South Beach Slayer--A Retro Rusty Special

(The following post is the exact text for a short story that will be appearing in an anthology of online writers called *.fiction. The editor is Scott McKenzie, who can be found at this blog site: www.stardotfiction.blogspot.com. This story is based on the prior posts comprising the South Beach Diet series of posts--you can find the original series of posts in the November 2006 archives of this site--November 15-30, 2006 When the book is available, further information on how to get a copy will be posted and provided at that point. Until then, enjoy the story. More original posts are due over the next week.)

South Beach Slayer


I stood high above the crowd below, hidden from curious eyes by darkness and distance in my rooftop perch. From this spot, I could watch both the pulsating crowd below and the wide, nearly empty stretch of sand and waves known collectively as South Beach.

I wasn’t here to enjoy the sights and sounds of South Beach. This was a hunting trip.

There was a very prolific, very sick serial killer loose on South Beach. This unknown killer had killed four young people on four consecutive nights and left their bodies ripped open and splayed out on the beach to be discovered in the morning. Each body had been missing at least one vital organ.

Somehow, in one of the busiest nightspots in the United States, each victim had been killed, laid out on the beach, and been at least partially eaten all without any witnesses who were willing to come forward. The killings had continued even as the police presence had been doubled after the second killing and redoubled again after the third. The local authorities were at their wits end. That was when they called on the FBI to do something.

The fourth killing took place despite the presence of nearly twenty undercover FBI agents blanketing the most popular nightspots and a very sophisticated surveillance project that had been hastily put into place all over the area. The media was now crawling all over the story and the whole region was seemingly in the grip of panic over the lack of any progress on finding this mysterious, cannibalistic killer who had been named the South Beach Slayer by an enterprising news anchorman.

This was the fifth night.

The Bureau was desperate to put a stop to these gruesome murders. One of their best profilers, Agent Jennifer Wilson, had told them that this killer was something more than human. That’s when the decision was made to call on the Bureau’s only agent who also happened to be something more than human…or, as I preferred to think of it, formerly human.

Before I get much further, however, a brief introduction is called for. I am Agent Rusty Bones. I was a street cop from Dearborn Hills, Michigan who was killed in the line of duty. I was brought back to this…unlife…because I had also been a participant in a formerly secret (and definitely evil) government program called the Omega Project that sought to reunite the souls of slain subjects with newly enhanced bodies in an effort to show that it was indeed possible to create immortal super soldiers. I was the lone success of the project-- and its biggest failure-- since I subsequently helped to shut the thing down. I don’t quite think of myself as an immortal super soldier, but I do benefit from the fact that I can’t be killed. I have also acquired a few other special abilities that have been useful from time to time.

Seeing nothing of note moving on the beach, I turned my gaze towards the crowd below. While most sensible people were sensibly tucked away in their homes, there was still a sizable core of young, rich daredevils of all ethnicities gathered beneath me. They were partying with reckless abandon that I found quite amusing. There was a tension in the air that was palpable. These were the type of people who would throw a party on the eve of Armageddon.

From this distance I could pick out the undercover police officers and FBI agents as they mingled through the crowd looking for any likely suspects. The Slayer wouldn’t be so easily spotted. If Agent Wilson’s profile was to be believed, the Slayer was a doppelganger—a mythical creature that could change shape at will, exactly mimicking its victim.

I unfocused my eyes and shifted my vision from this world so that I could survey the scene below in the Shadowland—a separate dimension that parallels the physical world that you are already familiar with, but where the spirits of both the living and the dead are visible to those who can access it.

In this view, the police officers and undercover agents were even more distinct from the more colorful, inebriated spirits of all those potential victims. The spirits of the law enforcement officers were less colorful, more subdued in their hues, focused and vigilant.

There! About halfway down the block at a small, open-air sidewalk café, I caught a glimpse of someone, or better yet, something that was out of place. It was a small, dark spirit that seemed oddly out of place. As soon as I tried to lock my gaze on it, it slipped away into a thronging mass of spirits that obscured my sight. I was going to have to get closer. It seemed to sense me almost as soon as I saw it.

I slipped back into normal vision long enough to get a fix on the place and called the Shadow.

The cool, comforting darkness of the Shadow surrounded me. Using my will, I shaped It into a portal and stepped through.

I emerged from the Shadow in a side alley. I stopped at the mouth of the tight space for a moment to take in the festive scene from my new vantage point—pounding music, snarled traffic, pulsing neon lights, and a gyrating crowd of underdressed people of all races, genders and orientations milling about in their desperate searches for excitement and hook-ups.

A young woman in a skimpy bikini top and a multi-colored skirt stumbled into the dark alley and retched onto the ground right at my feet. She looked up from my puke spattered boots, staggering up to one knee. “Hey buddy, whatcha doin’ back here?” As her eyes traveled upward from my boots, her eyes grew wide. She got up quickly and stumbled off to rejoin her friends.

I stepped over a puddle of fermented vomit, emerging from the comfort of the shadow. I joined the pulsating stream of tense human sexuality that was the South Beach night life. I started towards that open-air café where I had seen that strange spirit.

If the dress code of the partying crowd was any indication, it was about 80 degrees and humid out. Even the bikini-clad gals and the bare-chested young studs were shiny with beaded sweat. I was, of course, the lone exception. I was wearing a lightweight, black windbreaker over a loose black sweatshirt. My sturdy jeans were properly distressed while my heavy black steel-toed work boots were brand new. I wasn’t used to being this exposed.

While preening, inebriated minnows darted and dodged all around me, I was the trolling, brooding shark seeking bigger, more dangerous prey.

I switched my vision back into the Shadowland so that I could scan the crowd easier for that spirit. I had gotten pretty good in the last year at moving my body through the physical world while keeping my vision primarily in the Shadowland. Compared to the kaleidoscope of colors of the Shadowland, the neon signs and Art Deco décor of the physical South Beach was almost bland and boring.

It wasn’t long before I caught a second glimpse of that strange spirit again. It stood out from the large cluster of younger, brighter spirits gathered outside of a particularly flashy nightclub just down the street from the café. It was a darker, smaller form than those of most humans, and it felt my presence as I honed in on it.

The small head of the form swiveled in my direction as soon as I locked my gaze onto it. Two laser red eyes bore into me for the briefest of moments before a massive explosion of intense light knocked me from the Shadowland and back into the realm of normal vision.


The crowd was milling about, oblivious to the dance between two hunters as I tried to associate the out of place spirit I had seen with the right physical body in the swirling, dancing, flirting mass of humanity.

With all of the glances of fear, disgust, and disdain that I was getting, I knew that my appearance was even more zombie-like than normal. I hadn’t found my prey yet. I was reasonably certain, however, that I stood out well enough to let the Slayer know that he or she wasn’t alone at the top of the food chain any more. The minnows danced and darted about, too exhilarated by life to realize that the true dance of death had only just begun.

I slipped back into the Shadowland, hoping to catch a glimpse of my prey yet again, only to find that the creature had slipped away for the moment. I shifted back to normal vision, clenching my fist in frustration. I pulled the Shadow closer, hoping to use It for cover as I redoubled my efforts to locate the Slayer before it struck again.

Standing on the edge of Light and Night, of City and Beach, I was in Shadow. A watchful, vigilant Shade that moved from one world to the next with the ease of a moth flitting around a light bulb, one moment fully visible and real, the next moment a figment of the imagination.

In this new state of being—suspended halfway between the living and the dead—I could walk among the evening revelers leaving no more memory of my passing than that of a strange, cold shiver that caused a tingle along the spine and raised the hairs on the back of the neck.

There was a certain timeless quality to this half-in, half-out existence that I was now in. I was unsure whether I had been searching for five minutes or an hour when I noticed the strange cloud of Shadow darker than any normal night obscuring part of the beach across the street.

Without hesitating, I turned, stepped out into the street, easily slipping between the cars stuck in traffic. I needed to see what was being concealed over there.

I slowed from a jog to a cautious walk as I reached the threshold of the obscured area—it was large enough to conceal any number of dangers. The Shadow parted for me like a curtain. What I saw on the other side of that shade would have caused me to retch if I had been physically capable of it.

The body of the Slayer’s fifth victim lay spread-eagle in the sand, her torso ripped open. A man knelt down beside her with his back to me, holding something dripping and wet to his mouth and tearing into it with his teeth. The lip-smacking sound of him eating one of her organs was enough to throw me into a rage. But one glance at this man’s sickly spirit was enough to convince me that this man couldn’t be the one responsible for weaving the curtain of darkness that was obscuring him from being seen by anyone else.

I reached out and grabbed the man by his long, greasy hair, yanking his mouth away from his disgusting meal and lifting him from his knees. “Hold it right there, asshole! Who helped you do this?”

The man’s eyes were glassy, his mouth dripping blood and bits of the young woman’s liver. He tried to ignore me by bringing the rest of the organ up for another mouthful.

I knocked his hands down with my left hand and spun him around. “I’m talking to you! Who helped you with this?”

Still dazed from his orgiastic feast, his eyes grew wide as he laughed. Bits of liver and blood spewed from his mouth as he did. As I raised a fist to bring an end to his sick display, his eyes narrowed. “Are you Bones?”

That shocked me enough to halt my fist. I could barely keep my response civil. “Yes, how do you know who I am?”

The sick bastard giggled. “The Beast said you would come.” He nodded towards the waterline to his left. “It wants to talk to you. I don’t know why, you don’t look like you would taste very good.”

I ended the conversation with a blow that was sure to keep him unconscious for hours and dropped his sorry ass next to the poor wretch he had been feasting on. I had a date with a doppelganger. I stalked off in the direction the maniac had nodded in.

A figure strolled in the darkness near the gentle surf off to my right. It was walking that line between earth and ocean, alone, just as I moved between the world of Shadow and Light. Its physical form was that of a lithe young man. Its spirit was something other, something that I had not seen before. It was small and dark, exuding a roiling, seething hatred.

The doppelganger was issuing its challenge to me. Come play.

It was time to make a proper introduction. I called the Shadow, wrapping myself fully within it. I gave the dark energy the twist that took me from one place to another and stepped out directly in front of the creature.

The fleshy face of the young man melted away as I stood at arms length from the creature. I was standing face to face with a being that now had no discernible face.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Hunter.” No mouth opened as it spoke, only a slow, grating whisper emanated from the creature.


“Why are you killing these people? What have they done to you?” I stood facing the thing in a combat-ready stance. My hands were open and ready to trigger my batons to drop into place from my wrist holsters at the first sign that it was done talking.

“It is time to hunt again. Have you not heard the call?” Its form shifted slightly, its arms growing slightly longer than would be normal for a human being of its height. Its hands shifted into large, wicked looking claws.

“What call is that?” I rose up on the balls of my feet and shifted my balance forward ever so slightly.

“The Call of the An’girasii, that which has not been uttered in over six hundred years, ever since the Burning Times. How can you not hear it, Brother?” It reached one razor sharp talon towards me slowly, pointing towards where my heart used to be. “Lord Dracaar walks the land once more. My spirit sings with his Call. I feast so that I may grow strong enough to serve him once again! Shall we dine together tonight?”

I brushed the talon away with a sweep of my left arm while reaching up to the sheath across my back that was not actually present in the physical world. Somehow I didn’t think my batons would be of much use against this creature.

“Look buddy, I don’t hear any call from Dracaar or anyone else, but I think you’ve had your last meal on this or any other beach.”

It drew back from my brush off and gathered itself for a lunging attack, both monstrous claws ready to strike with its leap.

It leapt before I could get my hand on the hilt of Excalibur, knocking me backwards onto my back in the wet sand. We became a tangle of grasping hands and claws, kicking legs and tussling forms in the gently rolling waves.

It wrestled with the strength of several men, moving lightning fast with the ferocity of natural predator as it tried to keep me from reaching the blade that it somehow knew was there.

“You are known to us, young Hunter. You have much to learn before you will inspire fear in any of us the way your father did.” It was not straining to speak as we wrestled, it kept the upper hand, always anticipating my next attempt to wrest my hand free to reach for the blade.

“Drake was not my father, dammit!”

It gave off what could only be considered a chuckle as it leaned its grey, blank face close to mine. “It was only through him that you were born into this existence. He is your father in every way that matters.”

I stopped struggling when I realized that this creature, this doppelganger, was sitting astride my chest in the shallow surf, holding me down, but not otherwise trying to harm me. I stared into its blank mask of a face, trying to pierce the veil into its spirit. “Who or what exactly are you and why did you draw me here?”

Two pinpricks of red light grew into glowing orbs of eyes. “I am a humble Servant, a messenger, if you will. I have something for you.”

“What is it?”

It reached into the dark robes that I now realized it was wearing and drew out a rolled up piece of what looked like leather sealed by some sort of wax. It placed the bundle on my chest as it let go of my right arm with its other claw and stood up.

“Read this soon. It is a message for your eyes only. You’ve seen the fifth and final victim already. The human feasting on her carcass is my gift to you. He will serve the needs of your human justice system well enough for now.”

“I can’t scapegoat some poor schmuck for your crimes!”

It stood over me, its eyes fading back into the grey of the mask. “Oh, I’ve chosen well for you. He’s killed far more of his fellow men than I have lately. If he weren’t so fallibly human, he might have been of more use to us. I have enjoyed this meeting, young Hunter. Until we meet again, fare thee well.”

I sat up, grabbing the thick leather scroll before it fell into the water. As I did, the creature faded into Shadow and was gone

A Presidential Conversation

Zulu retreated from the room with a deferential nod when the President-Elect nodded acknowledgement to him. Before long it was just the newly elected 44th President of the United States and me, if you didn’t count the half-dozen Secret Service Agents standing in vigilant pairs at discrete distances in the room.

He crossed his legs after he sat in a seat directly across from me. There was nothing but about a couple of feet of empty space between me and the next president. It was a very surreal moment.

He was the first to break the silence. “Thank you for coming to see me on such short notice, Rusty, I hope that you don’t mind if I address you by your first name.”

I nodded, finding it hard to find my tongue. “Not at all. It’s my pleasure to see you, Sir. I’m very surprised that you would even know who I am.”

He grinned as he clasped his hands over his knee. “Your friend there,” he nodded towards where Zulu had gone, “has been instrumental in bringing me up to speed on some of the less than savory activities of the current administration. He made sure that I had access to several classified databases that contained quite a lot of information. He asked to pay particular attention to one particular dossier simply titled the Omega File. As you might imagine, you and your family and associates are the primary subjects in that dossier. I must say that reading your file has opened my eyes to a number of things that I had never considered to even be possible before.”

I swallowed. “I’m almost afraid to ask what’s in that file, Sir.”

He gave the briefest of nods. “It was not pleasant reading, Rusty, but I am better prepared for having done so. I have also had a chance to read through much of your blog. I think I have a pretty good handle on who you are and what you have been through over the past few years.”

“So, what I can do you for you, Mr. President?”

His expression became more serious. “Rusty, I asked you here so that I could judge for myself how much of what I read was the truth. If I am to be the best President that I can be, I will need to have as much information about the dangers this country faces and to know as much I possibly can about the people and resources that I can call upon to help me face those dangers…”

“Sir, you have my full support. I…”

He raised a hand from his knee to stop me. “I appreciate your support, Rusty, but please let me finish. I can see now that there is so much more to this job that any one person can possibly anticipate. The revelations from your file and the others that I have read have been extremely disturbing.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat before continuing. “As much as I want my administration to be open and transparent, I can see that there are a great number of areas where I will need people that I can trust to act with professionalism, honest, respect and dignity to resolve crises and problems far away from the public eye. I am going to need people who can act independent of direct governmental oversight, but to do so while acting in the best interests of the American people, perhaps even in humanity’s best interests. I know from reading your file that you were targeted by Drake Kampmann and his team on the Omega Project long before they tricked you into participating in that sham of a program. I also know that you were assassinated so that you would have little choice in taking part in the real Omega Project.”

It was my turn to shift uncomfortably in my seat. I nodded as he continued to speak.

“I would like to ask you to serve with me to protect this nation and its people from the forces and enemies that threaten it. Will you serve with me?”

I was shocked. To actually be asked to help out rather than be tricked and manipulated into it was something completely new to me. “Sir, I would be honored to serve with you. How exactly can I be of service?”

“I have asked…Zulu…,” he hesitated with using that name, clearly uncomfortable with using Zulu’s handle rather than his very well known name, “to join my administration publicly as one of my Senior Advisors, but his real role will be that of a Secretary of Supernatural Affairs, a sort of shadow cabinet level position that will be in charge of dealing with these issues and crises as they arise. I would like you to report directly to him when he calls upon you for assistance. He will have a direct line of communication with me whenever he needs it. I will be issue the appropriate orders to ensure that you and your companions, if they also agree to serve with me, have all the resources and authorities that are needed to act when called upon to do so.”

“Absolutely, Sir. I will be glad to serve under you. I’m sure that everyone who came with me will also agree, but I will let each them speak for themselves. Sir, I do have one question.”

“Only one question, Rusty? From what I have read, you usually have more than that. Go ahead.”

I smiled, he had read my blog! “Yes, what about my blog? Can I write about this, or should I treat this meeting as classified?”

He smiled and shook his head. “I actually want you to continue to write about these events, including this conversation with me, on your blog. One day, all of this...strangeness…that you have been involved in will come out in the open. Some day, the American people will be ready to face the truth about the world, or worlds, that they live in. Until that day, your blog may be seen as pure fiction by those who simply cannot accept these truths, but it will be there for any who are truly ready to see things as they to see it for themselves. You have my blessings to continue writing as you see fit. From what I have seen, you have been quite diligent in protecting information that has needed to be protected. But the truth is in there for those ready to see it.”

“Sir, I do know that some of my enemies have found this blog. Are you sure that you want me to let them know that you are aware of them as well?”

His smile was radiant. “It is especially important for those enemies to know that you have my full support. Zulu will see to it that we take all reasonable precautions against the infiltration of these enemies.” He stood up, signaling that this conversation was coming to a close. “I will need to speak with each of your comrades as well. Thank you for agreeing to serve. It means everything.”

I stood up as well, extending my hand to him.

He took my hand in his and gave me a firm shake. I could feel a certain kind of strength within him that had only been hinted at in his campaign for the job. “Oh, and Rusty, one of my first assignments to you is to continue the search for your daughter Alexa and her mother. I would very much like to meet with each of them.”

I couldn’t help the tears from streaming down my face. “I will be glad to make that happen, Sir.”

With that I turned to see Zulu had reappeared. He motioned for me to follow him out. I wiped the blood red tears from my cheek as I left…

Transition Team Zulu

My cell phone rang very early yesterday morning…the caller ID was blocked.

“Hello?”

The voice at the other end of the line was that familiar deep baritone of Zulu. “How are you Rusty?”

“Fine, Sir. How are you? I hope that you have fully recovered from your recent…ordeal.” He had been placed under secret arrest under the guise of a medical emergency during the big showdown between us and Klimm (El Diablito) and his allies.

He chuckled. “I am entirely fine. In fact, I couldn’t be happier about this country’s political future at the moment.”

“Really, funny, I would have thought that your politics leaned a little more to the right than the new administration’s do.”

“Oh, they do. But even religious conservatives appreciate competence in government, and I have no love for the buffoons that are now on their last months in office. That brings me to reason for this call, in fact.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I need you and your companions to come meet someone very important. There is much to discuss.”

I was definitely curious now. “Who are we going to meet with? Where do you want us to come?”

He paused. “I would like you to bring Ms. Fyre, Frau Tufts, Jasmine, Professor Karlton and…” I could hear his voice catch before he spoke the last name. “Cerrydwen. As to where you need to come, I will be placing one of Ms. Fyre’s beacons in one of the suites at the hotel I am staying at in Chicago. I will activate the beacon at 11 PM your time and will leave it active for exactly 15 minutes. Please be prompt, this is a very important meeting.”

The call ended before I could ask any more questions.


***


The six of us gathered just before eleven o’clock. Trusting that Zulu wasn’t setting us up for an ambush, we were for the most part only lightly armed.

I was carrying my batons in their normal forearm holsters, but they were concealed beneath my heavy leather jacket. I was wearing my normal heavy duty jeans and work boots. I topped it all off with a pair of mirrored sun-glasses despite the time of night.

Except Cerrydwen, everyone else was dressed more formally. Cerrydwen joined me in wearing jeans, boots, a shapeless sweatshirt covered up by a heavy leather jacket.

Jasmine looked radiant in a long black dress that complimented her figure and knee high black boots. The Frau was wrapped in one of her embroidered shawls that covered a nice blouse and pants. Jim was in his professorial uniform of a tweed jacket over a loose turtle neck matched with tan Dockers and casual shoes. Ravyn was more subdued than her normal colorful self, wearing a black and grey turtleneck sweater and black pants. The only touch of her normal flash was a sparkling bird-shaped broach made of gold and rubies that lay nestled between her neck and her right shoulder.

Once we were all assembled in the Transport Room the Frau closed the door and nodded towards Ravyn. We were silent now, but only because we had spent the better part of the day discussing who we were going to meet and why. The theories were quite varied from the wildly fantastic to mere mundane meeting with a new business associate.

Ravyn stretched her arms out like she was embracing the whole group in virtual hug and closed her eyes. “I can feel the Beacon. It is now active. Brace yourselves.”

By the nature of her source of power, Ravyn’s method of mass instantaneous travel was much wrenching and violent than mine used to be. The Shadow is subtle, silent source of soothing strength. Flame, however, is extremely energetic, noisy, and flashy. With a roar, we were enveloped in a burst of flames that didn’t burn and smoke that didn’t choke.

I felt the dislocation from our previous place followed by the disconcerting sense of falling that seemed to last several minutes before a second stomach churning sensation ended the fall in another popping flash and a puff of smoke.

The smoke cleared to reveal a very well apportioned living room that was dominated by the breathtaking view of the Chicago skyline lit up at night at least forty floors up from the street seen through the huge floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows to our immediate front.

Jim cleared his throat before speaking. “Well, I am certainly glad that you hit your spot, Ravyn, my dear, just 15 feet off and we’d still be falling!”

Ravyn looked down, pointing to a spot between her feet. “You can thank Zulu for putting the beacon right here.”

Zulu’s voice behind us got us all to turn around. “Thank you for coming. Please make yourselves comfortable. There are refreshments in the kitchen and on the dining room table. Please help yourselves. I will be escorting you in to meet our host one at a time, starting with you, Rusty.”

I couldn’t resist. “So who is our host, Sir?”

He smiled mysteriously before extending his arm to me. “Why don’t you come see for yourself, Rusty. Please leave your batons here with your colleagues. You won’t be needing them.” He looked over to each of the others. “Please leave any weapons or items of particular power here in this suite when you come with me. Our host’s security requirements are rather strict.”

I hesitated before tapping the release mechanisms for the holsters on each wrist and dropping them onto the sofa. “Who could possibly need this level of security?”

He shrugged. “Please, our host is waiting. He has been exceptionally generous to give us this time from his extremely busy schedule.” He nodded as my holstered batons hit the sofa. “Rusty, if you would be so kind, please come with me.” He looked back to the others as he led me towards a door to the adjoining suite. “I will be back for each of you presently.”

He pulled out a magnetize proximity card from his suit jacket pocket and touched it up against the plain black pad next to the door. There was a gentle click and a soft buzz the let us know that the door was open.

I grabbed the door knob and pushed into the darkened room beyond.

I saw a single figure at the far end of an office like room. The figure was peering out his own floor-to-ceiling window with his back turned to me. I could sense several other people in the room, but they held vigilant positions at the perimeter of the room with a professional poise that told me that this was someone who was Very Important.

The figure was tall and lanky, his hands clasped behind him as he took in the breathtaking view. His profile was instantly recognizable from the past year and a half of a campaign.

Zulu’s voice called out softly, announcing our arrival. “Mr. President-Elect, I would like to introduce you to Agent Rusty Bones, formerly known as Officer Jason Smith of the Dearborn Hills Police Department.”

The newly elected man turned to face us with a calm, thoughtful demeanor. He motioned with a sweeping gesture for us to join him. His voice was smooth as silk while his eyes narrowed as he took in my appearance. I could tell that he was sizing me up. “Agent Bones, please come have a seat. We have much to discuss…”

Harshing My Mellow

Nothing soothes the savage, newly vampiric zombie like a nice, hot shower.

Before my latest transformation, I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the act of taking shower. The sensual pulse of the spraying water would’ve been lost to me before, leaving behind a sopping mess of dead, wet flesh.

Now, however, I looked forward to being able to take a shower. The water was scalding hot since I didn’t even bother to use the cold water. The steam from the shower and the steady stream of sound created by the water crashing into my body helped create a cocoon of solitude that usually left me invigorated and refreshed.

Not even ten minutes into my late night ritual, my mellow mood was harshly interrupted by the insistent pounding on the glass shower door.

“Dad! Dad! Ravyn needs you right now!”

I turned off the shower to hear my daughter’s voice calling out as she continued pound on the shower door.

“Dad, hurry up! Ravyn needs you!”

“Calm down, Jazz. I can hear you. What’s going on?”

As the steam began to subside, I wiped away enough of the inside of the glass door to look out at her face as I reached for the towel hanging just above the door with my other hand.

Her face showed obvious concern. “I’m not sure. I was studying in my room when I got an emergency message from Ravyn through one of her special fire stones.”

I wrapped the towel around my waist before the glass door completely de-fogged. “What did the message say?”

“It was really short. All she said was ‘Get your father to the workshop, armed for battle.’ So I came to get you straight away.”

“Ah shit. She’s with Cerrydwen, isn’t she?” I opened the door and stepped out.

Jasmine nodded. “I think so.”

“Alright, go let Jim and the Frau know, rouse the others. Get everyone on alert and armed. Who knows what those two have come across this time.”

As Jasmine rushed out, I dropped the towel and padded into my room. It wasn’t exactly a bedroom since I didn’t have to sleep, but it was my personal space decorated to my own very bizarre tastes. (I will provide details and a description in a later post.) Cursing aloud, I opened the closet and quickly began gearing up for a battle.

After getting dressed, I grabbed my batons and slipped them into their normal placed and then debated between the modified M-16 assault rifle and the powerful .45 magnum Desert Eagle handgun. Both weapons were loaded with the special ammunition that Jasmine and her team of assistants had been working on for months now. In fact, the bullets in my weapons were unique even compared to the other rounds that Jasmine had been working on. I still refused to take up any firearms unless they could be designed to harm only the person or foe that I designated with each pull of the trigger.

It was only quite recently that Jasmine had made the breakthrough that could allow for the creation of these ultimate smart bullets.

Remembering the last time I needed to respond with similar short notice, I grabbed the belt that held the holstered handgun and snapped it into place on my waist and grudgingly reached for the rifle as well. It had taken me a couple of weeks, and buckets of fresh blood, to recover from that last battle, back before I had the advantage of these weapons. I really missed having Excalibur in that battle!

I slipped out the back door of the Den and ran down the twisting, wood-lined trail that led to workshop.

The workshop was actually a fairly innocuous looking steel-framed and roof barn that was set up with the rear end of the building butting up against a towering, ridgeline that allowed for the heart of the ‘workshop’ to be concealed inside the hill itself. The steel building held all sorts of rather mundane lawn and gardening equipment, ATV’s, snowmobiles, and other tools, but it was the door leading out the rear of the building that I was heading towards.

The door was slightly ajar, which was standard practice when Ravyn or Cerrydwen were working inside, so I yanked it all the way open and stormed down the rough hewn stone steps that led down towards the real workshop below. I was vaguely aware of the voices of Jim and the Frau calling out to the others as they followed a few hundred feet back down the trail.

I slipped the safety off on the assault rifle as I hurtled down into the unnatural darkness of the stairwell—that was one of Cerrydwen’s personal touches, “…to help scare away any curiosity seekers who happened to slip through our other wards,” as she had put it at the time. No mundane light would cut through this patch of darkness.

I pushed through the darkened zone confident that I could rely on my other senses to tell if anything was amiss.

Bursting through the other side of the ten foot patch of pure darkness, the stairwell leveled out to a hallway that was marked with several strong steel doors on either side. Small globes of flickering flames hovered on each side of the doors, Ravyn’s touch, of course. I ignored these side doors even though each led to someone’s individual workshop. None of these would be where the trouble was brewing.

No, it was the double doors at the far end of the hall that drew my attention. Those doors opened up into the Summoning Chamber. There were bright flashes of light and the sounds of a major struggle taking place behind those doors.

I slowed my advance just long enough to take a deep breath and to gather my strength.

With my finger on the trigger of the rifle and my resolve firmly in place, I yanked on the heavy silver lined-steel left door and stepped into the maelstrom.

The room was far larger than one would have imagined it could be. It was easily fifty feet wide, another fifty feet deep, with a ceiling that vaulted up at least 4 feet in the center. The center of the room was normally dominated by the etched image of a large pentagram that served as the summoning circle. At the moment, however, the center of the room was a blazing dark mass of writhing tentacles, misshapen heads, clawed arms and feet that seemed to be growing darker and stronger despite the best efforts of Cerrydwen and Ravyn. It was a true Lovecraftian nightmare.

Cerrydwen was wearing her highly modified travelling armor that she had designed for her journeys with Ravyn. Her torso was covered front and back with shiny plates of reflective metal that weighed no more than plastic might, but gave the protection of Teflon-coated steel. Her head was uncovered, her helmet having been apparently knocked off by a flailing tentacle. Her face showed a large purple bruise across her cheek and several small gashes that trailed blood as she dodged additional attacks by ducking behind a heavy table and lashing out with her carved black travelling staff.

Ravyn was on the opposite side of the chamber, surrounded by huge shroud of flame as she directed beams of highly concentrated fire to fend off the limbs that were trying to get at her. As quickly as she sliced off one offending limb, three more lashed out at her. She was ankle deep in the thick black goo of flambéed chaos, still apparently unhurt, but seemingly flagging under the constant assault.

Cerrydwen was the first to see me enter the room, followed almost instantaneously by the abomination. “Rusty, aim for the heads! It will be the only way to kill this thing!”

Even as I leveled the rifle towards the creature, it shifted its focus from both of the women towards me. Its body shifted constantly, heads appearing and disappearing every moment in different spots. There had to be at least six of them at any one time. Before I could begin to take a bead on one however, I was besieged by a wave of attacking limbs. A second wave of shrieking, wailing sound crashed over me drowning out all further attempts to communicate with either woman as the screams of thousands of tortured souls emanated from the creature.

Tentacles spiked with razor sharp teeth and nasty looking suckers lashed out my legs and hands, but I pushed forward anyway, snapping off a series of shots just to see what kind of impact these rounds would have on the creature’s body and limbs.

The noise from the creature was so great that I didn’t even hear the report of the rifle as it fired. The creature recoiled briefly as it was blasted by the bullets. The bullets seemed to burst into the thing, exploding in colorful flashes of energy that dissolved limbs and tore chunks from the body.

But that reprieve didn’t last long. The entire mass of the creature seemed to lurch forward. I was overwhelmed in an avalanche of tearing, rending, burrowing appendages. The rifle was torn from my grasp and I was driven to the ground, buried under its bulk as it tried to consume me.

Ignoring the nearly unbearable pain of the creature’s attacks, I managed to get a hold of one of large, malformed heads before it could recede back into its bulk again and squished it like a grape.

The bulk shuddered around me as I felt more than saw Ravyn’s renewed assault with her flame bolts. I could also sense another head explode just above me as Cerrydwen was able to focus her own considerable powers upon the beast now that I was its main offensive focus.

The next few moments passed in a haze of pain, struggle, and fear as we fought against this unfathomable horror of a beast. Eventually I was able to free up my right arm in order to draw the Desert Eagle hand gun and begin taking out the head as they appeared. Between Ravyn’s fire bolts, Cerrydwen’s sorcery, and my bullets, the creature finally succumbed and dissolved into a quivering mass of black goo that stunk worse than a chicken carcass left to rot in the sun for week.

Cerrydwen helped me up, extending a bloodied hand to me as she crinkled her nose at the stench. “Why do these things have to stink so damn much?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know, but it sure makes miss those days when I couldn’t smell shit, literally.”

Ravyn laughed, as she wiped blood and goo from her own face. “I’m glad that Jasmine could get you here so quickly, Rusty. It was looking pretty grim there for a moment.”

“Yeah, well, I was taking a nice hot shower before you summoned me.” I looked down at my battered and thoroughly coated body. “I guess I’m going to have to take another one, aren’t I?” I shifted my gaze to Ravyn. “Where the hell did you guys go this time to attract such a nice…follower?”

Ravyn pointed to the rifle that lay under a few inches of slimy black ooze. “Finding the energy and the ingredients to make weapons like the bullets in those things requires to range a little further out into the multiverse than I’m really comfortable doing. But if we don’t take some of those risks, we’ll never come up with the resources to have a chance in this war we’re waging.”

I reached down into the ooze to pick the weapon up. “Still, if you risk bringing another one of these things back, we might have to reconsider these forays of yours.”

Ravyn punched me in the upper arm. “You’re just jealous because you can’t go gallivanting off like you used to. You never worried about the crap you used to bring back from your trips!”

I threw up my free hand in mock surrender. “OK, OK…I’m guilty on all counts. Let’s call it night.”

The Frau and Jim barged into the room with their own weapons in hand only to curl up their noses and step back in disgust.

I pushed past them as they recoiled, leaving Ravyn and Cerrydwen to explain it all to them. “Hey, I’m going to take a shower and the only other interruption I want is for someone to bring me a fresh pint of O negative.”

Who Knew...?

Who knew that a zombie could get drunk...well now I know. This is a new experience for me..I haven't been able to enjoy a good stiff drink...or three...in several years now. Thank goodness for spell check!

Stampede of the Sheople

If anyone thinks that this latest surge in world wide stock markets is the signal that the all is now well in our financial markets...then I have a brand-spanking new 223 million dollar bridge in this place called Alaska to sell you for pennies on the dollar...

Seriously, the fat cat bankers on Wall Street are heartened that the government that is using borrowed, leveraged money faster than they are is going to ride in to a socialist-style rescue by buying up all of their dumb-assed debt decisions is smoking more weed than Bill Maher.

Oh, have no doubt,the Bush Administration has no fucking problem spending your grandchildren's future taxes to save the hides of a few stupid multi-millionaires now, and they won't even be so rude as to even suggest that those overpaid executives have to repay all of those inflated stock options or those bonuses that those pigfuckers cashed in over the last couple of years when things were going well...because...that just isn't done in a capitalist system...

No, instead, let the bastards keep all of that ill-gotten wealth (that actually survived their own stupidity), but put the American taxpayer (or more accurately the Chinese and Russian dipshits who keep buying our IOU's) on the hook for rescuing those morons from themselves.

In another example of sheer sheopledom, take a quick look at the McCain pick for the VP slot on his ticket. The man had to look far and wide to find someone so unqualified that he couldn't find that person in the lower 48 states. I will admit that there simply aren't very many people who combine all of the worst traits of Bush and Cheney into one neat little package. And for a bonus, he got tits too!

Not only did he get a anti-choice, God-mongering, hunter to join his ticket, he gets to truck out a hot soon-to-be grandma young enough to be his daughter. Maybe he has dreams of getting a hummer in the White House or in Cheney's famous 'undisclosed location', but if he does, the old goober might need to himself fixed, that gal of his is still fertile enough to crank out their very own McPalin...

Someone please tell me that the real fucking people in this country will raise their heads from the stampeding flocks of Sheople and will actually vote for a candidate who represents hope and hard work, intelligence and integrity?

Please tell me that someone will step forward and let the criminals on Wall Street be accountable for their crimes and their stupidity? Make any executive of a failing financial company give back all of their earnings and options and bonuses before any bailout is even considered...let them actually pay for their greed and their decisions.

We may yet actually choose a real president this election cycle...but I have some serious fucking doubts that the fucking coyotes will actually guard the hen house...This market meltdown is only just beginning...these bailouts are only going to prolong the pain and make the final fall that much harder.

No, It's Wabbit Season...

I moved in near silence from tree to tree, careful not betray my position by stepping on any stray sticks or other forest debris. The whispering wind covered what little sound I did make. It was moments like this that I was glad that breathing was purely optional for me. My body didn’t need oxygen or any other gas contained in the atmosphere to keep functioning, but I did need air to make my vocal chords work, so I kept a moderate supply of air in my lungs in case I needed to shout something out to surprise my foe.

The sound of a twig snapping to my left and rear stopped me short. I froze in place, focusing my attention on my hearing, trying to sort out the various normal sounds of the woods at night from that which didn’t belong. Unable to locate the culprit with my hearing, I shifted my vision in the Shadowland—one skill that I had retained, thankfully.

Scanning the woods around, the only forms I could make out were those of the normal critters of the night that often go unseen, if not unheard, by normal folks.

I unfocused my eyes and scanned the area all around very slowly. There, just beyond the large leaning pine tree to my far left was the blurry outline surrounding what can only be described as a void. Once I located the outline, I narrowed my focus to discern who or what the form was.

It was laying low, perhaps even stretched out on the ground, which is one reason that it had been so difficult to see on my first couple attempts to locate the form. Unsure as to whether the creature saw me, I swung around to face it full on and dropped into a cautionary crouch. It was maybe fifty feet away, but there were several trees scattered between us, some large, some small, but none preventing a direct line of sight between us.

The form shifted slightly, its movement accompanied by a soft, metallic click.

Sensing that the form did see me, I decided it was time to shift tactics, none too soon, either.

I leaped forward and upward into the air from my crouching position higher and farther than any Olympic-caliber athlete could hope to match and grabbed for a thick branch of the solid oak tree about a third of the way between us just as the first burst of projectiles sliced through the air where I had just been standing.

The bullets had a weird, glowing tracer effect in my current mode of vision that reminded me of my military days and learning how to shoot at night using tracer rounds with my M-16. Before the glow from the first burst had faded though, I was using the momentum of my leap to swing around in a slightly different direction to land no more than fifteen feet from the prone figure as it let loose another barrage at the branch I had been hanging from.

I landed in a crashing roll that made enough sound to wake the dead, but I added to it with a wild war hoop that I hoped would freeze or shock my nearly invisible foe as I leaped for the now visible rifle that it was trying to bring to bear on me.

Let me digress a little bit here on a subject about which I happen to know way too fucking much about:

Getting shot sucks.

Getting shot in the chest by a hi-powered rifle at really close range that you are leaping towards out of desperation only adds to the level of suckitude.

Getting shot in the chest by a hi-powered rifle at really close range that you are leaping towards out of desperation because you know that the bullets have been magickally enhanced to take down banes and other supernatural badasses (which you happen to consider yourself to be one of) raises the suckitude to almost mythic proportions.

The impact of the bullet threw me backwards into trunk of a smaller oak tree that shuddered under the impact of my rather significant bulk and the remaining momentum of the bullet slamming into my chest. I felt my head crack into the tree and then the scraping of the bark against my scalp as I slid down to my ass. The impact had knocked all of the remaining air from my lungs and had put a serious dent in the silver-coated chest plate that I had been wearing for just such an occasion.

It took a moment for me to get through the pain enough to draw in a breath to complain with.

“Fuck me, but that hurts! I don’t know why I ever agreed to this shit.”

The figure got up giggling. “Why, Daddy, you do it because you love me…and because you are our only renewable resource as a bad guy.”

I shock my head and felt around the chest plate for the impact point of the bullet. I found three serious dents all closely clustered around where my heart was—each one easily a half inch to an inch deep. “Yeah, but I thought you were going lower the power on those bullets of yours. If you missed the plate, I might not be so renewable anymore. There are limits even to my healing abilities.”

She giggled even louder through her helmet. “Don’t worry, Dad. Herne has said that I am the best natural shooter he has ever trained. He said I could probably have made the Olympic team if I wanted to.”

I shifted my vision back to normal mode in time to see a heavily camouflaged Jasmine rise from her prone firing position, her rifle in her left hand and her new helmet in the other. “So how does that new helmet work?”

She strode over to stand over me, tucking the helmet under her left armpit before reaching down to help me stand with her now free right hand. “Oh, it is so cool! I was able to see in the Shadowland just like you’ve talked about, I could see you sneaking through the woods a hundred yards away. I can’t wait to tell everyone how easy it is to use as well. Alora really outdid herself this time.”

Every bone in my body ached as I stood up and tried to ‘walk it off’ as every childhood sports coach I ever played under had told me to for every type of injury I had sustained in those games.

“And, for your information, Father, those bullets were only slightly charged. If they had been at full strength, I would have had to clean you off of that tree rather than help you up with a hand. We need to be able to take down a Doppelganger or a Bane with these things, and that’s not easy to do.”

I nodded as we began the long walk back down to the compound. “I’m sure Herne will be more than happy with your full strength batch, Jazz. Just do me a favor and make sure that you don’t grab any of those bullets for any of these practice sessions, OK?”

She wrapped her right arm around my waist and gave me a good, hard, and ever so painful squeeze. “Don’t worry, Daddy. I won’t let anything happen to you that you can’t handle.” I heard her sniffle just a little bit. “I miss Kenny so much!”

“So do I, Jazz, so do I.”

Duck Season...

The merest hint of a sliding footstep and the slight change in air pressure behind me was all the warning I had as I ducked down and rolled to my left to avoid the thunderous blow from my would be assailant. The staff of my attacker slammed into the small table I had been about to put my drink on. The table shattered in dozens of pieces as my cup went flying. I cursed as I saw the thick warm blood splatter all over the floor, but didn’t have much time to gather myself.

I used the rapidly approaching wall to shift my balance and spring back up with my batons in hand.

The staff whistled in for another crack at my head only to be caught in my crossed batons and redirected into the floor. I lashed out my right baton, aiming for the crippling bunch of nerves in the middle of the thigh of my attacker, but he anticipated the blow and twisted the staff down to deflect my counterattack.

My second blow, however, found its mark. My left baton thwacked solidly into my opponents right forearm with just enough pressure to cause him to release his grip on the staff with that hand in reflex as his fingers twitched in agony.

He grunted in pain and stepped back. He twirled the staff in his left hand deflecting my attempt at a finishing flurry of blows as he retreated.

I knew I didn’t have much time before he regained feeling in his right hand, so I stepped into the attack with the goal of finishing him off quickly. I lashed out towards the middle of the staff, where he had shifted his grip to, aiming for the knuckles with both batons in succession.

He practically threw the staff at me before my blows could land and pushed his heavy bulk inside the range of my attacks and crashing into me.

His weight threw me off balance enough to send the both of us tumbling to the ground with him top, at least initially.

I dropped my left baton and used that hand to give his forward momentum a push. I followed that up with a twisting roll that left me sitting astride his heaving chest.

“That was pretty good, Jim. I almost didn’t hear you come up behind me.”

Jim punched my thigh with his left hand. “Get up off of me you prick! You’re too damn heavy to sit on me. You’ll give me a heart attack.”

I laughed as I obliged his request by standing up. I tapped my remaining baton closed and holstered before reaching out my hand to help him up.

Jim reached up to pull his helmet off before wiping the sweat from his brow with his left sleeve.

“You don’t have to humor me, Rusty, I know that I still suck at fighting. I’m just hoping to get good enough to keep from being a liability out there. I’ve been pretty lucky so far, but I’ve never been a fan of trusting to chance.”

“Jim, you are getting a lot better at this. You really did take me by surprise. Considering all of that protective gear, you did a damn good job of sneaking up on me. Next time though, don’t hesitate to take your shot when you have one.”

He nodded. “I’m still leery. This new body of yours isn’t as impervious as your old one.”

I moved across the room to grab a towel from the shelving unit and went to wipe up the thick, viscous blood that had spilled from my cup.

“Yeah, I’m still adjusting to this whole thing too. If these training sessions are going to be of any real use though, you really have to throw caution to the wind. Trust me, there’s no real harm that you can do me that won’t heal up in a day or two. I’ve got the fresh scars to prove that it is almost impossible to do any lasting harm to this body.”

He shook his head as he bent down with a grunt to pick up his staff and my other baton. “I know that intellectually, but…” He shrugged as he stood back up to his full height. He was several inches taller than me.

I tossed the bloody towel into a nearby bin before walking over to collect my baton from him. “That’s why we need to keep up with these impromptu training sessions. When the time comes, you will need to be able to act without hesitation.” I clapped him on the shoulder as we walked out of the training studio. “Let’s go get some dinner.”

“I still can’t get used to you needing to eat.”

“Tell me about it…”

The Update Post

Is it me or is Hurricane Gustav trying to find the shortest path to the Twin Cities where the Republican Convention is about to kick-off?

Hey you Evangelical dipshits, God is gonna rain all over your parade. Hmmm…maybe He actually meant it when his Boy was talking all of that shit about turning the other cheek, helping the poor and destitute, and to be nice? Ach…what do I know? I’m just your local unbelieving dead man. It is your religion, not mine, but maybe you Christians should try reading that little book of yours a little closer. That are lots of little nuggets of wisdom allegedly uttered by that long-haired, sandal wearing, do-gooder of a pre-hippie dude that you claim to follow. If more of you actually did that, there would be a hell of a lot less misery in this world.

Ah well, enough of that, for the moment, anyway.

A lot has happened since I met Raxgar in the Alaskan wilderness, much of it worth telling about at some point, but I think it is time to catch the story up to the present day.

The battle in the Alaskan wilderness turned out to be somewhat of a watershed moment in the brewing conflict between the ORC’s and the An’girasii. While the ORC’s lost too many good people that day, including my son Kenny, the losses for the An’girasii were staggering. Three of their most powerful Banes and a dozen Doppelgangers were slain.

Banes aren’t killed very often. But when, on occasion, they are killed, their Spirit finds a new host body and begins the arduous process of modifying that body to suit their desires. That is what happened with the Bane that Drake killed on the tanker ship when he took over my body.

The three who died in that battle with us, however, didn’t just get killed. I absorbed their Spirits into myself, essentially destroying them. This was a crippling blow to the offensive forces of the An’girasii. To make matters worse for the An’girasii, El Diablito used the diversion created by my drawing the Banes and their followers into battle to betray his erstwhile masters. He and his minions snuck into a secret stronghold that the An’girasii had established and stole a large number of artifacts and weapons that the An’girasii had been gathering for their own servants. Among the things he took was an orb that can lead its bearer to where Alexa is being held.

I can’t reveal yet how I know all of this information, but I will tell it when doing so will no longer compromise valuable secrets.

El Diablito and his organization are now the focus of the rage of the An’girasii and their surviving minions which has taken considerable, if temporary, pressure off of the ORC’s.

This brief respite has allowed for the ORC’s to regroup and establish several new bases of operation. I am now back in a rural area just outside of Metro Detroit with my ex-wife and daughter and several of my oldest friends among the ORC’s—including Ravyn, the Frau, Cerrydwen, the Professor and Alora. We are safely tucked away on a large swath of property that the organization has owned and operated for quite some time under an alias that I won’t be divulging here. I will not reveal any more of the location for obvious reasons, other than to give you the name by which we are calling our new home base—the Den.

I use the place as a base of sorts, but spend more than half of my time away on various missions for the Bureau or the ORC’s. Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Wilson was able to settle the situation with the Bureau so that I am now fully restored to my previous position as a Provisional Special Agent. More importantly, I have had my access to the various law enforcement systems restored. I am still free to take on cases as I see fit, but also have to be available on short notice at any time to help the Bureau out with one of their cases as well.

As the strange woman, Me’shwara, had warned, I no longer have easy access to the Shadowland. In the many months since I’ve been back, I’ve only managed to make two short-lived trips, each one consuming tremendous amounts of energy that is not really very easy to store up. I can only shake my head and marvel at how powerful I had become and how much I took that power for granted until I lost it. I now have to get around in more traditional ways. For the most part I travel by way of my black Ninja motorcycle.

Since my latest transition, I have found it easier to move about in society. I’m still the ugliest mug in any given room, by now my skin looks a lot more like skin, even if it is pasty white in color. But I can throw on a hat, some mirrored sun-glasses and a jacket and get by without too much trouble. I still avoid crowds of any sort when I can, but I can mingle freely when I have to.

As mentioned in a previous post, my new body has its full complement of senses. I can smell and taste again, although sometimes I wish I couldn’t taste the kinds of stuff I have to eat in order to build up my strength. In order to be as strong as I need to be, I have to consume a diet of raw meat.

In the last few months I have discovered a lot of information about my new body and how it works. For one, I have a new appreciation for how Drake was able to take on the strongest servants of the An’girasii. Like Drake, I can suffer wounds by weapons big and small, but also like Drake, I have the ability to control my body’s reaction to such attacks on an almost cellular level. In the last few months I have been shot, stabbed, and nearly crushed while investigating various cases. In each case, however, I have been able to absorb the wounds, redirect my energy and resources around the wounded area and keep on trucking. Once the immediate danger is over, I’m then able to heal the damage far quicker than the normal healing process would be if I were a normal person.

Even though I have lost most of my ability to manipulate the Shadow, I have discovered a number of new abilities that also mirror some of the things I watched Drake do. When I haven’t been engaged with cases, I’ve spent hour after hour training to hone the skills that I know that I will need for the coming battles.

In my next post, I will update you on the status of some of my comrades and go into more detail on some of the doings of the other ORC’s.

On Zombie's Editorial

This post was supposed to be the resumption of the tale of how I returned to the world in physical form and found my way back to blogging this tale for your benefit. But you know what? That post was boring the ever-loving-shit out of me. Let me tell you, when a zombie gets bored, then there isn’t much hope for the living.

From this point forward, this blog is going to return a little bit to its roots. I originally started this blog as one pissed-off dead man trying to figure this undead shit out. Over the years, as I’ve muddled my way through the story you’ve read so far, this blog has morphed into a long-winded narrative of events that—while perhaps interesting to some—has lost the edge that I now know makes it more interesting and relevant.

I will still be telling you about some of the adventures that I seem to fall into by virtue of my very existence, but I will also be sprinkling in a few juicy editorial bits into the mix. You should be duly warned, however, that I’m not going to restrict my editorial voice to the strange shit that I get mixed up in—I’m going to let loose a few barrages on your crazy-assed world.

For example…I’ve been sitting here for days trying to figure out how to make my return from the Alaskan wilderness worth reading and just running into a brick wall as much more interesting shit is happening around the world that is just crying out for semi-intelligent commentary from an undead cop.

First of all, in the span of time it has taken for China to put on the 2008 Olympics, Russia has started and ended a war of occupation in one of its former satellite states, Georgia. This short, bloody affair has demonstrated that the fine words and bold predictions of the current administration regarding the promise of democracy and freedom are but a thin veneer covering a very hollow foreign policy. The petals of the Rose Revolution have been crushed beneath the bloody treads of Russian tanks while everyone counts their gold, silver and bronze medals. Just imagine how much worse it would have been if Georgia had actually been a member of NATO? Are you telling me that the United States and all of its NATO ‘partners’ would actually go to war with Russia over Georgia? I think the answer to that question is best said in Russian…nyet. That failure would have put to rest the bold-faced lie that is the NATO ‘alliance’ faster than is already happening in Afghanistan.

Speaking of Afghanistan, isn’t it amazing that that one shit-hole of a country will have humbled the military forces of three of the largest and most powerful militaries of their respective eras. First, the British Empire had its ass handed to it by the Pashtuns back in the day. Then the mujahudeen humbled the mighty Soviet machine in the eighties with a little help from the CIA and their international playboy turned rabid holy warrior, Osama bin Laden. Now the afore-mentioned NATO is in the process of being humiliated by a raggedy band of religious students and hard core extremists trained and in part led by the same kidney-disease-ravaged bin Laden who our president promised to bring back ‘dead or alive’ right after that guy masterminded the largest terrorist attack ever perpetrated on the United States, nearly seven years ago.

Of course this humiliation is only possible because this country is led by a simple-minded buffoon who used the opportunity of that tragedy to initiate a war of choice against old adversary of his father on the false pretext of illusory ‘weapons of mass destruction’ that never materialized. This bogged down our military, bled the country of hundreds of billions of dollars and thousands of lives all while besmirching our national honor with the torture of hundreds of prisoners and killing of thousands of innocent civilians.

Meanwhile, the emperor fiddles as the economy burns. Ordinary people are losing their homes at the fastest rate since the Great Depression while the Republican presidential candidate who once appeared to be a man of honor and integrity can’t remember how many homes he actually owns while his PR staff tries to paint the other main presidential candidate as an out-of-touch elitist and a celebrity. All of this despite the fact that his opponent just happens to be the first serious minority candidate for the highest office, a man who made it to one of the best universities in country by virtue of scholarships and hard work. That same Republican candidate was the son of an admiral who parlayed his family connections into a career as a navy pilot despite his barely passable skills and study habits.

Closer to home, we have the mayor of the Detroit racking up felony charges faster than he type out ever so embarrassing text messages to his various mistresses. When he’s not too busy ruining the careers of vigilant police officers, he’s finding creative ways to cover-up mysterious parties or pay off his pliant show-wife with free cars and phony city-funded contracts to her ‘charity causes’.

Whew…just venting some of that stuff has gotten my fingers flowing once more.

My next post will catch you up on some of the doings in my renewed undead existence, and will focus less on the shit that pisses me off. But you can rest assured that this blog will have a lot more Lewis Black-like commentary as the need arises.

A Strange Welcome...

Darkness surrounded me as I stepped into the Shadow unsure of where it would take me.

The voice of Me’shwara rang in my mind one last time. “The one you once called El Diablito holds the key to finding Alexa, although he may not yet realize it.”

Just as I tried to wrap my mind around this little nugget of wisdom, I was hit by a blast of cold air. I soon found myself knee deep in frigid snow, my feet crunching through the top crust and slipping on the icy rocks below. It was so painful I dropped my clothes and gear out of shock.

Before I bothered to look around, I started grabbing articles of clothing and throwing them on as quickly as I could. The cold quickly numbed my hands—I could no longer feel my feet at all—so getting dressed became an exercise of frustration that involved more than a little cursing.

The clothing I had with me was hardly designed for a hard winter. I had a pair of ragged black jeans, a long-sleeved black turtleneck shirt, a pair of ankle high black leather boots and the black leather biker jacket I had worn more to hold gear and cover my batons than for warmth. I didn’t have to worry about getting cold before.

I strapped my batons back into place in their special drop holsters on each wrist before slipping into the jacket. By time I was fully dressed I realized that while I was still feeling very cold, I was able to put the discomfort out my mind and force my limbs into working properly.

Standing up straight again, I finally took the time to survey my surroundings. I took a deep breath, tasting the cold, clean air infused with the tangy taste of the surrounding pine forest. It felt so strange to breathe again that it took me a moment to realize that not only could I smell and taste the scents in the air, but I could feel the rushing pulse of a heart pushing blood through my arteries and veins.

I reveled in all of these fresh sensations even as my fingers and toes began to ache with the cold and my stomach let me know that a single fish wasn’t going to last very long.

Layers of fresh snow covered the field of battle, but there were also any number of fresh animal tracks leading up to and around a number of suspicious looking lumps that seemed to correspond to where many of the enemy had died.

A broken shaft of wood protruded from the nearest mound only a few dozen feet away. I pushed through the thigh-deep snow to reach the spot and pulled on the shaft. It came loose with a little effort, revealing the butt end of a thick spear. I used the three foot long shaft to clear away some of the snow to reveal a pile of rotting Reaver carcasses. Their formerly human faces twisted in grim snarls, forever frozen in this final, nearly forgotten death.

Looking down at the remains of these poor bastards, I debated the merits of rifling among the bodies to search for any weapons that might help me take down some fresh dinner, but the distant, high-pitched whine of a motor echoing through the forest caught my attention instead.

I stood up and concentrated on pin-pointing the sound. It could only mean that someone else was nearby. Whoever it was, they were coming closer, perhaps even coming to this very clearing.

I considered whether to hide or not, but decided that meeting an enemy would be better than not seeing anyone at all. I began to plough through the snow towards where I estimated the snowmobile was coming from.

Before I could reach the edge of the clearing, a single snowmobile emerged from the tree line along a path that I failed to notice before. The rider pulled up the machine and disengaged the transmission as soon as he saw me.

The rider was a big man, a rugged man by the look of his clothing. He was dressed in furs from the neck down, including heavy mittens and boots that had a home-made appearance. The only concession to modernity was a heavy black motorcycle helmet with a full-mirrored visor. I could tell that he was a man though by the long, thick beard that pushed out beneath his visor, even if it did almost blend in with the furs he wore. He had a long, large caliber rifle slung over his shoulder and a holstered revolver strapped to his side. Trailing behind his snowmobile was a small sled that was packed high with gear.

The man stood up on while still astride the idling machine and lifted his visor before calling out to me. “Howdy stranger. Are ye the one called Bones?” He spoke with such a thick, rolling accent that it took me a moment to puzzle out his words.

I nodded. “Yes, Agent Rusty Bones. Were you expecting me?”

The man pulled off his helmet, letting his full head of long hair and his thick beard flow freely. He was sweating profusely even in this cold. “Ah, it’s good to have this blasted thing off, but better’n getting poked in the eye by a stray branch, eh?” He stepped off of the snowmobile, leaving the helmet on the seat. “Agent Bones, I’ve been waiting and watching for you for the better part of three months now. I cannae tell you how glad I was to finally see the alarm go off.”

“Alarm?”

He nodded as he pulled of his right mitten and reached out his beefy hand towards me. I shook it, amazed at the feel of another person’s skin in contact with mine. The warmth was quite welcome.

“It’s more like a gemstone I reckon. It was given to me by the fire-haired witch friend of yours, Ravyn, I think she called herself. It lights up whenever magick is used in this clearing. She said you might return this way and asked me to keep an eye out for you.”

“Well, I’m glad that is alright, she was hurt when I had to leave.”

“Ooch, she’s a right tough one, that one is. But I like my gals a little meatier, if you know what I mean.” His left hand clomped me on the shoulder with that comment. “Now, the Frau, she gets my juices flowing, as they say.”

“Was the Frau here as well? I don’t remember seeing her at the battle.”

He shook his massive head. “I don’ rightly know, mate. I wasnae there meself. I was asleep when all of the ruckus took place.” He loosened his gun belt and dropped the belt with the holstered sidearm onto the small sled. He slipped the sling of the rifle over his head and placed that into a special slot on the sled before kneeling down to unhitch the sled from the snowmobile as he continued to talk.

“I don’ want to be rude, mon frere, but it is time for me to get back to my home. This place is too warm for my liking, why this global warming is going to drive me crazy.”

Once the sled was unhitched, he pulled out a very large, loose looking harness and snapped it into place. He then slipped into the harness and nodded towards the snowmobile with the balck helmet sitting on the seat.

“This machine, she’s for you. There’s a GPS unit on the dash and enough fuel to take to the cabin that has been set up for you by your friends.”

“What about you? How will you get back?”

He rocked his head back with a hearty laugh. “Ooch, I’m heading north, my friend. Donnae worry for me, I’m in my element. Adieu, Monsieur Bones, until we meet again. Give my regards to the Frau.”

With those final words, the giant man shouldered his even larger harness and began trudging north through the snow.

"Hey, who should I tell the Frau sent the regards, what is your name?"

With a throaty laugh, he called out one word. "Raxgar!"

I was less than surprised to see his body begin to shift into the form of an extremely large grizzly bear. “That helps to explain his infatuation with the Frau.”

(To be continued…Tuesday, August 5.)

My Father's Son...?

Now clean, but cold and wet, I returned to the clearing where Yggsdrasil had once stood vigil.

A figure stood near the giant stump. I felt a strange mixture of fear and joy at seeing this figure. Joy at the thought of being able to talk to someone, anyone about what had just happened to me, fear began to wrap its cold hand around what passed for my heart though as I got a closer look at this figure.

It was vaguely feminine, its pale flesh almost translucent in the dim light of the clearing. Her hair was long, dark and tangled in massive clumps that seemed to have a life of their own. Her eyes shone with a bright blue light that only made me feel even colder in my nakedness.

She waited as I stepped from the forest and cautiously approached her.

Now that I had the my natural equipment again, I found it difficult not to drop my hands down to cover my privates, but something told me that there was nothing truly sexual about this creature, so I resisted and kept my hands down at my sides, fists nervously clenching and unclenching.

“Who are you?” I saw no reason to beat around the bush.

“I am Me’shwara, She Who Watches, in your mortal tongue.”

“Can you tell me what the hell happened to me here?” I looked down at my new body before meeting her gaze again. “Where is my son? He helped to bring me here.”

“Your son made his sacrifice. His time has expired. He has moved on in his journey. You, however, have much work yet to do.” Her voice was cold and distant, ringing out with a hollow echo as she spoke, as if she were using a microphone and bad speakers.

“Why couldn’t he wait until this…transformation…that I went through was finished?”

The woman’s face showed no emotion as she replied. “His sacrifice was required for you to rise again. Without the completion of the act, you would no longer exist.”

I stepped forward, losing the fear for this strange woman as my frustration level grew. “What do you mean that I wouldn’t exist? I was far more powerful than I feel now. What the fuck did you people do to me? What happened to my body? Why do I need to eat again? Why…”

Her raised hand ended my rush of questions and halted me where I stood, unable to move or even speak as she exerted some sort of power over me.

“You will have to find your own answers to most of your questions, but I answer three questions that you ask now. Ask carefully, because I will answer no more than three questions.”

I felt her grip of power on me loosen. “OK, what happened to me?”

“You had fallen into the trap of becoming that which you had been fighting against. By defeating the Banes and absorbing their essences, you became too dangerous. This was a process that had been taking place over a number of years, but you reached a critical mass, a tipping point, where you would have soon fallen under the sway of the An’girasii and destroyed all hope for your people. Your son sacrificed his own life so that you could be saved. As you can see, your body has been dramatically altered. You are now flesh and bone once again, your Spirit has been reunited with a body that has certain physical needs. Your Spirit has been cleansed of all the others that you had absorbed over the years, including the creature you knew as Grendel’s mother.”

I didn’t stop to think about her answer before asking my next question.

“So, do I need to eat and drink again because I am alive?”

“You are immortal, to a degree, in that you do not require sustenance to survive. You do, however, need to eat and drink in order to thrive and become as strong as you will need to be for the challenges that you will surely face. You will find that you crave the lifeblood of living creatures, the fresher the kill, the more strength you will gain from its consumption. In that aspect, you are now well and truly your father’s son.”

That caught me off guard. I couldn’t resist throwing out my third question. “Wait a minute, who do you think my father is?”

“The man you know as Drake Kampmann was both your biological father and your spiritual father.”

I was so stunned by this statement that I had trouble forming coherent words in reply. “But…that’s…not…possible…”

The creature smiled for the first time. “It is the truth. When you come to a full acceptance of this fact, you will truly discover the full range of your inherited powers.”

“No…no…no…”

“Say your farewell to this place, human, for you will likely never return. You will find that it will be exceedingly difficult to travel through the Shadow, as you call it, like you did before. You still retain the knowledge of how to do so, but you will no longer have the same complete mastery of that place as you did before.”

She pointed to a pile of clothes and gear next to her.

“Please collect your things and prepare yourself for your final journey from this place. I will open the path for you to take back to your home world.”

I couldn’t bring myself to move just yet. “But what happened to Alexa? Why can’t I see Kenny one more time?”

She shook her head. “You have used up your allotment of questions, human. You will need to find those answers for yourself. You do not have much time before the pathway is open to you. I suggest that you use this time wisely.”

A door of Shadow formed just beyond my pile of clothes. Still dumbfounded, I staggered forward to scoop up my gear. I noticed something was missing. “Hey, where is Excalibur?”

“The Lady of the Lake has claimed the blade for now for safekeeping. If you prove worthy of it, and are in need of it, it may be returned to you at a later time. I suggest that you leave now.”

Clothes and gear in hand, I stepped into the Shadow with far more questions than answers.

“Drake is really my father? Mom, you’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do!”

Radio Silence...Part 2

I emerged from the cavern to see even more dramatic changes to clearing.

Yggsdrasil was no more. There was simply a massive rotting stump where the mighty tree once stood. The clearing itself was much smaller, the surrounding forest loomed closer having reclaimed nearly half of the clearing.

This once familiar place was now strange and alien. Or perhaps I was now the alien in this place. I felt very much alone.

“Kenny? Alexa? Is there anyone here?”

The only response I received was the swaying of the trees in the breeze and the distant sounds of various forest creatures.

As I stood there surveying the incredible changes to the once place I could call a sanctuary, a strange, yet distantly familiar sensation erupted from my gut.

Hunger.

It was the first time I could recall the feeling since I had died.

My knees began to tremble as a wave of hunger and a seemingly insatiable thirst overcame me. These twin drives had been missing from existence for so long that I was at a loss as to how to satisfy either of them.

The need to eat something, anything, was growing by the moment. I started stumbling towards the woods, hoping to find something that would tamp down the screaming hunger pangs that were raging throughout my body.

As I plunged into the dark mass of trees, I grabbed a long hanging branch, plucked some leaves from it and stuffed them into my mouth.

The leaves quickly dissolved into a bitter, chewy mass of mush that only inflamed my hunger.

Crashing through the thick underbrush, I began to look for something more substantial to eat. I was hoping for a small woodland creature of some sort, but I would’ve settled for almost anything with a pulse.

I was making so much noise as I rampaged through the woods that everything with an ounce of sense and the ability to move or hide quickly did so.

Crying out in rage and frustration, I stumbled across a babbling brook that opened up into a small, clear pool just a few feet away from where I landed with a splash and a curse. Unable to contain my thirst anymore, I plunged my face into the muddy stream and sucked a mouthful of water, pausing only long enough to gulp it down and dive down for some more.

The water was shockingly cold, but it tasted absolutely horrible. It was full of grit and had a tangy, metallic aftertaste.

Before I had the chance to marvel at my newfound senses of taste, smell, and touch, I caught a flash of silver coming from the pool. Seeing a chance to satisfy the other primal drive that I was feeling, I crawled over to the pool and watched for more movement.

It didn’t take long for the silver-colored fish to move again. With all of the speed I could muster, I plunged my hand into the water and grasped at the slippery form. On my third try, I was rewarded with a wriggling brook trout.

I was far too hungry to even pause before I brought the fish up to my mouth and ended its struggle for survival with a massive bite through the fleshy belly. My teeth tore through the slimy scales, the juicy fat of the belly, and whatever internal organs were in the way. I was rewarded with a cool rush of coppery tasting blood.

I swallowed as quickly as I could break the flesh into digestible bits. In mere moments, most of the five or six pound fish was gone.

Looking down at my reflection, I was horrified to see how monstrous I appeared. Blood and scales covered the lower part of my face and a good portion of my upper torso.

For the first time since I woke up, I noticed that I was completely naked. Looking down at my naked body I was more than a little surprised to see parts of my anatomy that had been taken from me by Dr. Geek and his lab technicians. I seemed to have all of my natural parts again, despite the fact that all of my flesh looked deathly pale.

I shook my head in disbelief before plunging into the pool to wash off the remains of dinner.

(To be continued on Sunday, July 6, 2008)

Radio Silence...Part 1

I awoke to nearly silent darkness. The only sound was a gurgling, squishing sound that was regular and strangely comforting.

I was floating within a warm, watery cocoon.

For the first time in years I didn’t have to push back against other voices in my own head. I was alone with my own thoughts, as confused and scattered as they were.

“Where am I?” My own voice sounded distant and muffled.

“What is happening?”

I tried to move, but my limbs felt heavy and unresponsive.

“Kenny?!?!”

“Alexa!?!?”

“What the fuck is going on? Someone help me!”

There was nothing but the muffled, water-logged sounds of my own small voice and warm, wet darkness.

Doubt began to eat away at the edges of the small amount sanity that I had left.

“Why am I here?”

“Who am I?”

That last question echoed through the darkness, bounced off the unseen walls and came back at me in endless waves of varied loudness.

“Who am I?”

“Who AM I?”

“WHO am I?”

“WHO AM I?”

“who am i?”

I tried to reach up and cover my ears, but my body refused to respond. I was completely helpless as the echoes grew louder and more insistent, hammering at me from every direction until it built into a constant crescendo of sound and fury.

I answered the questions as loudly as I could. I threw out a new true answer every time the question came bouncing back.

“I AM JASON SMITH!!”

“I AM AGENT RUSTY BONES!”

“I AM A DEAD MAN WALKING!”

“I AM A KILLER!”

“I AM KENNY’S FATHER!”

“I AM A COP!”

“I AM A MAN!”

“I AM…I am…i am…I am I.”
A small dim light grew around the edges of my vision. The darkness began to fade as my body began to feel normal once again.

I was laid out on my back on the floor of the cavern beneath Yggsdrasil. The sound water dripping from the roots above into the pool to my left brought me fully back. Each drop echoing in the cavern like the questions I had been bombarded with.

I was alone.

I sat up and looked at my hands in the dim, diffuse light of the cavern. They looked almost normal. They were very pale, but the flesh seemed real enough. I reached out to touch the floor with my right hand. It was cool, damp and hard. It was…smooth and slick.

I pulled back my hand and brought it up close to my eyes. Rubbing the tips of my fingers together, I felt the friction of skin on skin contact.

I stood up. My legs were stiff, but functional. I reached down with my right hand and felt my stomach. I actually felt the contact on my gut both through my fingers and through the muscles of my torso. I pinched the pale flesh between my thumb and forefinger, hard, and smiled at the pain of it.

“What the hell? Am I alive again?”

No one bothered to reply.

(To be continued on Thursday, July 3, 2008)

Love's Redemptive Flame

…The swirling morass of memories parted to reveal the loving face of a woman making soothing noises as she stared down at Arixtocles. It was the earliest proto-memory of the man who eventually became a Bane…

Kenny moved closer to me, reaching out his hand. “I need you to come with me, Dad.”

I staggered forward, stumbling over the tangled roots of the dying tree. “The Banes were human?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Or something closer to it. They started out as normal, just like you did.”

I shook off the fog of memories and focused on my son. “How do you know all of this? If you knew this stuff before, why didn’t you say anything?”

He stopped for the moment, his face serious. “I think I’ve known most of this stuff for a while, but I didn’t have any real access to it before I was dying. Once I was wounded though, I knew what had to be done. It was a like veil being lifted from my eyes. We don’t have much time though. We have much to do before my time here is up.”

He began pulling me towards the far side of the tree again.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see soon enough. Trust me, Dad.”

I felt a massive amount of resistance well up inside me. I had to fight back against an almost irresistible urge to smash Kenny and flee from this place. But instead, I allowed him to pull me forward, oblivious to the danger he was in.

We circled the trunk of the tree to the far side. He was leading me to the small cave entrance that I had used before, except that small entrance had been widened by splintering of the trunk almost as if lightning had struck right at that point.

Kenny stopped and let go of my massive, gnarled hand. He pointed to the entrance. “Dad, you have to go down there by yourself. I will be here for you when you finish.”

I looked down at him. He seemed small and child-like as he stared up into my face. It was almost as if he was a young boy again. I could see the hope in his eyes that I would live up to the hero that he wanted me to be. The rage boiled up again. A dark haze obscured my vision. Powerful forces inside me called to be released, to be given the free rein to crush this whelp and to claim his soul as fuel for my growing Power.

I raised my hand as if to strike him, but hesitated.

His blue eyes bore through the red haze and into the last surviving remnants of my Spirit.

“Dad, if you love me, if you love Jasmine, you need to do this. Alexa needs you to do this. She is waiting for you, so please, Dad, go down there.”

My voice seemed small and distant. “Alexa is down there?”

He nodded, but said nothing further.

Between hearing his voice and seeing the hope still bright in his eyes, I found the strength to lower my hand and stagger towards the hole at the base of the once majestic and now silent tree. Instead of finding strength in the darkness that shrouded the stairwell leading down towards the pool, I felt a cold dread that deepened with each step closer to what seemed to be my doom.

My body shrunk to its normal size as I approached the hole.

I found the strength to look back to Kenny. His face was wet with tears, but he waved at me to keep going. “I love you, Dad!”

I nodded and pushed through my own tears, descending into the dark, dank cavern.

The place was preternaturally silent. The normal sighing of the tree above and the near constant drip-drop of water was missing. The only sounds were my own hesitant steps as I reached the end of the spiral stairway. The only light came from the flickering of a small candle held by a tall, lithe woman standing by the foul smelling, stagnant pool.

“Alexa?”

She nodded, but said nothing.

Her face was strikingly similar to her mother’s. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the cavern, I could make out her light caramel complexion and see angular her cheeks were. She had the long limbs and lean muscles of a dancer. Her hair hung in loose, dark curls that shrouded her shoulders. Her eyes were bright as she looked me up and down.

“It may already be too late.” Her voice was soft, but there was a hint of hidden strength in her melodious tone.

“What might be too late?”

“Kenny’s sacrifice.”

I shook my head. “How are you even here? How did you get all grown up?” I looked around at this place and wrinkled my nose at the stench of the stagnant water. “What has happened to Yggsdrasil?”

“The only question I can answer right now is your last one. Yggsdrasil is dying just as your Spirit is being consumed by what you have become. It may already be too late, but I have come to try and save you both. This is all possible, however, because of Kenny’s sacrifice. Without that, you would be lost to us forever even as you completed your transformation into the greatest of Banes.”

I stepped back. “I would never serve them…”

She stepped forward. “Oh, but the process is already nearing completion.” Her eyes grew brighter, as did the flame that came from her candle. “You have fallen into the greatest trap of the An’girasii, Father—the illusion that you could become more powerful than they are and challenge them for supremacy.”

I shrunk back from the bright, pure light that reflected from her face as she pressed me back against the back wall of the small cavern.

“What can I do to stop this?”

She held out her hand to me with her palm upraised. A pure silver flame danced in her palm. The light from the flame filled the small cavern, becoming the only thing that I could focus on as it danced and grew brighter in her palm by the moment.

“This flame is fed by the love that your son has had for you all of his life. Take this flame into your hand and then into your body.”

“How can I do that?”

She reached out with her other hand and took mine left hand up to hers palm up. “It is no more complicated than accepting any other gift. Reach out and take it.”

I held out my left hand, she let the flame pour through her fingers and onto my upraised palm.

“I must warn you that this is going to hurt in ways that you’ve never imagined.”

It was too late to pull back. As the first drop of silver flame touched my palm I felt a searing, blinding pain that dwarfed anything that I had ever felt before. The flame spread from palm across my arm and up my body like I had been doused in gasoline.

Alexa stepped back as I fell to my knees and screamed in agony. The fire seared through my soul with a ferocity and a hunger that devoured the darkness of the Shadow. The voices of all those that I had consumed screamed in unison with me as I slipped into unconsciousness...

Just Call Me Ruxxxty Bones...Part 2

Kenny was waiting for me just beyond the range of the obelisk. His Spirit was bright and strong, with the vibrancy of youth.

I crashed through the forest to stand in front of him. “Why didn’t you let me help you, Kenny? You didn’t have to die!”

Kenny shook his head. “You are the one in need of help, Father. Such help always comes with a price.”

“Why do you have to pay the price for helping me?”

His eyes bore into me. “Because you are no longer capable of helping yourself.” He turned his back to me. “We will be going to a place you were once quite familiar with. Meet me at Yggsdrasil.”

I hadn’t been back to that place since I had parted ways with Drake and John Red Bear. It was in the forest near that clearing where John had shown me about the obelisks and their strange powers.

“You know how to get there?”

Kenny glanced back at me before shimmering and slipping into the Shadowland. “I do now.”

I had little choice but to summon the Shadow myself and head towards the clearing where I usually found more questions than answers.

I emerged from the Shadow on the edge of the clearing expecting to see the towering mass of Yggsdrasil that dominated the middle of the place ever since I had planted the baton that hade grown into a full blown tree. Instead, I found a place that changed drastically. The once thriving tree that had introduced itself to me as Yggsdrasil was now a withered remnant of its former self.

The once black trunk was now graying in many places. Nearly all of Yggsdrasil’s marvelous black and white leaves lay scattered about the clearing, lazily blowing and rustling in the mild breeze.

I stood there in shock, unwilling to believe that this once massive tree was now a shriveled relic of itself.

Kenny stood near the base of the tree. He had adopted the physical image he had before the battle in Alaska. His face was grim, his eyes sad.

I stumbled towards him, tripping over the tangled mass of dry roots between us. I was still at least eight feet tall, my body now resembled the Demon’s than my own natural form.

“What happened here?”

He looked up into my eyes with his own expressive brown eyes. “This tree reflects the strength and vitality of your Spirit. When you planted this tree, you planted it in strength and defiance.” He looked form me back to the tree. “You see, Father, the Tree is you, you are the Tree.”

“But how can that be? I am stronger than I have eve r been? I almost single-handedly slew and consumed three Banes! I’m finally strong enough to take on the damn An’girasii on their terms!”

He shook is head. “Dad, you can’t beat these creatures by becoming like them. Look inside the memories of those Banes that you destroyed. When you do that, you will find that each of them was once a powerful person who thought that they too could challenge the power of the An’girasii. In the end, each of them fell under the sway of the very powers they thought they could replace.”

“I’m different. I’m stronger. I’ve got the benefit of Drake’s thousands of years hunting the An’girasii and all of John’s teaching.”

“You’ve taken all of that knowledge and experience and have become stronger than any Bane, this is true. But in the process, you’ve also lost what it is to be human. If you can’t find a way to regain what you have lost, you will become more a danger to all you hold dear than any number of Banes. That is why I am here, to help you find your way back to us. If I fail, then I would not have had much a future in any event.

“But know this, Father. I may be your last chance to save yourself, the ORC’s, Alexa, and the future of humanity.”

Looking inward as he spoke, I combed through the roiling images of the memories of the Banes that I had destroyed. Of the three, though, only Arixtocles’ were immediately decipherable. I began sorting through all of the earliest memories that I could looking for what he may once have been. Just as Kenny was finishing, I found a small kernel of memory that had been suppressed for almost as long as Arixtocles had existed. I was not prepared for what I found…