I am the one who takes care of them all I drew them in from their own damning fall I am more than I seem, yet never revealing I simply seek out the lost to use all my healing But every coin has two sides, every smile has its frown And mine is a fate that will bring this world down For though I walk now in shimmering white And though I smile now in hospitable light A deeper side still is there to be found It is for alternative purposes that I am bound I seek the lost, yea, but that is the start While the world may be dying, I continue my part And I am not lost, I am totally whole And yet fittingly, so far from my goal So patience, I ask you, while I continue my trek Hold fast, all my friends, and beware of your neck I go to destroy, I go to save all I go to bring them in from their own damning fall ---------- The Dead Zodiac Naked and in the sexual embrace of his lover, Yan couldn't imagine any better way to spend his afternoon. Garnet was, as men usually were, both shy and fantastic in bed, and attended to Yan as they laughed, kissed, rubbed each other's chests, teased their genitalia, and made sweet love for hours on end. In fact, the pleasure could've gone on all night long, but Yan had his phone go off—and at the worst time, too! He and Garnet were trapped in a lover's embrace and didn't want to break for anything. Finally, Garnet dismounted and hissed in his lover's ear. "Your phone's ringing." "Screw it." "I'd rather screw you." Yan laughed and giggled as Garnet pinned him down. He stretched his arms out, exposing his manly chest in full glory to Garnet's lusty hands, as he reached for the phone by his bed. He picked it up, recognized the number, and purred into it. "What up, bitch?" "Shut up, Yan. I've just been informed of a meeting." "Mm-hmm, sure thing, hon. I'm sure that's why you called me. Maybe I was just on your mind and you couldn't get me out." "Ugh, that's disgusting!" "You know you want some of me, bitch," he sang. "You may think you're a lesbo but I know you want my ass." "The only place I want your ass is in a grinder! Now get over here!" "What, so you can fool around with me? Sorry, bitch, I don't do women. You'll just have to find yourself another man-slut." "Screw you, Yan! I wouldn't touch you even to strangle you! Just come on over and lose your whore." "Mm, feeling horny, are we?" The girl on the other end grunted in exasperation and hung up rudely. Yan laughed, threw the phone away, and grinned at Garnet. "Mm, we've been a very patient boy today, haven't we? Very good, too. Good boys get rewarded." Garnet grinned and accepted Yan's embrace; they pounced and rolled around on the bed until the phone rang again. Yan sighed wearily, promising to "put that bitch in her place", and picked up the phone again. Garnet traced his finger along his lover's lower back, edging nearer to its bottom. "Miss me already, bitch?" sang Yan. The voice on the other end, however, was not the girl's. "Yan, you malfunctioning pile of animal refuse, how dare you speak so insubordinately to me!!!" "ACK! S-sir!!" Yan bolted up, throwing his lover for a loop, and stood perfectly straight in spite of being several miles from his master's wrathful gaze. "You listen to me, you whorish swine! If you don't drag yourself here in the next ten minutes, I will gouge out your eyes, force you to eat them, and drag you here myself by your empty sockets! Do I make myself clear?!" "Yessir, absolutely, sir! I'll be there!" "You had better be." Slam. Yan stood catatonic as the dead phone hummed back at him. He barely even felt Garnet crawl up to him and purr. "Who was that, your other boyfriend?" "Shut up!" he snapped, pushing his lover away. Yan immediately began dressing, disappointing Garnet to the point of actually being in a bad mood. "Look," he said hastily as he dressed, "I have to go now. I can't tell you why, I just have to go. It's none of your business, so don't ask. I don't know when I'll be back, but hopefully it won't take long." He kissed Garnet quickly and said goodbye so fast that the poor young man barely even knew it. He groaned, cursed, and flopped back down on the empty bed, wondering what force in the world could've made his boyfriend leave like that. ...... Wherever the Crimson Blades went, their reputation preceded them. Entire towns became abandoned at the mere mention of their name; shopkeepers were forced to stay behind and attend their needs, too afraid to run and too afraid to stay. The Crimson Blades were ruthless and powerful in all aspects, and none were more feared than their esteemed leader, the man bestowed with the very Crimson Blade itself, a sword rumored to have been forged by the blood of a god. They had settled camp outside a mountain pass one evening, on their way to enforce their laws in one disobedient section of the world, and were in the middle of discussing plans. "Hail, hail!" cried riders on horseback. "Hail, and heed my words, if you value your lives! Our great lord and master is coming through these areas! Hail, and prepare yourselves!" The Crimson Blades were known for their fearlessness, but even they buckled in terror at the mere mention of their leader. Dozens of troops organized themselves as if the very world depended on it, and stood in greeting as the great Sashuo himself marched past their ranks, his green samurai armor standing out brightly. He entered one tent at random and growled. "Who is in charge here?" A noble-looking, older man came and knelt before him. "My services are yours." "Report." "Milord, scouts have spotted a group of dissents a mile away from here bearing a white flag. They have asked your personal permission to greet them." "Make sure there is a pike for every head in their number." "It will be done, milord. Also, we have a report from headquarters." "Where?" "Tent six, milord." Sashuo left without any hesitation and marched to tent six. There were men in there already waiting to greet him; one held the letter out, knowing his lord hated to wait. Sashuo silently opened the letter, read it, and handed it to its former bearer. "Burn it," he ordered, "and the town. Leave ten survivors to spread the news: three men, three women, two children, two elderly. I will be going now." "There are horses waiting for you in tent five." "Good!" Sashuo saddled up, armor and all, and looked down at the Crimson Blades surrounding him. He pointed to them all and gave them one last order: "Above all else, do not forget to send me any word regarding the Takamatsu family. Until I get back, Lady Snowblood is in charge." "It shall be done, milord." Sashuo was off quickly, and in moments even the dust he had kicked up had settled. ...... Jason McReedy had a wife, two kids, a small group of sturdy men under his command, and a huge problem. Five from his unit had already been wiped out; three more came back with grievous injuries. Doctors didn't think their chances were good, and urged him to pull out and save what was left of his team. He would've refused, but for one fact: there were fifteen men including himself there, and only one enemy. The doctors had a different viewpoint. "Sergeant, this one enemy has wiped out eight of your men, by itself! Why risk sending any more in?" "I will not go home with my tail between my legs, doctor, and I will not retreat from one enemy! How could I show my face to my wife and children after such a shameful act?!" "Better to be a living dog than a dead lion!" "But I will not die, and neither will anybody else. Isn't that right, men?" His troops cheered, but the doctor looked skeptical. He advised them once again to reconsider, but his words were useless—Sergeant McReedy was already heading out with his men, weapons in every hand. Their lone enemy stood before them, not even a stone's throw away, and waited patiently for their attack. Ever since it had arrived to bar their way, it had never spoken or given any signs of surrender, even as five men surrounded it. The creature—for it did not seem human—had gold skin, fabulous jewels and clothes, and six arms, each one with a deadly weapon. It was hairless, speechless, and merciless; Jason refused to die without a glorious fight. "Whatever you are," he called to the monster, "you will soon cease to be. There is nothing that my unit cannot overcome." The men cheered and charged the beast, all fifteen of them shining, screaming, whirling, and dying. The monster became a tornado of attacks, spinning its six weapons around so quickly that no defense could be made. Body parts fell, blood spurted out, heads rolled and intestines fell to the floor as every mother's son fell dead. In a matter of seconds, the creature had decimated all but one if its enemies—all but the Sergeant. His heart raced as he stared at the monster who would inevitably kill him. "Your name," he demanded. The beast sliced him into nine pieces. Its earring gave off a soft buzz as it walked past the carnage. "Indira, return to base at once. I repeat, return to base at once." The creature called Indira put the call on hold, and continued to walk, ever so slowly and patiently, towards the medical clinic. The doctors saw him and screamed, scrambled, anything to get away. Indira murdered four of them and put every single recovering patient out of their misery before leaving. ...... When I was a child, I heard stories of the were-wolf, the creature who was a man by daylight and a wolf by the full moon. I was frightened of these stories at first, but when I got older, I outgrew them. I found a husband, got married, and raised three wonderful children, with whom I shared tales of the were-wolf. They too were frightened, but after every story, I assured them that there was no such thing, that it was all fancy—perhaps a warning in disguise, or maybe some religious teaching. Whatever the origin, were-wolves simply did not exist, except in those stories, and stories, my children, cannot hurt you. When I woke in the morning, the sky was gray with rain. The crops were singing happily and our flock of hens were out playing in the mud. I laughed and danced, and went to wake the children. I knocked and called for them, but they did not answer, so I opened the door carefully. Inside, there awaited me a mother's worst fear: my children were gone, and in their place was a trail of blood. I fainted and blacked out for hours. When I came to, my husband had terrible news: all of our children had been taken away, murdered, and stripped of their flesh. I screamed and screamed until I fainted again. For a whole month, I was dead to the world. My only joy, the fruit of my loins, had been taken from me in the most horrible fashion imaginable—how was I supposed to go on after that? I sat and knitted a scarf, trying to forget and distract myself, but it only made things worse. My husband tried comforting me, but I could hear his tears in the night. When the moon came out in the dark hours, I shuddered at the howling of wolves. Three days later, my husband was gone as well, leaving behind only a trail of blood. I wept, but vowed to face the monster that had destroyed my family. I prepared for a whole month, training my body and spirit to face my attacker. I kept a knife under the pillow and the windows in my house barred shut. I slept with the lights on. I plowed deep ditches around the house and filled them with water so I could hear my family's murderer splish-splashing to finish our line off. I asked the local priest to bless my house, and to leave symbols over my front door and my bed to ward off anything unnatural. I prayed and fasted, and kept the holy days, and openly damned evil. But this was all in vain: my killer came when I least suspected it. As I scurried to my house during one dark evening, I noticed an old friend of mine, Jane Brewe, hobbling along. Jane had finished collecting herbs for the autumn and was storing them in her home; she paused to smile at me. Knowing her and her family well, I invited her into my house for some tea. My nerves were shot, but her presence calmed me. She had been praying too, and collected herbs believed to ward away attackers. I thanked her for her help and let her inside my home. I then went in search of candles, and tinder for the fire, but when I came back... The most horrifying moment in an adult's life is when they realize that all of those fairy-tale bedtime stories their parents had told them were really true. For me and my family, it was too late: the legend of the were-wolf was real, and right inside my home. I met my attacker and prayed that if I should die, I would curse the friend who betrayed me—the were-wolf in sheep's clothes. After that, Jane was never seen in the town again. ...... Darred was having a rough day, and having to walk in the smog and the smoke of the city certainly didn't make things any better. On top of the bad air, he also had to content with the never-ending noise, the thick crowds of people, the screaming cars, the demanding vendors, and the children, ugh! The children! He sneered at any who came close and threatened to strike them. Darred was not having a good day, and the last thing he needed was to get mugged. Which did happen, of course. A robber jumped out at him suddenly, waving a gun and shouting. "No funny business! Your money or your life!" Darred rolled his eyes. He didn't need this nonsense. Not today. Not to him. "Bother. Go scare somebody else, mate. I'm in no mood to deal with hoodlum foolishness." "I said gimme your money!" Darred snorted—really, he was having an awful day—and glared straight at the man in spite of his gun. He locked eyes and spoke in a very calm, hypnotic tone. "But you don't want me money." "I...what?" "You do not want me money," he said evenly. "You should let me go. Pretend you never saw me, mate. Go and make something of your life. Get a job, an honest job, and leave me the hell alone." "Get...a job..." "That's the way. Off ya go now. Oh, and you should put that gun of yours to some better use. Stick it to your head and pull the trigger next time." "Head...trigger..." Darred snorted and shoved his way past the confused man. In a few moments, an explosion ripped apart the air of the city, causing people to scream in terror. A man had shot himself right in broad daylight, for no reason at all, and Darred found it oddly relieving. Maybe this day wasn't so bad after all. He ducked inside his hotel, trying to whistle, and greeted the receptionist, a man far more attractive than he. "Hello, sir. We received a message for you while you were away, um—top priority, it was. Hmm. I didn't get the name of the sender, though..." "I'll have it now, if you don't mind." The receptionist handed Darred a manila folder, and inside was a notice of extreme urgency. Darred chuckled—well, this day was just getting better and better—and crumpled the folder and letter up. "Thanks, mate. I'll be checking out now." "Oh, yes. Um, your bill." "I'm not paying no bill." The receptionist blinked. "You're...not...paying..." "That's right, I'm not paying. It's on the house, see?" "On the house... Y-yes, sir, I understand..." "Glad to see we have an agreement. Well, so long." Darred smiled and waved, leaving the hotel deeper in debt and his pocketbook unscathed. He hailed a cab, told them where to drive, and left without paying. He slipped into the building, and as far as the world was concerned, that was that. ...... As far as the eye could see, there were trees, and as far as the eye could see, there were loggers cutting down those trees. Chainsaws drowned out the cries of birds, and shouts of lumberjacks replaced them as little by little, the forest was cleared away to make room for civilization and advancement. In the racket and confusion, few of the older men noticed that among their ranks, a young child was wandering around, a sparrow on his shoulder and a rabbit hopping before him. This child slowly made his way to the foreman of the group, who was impatient and not too fond of children. "Excuse me," he said, his voice mature for his age. "Excuse me. Why are you logging in this forest?" "Kid, I don't have time for questions, now get outta here before you get hurt." "Excuse me," he said again, "but this forest is not for logging." "Ha! Says who? Listen, we got a letter of permission from the Parks and Wildlife group saying it's okay for us to cut this place down. We're gonna build a lot of nice lakeside homes, and maybe you'll live in one." "I already have a home. This forest is not for logging." "Kid, I already told you, we have permission. Go wave your environmental flags somewhere else." "Mother Nature does not like her children to be killed so your kind can thrive off her misery." "I don't believe this." The foreman picked up a sheet of paper and waved it right in front of the child. "There, see? Written permission—and this guy's an environmentalist, too! Can't argue with that. Look, we're not choppin' down the whole friggin' forest here, just enough to make way for new homes." "But these trees are homes to dozens of my friends. And they don't like their homes destroyed." "Huh?" The foreman hadn't noticed it before, but more and more birds had nested in the branches of the doomed trees. Wolves had come panting into the area, and had now surrounded it. Bees hovered around the kid's head. Several great birds of prey circled around, and a family of bears lumbered in, snorting and growling quietly. The foreman didn't take notice of this yet; he had a schedule to keep. "Leave now," said the child, "and never come back." "Hey!" Finally losing his patience, the foreman grabbed the kid by his shirt and pulled him close. "Who do you think you are, huh? You're just some punk kid who got brainwashed by his hippie parents!" "I'm not a kid," he said eerily. "I'm Valmont, the Summoner, and it's time you gave back to this planet." The foreman barely had time to grunt in confusion before a loud noise, a screaming, silenced him. His men were running around helplessly as all the birds in the trees swooped down and attacked them. The wolves sprang and tore the stragglers apart; the bees smashed into people's faces, pocking them with stings and sores, and the bears stood quietly watching the foreman. They were on their hind legs. "You had your chance," said the kid coldly. "Now, they will have theirs. Let us observe the conflict between man and nature." The foreman screamed and ran, but the bears could run faster, and in no time at all they had caught up with him. Valmont laughed as he heard his screams come to an end, and in moments, the only sound he could hear was the quiet buzzing of the bees. He sighed, extended his arm, and let one of the birds perch on it. "Silly men," he said idly. The bird twitched its head, dropping something small and white on the boy's arm. He plucked it up and noticed it was a letter from home. After reading it, he smiled and handed it back to the bird. He then whistled twice, and from out of the sky came an enormous bird, its wingspan like an airplane, its body covered with feathers of red, gold, green, blue, yellow—the magnificent Roc, last of its kind, emperor of all avian creatures. It bore Valmont on its back and flew into the sky faster than human reckoning could believe. ...... "This one's tough." "I know. We've tried everything, and he still won't talk. What's this guy made out of, iron?" "I know. Nothing short of mutilation will get him to say anything." "Hmm. ...Think we should ask her to do it?" "You kidding? She'll kill him." "But she always gets the job done." "Yeah, and she gets the guy done as well." "You got any other ideas?" Sigh. "I personally wanna see this prick turn into jelly. Send her in. Tell her...she gets to do things her way." "And I thought she was a sick kid." They laughed, pressed a button, and spoke into the phone: "Uh, Alia? Uh, hi. Listen, we...got a job for you. Room 509—think you can handle it? Good. Over." They pushed the button again and gave each other a grim stare. "I wouldn't want to be in his shoes." "Shoes? Hell, I wouldn't wanna be in the same room." Their prisoner looked up as the door opened and closed. He had sat through their worst methods of interrogation and had come out laughing and spitting—but certainly not singing. They had declared him unbreakable, he heard, and seemed stuck on how to get anything out. But he was like a coconut, and they were trying to crack him using toothpicks. He could stand worse, too—that's why he was used by the agency. As the door closed, he laughed and barked, expecting more childish games. What he got was a killer. Alia stood tall and gaunt before him, dressed in a white suit and white pants. She had on a black derby and carried a cane, either used to walk or strike people. She had a sadistic smile on her face, a black teardrop tattoo on her cheek, and hummed merrily as she walked up to the man. He whistled. "Hey, finally, a pretty face. I was wondering when I'd get to see a lady. Huh, but if they think I'll talk, they got another thing comin'. There ain't no woman good enough to get me singin'." "Oh?" howled Alia giddily. "And under what circumstances do you think you would finally break, O my brother bound in chains?" "None, bitch!" "That remains to be seen," she said merrily. Alia stepped closer, so close that her crotch was nearly in his face, and she ran her finger along his scalp, tracing his hair roughly. "I've a mind to prove you wrong, O my hairy foe, but it is not your information I seek. If you think I am here to glean words from your mouth, you are mistaken. I do not torture for information, I just do it because I like it. For fun, see? And we are going to have a delightful time." "...Whuh?" Alia laughed out loud as the man gawked at her, and slashed his face with a scalpel she had kept hidden. A thin red scar formed on his forehead, and he screamed as a musical waltz boomed to life on the PA. Alia laughed and sang, making up words to the waltz as she slammed the butt of her cane in his belly, punched his ears until they bled, and made random cuts on his face and shoulders. She jammed the scalpel in his thigh, laughing and singing, and smashed his nose with her cane until it broke to pieces. His screams were easily drowned out by the booming song. She stood and twirled around, dancing with the air as the waltz reached a climax. He screamed, but she was oblivious to him and everything else—until she pulled out a cigarette lighter. She gave him a giddy smirk—he yelled—and she twirled over to his back, where his hands had been tied behind the chair. She lit the flame and held it directly underneath his naked palms, and kept it there, humming and howling. She chuckled at his screams, and drove the scalpel into his back, carving up huge gashes of flesh, ignorant and happy. "Screaming will only make it worse, brother!" she called. She threw the scalpel away, skipped back to his front, knelt down, and removed his footwear. She giggled and tickled his naked toes, and to the man's horror, pulled out large wire cutters from her pocket. She squeezed them over his smallest toe and looked up at him. Then she wrenched her hands shut. "You can stay silent if you like," she said as he roared. "Or you can talk, it doesn't matter to me. One way or another, all these piggies shall be mine." She put the cutters over his other toe and was about to squeeze shut, but was interrupted by a sudden break in the music. She bolted up quickly and glared at the one-way mirror, knowing her fellows were behind it in secret. "What is the meaning of this, O my friends? I cannot work without beautiful music! Turn it on or I shall cancel my services." "Sorry, Alia, but we have a message from a man who claims to be your boss. He said you should return home and await orders. That's...all we were told." "...Home?" She smiled and raised an eyebrow. She turned to the bleeding man in the room and slapped him. "Home again, home again, jiggedy-jig. It looks like you've been spared. Next time, if we meet, I shall cut off your hands and use them as beverage coasters. Or maybe I will just slap you with them. Does that not sound divine?" He spat at her; she jumped away, grinned, and kicked him. She span around, tipped her derby, and left whistling through the door she had came in from. The mess she left behind began weeping uncontrollably; he was scarred forever. ...... "Longshot" Larry had always been a womanizer, but it was his partner and brother-in-arms "Deadeye" Dan who got the girl—and what a girl! Athletic, sumptuous, exotic, and sensual, Emily was everything that any man could want, all wrapped up in a nice, blue-skinned package. Longshot envied his partner, who seemed to draw women towards himself effortlessly. He hadn't gotten a single girlfriend in years, and it wasn't as if he was unattractive or untalented. Heck, he was one of the best snipers there were! So why'd Deadeye always end up with some hot new chick? It didn't make any sense. He kept his gun out as he walked far behind his partner and the girl. She clung onto him and squealed; he kept silent, kept vigil, and kept his guard up. Deadeye was a man whose aim was lethal; he and Longshot combined to make a powerful, albeit odd team. Emily was just a trophy; she'd probably be long gone before tomorrow afternoon—and knowing Deadeye, she wouldn't even hold a grudge. If Longshot so much as looked at a girl wrong, though... Deadeye Dan suddenly gave a cry of pain as he jerked backwards and fell. Longshot shouted out to his partner and ran to help, but he was too late: an arrow the length of his arm was imbedded in Deadeye's chest. He screamed and pointed his sniper rifle in the direction the arrow came from, but he couldn't see a thing. Emily, on the other hand, didn't seem fazed at all. She put her finger in her mouth and smiled coyly. "Oh my, it seems I broke his heart. Oh well, that's what he gets for sleeping with my Naoma and Yubami." Longshot roared at her. "What? Hey, I know those names! Those were his ex-girlfriends! You saying you had him killed because of that?!" "What, me, kill anybody?" She whimpered defenselessly, but it was too late: Longshot had his gun and now, he had his target too. He blasted Emily right in her abdomen and left her for dead as he ran to find his best friend's killer. He climbed to the top of a building and set his scope to the longest range available, but still couldn't see anybody. The air whistled above him; he barely had time to react as another arrow whizzed by and plunked in the ground, merely a hair away from where he had been. Clenching his teeth, he rose and aimed right where the arrow had originated, and cursed as he still couldn't see anything. How could anybody shoot him from so far away?! He jerked forward unexpectedly as he felt a blow come at him from behind. Turning around, he expected to find an attacker ready for the grave—but nobody was there. Confused, he looked around, but he was the only one on the roof. Longshot buckled suddenly as a blow struck him in the knee, then his gut, then his chest. He fell to the floor and felt his torso being crushed by some unknown force. Longshot tried brandishing his rifle, but to his shock, it was pulled out from his arms and actually started floating in the air! "Who's there?!" he shouted. He got his answer in the form of a laugh. "A phantom, handsome. Or maybe...I'm just invisible." "No...I know that voice, but it can't be! I shot you! There's no way—" "Oh, is there?" And to his surprise, Emily materialized out of thin air, totally unharmed and smiling. He gawked at her, and was so stunned that he couldn't even feel the arrow whizzing into his back, ending his life just like that. He fell dead, his story over, his brief legacy soon to be forgotten. Emily shrugged, tossed the masterless weapon away, and descended down to the surface. She turned on her earpiece and spoke to her partner, who was stationed a mile away in her own sniper's quarters. "We got him, Yubami. He never knew what hit him. Meet us at the usual spot. I'm gonna go thank Naoma." Yubami didn't answer—she didn't need to—and Emily smiled in anticipation. On the surface, a plain-looking woman in colorful robes awaited her, hands crossed over her stomach in anticipation. Emily smiled and welcomed the patient girl into her arms, and licked her ear as she purred seductively: "I owe you one, lover." "It's okay." Emily grinned and stared right into the other girl's eyes. "Oh, but I want to repay you. My sweet little Naoma has saved my life once again; the least I can do is show her how grateful I am." Naoma smiled, then gasped, as Emily kissed her neck, pressing her lips gently on the woman's pulse. They managed to control themselves as the stoic third member of their group joined them, and together they headed off to a more private area to officially "celebrate" their revenge. After all, with that trio, it was always pleasure before business, and to Hell with their master if he got angry. ...... There was once a legend about a creature made from clay and stone, brought to life for some great purpose, but its immense strength and size caused it to become confused. It did not achieve its purpose and thus became a monster. There was a similar being walking through the remains of a city far on the other side of the world: as tall as a building, as strong as a wrecking ball, and as tough as the world itself, the mighty golem of legends had come to life and was now destroying everything in its path. The military had been called in to stop it, of course, but their weapons seemed ineffective on its granite hide. Even missiles only made dents, and these little holes could repair themselves whenever the golem touched the ground. Though it was slow and mindless, the creature could level a building in just a few swipes, or tear a helicopter from the sky, and it could smash a tank simply by stepping on it. The ground shook underneath every step—windows shattered, the streets were torn to pieces, metal and brick were turned to dust as it plowed through buildings brainlessly—and aside from nuclear power, little could be used to halt the monster. Nobody noticed the ancient, wild-looking man dressed in a simple gray habit high up above, watching the creature demolish the city, and if they did, they'd never think he was related to the monster. Yet with a single gesture, he stopped the beast, apparently satisfied that it had done its work. "That is enough for now, Titus," he said softly, though the golem was well beyond him. "Cease and return to the earth. It is high time for us both to be returning to base. You, as usual, shall only show a portion of yourself; I shall speak as your voice. Come! Our master awaits us!" The golem gave a low, earthy groan, and burrowed into the ground where it could move at incalculable speeds. It had returned to base almost instantly, despite being a hemisphere away, leaving barely enough rubble for the rats to sift through. The army was wasted, the people gone, and the message there to stay: Thou Shalt Not Cross the Dead Zodiac. The old man arrived precisely on time, shoving aside the great entrance door as if it were made of paper. He strode in and made his presence known with a bow, humbling himself before his master. One by one, members of the group he led arrived, some gravitating more towards some people than others. A few looked eager to be there, some looked peeved. But they were all there, every last member of the Dead Zodiac—all twelve, and their master, the thirteenth. He stood before them all and, as was his custom, smiled. "Welcome, Dead Zodiac. Ever since my second-in-command, the great Ezekiel, found you and brought you before me, I have relied on you to perform works that most people would be unable to: Titus the Golem, master of earth, you demolish and destroy; Sashuo the Crimson Blade, your troops spread the message of fear wherever you go; Indira, the one-man army, you have fought the deadliest foes; Jane of the Fang, my prized hunter; Yubami the Great-Bow, queen of all snipers; Naoma the Healer, who can recover any wound; Emily the Vanisher, my great spy; Darred the Numb-Mind, who influences men's thoughts with your words; Valmont the Summoner, a champion of animals and nature; Alia the Harmonious Killer, my great interrogator and warrior; Yan of the Air, the wind's very master; and Ezekiel, my Seeker, my greatest asset in this life, and the greatest of the Twelve. Welcome all. "You know why I have summoned you here?" he continued. "There is a certain girl I am looking for—two, really. I have a feeling they are now working against me. You must put all of your resources and skills to this one task: you must find Pale, and the human called Kagemusha, or Stalker—her name is Amielle Celestino. Find them, and bring them both to me alive, and undamaged. If anything stands in your way...it will soon regret it. That is your task, my Zodiac. Fail me not." He flashed a deadly smile, and the Twelve dismissed themselves and spread out into the world, each approaching the hunt according to their own skills. The man in white, who had many names, knew that it was only a matter of time before the second half of his sojourn on that world would soon draw to a close... Only a matter of time. ......... Inside the sterility of the good doctor's room, Barner Henson rubbed his chin, wondering how the MERCS were going to get out of their mess. Dr. Kamaguchi seemed to be out of tricks and resources, and the pressure was building on them more and more as people—special people with talents—began using the MERCS' resources. If progress was going to be made, the doctor would have to seriously start working, or else find a new means of research. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me." Yohko looked up from her studies. "Yes, Henson?" "Doctor, you've noticed how...wounded your secret operation has become in the past. While your formal operations are still thriving, in a sense, your informal—all those skeletons in your closet—is rotting away. Soon you will collapse on yourself. Your research has come to an end, doctor; you're out of subjects to experiment on." "Am I now?" She gave him a look of guile and went back to her work. He growled. "I don't appreciate how nonchalant you are about this. You've lost all your subjects: Wainright, Masterson, Project Sanaa, Kreager, that werewolf, the Lurker-child, that Inferno girl, everyone! And the facility that conducted these experiments was destroyed by fire, don't you remember?" "I remember." "Reports are coming in that people with unusual abilities, calling themselves ‘superheroes', are gathering together. Most of them are putting a stop to our business, and the ones helping us are very questionable. I am just in grave doubt about your abilities, doctor, and the way you're handling your brother's organization." Yohko didn't flinch when her brother was mentioned; she stood up calmly and faced Henson at eye level. "Henson, I do admit that we have lost a lot on all fronts, but that doesn't mean that we've lost everything. As a matter of fact, I've retained two special operatives who could very easily tip the balance of power back in our favor, and I've discovered the location of a third who could solidify it." "They had better be damned good, that's all I say." "They are better than that," she said happily. "The first one you know, Pandora the Gambler." "You mean von Zomren?" She noticed the look of surprise on his face and grinned. "That make you feel better, Henson? Yes, Pandora's been a secret ally of mine ever since my brother died. We see eye to eye on many things, so naturally we'd team up. She's no ‘superhero', as you say, but she could certainly put many in their place. She's already begun, as a matter of fact; I have her on a special mission." "I see." Henson rubbed his face, but couldn't erase the smile. So the infamous Pandora the Gambler was on their side, and had been for some time. That certainly made things easier to bear. "And the other two?" "Well the third is just a rumor, but one I'm interested in. It's said that she improves the luck of everyone around her. I'm not exactly a believer in that sort of thing, but if it works..." "I see. If it's true, it could be a good help, so I can see why you'd go after that. What about the second?" "Oh, that?" She gave him a dark smile, knelt by her desk, and pressed the intercom button. "Yui, could you escort miss Jameson into my office now? I have someone who'd like to meet her." She released the button and waited for Henson's inevitable query. "Who's miss Jameson?" "Mr. Henson, even if I didn't have Pandora or this so-called Lady Luck, as long as I have my wild card in my hands, the world will still fall to its knees. The person you are about to meet is the greatest test subject I've ever come across. She easily has the potential to become the most powerful human being in the entire world. I myself feel the touch of God, per se, whenever I'm around her. Oh...she's a little sensitive, so try not to upset her." "Umm..." Henson coughed and kept his tongue. The door opened, with Yui Miyamoto leading a young girl by the hand. She looked no more than twelve, was painfully shy, and held a scraggly brown teddy bear in her arm. She hung back and rubbed her eyes as Yui tried coaxing her into the office. Yohko thanked her longtime friend and took the girl inside, where she shyly stood in the corner, her eyes on the floor. Yohko knelt down to her level and spoke gently. "Joyce, this man is Mr. Henson. I want to introduce you to him since he is one of the people who is giving me money to run my business. Barner," she said, looking at him, "this is Joyce Jameson, my pride and joy." The young girl meekly hid her face away as Henson examined her. He did not seem pleased. "Yohko, is this some kind of joke?" "I assure you, I'm quite serious." "But this is a child! And not a very capable-looking one at that. I'd find better on any common school ground." "I do not believe you know what you are saying, Henson," she said coldly. "There is more to Joyce than you know. I am too afraid to even ask her to give a short demonstration of her capabilities. Joyce," she said, kneeling down again, "say hello to Mr. Henson." The girl weakly shook her head and wandered off, clutching her bear. "Joyce, please, just say hello." Joyce refused. "She's rude, too." Yohko snorted and asked Joyce to follow Yui back to her room. After escorting the child out, she gave Henson a glare. "Don't push me, Henson. You haven't seen what that child can do. I have. She put somebody in the mental hospital for life without even lifting a finger." "So she has psychic abilities, so what? Miss Wainright had them and she's gone." "This child is beyond anything I've encountered—anything you've encountered. It would be wise of you to not doubt my judgment or experience." "My doubts will not be quieted whether you ask them to or not." He huffed and excused himself; Yohko made a face and sighed. She had a mind to fully demonstrate to Mr. Henson just how dangerous Joyce was, but for the moment, she needed his support. When she was sure he had left the compound, she ducked inside the bathroom, and was not seen for some time. Meanwhile, in Joyce's room, the young girl squeezed her teddy bear and began to cry softly... The end of Part Two
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