like him to find himself in.

Them’s the breaks, not every job took him to strip clubs, brothels, or night clubs.

Suddenly a shadow to the left shifted.  Fire spat from a gun, but Deadpool was already moving, gliding to the left to avoid the bullets.

At least he tried to until his feet wrapped themselves together and sent him crashing ass-first onto the door, and under the bullets.  Cheeks flaming with embarrassment, he leapt up and lunged at his attacker, sliding forward in a baseball slide.

His opponent let out a strangled gasp as Deadpool’s heels slammed into his shins, bones shattering like kindling, their owner falling to the carpet with a shriek.  Deadpool was on him before the man had chance to draw breath, snatching him by his collar and flipping him onto his back.  Deadpool smirked down at his prize,   a portly man with a rounded face, sweaty skin, and beady, shifty eyes.  “Not my usual date, but I’ll take what I can.”  Deadpool kept his gaze on the man under him as he drew his gun and almost off-handedly put a pair of bullets into the heads of the duo rushing into the office.  “I think we’re alone now. General Siyah, what can the head of VEVAK tell me about Neda Omid?”

Spittle hit his mask as the General defiantly spat at him.  “Come General,” Deadpool drew his sword and slashed at the desk’s nearest leg, ripping it away and sending the table crashing to the ground, contents spilling everywhere,  “you and I both know your organisation funds Neda Omid.” The General’s back arched as he ever so gently laid the blade’s edge against the man’s wrist, fear filling his ferrety eyes.  “So start talking and MAYBE I won’t start cutting.”

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (9/?)

Spector couldn’t explain why he allowed this group of kids to join him, they were impressive enough from what he’d seen, but he had always been a solitary creature, largely relying on his own group of friends and ignoring what the rest of the super-hero community got up to. 

And yet now the quartet and their ‘guest’ were ensconced in his SUV as he roared towards the state police cars heading into the car park. 

Spector decided his ‘benefactor’ better have a damn good reason for this.

All this flashed through his mind as he pulled left, shot into an empty driving space and across to the other side of the lot, clipping the side of an already battered Volvo as he straightened, tyres screeching, the cries of his flung-around passengers ringing in his ears as he raced towards the car lot’s entrance, a hatchback hastily pulling to the opening’s right.  Marc had the briefest glimpse of the driver’s terrified eyes and then he was shooting out of the opening, and back onto the road, into oncoming traffic.

“FUCCCCCCCCCCK!”

The buxom brunette beside him let out a panicked screech as he shot across three lanes of on-coming traffic, their horns blaring angrily.  Marc ignored it all as he raced across the lanes then grunted as he hit the junction full on and flew over it, crashing down onto the road’s far side.  Marc’s shoulders and forearms screamed as he yanked the wheel hard, forcing the rocking car to obey him and speed off in traffic.

“Jesus!” the brunette gasped.  “How in hell can there be two drivers as bad as you, Xan???”

Spector scowled as he glanced in the rear-view mirror to see the flashing lights of a trio of state police cars speeding through the traffic to get to them.  His foot slammed down on the accelerator, sending the car leaping forward. Spector jerked the wheel to the right and into the outside lane bare inches from the rusting sedan just ahead, screeching brakes and protesting horns vanguarding his shift into the outside lane, the car behind him forced to pile into the inside lane to avoid a collision. 

Spector stood on the accelerator, forcing just a few more revs from the furiously performing engine.  Cars blurred as he powered on.  Seeing a turn off, he jerked into the furthest outside lane, cars squealing to a hasty halt behind him.  Noting one of the police cars coming in fast, he pulled hard to the left, shooting across two lanes of traffic in one smooth move, then gunning down on the accelerator again before sliding into the furthest lane to the left of a rusted van then hit the brakes.

Once again cars screeched to a halt, horns blaring as the car coming up behind skipped into the outside lane, then yanked his wheel away as Spector suddenly shot across the lanes to fly like a dart going for the bullseye towards the next turn-off.  Behind him car after car braked, only to be hit by the vehicles behind.

”SHIT!”  the brunette beside him let out a screech as a car skidded under a truck, sparks flying everywhere as the car’s roof was pulled off like a can’s lid being opened, and another car left the ground, flew through the air to smash into the roof of the truck’s cab, knocking it over before itself crashing nose-first on the tarmac, flattening it like a stomped on can. 

And then they were shooting down the turn-off. 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Faith glanced over her shoulder as the car straightened and powered down the turn-off.  “Shit!” she exclaimed as a pair of police cars chased after them.  “Two of them still comin’!”

The customed nutjob sat beside her just grunted then jerked his wheel hard to the right, sending her crashing headfirst into the window as he turned on a dime.  The car engine’s screeched a protest as they shot down an alley, the left wing mirror slamming into the alley’s entrance and flying off as their left flank side-swiped the brick wall, paint scraping off accompanying the car side’s protesting squeal.  Their charging car sent the alley’s trash cans flying, one bouncing off the hood and onto the roof before spinning off to crash into the wall to their right.  The engine roared as they burst out of the alley, their driver shooting them directly into on-rushing traffic, their driver gliding seamlessly in and out of the racing-cars. 

At least that was the theory.

“SHIT!” Faith exclaimed as the SUV jumped as it crashed into a mini, the SUV’s right headlight exploding into shards as the other car spun away, the driver grunted as he struggled to keep a hold of the car’s wheels, thick arms flexing mightily beneath his costume. 

And then the man jerked hard on his wheel, tilting the car up onto two wheels, the smell of burning tyres filling their nostrils as they completed an U-turn and shot off this time in the flow of traffic, moving in and out of the traffic flow.  Faith glanced to her left, noting a police car attempting to duplicate their manoeuvre then winced as the car’s rear flank was caught by an on-rushing truck.  Momentum, weight, and physics combined to lift the car off the tarmac and fling it into a shop front, glass exploding outwards as the car flew into the shop. 

Minutes later, they were parking up at the rear of a smoke-belching factory, the shadows cast by its high corrugated walls ensuring them some cover.  Moon Knight looked over his shoulder and let out what she had to admit was a wicked creepy growl.  “What business did you have with Elias Spector?”

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (10/?)

Amir Nadeh panted and wheezed, his heart pounding painfully within him as sweat streamed down his face.  Everything was happening so quickly.  Barely an hour ago he’d been a professor of ancient history and mythology, a sedentary man whose adventures were of the second-hand nature.  But now, he’d been involved in a fight, a car chase, and been alerted to the existence of a warrior he’d previously thought of as only a myth.

“Professor,” the softly-spoken girl to his left jarred him out of his thoughts.

“Yes,” he dabbed at his forehead with a hankie, hand shaking.  “Of course.”  He took a rattling breath before continuing.   ”Myself and Elias have been friends for decades, despite religious and national differences, our scholarly interests binding us together.  Several months ago, I found a parchment on a dig around the ruins of Nessa.  It was a most archaic dialect and written in code to boot, I barely understood a word in five.  But one phrase stood out ‘Shamshir-e Zomorrodnegar ‘.” The Slayer groaned.  “Excited at this, a mention of the most sacred legend in our history, I and Elias attempted to translate the passage to discover the sword’s location and to perhaps link it to our mythical past.”

“So why the assassins?” queried the Slayer, concentration furrowing her brow.

Nadeh swallowed as he recalled the terror of the killers and the brutality her new companions had bestowed on them.  “I don’t know, but several nationalistic groups would be interested in such an artefact.  It would be a symbol of middle eastern power, and whoever held it could easily draw the impressionable under their sway.”

“Great, fanatics,” the Slayer shook her head, dark eyes narrowing and full lips scowling.  “That always ends so well.”

“And what about the sword?” rasped the masked man with an intensity that chilled him.  “Where is it?”  The costumed man’s gaze snapped to the Slayer when she slapped the back of his head.  “What the hell?”

“Dial it back, you’re scaring the prof,” the brunette warned before looking towards him.  “Go on prof?”

“It’s in the grounds of The Screaming Silence,” Nadeh replied, grateful that the costumed man’s intense gaze was now boring through the blithely-ignoring beauty.

“That sounds fun,” commented the other western male.

“It is very far from fun.”  Nadeh shook his head.  “The Screaming Silence was a lunatic asylum in the Shah era, supposedly for the unwell but in reality it was a place where SAVAK placed dissidents.  They call it the Screaming Silence, because no matter how much the captives screamed, no one would hear them.”

“You’d make a cracking tour guide,” muttered the younger of the two men.

“And you know this how?” demanded the Slayer.

“Myself and Rabbi Spector had been working together to translate the parchment and the code contained within and just a few days ago we cracked it,” Nadeh said.  “It’s there.”

“Huh,” the younger of the two men shot him a speculative, searching look.  “And those men in your room, who were they?”

 

“I believe they were of the Hashshashin-.”

The young man groaned.  “You mean the world’s first assassins?”  The women glanced towards their companion, the customed man remaining motionless.  “The Hashshashin were the world’s first assassins, dating back to the Crusades, they’ve had several centuries to get very good at killing people.”  The young man looked towards him.  “Do they have any idea what you know?”

“As Rabbi Spector was murdered, I would suspect they stole his notes and know the sword is due to appear there,” Nadeh replied.

“Due to appear there?” the honey-blonde queried.

“It’s a summonsing, predicted by the parchment’s prophecy,” Nadeh explained.

“We need to get our hands on that sword, we can’t let it fall into the fanatics’ hands,” commented the honey-blonde.

“Well we can’t use this car,” the younger of the two men commented.  “Far too noticeable.”

“Xan, if we’re goin’ in a firefight or some whacked out shit like that, I wanna change ‘fore hand, no way am I gonna try fighting in this crap.”  The Slayer glanced towards him, a strange compassion in her dark eyes.  “You comin’ with Prof?”  Nadeh nodded mutely.  “Hey don’t worry Prof, we’ll look after you, get you somewhere safe, right, Xan?”

The younger of the two men opened his mouth, but it was the older man who answered.  “I have a plane at an exclusive airfield, getting you out of the country won’t be a problem.”

“Whoever killed my-,” Naved noted but failed to understand the costumed man’s momentary pause, “killed the Rabbi in Chicago must know what he knew, and they’ll be after the sword.  I want to meet them.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Faith couldn’t help the chill that went through her at the costumed super hero’s rasp.  “So silver cesti, scarab darts, ankh, and crescent darts, I’m sensing a theme, lunar, Egyptian?”  The man grunted.  “Really, warm, fuzzy type ain’t you?”

“I’m here to get a job done,” Moon Knight replied.

”Yep,” Faith nodded.  “Warm and fuzzy.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”  Deadpool looked around and then whispered.  “Hush…..”

Deadpool let out a giggle as he cleaned his katanas and re-sheathed them in the scabbards attached to his back.  After a little ‘inducement’, the general in charge of VEVAK had been all too eager to tell him everything he wanted to know, including just where Neda Omid had made their base. 

Of course he hadn’t been quite helpful enough to save his life, but them’s the breaks.

Nevertheless, the general’s information had brought him here, to a walled compound on the town’s outskirts, its dark, bricked towers looming out from within its worn stone walls, a thick oppressive air hanging over the former lunatic asylum, clouds swirling around its jagged spires.

“Looks like fun!” Deadpool giggled as he looked at The Screaming Silence.  “I do hope the others get here before I leave, I love a good party!”

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (11/?)

Greenish sludge trailed down the sewer’s rounded walls, while dirty water sloshed around his knees as he crept through the stinking tunnel by torchlight, his ears cluing him into the skittering of the rats rushing past him.  Right now, he was very pleased he didn’t have Wolvie’s enhanced senses to go with his enhanced healing factor.

Yeah, he was definitely going to have to wash before he met the girlies.

Heck, a beatific smile stretched his face beneath his mask, he’d just strip, and impress them with his toned body and sexual charisma, an unbeatable combination.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“’Kay,” Faith whistled as they crept through the nuthouse’s grilled gates, “this is a place that just screams homey.”

 

“Hey,” Kennedy muttered, “look under that bush, there’s feet.”

Faith glanced to where the rookie was pointing.  “Shit,”  Faith hurried over, parting the thick shrubbery to find a pair of corpses, their faces rubbery white in death and their throats neatly cut.  “Yep, and there’s bodies attached to those feet too.”

“It looks like the assassin cult climbed over the wall,” Moon Knight pointed to the left, “and sneaked behind the guards, slit their throats so they couldn’t get them from behind, and slipped into the building.”

Xander grimaced as he put his hand on each of the corpses’ foreheads in turn.  “They’re still warm,” he reported.  “They’ve only been dead a couple of minutes.”

“Professor,” Tara looked towards the grey-faced academic.  “This is your last chance, you can go back to the car, or stick with us.”

“I…I’ll,” the man gulped.  “You might need me to identify the sword, I should come with you.”

“Good on you Prof,” Faith praised before looking towards Tara who nodded in understanding.  Sis would keep the old geezer safe.

“Faith, take point, Kennedy you’re in the rear,” Xander glanced uncertainly at Moon Knight, “you and me behind Faith, Tar and the Prof in front of the asylum.”  Xander peered at the brooding building.  “Any idea where the sword might be?”

“In the place of bleakest hope.”  The professor coloured at their blank looks.  “It’s a quote from the prophecy.  As I said, the asylum used to be used as a cover by the Shah’s secret police for political dissidents.  They kept the dissidents in cells with the truly ill and carried out their interrogations in the asylum’s basement.”

“A torture chamber,” Faith said then insincerely added.  “At least it’s in the basement, that’s my favourite sort of torture chamber!”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“I’m Swamp-Thing!” Deadpool muttered as he climbed out of the sewer and up through a manhole, its removed cover pushed to the side.  “No I’m Swamp-pool.”  He grinned as he heard the footfalls of approaching guards.  “Oh wait, I remember, I’m Deadpool.”

“Hiya guys.”  Deadpool waved at the trio of thick-set men who turned around the corner and strode purposefully towards him.  “Can we be friends?” He sighed when he noted the complete lack of smiles on the bearded men’s face.  “Okay, so you’re shy.  Let me show you just how fun and entertaining I can be!”

Deadpool started strutting from side to side, head bobbing back and forth, ass waggling behind him and his elbows flapping back and forth as he impersonated a chicken.  “"I've dined with kings and queens, and I've dined on pork and beans-."

“What!”  Deadpool gulped and began backing away when the men drew their guns.  “Oh come on!” he complained as the guns’ safeties clicked off.  “You must know Dusty Rhodes!”  He shook his head in disbelief when the guys aimed their guns at him, he’d hoped for so much more.  “Everyone loves the American Dream!”  The men glared at him, knuckles whitening as they began to squeeze their triggers.  “Well except Islamic fundamentalists,” he began to babble.  “Note to self, always tailor your act to your audience.  Okay, okay!” Deadpool wailed as he turned tail and ran, hot lead sizzling through the air as he darted around a corner.  “Okay, how about the Iron Sheik? Russia, number one! Iran, number one!! U.S.A., hack phooey!”

Deadpool’s eyes hardened as stone shards flew off the edge of the corner he’d hidden behind, the men continuing to fire.  “Okay, so you wanna play rough?”  He drew his guns and waited until his adversaries’ guns fell silent.  “Rough it is!”  He leapt into a cartwheel into the open space, rammed his feet into the far wall as the other men’s hastily re-loaded guns swung towards him, then glided into a forward flip.  “Look MA!” He squealed as his guns bucked in his hands taking out the left and right men.  “I’m flying!”  Deadpool landed beside the central man, and rammed his gun’s muzzle under his adversary’s chin.  “Of course it’s not the fall that kills, but the landing.” A slight squeeze of the trigger later and the man’s blood, skull, and brains were decorating the ceiling.  “Only not me.”

Deadpool sighed and shook his head as he looked down at the bloodied corpses at his feet.  “Bet you wish we’d been buds now, don’cha?”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“Holy shit,” Faith cursed as she peered through a dusty grilled window in a door into one of the padded-walled treatment rooms, a chill coming over her as she inspected the stirruped examination table, with what looked to be some sort of electrocution device stood alongside what looked to be a blood-speckled drill on the trailer stood beside it.

“As I said, practices here were barbaric,” Nadeh said.  “Treatments included electro-shock therapy, sensory depravation, ice baths, and in the most severe cases, lobotomies.”

“I thought you said they did all the torturing in the basement?” queried a green-looking Tara.

“Oh they did,” replied the shame-faced scientist.  “This is how they treated the legitimate patients.”

Faith shuddered.  Her boytoy took her to just the coolest places.

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (12/?)

Xander signalled there were four bearded thugs approaching the corner they were crouched behind and gestured for Faith and Kennedy to come at the quartet from right and left, then raised his fingers to count down from three.

“What I want to know,” Xander’s jaw dropped as he glanced back around the corner to see a masked man clothed entirely in red sneak up behind the quartet, “is when do I get my 72 virgins?”

Even as the men began to turn, the newcomer sprang into action, rippling through the air as his guns came up, shot after shot hitting their targets as he glided between the other men’s bullets, their blood flying up to soak the walls and the floor.  Then, just as suddenly as the violence had erupted it was over, the newcomer standing central in the crimson-soaked corridor.

“Hey Moonie!  It’s true what they say about you and the babes!  I always said a comic with us paired up, your animal magnetism and my wit and impish charm would sell more than that Bendis crap!” trilled the lithely-muscled red costumed nutjob.  “And get more pussy than a cat’s home!”

“Deadpool,” the cowled super-hero groaned.  “What the hell are you doing here?”

Faith looked at the masked man hulking beside them.  “Who the hell is this?”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Eros released an arrow and sent it through Mrs. Wilson’s favourite baby boy’s heart at the sexy brunette’s audio erotica husk. They were no Bea Arthurs, but even so all three of the bodacious babes were some major T&A, and he was gonna get luckier than Hugh Hefner on audition night!  “Wowzers, Dear Penthouse,” muttered Deadpool as all three babes began to strip and rub baby lotion over their lush and lithe curves, tanned bodies gleaming in the looney bin’s romantic half-light.

Then the taller brunette tilted her head to one side and crooked a finger at him as the other girls eagerly rubbed lather onto her pert, rounded chest.  “How about you come join us stud?”

“Gaaaaaaah.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“Gaaaaaaaaaaaaah.”

Faith stared with disgust first at the costumed man, then at the rapidly accumulating pool of drool at his feet, and finally at a bemused-looking Tara and Kennedy.  “From the sounds of things you recognise this fruit-loop,” Faith glanced at Moon Knight.  “Is he an idiot?”

The masked man’s previously square shoulders slumped as he let out a long sigh.  “It’s a long story.  Deadpool’s a mutant-.”

”Hold that thought,” Xander raised a hand and pulled his cell out of the Always Pocket.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Xavier glanced towards his ringing phone and picked it up.  “Hello, Charles Xavier talking?”

“Hi Professor,” Xavier smiled as he recognised the young man’s voice.  “It’s Xander, I’m ringing to ask you what you can tell me about a mutant called Deadpool?”

Xavier winced, well wasn’t this a public relations nightmare.  “On behalf of all mutantkind, I can only apologise.”

 

“Why?”  Xander’s voice was charged with tension.  “Is he a threat?”

”Not precisely,” Xavier chose his words with extreme caution, “but it wouldn’t be prudent to leave him alone with any of the girls.”

”Why?”  Now bemusement had replaced coldness in Xander’s tone. 

“Does the phrase ‘sex pest’ mean anything to you?” Xavier queried.

“Hey!” Xander protested. “Cordy dropped those charges, and you didn’t mean me did you?”

Xavier briefly wondered who Cordy was before replying.  “Deadpool is highly delusional-…”

Suddenly an off-tune warbling filled the telephone.

“Faith!: You know you're gonna live through the rain
Lord we've gotta keep the faith
Faith!: Don’t you let your love turn to hate
Now we've gotta keep the faith

Keep the faith, keep the faith
Lord we've gotta keep the faith.”

“How the hell do you know my name?” Faith husked.  “We’ve never even met before-.”

“Keith told me honey,” Deadpool replied.  “You know, the writer.”

”The who?” Faith growled.

Xavier blinked.  “Was Deadpool serenading Faith?”

 

“Unfortunately,” Xander sighed.  “You were saying?”

“Deadpool is a very powerful mutant with a healing factor similar to that of Wolverine, he works as an assassin, but he’s also very unstable and-.”

“Ouch!” Xander let out a yelp.

”What’s wrong?” Xavier queried, concern flooding him.

“Kennedy just field-goaled Deadpool’s nuts.” Xavier winced at Xander’s explanation.  Deadpool was an annoying nuisance, but no-one deserved a Slayer-powered boot to the family jewels.  “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Tends to fixate on women he meets, however, make no mistake, he could be either a formidable ally or an implacable menace.”

Xander groaned.  “Oh good, because my life was so dull and uncomplicated before.”

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (13/?)

“Oh honey!” Ignoring the pain in his crotch, Deadpool leapt up, spread his legs, and beckoned on the tiny brunette who’d so delightfully responded to his boob grope with a kick to his nuts.  “Do it again and then maybe you can you can kiss them better!”  He tilted his head to one side and gave the babe his most devilishly charming smile.  “Are we bonding?”

“I’ll-.”

“Cool it Junior!”  The other brunette, his future wife, grabbed his future concubine around the waist and dragged her back.

Deadpool turned to the honey-blonde and beamed at his other future concubine.  “Baby my nuts are swollen after that kick to the privates!  Wanna kiss em better?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“But very, very charming,” Deadpool retorted.

“Deadpool,” Moon Knight let out one of his highly intimidating Batman-trademarked growls.  “Why are you here?”

“To party on down with my good bud, Moonie?” Deadpool sighed at Moon Knight’s grunt.  “Because I knew you were going to be here, and Moonie always brings the honeys?”  Deadpool turned at a shotgun’s click to find the mystery Elephant Man, the one the obviously visually-impaired babes allowed to sympathy tag-along, glaring at him.  “Okay, okay,” Deadpool shook his head, sense of humour bypass anyone?  “A billionaire whose family was killed by Neda Omid hired me to kill them, a very motivated source told me this was their base. “

“Hell,” the larger of the two brunettes spat, “assassins AND terrorists?  Ain’t that just peachy keen!  We better get to the basement and fast!”

“I like your basement baby,” Deadpool rejoined.

The brunette stared at him in confusion.  “What does that even freakin’ mean?”

Deadpool pouted.  “Keith said you liked people complimenting you on your basement.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Xander spoke as Deadpool’s mouth opened to continue spouting nonsense.  “Tempted as I am to fill you with holes, Professor Xavier seemed to think that wouldn’t do much good, so are you with us?”

“Where the babes go I follow,” Deadpool replied.

Xander ignored the girls’ collective groans in favour of taking Deadpool at his word.  “The plans indicate-.”

Moon Knight spun around, his hand dipping into his bandolier to draw and fling a crescent dart at two charging men.  The half-moon shaped dart whistled through the air, splitting the air in two en-route to slicing through the throat of the man on the right before speeding on to cut through the second’s throat, before gliding back to Moon Knight’s waiting hand, blood dripping from the weapon to the floor.

“Oooooh!  Ohhh!” Deadpool danced happily on the spot.  “Show me how!”

“Xan,” Faith drawled, “I think we should give B’s number to this jackass.  It’s like a match made in hell.”

Xander shot Faith his patented ‘please stop helping me’ look before glancing back at Deadpool.  “Is she comely?” queried the once-again drooling assassin.

“You like Bea Arthur, right?” Faith snorted.  “You’ll love B.”

Xander bit back a groan as his head began to throb.  “The plans indicate the basement’s entrance is in the middle of the compound, just a couple of hallways away from here.”

“Lead the way,” the masked assassin beamed at him while hooking arms with a stunned-looking Faith, “me and this delightful amazon will get to know each other.”

”Are things always like this around you?”  queried a grey-faced Nadeh.

“I wish I could say no,” Xander wearily replied before squaring his shoulders.  “Come on.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“So babe,” Deadpool beamed at the shrinking violet, “how about you, me, candlelight?”

The dark-eyed lovely looked over at him.  “How about you, me, blowtorch?”

“Blowtorch?” Deadpool pouted, hurt by the comment, then brightened as he realised what she was hinting at.  “You’re warming up to me!”

“Warming up!” The lithesome honey threw her hands up.  “I give up.”

“I just knew I could grind you down,” Deadpool beamed.  “Now how about we grind together?”

“How about I zap you with a cattle-prod?” Faith countered.

“Ooooh, electro-stimulation erotica,” Deadpool panted.  “Kinky, but I’m game, as you obviously are to judge from the tightness of that top.”

”What the hell’s that supposed to mean????”

                                    *                                  *                                  *         

“Damn.”  Moon Knight strode the last few feet leading to a silent and empty intersection, and crouched over the open trapdoor, peering into the thick shadows.

“Either they’ve emptied because they heard us arrive or they’ve already left,” Tara commented.

Xander glanced up from his inspection of the hole.  “Or they’re down there waiting to spring a trap.  Unfortunately it’s too dark to see either way, we’d be walking in blind.”

 

“Man,” Deadpool commented, “he’s such a drag.  What’s a babe like you doin’ with a drag like him?”

“Remove your hand from my ass or’ll I’ll remove your hand from your arm,” Faith darkly warned.

“You know that ain’t the threat you’d think.”  Deadpool muttered as he rushed to the hole and jumped in.

“Can we please just close the door, put a freakin’ tank on the door, and leave?”

“Guys! Guys!  It’s empty, well apart from me.  Come down!  It’s party time!”

Xander ignored Kennedy’s hugely tempting suggestion in favour of rising and looking around.  “Faith, Kennedy, you’ve got plenty of ammo for your guns, right?”  The two brunettes nodded.  “Good, you two stay here and guard our backs.”

“You realise,” Tara gave Xander a fearful look, “that makes me the only female down in the hole with him?”

”Ha,” Faith snorted.  “Sucks to be you.”

“You’ll be fine,” Xander soothed before starting down the steps.  “Moon Knight, bring up the rear, Tara after me, Professor, if you don’t mind, come with us to do any translation.”

The bleak sights inside the fetid-smelling basement almost had Xander throwing up.  The basement took up a good amount of space beneath the lunatic asylum, several racks were stacked up against both the left and the right walls, sweat and blood having long since dried on them, while also sharing space with several vicious looking iron maidens and several whipping posts.  There were more obscure torture instruments, stools with wooden pyramids on top, streaked with dried blood and faeces, Xander knew the Judas cradle’s victims wood be lowered vagina or anus first onto the point until it pierced them, tearing them apart.  Then there was a pear-shaped steel instrument consisting of four leaves that would likewise be inserted in a person’s orifice then the leaves slowly separated from each other as the torturer turned the screw at the top.

“Right,” Xander tore his eyes away from Deadpool juggling half a dozen rusted thumbscrews, “every one split up, see if we can find the sword or any indication of what they intend to do with it.”  Xander shuddered as he hurried over to the racks.  Best to get this over with as soon as possible.

“Torture chambers, no wonder the babes hang with you,” Deadpool commented.  “You know how to show someone the best time!”

Minutes later, Nadeh let out a cry.  “I’ve found where they’re heading and what they’re planning to do.”

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (14/?)

Xander, Tara, and Moon Knight hurried over to the professor at his cry, Deadpool meanwhile was trying to do something with his penis that he guessed the rack’s first inventors had never even dreamed it would be used for.

“Gaaah!” Deadpool collapsed into an unsurprising heap.

“Really?”  Xander tore his eyes away from the car crash that appeared to encompass the oddball assassin’s life and looked towards the professor.  “What do they plan to do?”

 

“It’s monstrous,” the professor exclaimed, his eyes filled with horror as he shook his head.  “They intend to turn the Maccabees who fell at Elsa into Golems and send them marching into Israel massacring everyone.”

 

“Okay, I got the last bit, but Golems, Maccabees, Elsa?” Xander queried.

“Golems are a Jewish myth, an animated being created of an inanimate material,” Tara said.

Xander stared blankly at the witch.  “Yeah, like thanks for clearing that up for me.”

“Golems are commonly recorded in Jewish folklore as the creation out of stone by Rabbis to protect the Jewish people, however in this case I believe the terrorists hope each Maccabee’s soul can be used to power a separate golem,” Nadeh explained.

“And the Maccabees-.”

“After the fall of Alexander the Great,” the professor started to lecture, “the state of what is now Israel stood between the two empires of Egypt and Seleucid.  In the 2^nd century BC, the Maccabees rose up in revolt and were hunted by the Seleucids.  The Macabees’ defeat at Elasa in 160 BC was one of the rebellion’s defining battles and it could be argued led to the Selecuids’ eventual defeat.  If those Jewish heroes were used in such a foul way,” Nadeh shook his head, “it would lead to an inferno that would consume the entire Middle East!”

“Xan,” Faith shouted down the hole, “hurry it up, we’ve got incoming!”

“Don’t worry Fair Faith!”  Deadpool sprang up just as Xander was about to shout a reply and raced to the steps, his feet somehow crossing and toppling him over and up the first four steps before springing upright and racing on.  “I’m coming!”

“Coming huh?” Faith queried.  “If I was you’d I wear slacker, darker pants, less embarrassing that way!”

“Prof, Tara, stay here.  Did he just fall upwards?” Xander stared in disbelief up the steps even as he hurried towards them.

“Deadpool’s lunacy is as much an act to put off his adversaries as it is real,” Moon Knight replied as he raced after Xander.

”And you base that on?”

“No-one could REALLY be that nutty could they?” Moon Knight riposted.

Xander sighed.  “Point.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Faith dived through the door to the right of the hole, hot lead spitting at her feet.  Hitting the floor’s dusty tiles on her side, she nimbly rolled up, and sprang back to the door, her own MP5 shooting at the team clearly left behind to mop up any intruders. “ Rookie!” Faith yelled as she pulled her head back into the room just before a ragged volley of bullets tore the door off its hinges.  “You five by five!”

”Yeah!” Kennedy yelled from the opposite doorway.  “These goof balls couldn’t shoot for shit-.”

“HAVE NO FEAR!” Deadpool sprang out of the hole, feet kicking off to trampoline off the wall just above the door frame over Faith’s head.  “Deadpool is here!”

“Oh gawd,” Faith groaned.  And just when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, Murphy turned up to prove you resoundingly wrong.

Tho, Faith’s eyes widened as the assassin bounced off the wall and somersaulted at and over the hoodlums barricaded at the corridor’s far end, his results were sorta undeniable.  The gunmen’s sub-machine guns jerked up to meet the soaring man, their bullets tearing into him, spreading his blood across the ceiling even as his body jerked spasmodically.

”On the wings of love
Only the two of us
Together flying high.”

And yet the assassin’s whacked-out warbling continued, even as his own guns spat fire down at the gunmen beneath him.  Bullets impacted on the trio of gunmen, tearing through them, and flinging them to the now blood-soaked ground, bodies thrashing in their death-throes.

“’Kay,” Faith stepped out into cordite-filled corridor, bullet-holes scorching the walls.  “Gotta admit, that was impressive, dude.”

“You want impressive?” the assassin spun to face her.  “I can show you impressive!  And it begins with ‘p’ and ends in ‘enis’.”

Faith wrinkled her nose.  For a second she’d forgotten what a whack job this nutball was.  “You need therapy, like stat.”

“Doesn’t work.”  Deadpool cheerfully explained.  “Drove my last shrink right round the bend I did.”

“Wow,” Kennedy snorted.  “Call Ripley’s.”

“Are you both alright?”

Faith spun around and grinned at her boy-friend.  “Five by five.  You got the sword?”

 

“No,” Xander shook his head.  “The terrorists got away with it, but we do know where it’s going and why.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense-.”

 

“But I bet in your legs in fishnets and suspenders, yowzers!”

Faith fought against temptation to kick the assassin up and down the asylum’s halls in favour of staring at Xander.  “They’re on their way to Israel.  Moon Knight has a plane, but we’ll explain on the way there.”

“Five by five,” Faith nodded.

”Where the babes go I follow!” shrieked Deadpool.

”Oh joy,” muttered Tara.

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (15/?)

“Roses are red, violets are blue.

Is there anyone I can kill for you?”

“Noooo,” Faith glanced warily at the poetry-spouting assassin.  “You’re okay, unless you’re maybe thinkin’ suicide?”

Deadpool let out a sob.  “Words wound babe.”  The assassin beamed at her.  “Wanna kiss me better?”

“A world of no,” Faith muttered as she looked around.  Night had begun to fall, replacing the day’s blazing, dry climate with a refreshing cool.  “The nearest town is a Muslim town, yeah?”

 

“Ramallah?”  Moon Knight nodded.  “Yes, the majority of Ramallah’s twenty-five thousand citizens are Muslims.”

 

Faith grimaced.  “So if these terrorist nut-jobs do manage to create the golems their first target will be a Muslim town?  What’s the sense of that???”

“Makes perfect sense if they plan to inflame the Muslim world by blaming the atrocity on the Israelis,” Moon Knight said.  “Such an atrocity could end up drowning the middle east in blood.”

Faith raised an eyebrow.  “What a rosy outlook you’ve got.”

“How easy is this spell?” Xander queried with a look to Tara.

Tara snorted.  “Do you seriously think I meddle with such powers?”

 

“Ooooh, testy,” Deadpool drooled.  “I like a woman with spark, let’s rub together and start a fire.”  Deadpool paused.  “In my pants obviously.”

“I’ll set it on fire, actual flames if you don’t watch out.”  Tara shot Deadpool a disgusted look before looking back towards Xander.  “You’ll need a witch who knows what she’s doing, obviously, but not as much power as normal for such a ritual because she’ll be able to leech power from the sword.”

“Okay,” Xander gazed through a set of infra-red binoculars before passing them to Moon Knight.  “There’s between twelve to fifteen of the terrorists remaining.  They’re heavily armed with AK-47s and MP5s and positioned on a hill with no cover in any direction for maybe three  hundred and fifty feet in every direction.”  Xander paused.  “Getting to them will be a bitch.”

“Huh, excuse me?”  Xander bit back a groan as he looked over his shoulder to see Deadpool bouncing excitedly on the spot, hand raised. “I have an idea!  I have an idea!”

Xander was tempted to pull out a LAW 80 and send a missile into the camp, but he didn’t want any of the terrorists to escape in the confusion.  Worse, he didn’t want the witch to escape with the sword to use it in another spell sometime later.  “Okay, let’s hear it?”

Faith groaned.  “You cannot be fuckin’ serious!”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Jaasir licked his lips, foreboding hanging heavy in the dark night sky, enveloping their entire camp.  Just a few days ago they’d been ensconced in the safety of their -.

Jaasir laughed nervously and scratched at his beard.  Actually just a few days ago they’d been ensconced in the illusory safety of their headquarters in Iran, a paper-thin mirage utterly shredded by the raids that torn through their base, slaughtering half of their true believers and necessitating an escape to the land of the Zionists.

Although truth be told it wasn’t the massacres, the rout, or even the hostile terrain they found themselves in that had shaken his men’s wills to breaking or caused the trepidation pervading their camp.  No, that was the fault of the woman stood in the centre of their camp, Azima’s haughty voice cutting through his men’s stout hearts like a knife, no-one caring to look in the witch’s direction, yet her presence and power undeniable for all of them, her arcane chanting hinting at terrible powers perhaps best left undisturbed.

“Jaasir, you hear that?” hissed one of his men.

“Indeed!” Jaasir rose from his contemplation at the off-key warbling, his eyes widening as a skipping man wearing a mask he recognised as belonging to one of their attackers came into view from the copse to their west, the man clad in what looked to be a romper sailor suit.

Jaasir had only one question to ask as he raised his assault rifle in shaky, sweaty hands, his mind struggling to cope with the absurd sight before him.  “What is he singing?”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“Three little maids from school are we
Pert as a school-girl well can be
Filled to the brim with girlish glee
Three little maids from school.”

“Is he singing Gilbert & Sullivan?”  Tara queried.

“Well singing is probably too strong a word, but yeah,” Xander replied.  “That’s Gilbert & Sullivan.”  Just when he thought his world couldn’t get any weirder.

 

“Maybe I was wrong after all.”

Xander forced his gaze away from Deadpool dancing in and out of the terrorists’ bullets as Faith and Kennedy sneaked up on their rear to look towards Moon Knight.  “Wrong about what?”

Moon Knight cast him a grave look.  “Deadpool really is that nutty.  Next to him, I’m a poster child for sanity.”  Moon Knight winced as a bullet whipped into the laughing assassin, twisting him around with its impact as blood gushed out of the wound.  “And he’s a masochist.”

“Hey, that’s practically a requirement for a relationship with Faith isn’t it Xander?” Tara giggled.  “Him and Faith would be perfect after all!”

“Thanks for that,” Xander murmured.

“In position,” Xander’s radio crackled into life, Faith’s whisper husking into his ear.  “Moving in five.”

“Understood.”  Xander looked at the others, lips drying in anticipation.  “They’re in position, let’s go.”

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (16/?)

“Five.”  As Faith hissed the last word she lurched up, sand falling from her as she leapt into the attack, snatching hold of the nearest guard beneath his chin, bristles rubbing against her hand, and yanking hard, breaking the distracted man’s neck before he was even truly aware she was there.

Another began to turn towards her, eyes filling with surprise, but Faith simply slapped the muzzle of his rising assault rifle aside, shells firing uselessly into the sky, and swept in and up with a K-bar.  The man shuddered as her knife punched deep into his throat, blood spurting from his mouth to spray her as he fell away, body thrashing as he gurgled his last.  Faith risked a glance across at her team-mate, nodding approvingly when she saw Ken put down a second terrorist.  The rookie had learnt something from -.

”What the fuck!” she gasped as the air began to hum, a distinctly different sound from the chaotic roar of the battle filled the air. 

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Deadpool giggled as the others entered the battle, breaking off from his taunting dance between the bullet streams peppering his position.  Avoidance was replaced by action the moment he heard the boom of Xander’s shotgun.  Sand shot up as he raced forward in a zig zag, hands reaching behind him to yank out his swords.  An Arab, bigger and dumber than the rest, charged out to meet him swinging a massive broadsword.

Obviously phallic inferiority was a big problem for him.  Not like Mrs. Wilson’s baby boy, who was stacked in that area, thank you very much for your concern dear reader.

Deadpool was humming as he slid inside the man’s clumsily downward cleaving attack, his own blade almost casually sliding up to slice a cut across the man’s wide chest.  The man let out a gasp and spun to face him, the clumsy oaf far too slow with his back-handed slash that Deadpool glided under while swinging his blade up to take the man’s hands at the wrists, blood spurting out of the severed limbs.  The Arab’s screams rang through his ears as the man buckled and fell to the sands.

Then the strange humming began and the ground started to tremble.

“Oh goody,” Deadpool giggled.  “I love gate-crashers!”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

At Xander’s nod, Tara released a spell she’d been holding in, a simple force spell that rippled through the air until it connected with its target, a trio of terrorists swinging their guns up to greet them. The ‘force’ crashed into the trio, lifting them and flinging them across the hilltop and down the other side, their bodies landing in a bone-breaking heap.

Tara started up the hill, eager to join her friends in the battle.  But then a foul taste filled her mouth, feeling for all the world like the soap pa would force in her mouth if she answered him back, and her stomach clenched and coiled, doubling her up as a wrongness filled her.

What was happening?

                                    *                                  *                                  *

The boom of Xander’s shotgun took the nearest of the terrorists high in his chest, spun him around and dumped him on the ground, blood pouring out of his spasming body to decorate the sand beneath him.  Another began to turn towards him only to fall with a wordless scream when Moon Knight’s adeptly thrown crescent dart took his face off in a bloody shower.

Xander nodded his thanks as he pulled the trigger again, the shotgun bucking in his hands as he blew a hole through another terrorist.  His eyes widened as Tara almost crumpled, stepping towards the witch, he grabbed her by her shoulder, steadying her.  “Tara-.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Azima smirked, uncaring about the bedlam surrounding her.  The intruders, like those who blindly followed her would soon be rendered irrelevant, nay dead.

Azima laughed as the dark powers filled her, wrenching at what little remained of her soul.  Foul necromancy had brought her back to life centuries ago, the spell’s caster foolishly thinking he could enslave one of the greatest witches of all time.  How she’d savoured wrenching his power, his control from him, turning the arrogant vizier into nothing more than a squalling simpleton.

Since then she’d travelled the globe, searching for the one weapon that could bring her most blessed child back to her.  The decades had rolled past, countries had risen and fallen, wars broken out, but through it all, she’d continued on, her attention unstinting as she searched the world for the instrument that had once banished her proudest creation and alone had the power to bring him back.

Forget about the ruse of bringing Golems to life to slaughter the Jews.  That had been a necessary lie to compel Neda Omid to accompany her as a protective escort to the land where her child had fallen.  But for the massacre going on around her they would have provided her child him with a most nourishing meal.

As it was, Fulad-zereh would have to feast on their corpses before moving onto the nearest -.

“Yes!  Yes!” Azima murmured as the air began to throb with anticipation, a strange hotness replacing the customary night coolness.  The ground beneath her feet began to shake almost like tectonic plates shifting.  Then the air filled with a whirring, and sand burst from the ground before her like a mini-hurricane, and with a roar he returned, bursting from the sand like the triumphant titan he was.

And let the world shake before his awakened wrath.

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (17/?)

The monster that erupted out of the ground decapitated the last three terrorists with a single scything claw-strike, their blood showering over the sand.  “Shit!” Faith exclaimed as she joined Kennedy in racing forward, rolling under the beast’s claws and coming up with their companions to watch as Xander and Deadpool sent bullet after bullet bouncing off the beast’s chest.

“Oh crap,” Faith groaned as Tara followed Xander and Deadpool’s fruitless attack with a wave of shimmering energy that dissipated the moment it hit the monster, Xander flung a grenade at the monster’s feet only for the explosion to shake the sands and ignite a few of the near-by corpses, but do precisely nothing to the monster itself.  “What the hell!”

Faith launched herself forward only for the creature to casually backhand her and Ken to the left and catch Deadpool with another backhand flinging him to the right.

“Gah!” Deadpool picked himself up and hightailed  it down the hill, feet scuffing up  “I was paid to take out the terrorists, they’re all dead, my job here is done!”  Besides,” the customed assassin reached the copse in record time, “if none of you chicks wanna holiday in the Bahamas with a hip and happenin’ jester like myself, your loss!”

“Well that was flattering,” Faith muttered as she pulled her aching body up and slowly rotated her jaw.  “Still,” Faith peered up at the massive, towering monster, “one less pain in the ass to deal with.”  Faith grinned at Xander.  “Speakin’ of pains in my delectable ass, any ideas, hon?”

Xander scowled.  “Just keep hitting it, there has to be limit to what it can take.”

”Right,” Faith pursed her lips.  Course if she was a bettin’ gal, she’d bet its limits were way more than theirs.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Fear filled Tara as she stared up at the monster looming over them.  If her magic, their most potent weapon, couldn’t do a thing about the thing, what were they supposed to do-.  Of course, resolution filled her as the answer came to her in a rush.  In the legend, Shamshir-e Zomorrodnegar had been used to slay the monster, if it worked in legend, then just maybe it would work now.

“Kennedy!” She propelled a mental shout into her lover’s mind.  “The witch is the key, we need her sword, you go in close, I’ll hit her with distance attacks, keep her occupied.”

Kennedy nodded in understanding even as Tara hurried into position, long skirt swinging and her heart thumping furiously.  This had to work.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Azima cackled at the westerners’ defiance.  They were about to find out just how fruitless their actions were-.

Azima’s eyes narrowed as she noted the smaller of the two brunettes racing around her son.  For a moment she thought the girl was involved in some sort of idiotically suicidal flanking attempt, and then she realised the girl was heading straight for her.

Azima’s weathered features parted in a smirk.  Oh good, she got to join in the entertainment herself.  Gathering her powers, she readied a blast that would shatter most of her target’s bones, not kill her immediately, but leave her pain-ridden body to helplessly writhe her last.

Then rocked back on her heels with a blast hit her.  Forcing away the darkness threatening to encompass her, she noted the honey blonde taking up position at the bottom of the hill, a resolute expression on her face.

There was power there, the like of which she hadn’t felt in decades, only the merest fraction of those with the gift having close to her power in every generation.

But the arrogant child had not her mastery of the dark arts.  Azima shot off a casual blast at her other would-be attacker, not the focused blast she’d intended, just enough to fling the brunette off her feet, before turning back to the greater threat.

The witch’s second attack crashed uselessly on her hastily-drawn shields, her wards shimmering as they held.  Azima laughed as she flung a blast of her own at the witch, a straight focussed spear-point of an attack, a death-touch that would only need the slightest contact on her enemy’s body, the slightest hole in her rival’s defences, to cause immediate death.

“Huh,” she grunted, surprised when the witch’s defences blocked her assault.  So craft as well as power, someone had taught her well.

Even as she thought that unsettling thought, another wave of energy hit her shields, not enough to breach them, but still enough to stagger her back a step or two.  Sweat beaded on her forehead as she clenched her jaw.  This wasn’t-.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the other brunette charging in when her attack should have put her down for an hour at least.  Azima started to turn to her then gasped as a flung knife punched into her throat, the strength retreating from her limbs as she folded to the sands.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Kennedy scooped up the curved sword, eyes widening at the jewels covering its curved blade.  “Ohhhh pretty,” she murmured, she’d have to nag Xander into getting her matching daggers like that.

Kennedy forced herself to focus.  The witch’s attack had bruised her up some but that was unimportant, she had a job to do.  Kennedy turned towards the demon’s back and hefted her sword.  Leaping up until she was parallel with the creature’s head, she waited until gravity began to pull her down before thrusting down, plunging her sword deep into the beast’s neck.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Faith’s eyes widened as the monster suddenly swayed, breaking off from its remorseless onslaught to let out a wounded roar, then pitch forward to hit the ground and disappear in a storm of billowing sand.  They’d finally beaten it-.

“Tell me Faith,” Faith groaned as the sand cleared to reveal Kennedy jumping off the downed monster’s back, bloodied sword jumping from hand to hand, “do you ever get sorry of the rookie saving your ‘delectable ass’?”

“Someone, someone kill me now,” Faith moaned.  “I hate my fuckin’ life.”

Kennedy tutted.  “We go to all the trouble of saving your life and where’s the gratitude?”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

American Colony Hotel, Jerusalem

“Why are you asking me to join you?”

 

Xander shifted his gaze from the palm tree filled courtyard to the square-jawed man sat opposite him.  Here, in public, Moon Knight had put aside his costume in favour of wearing a casual suit, but as he was here under an assumed name, Xander wasn’t much closer to knowing his identity.

But then, a man’s secrets were his own to keep.  Xander half-smiled.  “Because you didn’t do a Deadpool and run in the opposite direction when that demon appeared.”

Moon Knight chuckled at his reply before shaking his head.  “I’m sorry Xander,” the super-hero’s face darkened, “I have a mission of my own.”

Xander considered telling his companion that his ‘god’ wasn’t a god at all, but a spirit of a sort, but realised it didn’t matter, a debt was still a debt, no matter who it was to.  “Fair enough,” Xander nodded.  “Well thanks for your help.”

“No problem,” Moon Knight nodded.  “Where next for you?”

Xander shrugged.  “Faith’s been nagging me to see her uncle, so Boston I guess.”

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (18/?)

Logan International Airport

Spenser glanced at his watch, the busy airport just background noise as he impatiently waited to see his niece and apple of his eye.

“Hey Unc.”

Spenser spun around and launched himself at the beautiful Slayer, lifting her up and spinning her around in his arms.  “Good to see you, girl,” he said, voice husky with emotion, but not caring one iota.  It had been too long.

“You too Unc!” Faith smirked at her, expressive eyes filling with joy.

“My turn for a hug,” Hawk said, his friend grinning at the Slayer.

Spenser glared at his best friend.  “Not happening.”

“Ah,” Faith pouted at the African-American, “does Uncle Hawk wanna bounce me on his knee and tell me what a big girl I’m gettin’?”

”Honey,” Hawk’s grin widened, “I think of little else.”

 

“Then stop,” Xander advised as he strode up before nodding at him, “hello sir.”

 

“Xander,” Spenser returned the youth’s nod with one of his own.  He liked the kid and appreciated both his funding and his attempts at protecting the world.  All that said, he was Boston-Irish, and the kid was boning his much-loved niece.  There’d always be an edge with them.

Spenser smiled at Tara and Kennedy.  “Good to see you again, girls.”  He returned his gaze to Faith.  “I hope you’ll be staying with us while you’re in town?”

“Heh, no sir,” Xander shuffled his feet nervously.  “I wouldn’t want to intrude, but I’ve booked us in at the Boston Harbour Hotel, but I’ve also arranged a booking to meet you and your entire team for lunch at a restaurant for tomorrow.”  The young man paused then continued.  “My treat of course.”

“Huh,” Spenser guessed the kids would want their privacy, but it didn’t mean he had to like it or even give in gracefully.  “And what are you doing tonight?”

“I thought you might want some time with Faith, so I’m heading into the city for a patrol, while Faith and the others are going back to your place, I’ll pick them up later,” Xander replied.

Spenser nodded, slightly mollified by the thought of spending quality time with his niece.  “See you later then.”

Kennedy glared at Hawk.  “Lucky us.”

“Ah honey,” Hawk leered at the younger of the two Slayers, “you love me really.”

Kennedy sniffed.  “I really don’t.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Xander’s heart tugged painfully as he watched Spenser and Hawk escort his girl and his friends out of the busy airport.  The time apart was good, because it reminded him of what he had, and the peace was a bonus, but it also hurt like hell.

Sighing, he shrugged and started out.  There was a couple of hours before nightfall, plenty of time to catch a bite then disappear into the night, kill a few vamps, and then go to Spenser’s.

And Faith thought he didn’t know how to have a good time!

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Faith couldn’t help but grin as her uncle drove through Boston’s chaotically busy streets.  Her city, she’d never thought going home would be filled with anything but bitter, stomach-curdling memories, but now she had family to come home to and family to make the journey there easier.  Yeah, she’d had some crappy times in Boston, but she was stronger than them, stronger than the pain.

“We’re here,” Spenser announced as he pulled into his private parking spot, the brownstone building he lived in towering over them, its impressive presence casting a long shadow.  “Susan’s looking forward to seeing you.”

“Yeah?” Faith’s dimples deepened.  “She gonna try head-shrinking me again?”

“Girl, we ain’t got the rest of the year!” snorted Hawk from the rear of the car.

“Why do you keep him around anyway?” Faith queried.

“Comic relief?” Spenser shrugged.

“I was going to go with pity,” Kennedy muttered.

“That was my guess,” agreed Tara.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Just under two hours later, Xander was leaving a traditional Irish pub, complete with shamrock coloured walls and roaring fire, to the rather chillier street.  Noting both the amount of traffic roaring past and the copious numbers of students, tourists, and locals spilling out of pubs and weaving their ways to the next drinking house, street lights illuminating their drunk gaits, puddles splashing underfoot, he decided that vampires wouldn’t risk being noticed feeding here.

Looking around, he saw a shadowed alley, the once street lamp at its mouth forlornly broken.  “That’ll do the trick,” he muttered as he dived down it, cobbled stones slippery and wet underfoot.

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (19/?)

Faith broke off from laughing at something Hawk had said to Kennedy and her fellow Slayer’s disgusted response to glance down at her watch.

“I’m sure Xander is alright.”

 

Faith started slightly at Susan’s voice behind her.  “Yeah,” Faith forced indifference into her voice as she nodded and placed the dirty plates she’d carried through into the sink, suds rising to make way, “Xan can handle himself.”

“It’s just you worry don’t you?” Susan smiled sadly.  “That’s nothing to be ashamed of, I worry about Spenser.”

“You should.” Faith’s full lips quirked up in a smile.  “Uncle Spense needs serious guidance, can hardly tie his shoes without Hawk to tell him what to do.”

Susan responded to her smile with one of her own.  “I’m surprised you haven’t asked to see Hector since you got here.”

Faith’s heart swelled as she recalled the baby she and the gang had last year rescued from a South African gangster.  “Yeah,” Faith shuffled nervously from foot to foot, “I figured now he was yours, you might not wanna for us to -, you know.”

 

“Don’t be silly,” Susan took her by her elbow and guided her out of the kitchen, “of course we want you to see him.  He’s in his room, be quiet though, he’ll be asleep….”

“Quiet’s my middle name, ask Xan”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“Help me, help, noooo.”

Xander’s face hardened and his pace quickened as he hurried towards the sounds of whimpering struggle.  Vampires or not, someone was about to get their asses kicked.

Xander glided into the alley, eyes narrowing as he approached the trio surrounding the weakly thrashing girl who looked to be in her twenties, blue eyes wide with terror, looking obliviously past him as she moaned and groaned.  Noting their vamped out faces, Xander sneaked up behind the engrossed demons and drove a stake into the middle one’s back.

Even as the vampire burst into dust Xander was twisting to his right to confront the demon stood there, bending slightly at the knees to duck under a sweeping haymaker.

“Oooof!” Xander grunted, knees almost buckling beneath him as his kidneys exploded in pain, a fist slamming into his back.  Xander’s hands shot up to grab at the arm snaking around his neck, his head snapping back to collide with his assailant’s nose while simultaneously bending forward at the waist, pulling on the arm wrapped around his throat to fling the vampire over him, and into the other demon.

The two blood suckers crashed together and fell into the wall.  Xander leapt over the downed girl and at her attackers, gliding inside the first’s straight right while driving a thrust heel kick into the other’s knee.  The first wriggled out of the way of Xander’s plunging stake, his mouth opening in a petulant scream.  “Do you have any idea who you’re hunting!  We’re vampires!”

“Pleased to meet you,” Xander grinned as he blocked a hook to the body on his forearm while driving his knee up and into the demon’s gut, “vampires generally call me Mithras!”

The other vampire let out a panicked wail before lunging at and into Xander’s upswinging elbow, his nose already broken by Xander’s earlier headbutt squashing still further.  Yet even as the vampire stumbled backwards, his companion lunged forward, cold hands clawing at Xander’s neck, reaching for a chokehold.

Xander’s arms snapped up and apart, knocking the encroaching arms away before plunging down with a stake into the demon’s chest, its eyes widening and mouth opening in shock as it ‘poofted’ out of existence.

“Lenny!” A barrage of blows to his left flank had him spinning to face his remaining attacker, his arms coming up to block the demon’s flailing fists while waiting for an opening through which to retaliate.  The moment he saw his opening, his left snapped forward, knuckles bouncing a jab off the demon’s already ruined nose.

“Ahhh!” The vampire’s head snapped back, face creasing in pain.  Xander darted forward, stake arching downward.

”Uhhh!”  He grunted when the demon’s hand snapped up to grab his wrist and twist, pain blazing through his wrist as his stake dropped from his grasp, the vampire yanking Xander down to his knees on the wet road.

“Haaa!” the vampire glared down at him, victory shining in his yellow eyes.  “Just wait until everyone hears I kill-, ahhhh!”

“Never heard of the Always Pocket have you?” Xander queried as he twisted the knife he’d driven into the demon’s right foot, the vampire stumbling backwards, eyes alight with fear as Xander swung yet another knife up and into the demon’s crotch.

“Ahhh!” The demon let out a cawing cry as he doubled up, swaying from side to side as Xander rose and drove a stake into his back, and through to his heart.

Xander grinned as the third vampire exploded into dust.  “Fun.” Turning, he started towards the downed woman.  “Miss,” he tried for his most soothing tone, “you’re safe -.”

“Ahhh!” Xander spun around as something hot lanced across his back, just below his ribs.  Spinning around, he saw what looked to be a shimmering portal wink out of existence.  Xander pressed his hands to his wounded back, eyes narrowing in surprise when they pulled away dry, no sign of the expected blood.  Then he stepped towards where the portal had been then shake his head when he realised there was no way to track down his assailant, stepping past the still sobbing woman, he started out of the alley.

Screw the bitch, he had his own problems to deal with.  Including a bitch of his own.

Yeah he’d settle her hide.

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (20/?)

Spenser stopped in mid-laugh at the sound of knocking at the front door.  “Sorry Kennedy, I’ll have to get that,” he rose, “but don’t lose the thread, I can’t wait to hear how,” he cast his squirming niece a fond look, “Faith got out of that situation.”

 

“Never remembers when it’s her in the shit does she?” Faith glared at her fellow Slayer.

“Language.”  Spenser tousled his niece’s sable mane before hurrying out into the hallway and opening the door to find Faith’s boy-friend stood there.  “Hey Xander,” he greeted as the young man slouched inside, “successful hunt?”

Xander shrugged.  “Saved a girl, so yeah.”

“Hey honey,” Faith leapt up and threw her arms around the man as he strode into the lounge, hugging him enthusiastically.  Spenser’s eyes narrowed as he noted the younger man’s failure to reciprocate.  Maybe Harris was just the shy type.  Faith pulled away, hurt briefly dancing across her face, his beautiful girl shuffling with rare self-consciousness from foot to foot.  “Patrol go okay?”

Xander shrugged.  Spenser exchanged a look with Hawk, the kid had only been in a minute or so, but already his unaccustomed surliness was starting to piss him off.  “Faith and the others were telling us your Texas homestead you’re building for her,” Susan tried.

“Ha,” Xander let out a short laugh, “that’s more than she tells me.  I’m just the guy who foots the bill.”

Spenser’s shoulders tensed and his fists clenched, the young man’s words were flippant enough, but the bitterness in his smile belied them.  “Do you want a drink, Xander?” He crammed every decibel of politeness he could manage into his tone.

”I’m fine thanks,” the boy shook his head.  “Just here to pick up the girls and get home.”

“Hey do you wanna see Hec?” Faith queried.  “I swear the guy’s even cuter than last time we saw him.  He’s asleep but if you creep-.”

“Tired,” the youth half-grunted then managed a weary smile.  “Three vampires all on my ownsome.  Maybe tomorrow.”  Xander paused momentarily then continued.  “Can we go home?”

“Yeah sure.”  Spenser fumed inwardly at the dismay that flickered in his niece’s pool-like orbs.  “Just give us a minute to grab our coats.”  Xander nodded brusquely, and then glanced meaningfully at his watch.

“Anyone else got an itching to take an axe to the kid’s head?” Hawk queried the moment the front door had closed behind his niece and her friends.

Spenser silently raised his hand.  “I’m sure he was just stressed after fighting three vampires,” Susan soothed.

Hawk snorted and shook his head.  “We get stressed after taking down three vamps, that boy saves the world as a hobby, somethin’ else was up.”

“Yeah,” Spenser glared at the door.  Xander had shown him a side he’d never seen before, a side he didn’t like much.  If he got the idea that he treated his niece like this on anything like a regular occurrence, him and the boy were going to have harsh words, warrior god or no warrior god.

                                    *                                  *                                  *         

“Jeez, Xan!” Faith snapped the moment the door shut behind their uncle, his warm house replaced by a chilly, wet Boston evening.  “What was it with the stick up your ass?” 

Faith rocked briefly at the look of undiluted fury Xander shot at her, then just as she thought she saw it, it was gone, leaving her to think that maybe she hadn’t seen it at all.  “No stick,” Xander rubbed briefly at his eyes before continuing, “just tired, something weird happened.”

”Weird how?” Tara interrupted.

”I’d just put down the third vamp when something else sneaked up on me, slashed me across my lower back, hurt like hell, but I put my hand to where I was slashed,” Xander shook his head as he reached down and lifted his shirt up, “but look, no blood, no wound.  Then when I turned around, my attacker had gone.”

Faith pursed her lips.  That sounded kinda weird, but there had to be an explanation.  “Maybe the dude just realised      his sword wasn’t as sharp as he thought, so he high-tailed it before you had chance to retaliate.”

“Yeah,” Xander shrugged his broad shoulders, “maybe.”  Xander unlocked the car.  “Anyway, let’s get back to the hotel and to bed.”

”Aaaaaa,” Kennedy cooed mockingly.  “Someone’s horny for their lil Slayer.”

Once again Faith almost thought she saw something ‘alien’ flash in Xander’s eyes, and then he flashed a half-smile and glanced towards Tara.  “Are you Tara?”  Xander glanced towards Kennedy.  “Can’t see the attraction myself.”

“Hey!”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Xander’s teeth had just about ground down to his gums by the time they reached the hotel.  As bad as one bitch babbling was, three was a hundred times worse, their shrill voices complaining, hectoring.

Although to be fair, he realised as he followed Faith into their hotel room, pulling the door shut behind him, it certainly wasn’t all women.  Many were upstanding, intelligent people with considered opinions and strong morals, but that wasn’t what he’d ended up with.  No he’d ended up with three bimbo whores.  And man, did his blood boil with hatred of them.

Faith suddenly spun to face him, eyes flashing.  “You’re gonna have to smooth things over with Uncle tomorrow.”  Faith’s dimples deepened as she grinned at him.  “I know you’re a horse’s ass, but he just thinks of you as his employer and awesome warrior.”

“Sure hon,” Xander managed a nod.

”Thanks.”  Xander managed not to flinch when the Slayer leaned into him and planted a kiss on his cheek before spinning around, facing away from him.  “Unzip me will ya?”

“Sure hon,” Xander forced his tone to lighten as he stepped up behind the oblivious slut, hand reaching into the Always Pocket to pull out first a K-Bar, and then reject it as too easy for her, before pulling out a pair f brass knuckles and slipping them on.

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (21/?)

Faith’s eyes narrowed, lips pursing at the delay.  “Hey stud, what ya waitin’ for?”  she rasped before letting out a suggestive moan.  “Sooner you get my clothes off, sooner we can get down to gettin’ busy.”

“Whore.”  Faith’s brow had barely begun to furrow at Xander’s unaccustomed aggressive growl when the left side of her head exploded in pain, the air gusting from her lungs as a right rib cracked beneath another bone-splintering blow.  Faith’s lips parted in a wordless cry as her legs buckled under her, knocking her face first onto the bed.  “I’ll get busy alright.”

“Uhhhh!” Faith’s back arched when agony crashed through her lower back, flailing helplessly as her legs numbed.  What the fuck was wrong with Xan?

Panic filled her as she reached out to grab the bed’s silken sheets and pull herself away from her insane boyfriend only for him to grab her now blood-matted mane and yank her head back.  “You go when I say so!”  Xander snarled even as he planted a knee in her aching lower back, pinning her down through a combination of weight and leverage, the hurt coursing through her body ensuring Xander had every single advantage.  “Learn your place!” Blood blurred her vision and filled her mouth as Xander hit her again.

Then desperation filled her at the sound of her clothes ripping.  No, no, whatever was going on Xander would never-.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Xander laughed as the bitch’s struggles lessened, her blood soaking the sheets beneath her.  Surprise had taken care of her physical advantages, now all that was left was to enjoy the fruits of his efforts, then when he’d had his fun, kill her.

He snarled as the hotel door crashed open and the pale-faced witch barrelled in, shock etched across her features.  “Xander!” the wicca’s expression hardened as she took in Faith’s battered state.  Xander reached desperately for a gun, felt its butt mould itself to his hand as he raised it, his knee pressed into the Slayer’s back, his free hand pushing her face down into the bed.  “PULSUS!”

The room seemed to shake to Tara’s angry cry, the lights flickered as energy rippled through the room, and then something invisible but very, very hard hit Xander full in the chest, yanked him off the bed, and threw him backwards.  Glass exploded as he flew through the window, the chill, moist wind whistling around him as he dropped three stories and crashed into thankfully soft-topped sports car, its canvas roof sinking but not breaking as it cushioned his fall.

Xander glared up at the shattered window, the car’s alarms blaring in his ears.  “Bitches!”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“What the hell!” Kennedy rushed over to her blood-soaked fellow Slayer and ever so gently lifted the bigger girl off the bed, noting Faith’s glazed shocked eyes beneath the blood soaking down her face.  “Xander couldn’t, he wouldn’t-.”

“He was possessed, his aura was different, his soul was gone,” Tara wearily replied, fear in her girl-friend’s eyes.  “We need to get out of here.”

“We need to get out of here!” Kennedy hissed, eyes burning.  “Let that bastard come back, we’ve got two Slayers and a -.”

“He could come back with a rocket launcher,” Tara interrupted.

”So the car, then Faith’s uncle?” Kennedy changed her tact.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Xander growled, forcing back the pain as he rolled off the top of the car.  “Hey!” the hotel’s doorman rushed towards him, jowls wobbling with every step and puffing like a too-old locomotive straining for the station.  “Are you alrigh-, uggggh!” A swinging right haymaker caught the man on the point of the chin, his legs folding under him as he fell onto his back. 

Xander stepped over the man’s motionless body and started towards the hotel’s entrance then stopped, brow furrowing in thought.  This complicated matters.  His original plan had been to enjoy himself with his bitch then when he’d finished with her, slide next door, and fling a grenade into the room.  But now, Faith would be out of action for a while, he’d seen to that, but Tara and the newly empowered Kennedy were out of his league in a direct confrontation.

Of course, a strangled chuckle escaped his mouth as he turned from the entrance and started towards the hotel’s rear parking lot.  His pace quickened as he entered the darkened, roofed parking lot, its shadows holding no fears.  Spying their rental, he hurried over and pulled out a block of C4.  “Damn it,” he cursed and crouched down when the doors at the parking lot’s far end opened and Tara and Kennedy spilled out, dragging a barely conscious Faith between them.

Discarding his initial idea, he shoved the explosive back into the Always Pocket, pulled out a bug, stuck it onto the rear bumper and rolled under the car parked beside their rental, grimacing at the mingled stench of rust and oil.  His heart thundered at the sound of the approaching women, helpless to do anything but wait until they reached him.

“I’ll drive,” Tara instructed. 

“Uhhhh.”  Xander bit back a snicker at Faith’s moan.

“Okay,” Kennedy replied.  “You’re sure it wasn’t-.”

“I’m sure,” Tara let out an unaccustomed snap.  “Look, I saw his aura, it was off, okay.”

“Then how do we-.”

“Look,” Tara snapped again.  “I don’t have any answers, we just need to get out of here before he comes back.”  Xander smiled at the fear he heard in the witch’s voice. 

“Okay.”

Seconds later, he heard the car’s doors slam shut and heard it screech out of the parking lot.  The smile was still etched across his feet as he rolled up from under the car and rose.  He had three murders to commit.  He knew the targets, the only question remaining was the exact location.

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (22/?)

Tara swallowed as she pulled up outside their destination.  “How is she?” she glanced over her shoulder to the car’s back seat, Faith’s battered frame cradled protectively by Kennedy.

”She’s coming around,” Kennedy replied.

“Okay, you help her out.”  Tara licked her lips.  “I’ll do the talking.”

“Wasn’t volunteering.”

Tara ignored Kennedy’s demotivating mutter to climb out of the car, her heart racing as she started up the darkened path leading to Spenser’s front door.  This was not going to be easy.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Spenser leapt up from the couch at the knock at the door, Tara’s panicked phone call having woken him just over ten minutes ago.  Hurrying out of the lounge and into the draughty hallway he made his way to the door, floorboards creaking underfoot.  His heart dropped as he opened the door and noted the girls’ distraught state and his niece’s battered condition.  Blood had matted Faith’s usually silken mane to the left side of her head, her mouth and jaw was swollen, and her dress ripped.

“What happened?”  Crimson descended over his eyes as he noted something else.  “Where’s Xander?”  Fire replaced blood pumping through his veins.  “He did this didn’t he?”

“Inside,” Tara pushed past him, the lesbian showing unusual assertiveness, Kennedy following behind her, easing her fellow Slayer through the door.

“I’ll put some tea on,” Susan escaped into the kitchen at the ground floor’s rear.

Spenser barely heard his girl-friend’s comment over the pounding in his ears.  “I’ll ring Hawk,” he grated.  The last time the two of them had gone up against Xander it hadn’t worked out so well, but they’d been trying to just restrain the kid, not kill him.

Tara’s hand grabbed at his even as he reached for the phone hung by the door.  “Do that,” Tara softly counselled, “but first you should know, it wasn’t Xander’s fault.”

Spenser’s gaze snapped to the wicca.  “Do.  Not.  Make.  Excuses.”

“I’m not,” Spenser blinked when the witch’s hiss was accompanied with a sudden flicker of the hallway light, her power seeming to pulse through the air.  “I don’t have time to argue, but I saw Xander when he was attacking Faith, his aura’s not his own, he’s possessed, we just have to find out by what!”

Spenser took a long breath as he continued to stare into the wicca’s determined eyes.  “Fine, but how do you intend to do that?”

The witch continued to stare at him for a moment before nodding.  “First we need to find out what it was possessing Xander, then get rid of it,” Tara said.  “I want you to call Hawk and bring him here for protection, and get your men patrolling for Xander, but make them work in groups of six, they don’t want to try taking him in a fair fight.”

Spenser nodded mutely as the witch strode purposefully past him, her hand dipping into her coat to pull out her cell.

                                    *                                  *                                  *                     

Tara allowed herself a frightened squeak at the way she’d just bossed Faith’s tough as old leather uncle about.  That had been so scary, but with Xander possessed and Faith in shock and out of action, it was down to her to run things.  Without access to the Always Pocket and more importantly the Eternal Archive, she’d need others to do the research for her.  Fortunately she had friends with a lot of resources.  Her fingers danced over her cell’s keys as she called up and selected a number. 

Four rings later and she got an answer.  “A-Team Industries, Archive Division,” Flynn Carsen replied, his tone wary, “how can I help you Ms. Maclay?”

Tara smiled at the thought of her being a ‘Ms’.  “Hi Flynn, I need you to search for any references to a mystical sword that can remove a person’s soul or drive them mad.  Forget about anything else you’re working on, this is your top priority, call in anyone you need.”

“Yes ma’am!” the man hung up.

Tara quickly dialled another number.  “Hello?” a slightly groggy voice replied.

”Hi Phoebe,” Tara replied.  “We’re in a bit of mess here, we really need your help.”

”Sure,” her fellow witch listened in silence as she explained what she needed.  “We’ll check the Book of Shadows and get right back to you.”

“Thanks,” she nodded and hung up, glancing over her shoulder as the front door opened and Hawk strode in to the hallway , his hulking frame filling the door.

“Girl in there?”  Tara swallowed at the black man’s growl.  She’d always been aware of just how tough the black man was, but she’d never seen his eyes burn like they were doing now, and his grunt sounded about one octave less menacing than a grizzly bear’s rumble.  “Thanks.”  Hawk nodded at her before striding into the lounge with a grace that belied his bulk.  “Hey kid, ‘stead of cuddling up to Faith, how ‘bout you and me get to hugging.”

“Get bent.”

Tara allowed herself a slight giggle before reaching for her phone and dialling a third number.  “Hello Tara,” Lorne answered after half a dozen rings.  “And how may I help the duchess of demure this fine day?”  Tara dived into an explanation.   “Oh dear,” a far more subdued Lorne answered.  “I’m afraid I can’t help you.  I know of spells and poisons that can have such an effect, but not weapons.”

“Okay,” Tara’s stomach hollowed as a possible avenue of assistance closed.  It had been worth a shot.  “Thanks anyway.” 

“Give my little blackbird my best!”

”I will,” Tara promised before dialling her last hoped for resource. 

“Hello Tara,” Strange’s deep, sonorous voice instantly calmed her fluttering heart.  “It is a pleasure to hear from you.”

“Doctor,” she gasped.  “We’re in trouble.”  She babbled out an explanation. ”I don’t suppose you know what we should do?”

 

“By the Hoary Hosts of Hoggoth!"  Strange cursed.  “Yes, I know exactly what’s infected Xander-.”

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (23/?)

Xander chuckled darkly as the car he was watching came to a not unexpected halt.  “Run home to Uncle,” he softly mocked as he rose from his seat in the cyber café and logged off the tracking website he’d been watching.  “Ain’t gonna do you any good.”

Upon striding outside he pulled his leather coat tightly around himself in an effort to buttress himself against the wind and drizzle before starting through the city, deep in purposeful thought.  As much as he wanted to be in close with the bitch, to see her fear when he killed her, that just wasn’t feasible.  Faith might out of be commission, but her uncle and Hawk weren’t easy takes, and Kennedy could hand him in his ass in a fight.

Then there was Tara. 

Xander snarled at the merest thought of the witch.  As much as he was loathe to admit it, if he got even close to the witch, she’d end the fight in seconds.  He needed more than surprise to take her now, he needed distance.

Xander chuckled as realisation hit him.  What he needed and what he had was -.

“Hey man,” Xander stiffened as half a dozen doo-rag wearing black youths his age or a few years younger stepped out of the alley’s shadows and surrounding him, “you’re in the wrong part of town for your colour.  No honky walks these streets at night without paying tax!”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“Okay,” Tara was careful to avoid Faith’s lost gaze as she hurried into the lounge, instead glancing at the Slayer’s Uncle, “have you contacted your people?”

“Three teams of six, scouring the city,” Spenser stared at her.  “It’s a big city.”

”Don’t worry about it,” Tara pulled her ‘Ring Of Truth’, “I’m going to use this to cast a spell that’ll locate him for us.  It’s a gift of great value from him, so I’ll be able to use it to track him.”

“And when we find him what then?” Spenser demanded, his gaze hot enough to make hell seem chilly. 

Tara took a second to compose herself before continuing.  “After they freed everyone from the demons, Mithras ruled for many years.”  Spenser’s mouth opened then closed at her glare.  “But they weren’t peaceful years.  Time and time again, demons, wizards, would-be tyrants and rebellious humans tried and failed to assassinate Mithras.  But because of his own skills and the loyalty of his nearest friends, no assassin got close enough for long enough to kill him.”

”Oh,” Hawk growled.  “I see where you’re going with this.”

“And so, somebody, a demon or a mage ,contracted an assassin called Voldar and created a sword for him called Anima-Furo,” Tara broke off to force herself to look towards Faith.  “Xander said he’d been injured but there was no wound, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Faith nodded dully.  “He lifted his shirt, pointed to where he’d been stabbed but there wasn’t even a mark.”

”That’s because Anima-Furo doesn’t wound the body, it tears through the soul, warping it.”

“Huh?” Kennedy gaped.

“Mithras’ enemies knew they’d never get a man or woman close enough to kill Mithras, such was the people’s idolisation and loyalty, and they also knew such an assassin would live but minutes after the event,” Tara explained.  “So instead, Mithras’ enemies created this sword that would warp the soul of anyone injured with it, then they mystically linked the blade to the assassin, making him immortal but the sword his lifeline.”

”So the sword’s effect?” Something like hope entered Faith’s eyes.

“It takes the victim’s soul and warps it, turns it against those they care for the most, then when they’ve killed their nearest and dearest, tears their souls from them to feed Voldar,” Tara said.  “I don’t know if he was a specific target or if Voldar just needed to feed, but Xander’s not in control and he hasn’t been since he was first stabbed.”

“Tar,” Faith’s voice cracked briefly then steadied.  “Can we save him?”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Xander grinned, his blood racing at the thought of teaching these two-bit hoods the true meaning of respect.  “I already left a deposit in your mom’s mouth,” he replied even as his experienced gaze swept over the youths, noting their chains and knives, but thankful lack of guns, and also noting their complete lack of preparedness and training.  This should be very easy and very messy.  “And she’s back at my place waiting on her knees for seconds.”

The leader’s broad nostrils flared, eyes widening in shock.  “Oh no, you did not say what I thought you said.”

Xander shrugged, seemingly unmindful of the gang surrounding him.  “Hey, I don’t usually do them as fat, ugly, and dumb as your mom, but your pop can’t get it up, and hey, gotta do some charity work.”  The youth’s mouth opened, but Xander filled it with fist before the youth could speak, dropping him on his ass with a straight right. 

There was a half-second of shocked silence and then the other youths started to move towards him.  But Xander was already gliding to the left, elbow snaking up to crash point-first into the Adam’s Apple of the thug rushing in left, the youth’s hastily drawn knife dropping from his grip as his hands reached up to grip his throat.  Xander hummed happily as he stepped around the back of the gurgling youth, grabbed his hoodie’s pulled down hood and pulled hard, flinging the youth back into the wall.

The boy’s skull hit the wall with a sickening crack, the youth sliding down the unforgiving brick to lie in the refuse where street scum like him truly belonged.  But Xander didn’t have time to gloat, he was too busy sliding in and out of the remaining quartet’s attacks, ducking under clumsily thrown haymakers, sidestepping knife thrusts, wriggling aside chain swings, and twisting away from kicks.  Xander’s toned and trained muscles working in perfect, effortless harmony, the skills he’d honed fighting demons meaning his adversaries were utterly and completely over-matched. 

And then one of the men over-stepped himself with a knife thrust, Xander grabbing the wrist of his knife arm before he had chance to pull it back.  The man’s mouth had barely begun to open in a curse when Xander twisted into him with a palm strike to the nose that flattened his nose across his face, snapped his head back, blood gushing down his face as his legs faltered beneath him, dropping to his knees.

At the same time he was delivering his palm strike, Xander was shooting out a reverse heel kick to the knee of the man charging him from the rear.  The man let out an agonised cry, his charge turning into a stumble that ended when Xander reversed his coolly-executed palm strike into a reverse elbow to the man’s eye.  The man roared in pain, but kept on coming in, throwing a hook to Xander’s kidneys that in the end hit nothing but air as he sidestepped, spun to face the kid, and thrust his fingers into the youth’s throat, dropping him with a gurgling gasp.  Xander twisted back to the kid he’d dropped to his knees and finished him with a knee to the face that crunched bone and laid the teen out motionless on the ground.

One of the remaining thugs grabbed Xander’s shoulder and spun him towards him.  Xander went with the pull, pivoting on his right ankle while driving his left knee up and into the youth’s side while chopping down with his right hand, slamming the side of his hand into the wrist of his rival’s upswinging knife-hand.  The boy let out a gasp as his knife cluttered to the ground, Xander’s karate chop to the wrist segueing into a straight right that slammed into the kid’s jaw with all the subtlety of a sledge-hammer.  Even as the boy fell, Xander was swinging his left leg back into a reverse heel kick to the crotch that doubled his would-be assailant up, making him easy prey to a hand to the back of his head driving him down and facefirst into the pavement.

“I’m gonna fuck you up!”

Xander spun around to face the gang leader and grinned.  “Come on then.”  The moment the kid charged forward, Xander’s left foot swung up in a strictly traditional kick to the nuts while his right hook slammed into the thug’s jaw, spilling teeth onto the cracked pavement stones, and ducked the thug’s weakly-thrown straight right to the face while simultaneously hooking to his adversary’s gut.  The kid let out a sick gulp then doubled into a nose-shattering knee to the face that dropped him motionless onto his back.

Xander pulled a grand out of the Always Pocket and dropped the crumpled notes onto the group leader’s bloodied shirt.  “Thanks for the workout boys.  I’d stay to compare notes, tell you where you went wrong and all that, but places to be, bitches to mercilessly murder, you know how it is.”

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (24/?)

Remington Arms had created a beauty of a weapon in the M24 SWS.  Adopted by the US. Army in the year of its manufacture, ’88, and also the weapon of choice of the Israeli Defence Forces, various police SWAT teams, and Japanese paratroopers.  All told, an estimated fifteen thousand had been sold throughout the world, including the one he owned, the sniper rifle carrying a range of cartridges including the 7.62 * 51 NATO and the .300 Winchester Magnum.

However his choice was the M24A3 which carried the .338 Lapua Magnum.  This meant that the sniper had the greatest effective range, in this case 1,500 yards, and, Xander smiled wickedly as he climbed onto the flat roof, it would make the most mess of bitches who thought they had the right to order men around.

Of course because of the lateness of the hour, the wind, and his own relative lack of expertise, he was capable but far from world-class; he couldn’t shoot accurately anything like fifteen hundred yards.  Xander laid a blanket down on the roof’s gravel, before kneeling and starting to assemble his weapon, humming merrily as he did so.

Yes, he couldn’t shoot fifteen hundred yards, but eight hundred?  He could manage that.

And then he’d be less one pain in the ass.  And with a five round magazine, if he was lucky and fast, he might even get the other two bitches too.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Tara’s heart caught at Faith’s too-battered to hope gasp.  Tara forced a smile towards her best friend.  “Yeah, I think there is-.”

 

“You think?” Spenser snapped.

Tara eye-balled the former private investigator.  “Do you want to argue with the Sorcerer Supreme or do you want to listen?”

 

“Oh wow,” Kennedy whispered.  “You’re so hot right now.”

”That goes double for me,” Hawk agreed, then clamped his jaw shut at her glare.

“Doctor Strange said Anima-Furo provides Voldar with nourishment, but he can’t actually feed on Xander’s soul until Xander has slain,” Tara glanced at Faith, swallowed and continued.  “So if we catch Xander, Voldar will come to try and free him so he can fulfil his mission.”  Tara looked towards Kennedy, heart fluttering like a butterfly’s wings.  “Because your power comes from a demon, Anima-Furo can’t infect you, that’s the good news, any wounds his sword does infect will be purely physical.”  Tara paused.  “But if you stab him with his weapon, you’ll kill him and reverse the sword’s grip and effect on Xander.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“Right,” Kennedy’s world slowed and narrowed to that moment.  Take on Xander?  She’d sparred enough with her friend to know his skills and genetic memory meant he was way more skilled than either her or Faith.  Of course, their immense physical advantages meant they both kicked his ass anyway, but in sparring sessions he never used the Always Pocket.  In reality….

Sensing Faith’s desperately, hopeful eyes on her, Kennedy took a breath and nodded jerkily.  Being a Slayer meant takin’ the hard fights as well as the easy ones.  “Okay,” Kennedy was gratified when she heard none of the uncertainty she felt in her voice, “but first you’re going to have to find him.”

“I can do that.”  Tara’s answering smile was full wattage, the sort of smile she could bask in for the rest of her life, secure in its warmth and sincerity.

Of course, chances were the rest of her life could be measured in minutes…

Wow, Kennedy gave herself a mental shake, tonight sure was bringing the optimist out of her!  Re-focusing herself, she nodded as Tara set up her spell on the Spensers’ rug-covered floor.  “So, a location spell,” she started to stand.  “How long-.”  Her eyes widened at movement to her left, she began to turn to face her unexpected attacker then let out a gasp when Hawk hit her around the midsection like a linebacker going for the tackle.

Kennedy’s knees buckled under the surprise assault, crashing her to the ground even as she twisted her body and flung Hawk into the wall just beneath the front window.  Her mouth opened in an insult then dropped as the front window exploded inwards, a bullet thudding in the wall behind where she’d been stood.  “I saw a red sniper’s sight on your chest!” Hawk yelled as the others hit the floor.

”You couldn’t just shout?” Kennedy protested. 

”And miss a chance to jump on top of you?”  Hawk queried.

“That must be Xander!” Faith cried out, the older Slayer’s teeth gritted as she threw herself to the ground, an arm clung around her battered midsection.

”Got a location for him yet, Tara?”  Kennedy demanded as she rolled up onto her belly and crawled over to her girl-friend.

“Yeah,” Tara nodded then squealed as a bullet tore through the wall just above the fireplace.  “The Donovan Systems building on the corner of Greenwhalt Avenue!”

”Okay,” Kennedy nodded.  “Wish me luck, see you later!”

“No way!” Hawk grabbed her shoulder as she started for the door leading to the kitchen.  “I’m coming with you!”  Kennedy’s mouth opened in protest.  “Do you know your way around this city at night?”

“Jeez,” Kennedy shook her head then reluctantly nodded as she joined the black man in crawling through to the kitchen.  “Come on then, I guess I always wanted a sidekick.”

“Sidekick!” Hawk snapped.  “I’m no sidekick, you’re the sidekick!”

“How do you work that out?”

“I’m older!”  Hawk protested.  “Giving you the benefit of my experience and wisdom.”

”What wisdom?  And powers trump age every day!” Kennedy shot back as she rolled onto her back, brought her knees up into her chest and kicked out at the kitchen door, ripping it from its hinges and flinging it onto the ground.  “You’re the sidekick!”

“Whatever,” Hawk snapped as she grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet, “we’ll need a car!”

Kennedy glanced up at her towering companion as she raced down the lengthy garden and proceeded to kick a hole in the wooden fence.  “You can boost one right?”

Hawk glared suspiciously at her.  “You asking me that because I’m black?”

“No,” Kennedy retorted.  “Because you’re a hood.”

“Oh,” Hawk nodded.  “That’s alright then.”

“Yeah,” Kennedy sighed, “this is going to work out so well.”

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (25/26)

“DAMN IT!” Xander cursed as he peered through his sniper’s scope, searching vainly for his targets.  For all his planning he’d failed to kill a single….

Suddenly his eyes blazed with realisation.  There was a part of him fighting the urge to slay the bitches and their companions.  A part of him that hadn’t been able to overtly resist his assault, but had instead guided him into easily thwarted attacks.

“Not any more,” Xander chuckled as he reached into the Always Pocket and pulled an A24 out.  “A rocket through the front window will settle their hides.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“This is the place,” Hawk announced as he pulled up outside a brown-stoned building.  “Now what’s the plan?”

“The plan is I go up there,” Kennedy stuck her head out of the car window, enjoying the refreshingly chill night air, and peered up at the flat topped roof, “and kick Xander and Voldar’s assess.”

“Hey, no way am I lettin’ you go up there on your own!”

Kennedy opened her mouth to make a blistering retort on the wrongness of misogyny, but then reconsidered.  The last few years had taught her, an instinctive loner, just how important teamwork could be, and besides nobody could ever describe going up against Xander Harris as a walk in the park.  “’Kay,” Kennedy thought furiously then nodded.  “You’ve got your gun right?”

Hawk opened his jacket to reveal the shoulder-holster hanging there.  “Never leave home without it, darling.”

Kennedy ignored the ‘darling’.  “Good, then when I tackle Xander, Voldar will appear.  I need you to give me the time I need to take Xander out before dealing with Voldar.”

 

“You want me to fill this asshole with bullets?” Hawk’s smile chilled her.  “That bastard hurt Spense’s little girl, I can do that.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

The wind whistled through Kennedy’s hair as she raced onto the roof.   Stealth was impossible on the crunchy, gravelly surface, so Kennedy abandoned all attempts at it in favour of a head-long charge at the man knelt at the roof’s edge, a rocket-launcher perched ominously on his shoulder.

Xander twisted around to meet her, biting hatred gleaming in his eyes and an angry hiss leaping from his lips.  The rocket launcher disappeared back into the Always Pocket, but was replaced by Xander’s all-too familiar Desert Eagle.

Kennedy’s breath hitched as she zigged left, the first bullet’s hiss searing the air by her neck, almost burning the flesh. She reached out, snatched hold of the wrist of Xander’s gun-arm, and twisted it violently against the grain.

”BITCH!” Xander spat at her, his face contorted with pain as the gun dropped to the gravel.

Kennedy didn’t bother to answer, didn’t bother to try to reason, she was too busy ducking under a hastily-drawn knife thrust at her left eye, grabbing that wrist, and bending back at the waist, flinging her arms back in an attempt to throw the man over her.

”Uhhh!”  Kennedy grunted when her left leg buckled under her, Xander’s foot crashing into her shin, dropping her to one knee.  The man grinned down at her as he tore his left hand free of her grasp, and lifted his knife up for a downwards aimed throat slash.

Kennedy powered up through her bent knee, springing forward to drive her head into her friend’s midsection, Xander grunting slightly as she reversed her momentum and dropped onto her back, leg sweeping out to take Xander’s feet from under him.  “Shit!” Kennedy cursed as the man leapt over her feet and at her.  Kennedy’s heart pounded as she feinted rolling right then went left, Xander’s feet missing stamping a hole in her chest by a couple of inches.

“BITCH!”  She’d barely come up in a crouch when Xander’s left elbow thudded into the side of her head, just above her ear.  Pain flared through her neck as the blow’s impact snapped her head around in time to catch a right square to the forehead, knocking her head back the other way.  “SLUT!” Xander’s roar rang in her ears as she parried a left hook on her forearm, then swing-kicked a gun out of his right hand before powering up off her grounded foot into a high-knee to the chest.  “WHORE!” Xander was ready for her, the raging man sidestepping her attempted attack and catching her with a clothesline to her own chest that knocked her onto her back, head pulled up to avoid a possible concussion on the unyielding gravel.  “TRAMP!”  Kennedy rolled away from an attempted kick to the face and up into a crouch in time to pull her head forward and under an attempted knife slash, left hand swinging up to chop the knife out of Xander’s hand even as her friend’s other fist smashed into her mouth.  “COW!”  An uppercut snapped her head back, blood gushing from her mouth.  Her head swimming, Kennedy grabbed Xander’s hand before he could pull it back and yanked him towards her, driving her head up to crack into his mouth.

Blood gushed from Xander’s mouth as he stumbled to her right, her friend shooting out a side kick that caught her square in the hip, knocking her momentarily off balance.  The man growled gleefully, eyes burning with hatred as he lunged in with a haymaker that she stepped inside of while delivering a right elbow to his chest.

The man grunted and stumbled backwards, his right hand swinging in a knife slash that Kennedy parried on her forearm.  “Uuuf!”  A knee crashed into her stomach, almost doubling her up, but Kennedy gritted her teeth, blocking a flurry of blows on her arms and shoulders.  A right whistled in above her defences, smashing into her forehead.  Stars sparked and ignited before Kennedy’s eyes as she stumbled back a step, blood gushing down her forehead, her eyes widening as she realised her companion had put on a pair of brass knuckles.

Probably the knuckles he’d used on Faith.

A rage filled her, burning the blood straight out of her veins.  On a logical level she knew this wasn’t Xander’s fault, but on a primal level, she just saw Faith’s battered features and lost eyes.

Another left hook swung in, Kennedy blocked it on her shoulder then raced into the attack, feigning a high kick that had Xander shifting his defensive focus to his head, then sweeping his legs from under him.  Xander hit the gravel on his side, Kennedy dropping on him, trapping his torso between her squeezing thighs, and then taking an elbow to her left eye as she drove down and cinched on a triangle choke.

                                    *                                  *                                  *

Hawk ached like hell to help the girl.  Even knowing the circumstances it didn’t feel right to him, watching a hulking guy like Xander beat on a little girl like Kennedy-.  Hawk stiffened as a cold wind whistled around the roof and a sizzling crackling filled the air.

Swallowing down his trepidation, Hawk reached into his jacket, drew his gun, and turned to his left, eyes widening at the simmering door-sized portal twenty feet to his left.  The moment the figure appeared in the doorway, he assumed a two-handed gunman’s stance and started pulling on his trigger, the cannon bucking in his grasp.  The gun’s boom echoed in his ears, scowling as he watched the shells thud home, swaying but failing to fell the figure as he burst out of the portal, the inside of which was somehow darker than the night itself.

Hawk’s eyes widened as he noted the white man’s relative lack of stature and complete lack of distinctiveness.  Well unless one noted the eight holes he’d blown in the man’s torso to completely no effect.  Holes gaped all over the man, but not one drop of blood had spilt from them.

”Oh crap,” he muttered as his automatic clicked empty and the man drew his sword without missing a single sinuous step.  “This night definitely ain’t goin’ on the highlight reel.”

”Hey asshole, how about you swing that big old sword at me?”

“Oh girl,” Hawk muttered.  “I ain’t never been so glad to hear a woman’s voice.”                     

FIC: MC 72.  Jun ’03 The Strange Fate Of Fulad-zereh (26/26)

Voldar twisted around, the gravel billowing up under his feet as his sword flashed diagonally down.  Kennedy smiled through bloody teeth as she caught the blade between her palms, trapping the blade there.  “Xan was the real fight,” she cockily declared, “amateur hour’s just my warm down, aren’t you?”

Voldar’s eyes widened as she twisted her hands to the right, forcing the sword to come with her, then kicked out, the point of her foot hitting Anima-Furo’s cross-guard and launching the sword out of his grasp and up into the dark knight.  Even as Voldar’s jaw dropped and his gaze went skyward, Kennedy was leaping up into the air, hand reaching for the blade.  The moment her fingers were clasped around the weapon’s grip, Kennedy slashed down, tearing the blade through the demon’s neck.

Voldar dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut, his flesh evaporating as he fell, the being a skeleton by the time his bones hit the ground, his desiccated remains just ash a half-second later.  “Oh heck,” Kennedy stumbled upon landing, suddenly bone weary from the fight and the emotional turmoil of fighting her best male friend in a battle that could have ended with her death.

“I got ya kid,” Hawk’s hand were suddenly on her shoulders, steadying her, his normally bass voice strangely subdued, “ya did great, now let’s get outta here.”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

“Thanks for the heal, hon,” Kennedy purred as she curled up in Tara’s arms.  Man, Xander had really done a number on her, shattered right orbital bone, severe concussion, dislocated jaw, and a couple of cracked ribs.  If not for Slayer healing and her girl-friend’s own skills, she’d had been looking at some serious hospital time.

“You’re welcome,” Tara kissed her on her recently healed forehead, just where Xander had split her open.

“You’re sure Xander is Xander?”

“His aura’s fine now,” Tara assured her as she stroked her hair. 

“And there’s no chance he’ll change back?” Kennedy pressed.

“With Voldar’s death his power ended and his sword burnt out,” Tara peered into her eyes.  “Fighting Xander shook you up didn’t it?”

Kennedy shrugged then nodded.  “It wasn’t the hardest fight we’ve ever had, but it was all on me, and fighting Xander,” Kennedy shivered.  There weren’t many men she respected, and Xander definitely had to be at the top of the list.  “Fighting him made it so personal.”

“Well,” Tara hugged her, “you did great.”

“Thanks.”  Kennedy forced a smile.

“Honey,” Tara kissed on her the exact same spot as before, “what’s wrong?”

“Do you think,” Kennedy took a breath, “do you think Faith and Xander will be able to get past this?”

“You’re worried about Faith?” Tara queried.

Kennedy shrugged.  “We bitch continually-.”

“Hadn’t noticed,” Tara snarked.

“But we’re team-mates, right?  I hated seeing her like that last night, so wounded, and lost.  And if Faith and Xander go up in flames, what does that mean for the rest of us?”

“I don’t know honey,” Tara sighed.  “I mean you know Faith’s past, you know she’d been abused.  She’ll know in her head that Xander wasn’t himself when he attacked her, but the question is will her heart know the same?”

                                    *                                  *                                  *

The sun was gleaming down on them as they walked through the park, Faith pushing Hector’s pram in front of her, the baby’s contented gurgling filling the air.  A gorgeous park, him, his gorgeous girl-friend, and the baby they’d saved from life as a gangster’s child.  He should feel way happier than he did right now.

Xander stopped and forced down the bitter lump that threatened to choke him.  “I’m sorr-.”

“Don’t,” Faith’s head snapped towards him, fury quickly quenched and replaced by compassion in his girl-friend’s expressive eyes, “you apologised enough last night, and if you continue…”  Faith let out a rattling sigh.  “Tara healed us up, anyhow, it’s over.”

Xander shook his head.  “That’s not the poin-.”

“The point is,” Faith forced a smile as she leaned into the pram and gave Hector her finger to pull on, “there’s a good boy.”  Faith looked towards him.  “The point is, it wasn’t you, you were possessed.  So you have nothing to apologise for.  And if you keep on apologising, I’ll maybe start to think you could have done somethin’ to stop it, ‘kay?”

 

Xander nodded nervously and stuck his hands in his pockets as they passed by a deserted children’s playground.  “You could sit on a swing,” he shyly commented.  “I could push you.”

Faith let out an amused snort.  “In your fu-,” Faith glanced at the pram, “in your dreams, Harris.”

Xander nodded again and smiled weakly.  “When I said we should come back to Boston to see your uncle, I had something to ask him.”  Xander licked his lips, damn they were dry.  “I didn’t get round to it, and now he’d more likely introduce a shovel to my head.”  Xander paused, and the truth of the matter was, the way he felt right now, he’d let him.  “I wanted this to be traditional, but anyway, it’s burning a hole in my gut, and I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks.”  Faith let out a gasp as he dropped to one knee, pulled out a jewellery box containing a gold band with a heart-shaped white diamond set in.  “Faith,” Xander ignored the tremble in his voice, “Faith Spenser, will you marry me.”

“Oh, oh,”  Faith’s hand flew to her mouth and she took a step back then grabbed back hold of the pram.  “Xan, I can’t.” Faith shook her head.  “We gotta stay together ‘cause the work’s important and I love ya, but this way too soon.  Just give me time.”

Xander opened his mouth to protest, to plead his case, then nodded stiffly and rose.  There really was nothing to say.

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