Sooner

Part XIII

Crowne Memorial Hospital
Most Heroes of Paragon City take their responsibilities very seriously, and few take advantage of their status without good reason. But when good reason existed, and not one, not two, but three Heroes of the City really needed something to happen, there was a significant amount of influence that could be brought to bear. Add in the weight of a large, well-respected supergroup - the entire membership of which was appalled by the tragedy that had fallen upon a trio of its members - and remarkable things could be made to happen.

The first of those remarkable things was when a man named Michael Campbell, better known as Vir to his friends, finally picked up his phone and punched in a number. After a wait that seemed endless, the strong back of the Ghosts Reborn flinched. Then he spoke. “Hi Dad.”

Less than an hour after the attack on Colleen Nation, her daughters were making things happen, her daughters’ friends were rousing people all over the eastern half of the continent, and the Campbell Family Trust was bringing its considerable power to bear. The best trauma team in the state raced to Colleen Nation and began work stabilizing her. Within minutes of her being declared stable for travel, she was in an ambulance and headed to the Tulsa International Airport. Within an hour, she was aloft on a private jet and flying fast on a direct flight to Rhode Island. She was met by a team consisting of Campbell family security and a team of very angry Ghosts including her two youngest daughters and several of their closest friends. Her escorts were extra vigilant as the pale, gravely wounded woman was loaded into an ambulance and escorted by a pair of private cars bearing the Campbell Family crest. She was driven straight to Crowne Memorial hospital in Kings Row. Once there, she was met by her eldest daughter and installed in a private room in the Campbell Family Wing, next door to a gravely ill Seamus Campbell, who had been moved there that night from ICU. A dedicated staff which had no patients outside of those two rooms stood ready. Monitors beeped quietly and equipment whirred as the three Nation girls kept vigil over their mother, who drifted in and out of consciousness and in and out of coherency when she was awake.

Conall Cian’s message would not be delivered for over 24 hours.

Perez Park
Six-Four, along with Pipe Hitter and Rosemarie, had spent a long night engaging in vigorous conversation with a lot of Hellions. In that one night of intense investigation they confirmed every suspicion Six-Four had held. Conall Cian had his own cult within the Hellions. Time was ticking away.... and with every glance at his watch, Six's mind supplied terrifying images of what could be happening to Moon Dancer... Conall had had too much time with her already. Six glanced at Pipe Hitter and worried that his young friend might not recognize the girl they got back, if they were successful in getting her back at all. Surprisingly, Rosemarie seemed to be holding up better than Pipe Hitter under the stress. She was worried and desperately wanted to get her sister back, but Pipe Hitter was driven and focused to the point of obsession.

Their investigation led them to a location deep inside the tree cover in Perez Park where they were told they could find the cult's high priest. If anyone knew where to find Conall's lair, it would be him. They rushed to Perez Park and followed the subtle signs to a door hidden deep in the woods. And there was the symbol of the black hand painted boldly on the stone by a heavy wooden door.

With a few quick hand gestures, Six indicated that he wanted Pipe Hitter to go left, Rosemarie to go right, and that he would take the door and the center. The two younger heroes nodded their understanding, and Six broke cover and sprinted. With Rosemarie and Pipe Hitter plastered to the walls on either side of the opening, Six bashed the door open with one heavy boot and the three charged in.

The group inside reacted fast. A cluster of girls in short skirts and tight shirts darted into the corners and behind furnishings, screaming shrilly while the Hellions fought back. The battle raged for no more than a few moments, but the fire and the flashing blades seemed to go on forever. Then the last of the Hellions was down and the heroes stood.

Six strode to the wall where a larger banner was displayed, and if there was any question whether this cult actually followed Conall Cian, this larger than life sized full color banner of the demon looming over the room answered it. He ripped the banner off the wall and waved it at the assembled hellions. One of them displayed his black hand brand proudly on his bare chest and wore a crown with horns in a rough approximation of Conall's.

“Where is he?” Six growled.

The high priest sat up, but after Rosemarie brandished her blade at him, he abandoned his attempt to stand. “Our master? He’s waiting for you in Hell.”

“Where is he!?!” Pipe Hitter yelled.

“We know you idiots know how to find him. You leave him offerings." Six pointed with one of his blades at the brand on the Hellions chest, "You've been there. Where is he?"

“We’re not going to betray our master to you,” the Hellion sneered.

“Are you sure about that?” Pipe Hitter broke in.

That was when things went bad. Six tossed a warning glance at Pipe Hitter, but it was too late for warnings. One of the girls started crying, and the leader of the group cast a glance her way that made it clear she was special to him - girlfriend or a sister maybe. Six-Four noticed it, and Pipe Hitter noticed it too. In three long steps the young hero crossed the room, grabbed the slender brunette up by her hair, and placed his katana at her throat. The hellion leader jumped to his feet, but Rosemarie and Six both leveled their blades at him.

“Leave her out of this,” the hellion hissed.

“You’re going to tell us what we want to know,” Pipe Hitter demanded.

“You’ll pay for putting your hands on her, hero.”

One fast movement, and Pipe Hitter sliced a thin cut in the girl's face. It was superficial, but it bled dramatically, and the girl screamed as if she’d actually been gutted. The hellion took a step forward, and Six could tell that not only was he not going to be stopped by threats of violence for much longer, but any chance of getting their questions answered had just been ruined.

“Let her go, Hitter.” Six said. “This isn’t the way.”

The girl screamed and cried as if she were mortally wounded, but Pipe Hitter managed to speak over her, “They know where Moon Dancer is! Nothing else matters!”

The irony of the situation was not lost on Six-Four as he tried to reason with the young hero. “Your actions matter. They matter to who you are. Do you think-”

Pipe Hitter's face twisted with anger and he yanked hard on the girl's hair, provoking another scream. "Dont you DARE tell me that Dancer wouldn't like what I'm doing! She's not going to give a **** about what I did or didn't do if she's DEAD!"

The Hellion's high priest was moving closer, and he ignored both Six and Rosemarie when they waved their blades at him. The situation was getting out of hand fast, and Six was standing there arguing the morality of being a hero. Instead of threatening the priest again, he held up a palm in a "wait just a sec" gesture, and, for a wonder, he stopped. "Pipe Hitter, at some point, you've got to do the right thing for no better reason than it IS the right thing. That girl doesn't deserve what you're going to do to her. Just... stop before you do something that will change you..."

Pipe Hitter’s face fell, and Six could see the raw pain and fear inside for just a moment. “We have to get her back!”

“We're doin everything we can, brother, but don’t cross this line,” Six said. “Believe me when I tell you, there are some lines, when you cross them... it’s really hard to find your way back.”

The younger man stood there, clutching the terrified girl, with his face a study in anger and frustration. Finally he cursed and tossed the girl away. She ran to the hellion and hid behind him.

“Get out of here, heroes,” the hellion demanded.

“C’mon,” Six said to his young friends. “Come on, we’ve still got to find her, and we’re not getting anything here.”

They backed out cautiously, Six taking the rear and watching for trouble as they made their way through the door back out into Perez Park.

Six turned to speak to Pipe Hitter, but the younger man spoke first. “You’re right. I wouldn’t be who I am if I.. If I had hurt her... anymore.”

“We’re going to do everything we can to find Moon Dancer,” Six promised, “But we...” He whirled, swords at the ready, when he heard the door behind them open and shut.

A slender dark haired girl darted out and ran to them. She came straight to Six-Four with no fear at all. “I really wish I’d fallen for a guy like you,” she said quietly. “Instead of...” she shook her head and held out her hand. “Here. Sometimes I take the offerings. This is the address.” She held onto Six-Four’s hand. “Be careful.”

Rosemarie stepped up then, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The slender girl gave Rosemarie a sad smile then darted back inside.

Six-Four glanced at his watch again, though about Moon Dancer, and hoped it wasn't already too late for her.

Conall's Lair
Conall lounged back and watched his imp work. Excruciatrix was an artist. She had an innate talent and took such joy in what she did. She liked blood. She liked painting designs with it, and the child-like joy she took in her work seemed to bother her victims nearly as much as what she did to acquire their blood. Yes, she was an amazing talent, but she wasn’t fast about it. Like many artists she worried more about the journey than the destination. And Conall wanted to reach that destination.

He was surprised by the hero. He would have said she was long since broken by Trix’s attention. She’d held out longer than he’d expected, but eventually she’d screamed, begged, and cried. She trembled and struggled uselessly. She screamed out answers to his questions before he’d even finished asking them. He knew the names of the trio that Six-Four had recruited. He knew the origins of their powers. He knew everything there was to know about them before they came to Paragon City. She was willing to tell him anything and everything, except the important answers. She continued to insist that she had no idea what Six-Four was planning. She refused to tell him why Six-Four had chosen that trio of heroes. She denied that he gained anything from his association with them. And she steadfastly insisted that she was not involved with the Ghosts and she had no idea what they were planning. Her insistence that she didn’t know the answers to these questions was convincing. But Conall knew Six-Four and he knew the Ghosts Reborn. For Six-Four to be devoting so much of his time to this trio meant something. They were of value to Six-Four or to the Ghosts. They had some power, some ability, or just some plan that would be used against Conall himself or the Shades of Vengeance. Either way, he would learn what he wanted to know from this would be hero, and he would learn it if he had to scoop the knowledge from her lifeless withered corpse.

Here's my shot of the participants after we cleared the mitoes but before we bloomed the next:



and THIS is my new desktop wallpaper (taken from my faceplant in underneath Hami)

I saw that. I'm really sad about it.

I'm not GOING to any of those conventions. I don't care about comic cons...

Several people I was really anxious to meet were going to go this year.

:'(

Part XII is up.

Part XII

Crowne Memorial Hospital
Vir stood staring down at his brother. They were considering placing his brother on a ventilator. The nurses had asked him if Seamus had an advanced directive. If not for the machines busily working, it would be easy to assume he was dead already he was so still and pale. Worst of all was the faint odor that lay underneath the hospital smell. It was death. Vir could smell death in the room, circling his brother, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He let out one resolute sigh, squared his shoulders, and went to find his father's assistant. Lauren had claimed a small corner of space in the ICU waiting room and was working steadily away on her laptop.

"Has my father even called to check on Seamus?" he asked as he settled down beside her.

Her thin, serious face turned to him, and she paused before answering. "Mr. Campbell has not been given any reason to think he needs to check on Seamus." She answered finally. She went silent, but he could see she had more to say. She struggled with herself, then spoke again, "....and.... he is in a .... difficult to reach location."

He raised a hand and nodded. "It's time to call him, I think." She nodded and reached for her phone, but he touched her knee to catch her attention. "No, Lauren, it should be me."

One eyebrow rose imperceptibly, which for Lauren was tantamount to a swoon, and then she jotted down a number on a sticky note and handed it to him. "His personal phone. He'll answer if he can - but... he's away working on a... well... very sensitive negotiation. He may be unavailable, Micheal."

"Thank you." Vir took the slip of paper and walked away a few steps. He punched the numbers into his cell phone and his finger hovered over the 'dial' button. What will I say? How do I tell him, when we haven't talked for so long? He hesitated, Will he even listen to me? and his finger lifted away. "I'll call him, Lauren. I just need a minute."

She glanced into Seamus's room and back at him. "Don't wait too long..." she urged.

Collen Nation's home
Colleen's eyes widened and her already pale face turned white. The red marking on her cheekbone where Conall had struck her stood out starkly. Her fear spiked, but she seemed to be keeping her wits.

"Was it you, then, who killed my Gran?" she asked with a quaver in her voice.

"Your grandmother? Not I, Colleen. Though I suspect the Beast had a hand in that as well." He casually tossed a coffee table aside as he relentlessly followed her path.

She backed into a corner and he watched her eyes dart frantically about the room. There was no escape for her, no way out except past him, so when she darted towards the display cases, he just followed after. He was completely taken by surprise when she straightened up, holding a pump action shotgun as if she knew how to use it. He started to lunge forward even as she racked the action, but he was too slow. The buckshot slammed into his chest. He felt the impact of each pellet and roared angrily. The shot had hurt, though he was far too tough for it do any serious damage to his magically tough skin. No, it wouldn't do more than cause him some pain. And make him even more furious.

He snatched the weapon and tossed it away just as she chambered another shell. He slapped her, forehand and back, driving her into the paneled wall behind her, then he grabbed her, lifted her into the air and flung her into display cases. She cried out with more than pain when the case behind her shattered, raining glass shards all over the carpet. A triangular box with a folded American flag tumbled to the ground at her feet. She looked up from it and he could feel the despair and terror wafting off her. He smiled.

Conall was made for violence, big and powerful and he had come to her filled with rage. He gave in to his anger at this woman, as he'd been ordered to do. This foolish woman! If only she’d followed her own family’s tradition, if only she’d stopped before having a third daughter, he would still be free and Ciara would be trapped and powerless. But, no… she put the fate of her entire family, and possibly the world, at risk for sentiment over a dead husband. She'd been selfish and self-indulgent. By her actions she had put her entire family in danger, risked unleashing a major evil power upon her world, and, not incidentally forced Conall to fight for his own freedom. And it pissed him off.

If she’d lived in an apartment or a duplex the noise of the destruction would surely have attracted attention. But Colleen lived in a nice house in a nice, quiet neighborhood with plenty of space between homes. No one would hear what happened. No one would know about the violence. No one would save her from him.

When he made himself stop she was still trying to crawl away from him, though ineffectually, and was drawing ragged, tremoring breaths. He crouched beside her, and pushed her over onto her back. She made a frightened whimpering sound, then went back to trying to breathe.

“Colleen… Colleen, I need you to listen to me.” Her eyes rolled as she tried to focus on him. He cursed in several languages when he noticed her right pupil filled the colored iris of her eye. Her left was normal sized, but the right… the right pupil told a story. That combined with the fine spray of blood when she coughed told him he’d gone further than he'd intended.

He cursed again and pushed to his feet. He turned off the porch light before he opened the door, and whistled. Moments later, his tiny imp swooped in the land at his feet. She held the mutilated body of a grey squirrel in one clawed hand. Conall scowled and yanked the unfortunate creature away from her, wringing its neck and tossing it into the darkness. He grabbed her by one dainty wrist and dragged her into the house.

“Fix the woman,” he instructed as he pulled her down the stairs. “JUST enough so she doesn’t die. Do you understand?”

Trix nodded, but she gasped when they entered the family room. Her golden eyes surveyed the destruction with awe and a tiny smile. No two sticks of furniture remained touching. The paraphernalia from the display cases was scattered around the room, and spatters of blood stained everything. The destruction was near complete.

As they neared the body, Conall could see that Colleen's breathing was rapid and shallow and her skin was white as a bone. A thin stream of blood trickled from her right ear, and her left eye had begun tracking slowly to the left and then jerking suddenly back to the right. The woman was dying. Conall urged Trix forward. She scurried to the body of the destroyed human woman, and crouched. She hesitated before reaching out one of her delicate clawed hands. A trickle of dark red energy flowed from Trix’s fingers and into Colleen Nation’s body. For a long moment nothing happened, and Conall was afraid he’d waited too long to bring in Trix, but then Colleen drew a long, painful breath. Conall leaned forward and was fascinated by her right pupil returning to normal. The woman blinked a few times as her color became more pink, and then sobbed when her eyes focused on him.

“No.. no no…” she muttered and tried to roll away from him. He easily held her in place. He noticed Trix trail a claw through Colleen’s blood and then lick that finger clean. Without even looking, he cuffed her away.

“Colleen, I need you to listen and understand. The Beast, Ciara Banenighe, sent me here. It was her intention that I kill you. I am not going to. Instead, I ask you to pass a message on to your daughters.”

She coughed, and he was relieved to see that it was clear “Who…. are..”

“Tell your daughters that Conall Cian did this to you. Also tell them that I spared you. And most importantly, you have an heirloom, an artifact, that came to you recently from Ireland. It is small and has three red stones -” as he spoke, he felt her right hand move and her eyes flicked down. She was drawing that hand up, but he smacked his own red clawed hand down over her bloody and broken fingers. He could feel a ring on her middle finger. But, he had not seen it. And if he hadn’t seen it, he did not have to take it. “Colleen… this is very important. You must give that ring to your daughters. You must tell them it is the key. They must make their way into Ciara's presence with that ring, and then they can defeat her. And we will all be free of her. Tell them that your life is a sign of good faith from me. It is my gift to them. ” She stared at him, terrified. “Will you tell them? Will you give them my message?”

She coughed again, and finally nodded. “I will…” she breathed, "please.... "

He nodded and stood. He surveyed the ruins of the room until he found a cordless phone. While it was spattered with blood, it appeared to work. First, he dialed the Ghosts Reborn public number. When the young Hero at the Ghosts base answered, Conall spoke quickly, but clearly. "Colleen Nation has been attacked and beaten nearly to death in her home. Tell Sooner Spirit. Tell her that when The Beast learns Colleen still lives, she will send another to finish the job. Tell her to get her mother protected if she wants her to live." Before the hero on the other end of the line could begin to formulate a response, he hung up and then punched three numbers into the dial pad. When the call was connected he spoke in a near perfect imagination of Colleen’s breathless, injured voice. “Help me…. I’ve been… attacked. I need…” he coughed, then spoke again. “I need an ambulance. Hurry…. I’m really hurt.”

Conall dropped the phone in Colleen’s left hand, careful to keep his gaze averted from her right. He heard a tinny voice from the phone, “Ma’am? Ma’am? Are you there?”

Conall spoke one last time. “Tell them, Colleen.”

Conall's Lair
Conall ripped a portal back to his lair and ushered Trix through ahead of him. He stepped through, glancing from the horribly injured human woman on the floor behind him to the helpless human woman still captive and waiting for him. Neither mattered a bit at that moment - Ciara would be anxious to speak to him, and he wanted to control that conversation. Therefore, he would contact her before she could call him to her. A large ornate mirror mounted on the wall opposite his captive would do perfectly.

"Ciara!" he called into the mirror and she appeared almost instantly.

"Tell me!" she urged. "Is it done?"

"It is done, as you ordered. By the end, the human was broken and bleeding, and sobbing for me to stop. However, she did not tell me the location of the artifact you wanted and I did not see anything like you described. I do not have it."

Ciara pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I was sure the old woman sent it to her. Where is it?"

"I did not lay eyes on it, Ciara." Then he shifted, a deliberate move that would appear casual, so that his wings no longer obstructed the view of the room.

Ciara's eyes flashed and raised a brow. "Oh, my pet. What are you doing with the pretty human?" she asked with a smile.

Conall turned as if he'd forgotten the human were there, and smiled. The *****'s fascination with cruelty had distracted her and saved him from questions he'd prefer not to answer. "That one?" he shrugged. "She is friends with an enemy of mine, and she will tell me everything she knows about him before I'm done with her."

"I won't keep you from your fun, then, my Conall."

The mirror went blank again and he turned to the human. He approached her, looming over her, catching her and holding her eyes. He leaned down, placing one hand just beside her neck and with the other cupped her face, tenderly and gently. She began to cry hopelessly.

"You, human, have helped me. In gratitude for that, I will not hurt you." Her eyes, a pretty bright blue, flicked to him. She wanted to believe him. She so desperately wanted to believe that she would survive this and return to her life. He let her believe it until he felt Trix press into his legs. His little imp knew the game. He took his hand from the human's face and reached to stroke Trix's hair. "Trix. You may now touch the human."

Happy B-Day!

Part XI is posted.

I had to just let it go and post it...

Part XI

Ciara's Prison
"What do you want, you wretched pox-ridden harpy!" Conall bellowed as he stepped into her home blazing with his demonic fury. Ciara smiled fondly. He was magnificent. He was everything she'd imagined he might become.

"Conall, my beloved pet. Come to me." She cocked her head, waiting. "My prize. Come to me."

He stood, his shoulders and chest heaving from the force of his breathing, with his head lowered and his tail darting around his ankles. The rage rolled off of him like fog off a lake in the early dawn - no... no his fury, it was hot. It was like the dark greasy smoke spilling off of burning pitch, filling the room, making it hard to breath. Then he took his first step, and his second. He approached her slowly while his eyes burned. She waited on her raised dais so when he stood before her, he looked up to see her. His frustration was clear, no matter how he tried to make his face an expressionless mask.

"What is it you want from me, Ciara?" he snarled.

"Ah, my Conall," she reached out with one long fingered, clawed hand. She stroked the back of her hand along his jaw, smiling at the way his eyes narrowed and his wings twitched at her touch, then continued the motion to trail her fingertips under his chin and across the other cheek. Her hand drifted away, an airy motion that twisted her body away from him. She could see in his eyes when he knew what was coming. The way he braced himself as she swung back toward him. Her palm struck his face with a smack that echoed off the stone. She could feel his fangs cut into his lips and his skin split under the force of her blow. His head began to turn and she flexed her fingers so her claws sliced into his face. His blood exploded from his lips, his nose, his cheek. His head rocked back and he stumbled back one step, then another. He swayed, then dropped to one knee. His body slumped and she was afraid he might collapse.

He was still for a moment, folded over one knee. His wings draped over his shoulders and folded around him like a heavy cloak. Blood dripped from his injuries and in the silence of the room, each droplet's splat! seemed loud. Then she watched his fury consume him. With his head still held low, his eyes rolled up to see her. Fire erupted from deep within the wells of his eyes and, under the force of his rage, spread across his face. Flames oozed from his mouth and ears, licked up along his horns, snorted from his nostrils. His scalp smoldered. His entire body seemed to swell with his anger. Every muscle in his body jumped and quivered, the veins snaking along under the skin engorged.

She smiled broadly and stepped down from her dais. She was confident in her dominance over him. He was hers. Everything he was, she had caused him to become. Oh, the clay had been of excellent quality, but she had shaped and molded it, she had glazed it and fired it till it suited her needs. She crouched and reached out to take his jaw gently in her palm and turned his head from one side to the other. He could easily heal the damage she'd caused him even without the aid of his imp, but it was another display of stubbornness that he left it. It didn't matter. She stroked her fingers along his jaw then tapped one finger lightly on the tip of his nose. His eyes shut slowly and he took one deep bracing breath.

"Conall, my pet. You cannot get away from me, you cannot defy me. We are sealed together, forever. You are my Conall Cian. Never forget it." She took her throne on the dais, watching him there, still on one knee. His battle was with himself, for control, to hold his rage.

She relished it. She savored the taste of his anger. She loved what she'd made of him. All the blood he'd spilled at her command. All the lives he'd taken. The cruelty, the tortures, the destruction. And all that time, she'd been guiding his path, forging him into her instrument, her hunter, her wolf. And now she was going to loose him on the mother of the daughters ó Floinn. She would send her wolf walking the razor's edge of his control after Colleen Nation. The carnage would be glorious. Once the sisters learned how their mother died, they would come after her. And once Conall took the artifact from Colleen, the sisters would be powerless against Ciara. She would send Conall after the mother, as she had sent him after so many of her enemies. In his fury, he would destroy not just Colleen, he would likely destroy the home, the land, and any unfortunate passers-by as well.

"Come, Conall, I would have you at my feet."

His hesitation was brief. His shoulders hunched slightly before he gave in. She rested her hand on his head as if he were a favored hound and began to fondly stroke his head, his shoulders, the shuddering muscles of his back and the delicate membrane of his wings. "My Conall. My darling pet. You will take your rage and frustration and you will use them for me, as you have so often before. The mother of the three sisters ó Floinn, a human woman, named Colleen Nation. She has something of mine. It will be small, perhaps an item of jewelry - a pendant, a brooch, with three red stones. I must have it if I am to be free. Make her reveal its location to you, and when you lay eyes on it, you will get it and bring it to me. And... you will bask in your fury, you will indulge your anger on her until your dark heart is satisfied. You will take care of this for me, will you not, my Conall?"

He was still, motionless but for the tiny quivers running through his muscles. She would have loved to have been able to hear his thoughts, but she could feel his determination. "I will do as you say, Ciara." he answered finally. "May I go?"

"You may, my prized pet." she said indulgently. She watched him stalk away, imagining the destruction he would wreak and smiling.

Conall's Lair
He returned to his lair still seething, but stopped in his tracks just inside his portal. His captive, the human woman, was incoherent with terror. Trix crouched over her, trailing her claws just above the human's fair skin. Conall grabbed his imp by the scruff of her neck and lifted her high. His low growl rolled over the room and utter stillness followed it. "I. said. not. to. touch. her."

With golden eyes wide, Trix hung limp as a kitten in his grasp. She slowly raised her hands, showing him her clean, blood-free palms. "I did not touch her!" she squeaked.

The urge to snap Trix's neck rose through him until his shoulders and arms shuddered with it. He rolled his head on his neck once, and he saw Trix's eyes sharpen as she recognized the injuries to his face. With little more than a flick of her wrist, soothing and warm healing energies washed over him and his face was healed. He knew without looking that there was not even a scar. He growled and tossed her away. "Stay away from the human," he ordered.

He turned to Arano, leaning casually against the wall. His ally's human appearance inflamed his anger further. "Why did you allow that? I instructed you to keep the woman safe."

"You forbade me to discipline your imp." Arano responded. "She did not 'touch' the human. Therefor, I did not stop her."

He heard Spinedancer mutter under her breath, "V-e-x-a-t-i-o-n" she said, rattling off the letters like they were the digits of an often used passcode. She tried to fade back, but she was already pressed into a corner. She ducked her head and hid behind her dark fall of hair. "O-u-t-r-a-g-e." she went on, and, "P-i-q-u-e."

Every eye in that room fixed on him. Excruciatrix wasted no time seeking the shelter of the shadows, and Arano's bored expression faded to wary watchfulness. The humans in the room shrank back and a few of them simply fled. And his captive, the helpless human still waiting for him began to pant with terror. He didn't have time for that one just yet, she could continue waiting and wondering.

"Arano... to me," he commanded and stalked from the room. His oldest ally raised a brow and followed. There was a small room, hidden in the maze-like corridors, covered with magical runes. If Ciara was watching him in her glass, he would vanish from her sight as soon as he entered that room.

"I need you to work magic for me, old friend," Conall said, his voice low.

Arano lifted a hand. "Conall, you WILL free yourself of Ciara, correct? Her interference in our plans is becoming intolerable."

"It is indeed," Conall agreed. "That is why I need your assistance now. Your magics will have the flavor I need."

Arano listened as Conall explained what he needed and nodded. "Easily done, Conall," he agreed. "I'll bring it to you shortly."

"No, not me." Conall knew Ciara would be watching him. She'd want to see him work. "Not me. Give it to Trix."

Colleen Nation's Home
Excruciatrix flew high over the nice suburban neighborhood. It was pretty and green and quiet in the fading light. She had a job to do before her master arrived. It was very important; he had told her so. She circled until she spotted the human home her master had described to her, then activated the spell the rancorous and spiteful Arano had given her. A dark greasy ball flared in her hands, then she dropped it on the house below. The ball expanded and grew, and then vanished. She hovered there, poking at it with her magical senses to make sure it was correctly in place. With her master's current temper, she couldn't risk an error. Once confident that it was all as her master had instructed, she called out to him magically and felt him respond.

Conall Cian was coming.
---

Ciara stood at her crystal ball, ready to enjoy watching Conall kill the mother. She'd sent him away so full of fury that she expected a spectacular and gruesome death. Her palms rested on the glass and she watched as Conall changed into human form and stepped into a portal... and her glass went dark. She sent more magic into the sphere, but try as she might, she could not see Conall, or his target, or even the home. She pulled her vision back, and then she could see the peaceful suburban street lined with houses. It was late, and there was only one car puttering slowly down the street, splashing the bricks with its light. And right where the home should be, there was a dark ball. She probed at it, pushed at it. There might as well be nothing there.

She roared with fury. The eldest daughter, it must have been. That one controlled dark magics like this. Ciara hadn't realized the girl could perform this sort of magic, but there it was. Somehow, the eldest of the daughters had place a shield over her mother's home. Ciara cursed, kicked an imp that had not scurried away quickly enough and settled herself on her throne. She would just have to wait for Conall to report back to her that it was done.

---
Conall lurked in the shadows outside the peaceful split level home, while Excrutiatrix quietly hummed a happy melody perched in the overhanging branches behind him. Warm, welcoming light spilled from the windows while laughter and spirited conversation drifted up from the ground floor. The aroma of a delicious meal wafted from the vents. His target was inside, unaware of the danger that loomed. He peered in at the party guests, an even dozen smiling, laughing people. The evening wore on for Conall as within the home the guests shared stories and engaged in spirited but good natured debates while sipping wine or beer. It appeared that everyone was having a wonderful time. Unfortunately for the hostess, however, the evening would not end well.

Later, with the moon high overhead, the dinner guests began to make their exits in ones and twos. When the guests were all gone, leaving his target alone in her home, Conall still waited, to be sure that no one had forgotten keys or a jacket. He did not want to be interrupted. This night was crucial. It must be perfect.

He slipped silently across the manicured yard wearing his form of a human cop. He tried the front door and smiled when he found it unlocked. Careless and foolish, but it did make his job easier. He glanced back to where he'd left his imp. She was out of sight, but he knew she waited for his call. He raised one finger in a signal to stay put, and then stepped inside.

Once inside the homey entrance, he transformed back into his full demon form and let his wings flare. He could hear running water and clinking glassware, and a pleasant alto singing “So Happy Together.” Using the sounds to cover his nearly silent passage, he crept down the half-flight of stairs and peered around the corner.

Colleen Nation puttered in the kitchen, rinsing dishes and glasses before placing them in the dishwasher. She wore dark jeans with an oversized white shirt belted around a narrow waist. She was singing and moving her feet and hips to the melody, oblivious to the danger that had invaded her home. Her reddish hair, accented with the occasional white strand, was held back in a tail. With her tall, slender frame, she could have been one of the sisters, the resemblance was so strong. There was a certain cast to her nose and jaw though, that made him suspect the basic shape of her daughters’ faces came more from their late father. She seemed happy, and he watched, waiting patiently as she finished her chores.

The wall phone rang as she hung her washcloth neatly on a hook inside the pantry door. She raised a brow when she made note of the caller ID and glanced in surprise at the late hour on the clock before answering. After just a moment, her face went pale and her eyes wide. Her mouth dropped open in a shocked "O" and she said "Oh my God, oh my God... Gran... " She listened a few minutes more, thanked her caller and hung up. She leaned back into the wall, her face still pale and tears starting to well in her eyes.

Conall stepped out into the bright fluorescents of the kitchen. She turned towards him, slowly, her expression full of grief that turned quickly to surprise and then fear. He expected her to turn and run, but instead she lifted her right hand and pointed at him. Golden light flared around her hand and struck against him futilely; a weak impact, a brief sensation of heat. She had power, but it was weak and pale compared to her daughters. And it would help her not at all.

Two fast strides brought him face to face, and her fear turned to terror. He backhanded her once, sending her spinning away from him to slam into the doorway behind her. He let her recover her balance and turn to run from him. She darted into a large, warm, family room, maneuvering to put the overstuffed sofa between them, but Conall’s size was such that he easily stepped over it.

“You… you’re not The Beast, are you?” she gasped as she moved along the wall towards a quintet of lit display cases. “What do you want?”

“I am not…. your Beast, Colleen. And I will tell you what I want…. when I am done with the first part of my task here.”

“What is your task?” She was still moving, but he didn’t concern himself with it, there was no place for her to go.

“I am to make you hurt. Make you bleed. I am to make you know the wrath of the Beast.”

Happy happy!

You're traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind; a journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination — Next stop, the Twilight Zone.....

....but obviously NOT Atlas Park.

Book II part X is posted

Part X

Six-Four's Apartment
Six was just settling down with a nice double shot of Johnny Walker Blue. He really enjoyed spending time with the young trio of heroes. He was surprised at how much he enjoyed the role of mentor, and he genuinely liked each of them. They had the makings of great heroes, and their work as a team would make them a nearly unstoppable force as they matured. But, he had to admit that one of the reasons he liked spending time with them was that he didn’t have to think about what he’d lost when he’d been suspended from the Ghosts. Now, alone in his neat apartment, he could do nothing BUT think about it.

It was an endless loop. How could he prove that he deserved to rejoin them? Did he deserve to rejoin them? Did he even want to rejoin? Maybe he was never meant to be a hero in the first place? For just a moment he was filled with a fierce longing to return to his simple life on a fishing boat with his best friend... then his thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of his phone.

He recognized the number instantly and was already smiling as he lifted the phone. “Hey hey, what’s up?” he said in greeting.

“Six, get over here, to my apartment, now. We've got trouble,” Pipe Hitter said. It wasn’t the words so much as the tone that reached out and grabbed Six. He dropped his glass, spilling the expensive scotch in a splash over the hard wood floor, and stood as ice shot up his spine. A pilot with an engine out, a surgeon with a spurting arterial bleed, a combat vet under fire all spoke with that flat emotionless crispness. Something very bad was happening to his friends. He could hear Rosemarie chattering in the background and while he couldn’t understand her, the frantic pitch and pace of her words sent another jolt of ice-cold adrenaline shooting through his body.

“What is it?” he asked.

“ Some... thing took Moon Dancer, it said its name is Conall Cian. You need to explain what just happened.”


Pipe Hitter's Apartment
It took a lot to overcome Six-Four’s emotional barriers. He was a focused and controlled man, and very little broke through that control. But the thought of that sweet innocent girl in the hands of Conall Cian... his knees gave out and he dropped onto the couch. The idea of trying to explain to her friends that Moon Dancer was most likely going to die in terror and agony put his face in his hands. And it was all because he was friends with them. That beautiful naive girl was in hell because she was his friend.

“You’re going to tell me, right now, what’s going on.” Pipe Hitter demanded again.

“It doesn’t matter,” Six answered, looking up, then standing. “There isn’t time, and the explanation won’t help right now.”

“He called you out. Why?”

“Because he’s my enemy. Because we’ve tried to kill each other several times. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is your friend. And we have to get her back before... We HAVE to.”

Pipe Hitter opened his mouth again, but Rosemarie put a hand on his shoulder. “How do we do that?”

“We have to find where he took her...” Six stopped there. If she was at the Shades of Vengeance's base, her best hope was to die fast. But he wasn’t going to tell these two that just yet. And, it turned out, he thought he might have an idea.

Ciara's Prison
Ciara stood over her crystal ball, her clawed hands cupping its smooth curved surface. The image in the globe pleased her. The fact that it would distress the daughters ó Floinn pleased her even more. Their great-grandmother lay dead on the floor of her home, the spreading blood forming a deep red corona around her body. Ciara suspected that the local authorities would assume she'd been killed in a robbery attempt, and the ransacked condition of the house would support that.

She hadn't been concerned about the artifact. It wasn't in play and had been misplaced by the family for generations. She'd seen no need to search for something when it was best for her if it stayed lost. But recently she'd felt it, felt the magic of the artifact moving. It had reached out to the thin barriers still holding her imprisoned, then subsided. The old woman must have found it, and that worried Ciara.

The demon was forced to admit to some admiration for the old woman. She had refused steadfastly to reveal anything at all about the artifact, despite being put under considerable duress by the imps. Ciara didn't even know what it looked like. But whatever the old woman had managed to conceal, Ciara was confident the artifact was no longer in Ireland. She was also certain that she would have felt the magic react if the artifact had come into the possession of the daughters ó Floinn. That meant there was only one place it could be. The mother had the artifact, and Ciara must take control of it before her enemies did.

It was time to let Conall have some fun.

Conall's Lair
The terror rolling off the beautiful blonde human woman was palpable. Conall circled her, watching her blue eyes track his movements. Every tail twitch or rustle of his wings elicited a tiny whimper or wail from her. She was panting like a terrified cat, her skin was pale, her body tremored. Her eyes kept flicking about the room seeking help, and each time she was denied, her despair rose. He allowed his smile to spread slowly, knowing that would deepen her fear. His lips first stretched, then parted to reveal his fangs. When she began to sob, he smiled even wider.

His followers were gathered to watch. Excruciatrix was fixated on the woman like a hungry cat at a window watching birds. Arano stood back with his arms crossed and an utterly bored expression on his face. A handful of his most trusted Hellion converts were watching with an interest Conall suspected had more to do with the woman's appearance than anything else. A few of his more trusted companions among the Shades of Vengeance were there as well, Spinedancer chief among them. That particular wonderfully insane young woman had promise, and had shown an encouraging initiative by throwing herself firmly in his camp of supporters.

"I suspect this will not take long," he said. He laid one clawed hand on the soft skin of of his captive's belly and leaned over her. She cried out again and tried to pull away from him. She turned her head away from him, but he reached out and took her jaw in his hand. He squeezed firmly as he turned her to face him, letting the claw on his thumb press in firmly enough to draw a point of blood. Her blue eyes widened even more and tears leaked out of the corners. Behind him, he heard Trix giggle. "Ah... we're going to have such a good time." he purred at her.

He flexed his left hand, the one on her belly, so the claws rested with their needle sharp tips on her so-tender skin.....

....and that's when he felt the call. "Oh... You miserable *****!" he bellowed. The woman screamed, but he took his hands from her and turned away, raising both fists into the air. "Leave me alone, you vile harridan! Not NOW!" At his protests, the pull became sharper, more painful. He growled, furious, and turned to Arano. "Keep her safe," he snarled. "Don't touch her..." he glanced first at the Hellions, and then firmly at Trix, "but don't let her get away, either."

With helpless fury roiling in his gut, he tore open the portal to Ciara's prison and stepped through, "What do you WANT?!" he demanded, even knowing she'd likely punish him for it. "What do you want, you wretched pox-ridden harpy!"

Kid... for this one, if you need me to turn over targetting to someone else and bring a scrapper instead, I can. Just give me enough warning to get into warburg with her for some nukes.

Thanks guys.

Part one and two down in a little over 90 minutes.

I didn't get much reaction in game, but I'm going to start up a Posi #1 in about 1/2 hour from.... NOW.

Let me know here or just meet me at Posi.

Hey... thanks guys for all the comments.

You may not have any idea how much the comments mean, but I really appreciate them. All day I was checking back and seeing what everyone said. It really means a lot that you take the time to let me know that you stopped in.

Today's rather lively conversation in here really made my day.

I would think including Posi 1 and 2 would be great since they're now.

The older ones... we all know all the tricks. The two new ones, we're still figuring out.

And... Book II - Part IX is up.

Part IX

Crowne Memorial Hospital
Michael Campbell, better known as Vir to his friends in the Ghosts, slouched in a chair that looked far more comfortable than it actually was, sitting at his brother's bedside. His right hand rested on the blanket where his brother's hand should have been. It should have been a comforting touch, instead, it was a reminder of what had been lost. Micheal's eyes were closed. He was exhausted and would have liked to doze, but the noises of the various machines crowding the room, and concern that each breath his brother drew might be his last, kept him awake.

Seamus was getting worse. Each hour that passed, the doctors began using more medical jargon, and Micheal realized that they were shielding themselves behind words and phrases like "Multi-drug resistant," "Reperfusion injuries," and "Renal insufficiency." Lately "Metabolic alkalosis" had started making an appearance and they liked to spend time hovering over Micheal's EKG. The doctors' faces were less and less reassuring as time went by, and the emotionless masks of the nurses told the rest of the story. They expected Seamus to die.

"Mikey?" a raspy voice called.

Micheal sat up, blinking, and smiled to find his brother awake. "Seamus! Can I get you anything?"

"Sure," Seamus rasped, "You could lend me a hand..."

"How bout a drink of water?" Micheal offered, holding the cup up so his brother could reach the straw. Seamus was pale, with a faint yellow tinge to his skin and the whites of his eyes. Even drinking a few sips of water seemed to have exhausted him.

"Seamus, I'm calling our father. He should be here. He should know."

"No... no, Mikey don't. I don't want him to see me like this. We can let him know when I'm better, ok? You can call him when I'm out of ICU."

Micheal said nothing, but nodded. No one expected Seamus would set foot out of ICU. But, he would respect his brother's request as long as Seamus was well enough to keep making it.


Conall's Lair
Conall stormed into his lair and bellowed, “Excruciatrix!” He kept moving, further into the lair, knowing the habits of his pet imp by now... she would be scurrying along after him shortly. “Trix!” he called again, “come to me!”

He found his way to the heart of his cave-like home, but she had yet to respond. It might be one of her small rebellions. No matter. He reached out magically, found the reins of his compulsions on her and pulled. She resisted for just a moment, then relented.

Her face peek around a door frame at him, but before she could enter the room, Conall heard Arano's deep, raspy voice, "Your master is calling you, you contumacious creature. Answer him!" She yelped a startled protest. Arano strode into the room, dragging Trix behind him by a firm grasp on her human-like yellow hair. She was spitting and twisting, clawing like a cat. She curled up around his hand and managed to sink a claw into Arano's wrist. He cursed and tossed her down, shaking his hand where her claws had raked it. As she clambered to her feet, he kicked her, one heavy black shoe sinking into her belly.

Trix's tiny form tumbled across the room to come to a stop at Conall's feet. With a wail, she scrambled to hands and knees and scampered behind Conall's legs. He heard her hitch in a sobbing breath and moan quietly.

"Discipline it properly, Conall, and it will come when you call," Arano sneered.

Conall drew himself up to his full height, with wings mantling over his shoulders and eyes flaming like the torches on the walls. "Get out of here, Arano. Now. And there is no need for you to put hand - or any other part of your body - on my imp ever again. Do you understand me?"

Arano straightened, his dark eyes flashing, but after a long pause, he nodded once and turned on his heel.

Conall let out a his pent up breath and turned to Trix. "Stand up!” he commanded. Outside of the pout on her face and her shiny eyes, there was no sign that she'd been injured. “You must learn something.”

He stood tall before her in his true, demonic form. His wings flared over his body, his eyes glowed with flame, his face framed by curving horns. He held his clawed hands stiffly outstretched to the side, and planted his clawed feet squarely. “Watch me.”

His control had grown so that he could make the change instantly if he chose, but he did it slowly so she could see how it was done. Her eyes were fixed on him, studying him intently as his wings wrapped around his body and vanished. His horns flowed back into his head, and faded ginger hair began to sprout from his scalp. His skin faded from blood red to a pale human tone. His leg bones reshaped themselves so he stood like a human. The whole process took just several seconds, and when it was done, the human form known as Rory Flynn stood before the imp where the giant demon had stood.

He cocked his head at her. His voice lacked the same power in this form, but he was still her master. “Show me,” he commanded.

Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. She straightened her posture and stood straight. Her fiery eyes narrowed in concentration and she extended her hands and wings out stiffly. For a long moment, nothing happened. He was afraid she didn’t have the power to make the change. And just like that, it happened. Her form shifted and changed. She hunched over and made a tiny, surprised sound, and then it was over.

Conall ran his eyes over her new form, and his lips quirked in a satisfied smile. “Perfect...” he said.

King's Row
Moon Dancer followed her friends through the streets of Kings Row back to their apartments. Rosemarie and Pipe Hitter were excitedly reliving the day's adventures, but Moon Dancer was thinking about Six-Four. He had joined them for another dinner, and then headed off to his own home. She liked the older hero, even though some of his stories were really sad. He seemed so angry and bitter all the time, though, and that made her sad for him. It was as if something stopped him from seeing the joy the in the world. She wondered if there was a way to teach him to see it again.

She loved Paragon City. It was so different from their hometown. So much activity, some of it was frightening, but Moon Dancer loved that they were helping people. She was just glad that she could help her friends without having to hurt anyone herself.

She looked up into the cloudy night sky of Kings Row and smiled at the moonlight turning the clouds into a pearly glow. It was pretty, and it made even the rough streets of Kings Row seem prettier and magical.

She stopped when she heard a faint noise as they passed an alley. She peered into the darkness. “Hello?” she called. In the dim light of the alleyway, Dancer saw a pale child’s face peer out at her. A little girl, from the blonde pigtails, dressed in a dirty puffed sleeve top and jeans.

The girl sniffled. “I’m lost...” she said, "I'm scared," and then a single sob hitched her chest.

Moon Dancer turned down the alleyway, “Oh, honey...” she exclaimed as she reached her hands out to the little girl.

“Dancer?” she heard Pipe Hitter call out.

“What are you doing?” Rosemarie asked at the same time.

“There's a little girl here. She needs my help,” Moon Dancer answered.

“Wait, Dancer,” Pipe Hitter called out, "Wait for us." but by then, Dancer had reached the little girl in the alley and put her hands out to help the child up.

The pretty, if smudged, face turned up to her and smiled a happy smile. Tiny little hands grasped Dancer’s and the little girl stood. “He says I get to play with you,” the sweet innocent voice said.

“Who says we can play?” Dancer asked.

“My master,” the little girl answered, only, suddenly it wasn’t a little girl, it was a little demon with red skin, horns and wings, and she held Dancer’s hands so tightly that Dancer couldn’t pull away.

Dancer had time to scream only once before the bricks beside her began to swirl and a monster stepped through the wall. It looked like the little demon, but this one was monstrously huge. Dancer let out a shriek of pure terror. She heard Pipe Hitter yell her name, and heard their footsteps racing towards her, but the demon scooped her up like she weighed nothing at all. She pushed ineffectually at his shoulder as he turned back toward the wall. The tiny demon scurried through, and her captor looked back at Pipe Hitter and Rosemarie. “Tell Six-Four that this one is enjoying the company of Conall Cian now,” he said.

Moon Dancer screamed again, utterly lost in terror, and the demon carried her through the portal.

Edit: Oops - announcement-read Fail.