Sooner

The Broken Thorn
Part 11

Sooner darted up into the smoke-filled air to survey the battle from above, then dived down on yet another mage. She and her small team of Ghosts were battling their way deeper into Oranbega against half-hearted opposition. The Circle seemed distracted, and most of the defenders they met were headed deeper into the ancient city, rather than out to meet them.

A last punch finished off the mage she was fighting, she turned, but before she could attack the next he was engulfed in a jagged spike of ice and then finished off with a glistening ice sword.

Witch-Frost shook the frost from her fingertips and rose to hover next to Sooner. “What do you suppose has them so upset they don’t even notice they’re being invaded?”

Sooner shook her head. “I hope its not more bad news for Ici,” she said, her worry plain in her voice.
---

Bounty-Killer pushed Ici back into a dimly lit hallway again as another patrol jogged past. He could see she was tiring, but she didn’t complain. She did take the opportunity to lean back against the wall and close her eyes. He took a moment to study her fine featured face. He didn’t like the way the color was leeching out of her. It wasn’t the icy paleness the Reaver’s reports attributed to her, this was an exhausted grey, with deep blue circles under her eyes, and a faint tremor in the tiny muscles around her eyes. He wondered how much more physical trauma she could take.

He shook his head. It was for the job of course, if she dropped from exhaustion, she was no good to him. He’d never tell her, but he admired her stubborn determination. He didn’t know everything that had happened to her, and suspected she would refuse to tell him. Just what he knew about would have been difficult for a fully powered hero; while she was - for all practical purposes - a civilian, still pushing determinedly forward. He just wasn’t sure how much she had left in her.

He stayed perfectly still until the last mage jogged by, then lightly tapped her shoulder. He became more concerned when she pushed away from the wall and turned towards him without opening her eyes. She finally lifted her head and half-opened her eyes.

“I can’t fight this many,” he said just above a whisper. “You stay here, out of sight. I’ll find a safe path out of here.” He felt the corner of his mouth twitch when her tired blue eyes shifted to the faint bump inside his shirt and then back to his face. “I’ll be back. You’ll get it.”

He gathered the shadows around him and slipped away as Ici tucked herself further back into the dusty darkness of the tunnel.
---

Wulf’s rocky form towered over the huge group of Circle with which he fought, while Witch-Frost and Midnightangel stood back and picked them off with frigid blasts of ice and blinding bright bolts of lightning. Sooner swooped down into the middle of the mob and lost herself in the sheer joy of watching her fists bang off their chins.

She was aware of Ahren’s return. She had sent him ahead to scout, to try to find Ici and that thorn. He drew his weapon and began taking out mages with a cold precision. She watched him with a sadness that never failed to well up when she remembered the peacebringer and the friendly, exuberant man he used to be.

As the last of the mages fell, Ahren spoke up. “I found the thorn. We have to take a portal, but it won’t be hard to get to.”

“Lead the way, then,” Sooner said with a nod.
---

Ici curled up against the wall, her eyes closed, her head back, trying to find any last jot of energy anywhere in her body. She was too exhausted to be frightened or to be angry that Bounty-Killer still had her thorn. She just wanted out of Oranbega. And a bed. And a meal. And a bath.

She wiggled around, trying to get comfortable on the hard stone floor. She irritably dragged the heavy book around in front so she wasn’t laying on the knot, and tried to adjust it so it wasn’t digging into her. She finally pulled it out of the bag entirely to set aside, but grimaced at the feel of the leather binding. Something told her she didn’t want to know the source of the leather. She reluctantly turned the book so she could see the title. The archaic script was difficult to read, but she made it out. The Binding of the Inner Light: Souls and their Preservation, Imprisonment, Implantation, and Destruction.

“Aaah!” she cried out and dropped the book. She winced and looked around to see if anyone had heard her cry out, but there was no reaction.

She very reluctantly picked it up again and, with a moue of distaste, began leafing through it. She found a section detailing the enchantment of thorns to bind a soul so that it could be transplanted into another body. Even though she found the whole book immensely distasteful, she determinedly plunged into reading the chapter, for its relevance to her own situation was too obvious to ignore.
---

Alanak sat at an antique desk, studying a map of the part of Oranbega that he currently ruled. He had several small markers on the map that he moved occasionally as he tried to formulate some sort of plan, and several other markers, representing his mobile forces, set off to the side in neat bins.

Ici Cold had yet to be found. It was as if she had vanished as soon as she hit the water. Someone or something had slaughtered every mage in the great library. The killer had used a bladed weapon, so even if the missing hero weren’t powerless, that ruled her out. And now there were reports of a team of Ghosts Reborn in his city as well, undoubtedly come to rescue their missing sister.

Alanak was ancient. Far older than his current stolen body, he could still remember the tremors that shook Oranbega when the Warlords of Mu attacked tens of thousands of years ago. In the millennia that had followed, Alanak had known victory and defeat, many times. He had seen his beloved home sink beneath the earth to languish forgotten. He had slumbered away the years when his soul lay quiescent inside a thorn. He had known the surprising pain that accompanied rebirth, the excitement of the battle to vanquish and discard the soul of a host body. And he had led the expedition that found Kajinast’s thorn. He had been there when they pulled the chest from beneath the fallen rocks. Alanak himself had been the one to identify the Frost family, and target their daughter Brittany as the ideal host for the most powerful of their ancient leaders. He had barely escaped when the Ghosts interrupted the ceremony to restore Kajinast and stole the thorn and the intended host.

And that was the moment that things began to go horribly wrong for Alanak. It took far too long to recover the thorn from MAGI. And even longer to find a ceremony that would allow Kajinast to speak to them. And then... to find that the brilliant leader he remembered was now insane. It was a crushing blow, and Alanak’s only hope was that if they could restore the thorn, it would somehow restore Kajinast’s mind as well.

A faint scratching at his doorframe interrupted Alanak’s musings. He looked up to see a nervous thorn wielder standing in the doorway. ‘What is it?” he demanded when the man didn’t speak.

“My lord...” the man coughed. “My lord... the thorn fragment...”

Alanak felt his spine grow cold. He stood, staring at the unfortunate thorn wielder, willing him not to say it. “What has happened?”

“My lord...it has been taken...”

“Taken....” Alanak hissed the word. “By whom?”

“We don’t know. All the guards are dead. Kajinast demands your presence.”

Alanak felt rage consume him. He moved around the desk with the slow, slinking grace of a viper. Alanak, watching the color drain out of the thorn wielder’s face, drew his falchion and sliced open the messenger’s belly. He kicked the writhing body into the hall and calmly returned to his desk. He moved a small black stone, symbolizing the unknown person who had attacked the library, to the next level down where Kajinast’s thorn lay. He gazed at the larger red stone symbolizing the team of Ghost’s, and then to the small blue stone that would represent Ici Cold if he knew where to place her.

He ignored the whimpers of the dying man in the hall as he tried to find a way to salvage this day.

Devious...

Thank you.

I appreciate the constructive criticism.

I suspect that if I had thought it out at the time, I would have said that the physical description of Ici (young woman, white hair, pastel blue school uniform) had been established adequately, that the setting of Oranbega had been described adaquately and that I was moving on to other things. Perhaps that is/was lazy of me and I should keep reminding readers of the details.

As you so rightly stated, this story is primarily about Ici (85% Ici, 10% Bounty Killer, and 5% everyone else). Perhaps I should have put more attention into my supporting cast (though I think you will find that they do have strong emotions to share as we develop)

I most sincerely appreciate the input. Since this story was written and completed quite some time ago, I can't promise you'll see any significant changes as I finish posting this one. But, I will keep your comments in mind in my future stories.

Thank you.

Part ten of Broken Thorn is up.

The Broken Thorn

Part 10

Bounty-Killer, hidden in the shadows, studied the job. Nine guarding the hallway, and only two in the room. Getting in would be easy. Getting out might be a challenge. He watched the mages and demons in the hallway and carefully marked his targets, if it became necessary.

He had left Ici, with the book, safely hidden back in the narrow crevice where he had first found her. Now he just needed to take that little piece of wood, escape with it, and then get out of Oranbega with the book, the powerless hero, and her thorn. And, he thought with a tiny crook at the corner of his mouth, find out just a little more about her. He was intrigued by her. She was a puzzle that refused to be solved.

He stood, adjusted the hilt of his katana for easier draw, and crept into the hall. He placed each foot precisely making no noise and leaving no footprint. He was a shadow, as silent and insidious as a puff of smoke from the flickering torches. He danced around the last behemoth and slipped into the room.

He took his time studying it. The magic in the small room was palpable. It tingled over his skin and danced through his hair. It was a distraction, and he took a moment to firmly put the strange sensation out of his mind.

A dark carved thorn lay on the table. There was a jagged break near the tip, and the small piece of wood lying nearby matched the break perfectly. And, yet, she hadn’t asked for the thorn, only the tip. And she claimed they’d taken it from her. Well, obviously, she’d taken it from them first.

He dismissed the two chanting mages as unimportant. Oh, they would die first if this went badly, but they were no threat. Still, it would be impossible to take that small piece of wood without them noticing, so he decided that he would try to make it so fast they didn’t have a chance to react.

He stepped closer to the table and reached out his hand. His mind was reviewing the steps: grab the thorn tip, pivot to his left, sprint for the door.

Then a rolling voice boomed through the room: “How dare you enter my presence!?” it demanded.

Bounty-Killer stepped back. Disembodied voices had not been included in any of his contingency plans. His gaze flicked around the room, seeking the source, but there was no one. The two mages did not stop their chanting, but they were alert now.

“Answer me! Who are you?!” the voice spoke again, “What are you doing here!”

Bounty-killer made his decision quickly. This was about to go badly, so he lunged forward and grabbed the tip of the thorn, thrust it into a pocket, and drew his katana. The two mages leapt to their feet, seeing him finally, as the entire group in the hall turned towards the tiny room. The way was blocked.

“Noooooooooo!” the voiced bellowed. “Nooooooo! Noooo! Stop him! Stop him now!”

Abruptly the room was filled with a winter storm. Tiny stinging shards of ice pelted him, and eleven pairs of eyes were focused on one man as he cursed in three languages.

The two mages in the room died first, because they were there and they were easy. He pulled his katana from the second and took two steps to the doorway to make his stand.

The voice in the room continued to bellow angrily, calling for help, demanding that he replace what he’d stolen, making threats about his eternal soul. It was just another distraction, like the cold and the stinging ice. He needed to focus on just two things: life and death.

Blood flew from the tip of his katana as he sliced and jabbed. The mages fell, one by one, but they were taking their toll on him as several of them stood back and magically attacked him. Freezing and burning at the same time as the floor underneath him turned to quicksand, he fought grimly. He took pride in never failing a job, and he refused to die over a tiny piece of wood.

He was tiring and blood was flowing from a cut on his forehead. He blinked his vision clear again and fought his way another step forward. The voice had lapsed into guttural nonsense of some ancient language, which at least spared Bounty-Killer the grisly details of his eternal torment.

He could feel his own life seeping away, but reduced his awareness to his sword and his next victim. He pulled his blade from a dying mage with a furious twist and realized there was just one behemoth left between him and escape. One completely healthy behemoth who’s awareness of its own victory was written plainly on its face. It would have plenty of time to attack him, probably more than once, before Bounty-Killer could even get to him.

But even as Bounty-Killer started forward, the behemoth jumped and whirled away. Ici Cold stood at the end of the hall. She had tied a knot in the strap of the bag - wearing it around her waist like an oversized fanny pack - and she was throwing rocks at the giant demon. Wishing he had the time to stand there and curse in furious amazement, Bounty-Killer raced forward even as the voice from inside the room cried out “Don’t kill her! Do not kill her you fool!”

The behemoth had already taken a wide-legged stand and lifted its clawed hands overhead. It hesitated, and then it was impaled on Bounty-Killer’s katana. He pulled it back, and leapt into the air, striking furiously in an overhand blow that tore open its upper body. It collapsed in a pool of demonic ichor and left Bounty-Killer staring at Ici Cold with white-hot fury.

“Stop them! Alanak! You fools! You cretins! Worthless! You are all worthless!”

“Come. With. Me.” Bounty-killer grabbed Ici by the front of her shirt and dragged her back to the narrow crevice.

She yanked free of him. “Did you get it? Give it to me!”

With an a lack of expression that would do a snake proud, Bounty-Killer reached into his pocket and withdrew the cone of wood. He looked from it, to the bag, to Ici’s pale eyes. He reached inside his shirt and withdrew a lovely silk scarf, with a bright pattern of flowers. The colors were faded a bit with age, but the silk was that much softer for it. Without ever taking his eyes from her’s Bounty-Killer wrapped the thorn tip in the silk, and thrust the bundle inside his shirt. “When the job is done,” he answered her flatly.

“Wait! No! I need that!” she argued, but he turned away and started trying to find a way to get them out of Oranbega.

The conclusion of Homecoming is posted.

Wow... what a great idea!

Once I get a few more of my stories posted over here, I'm shamelessly ripping this idea off.

VORAC!

You SAVED me!

Somehow, I lost an entire section of Broken Thorn. I kept re-reading it and thinking.. this doesn't make sense.... But i was able to find it on your fiction sight and get it back where it went.

THANK YOU!

Part 9 of The Broken Thorn is posted in RP.

The Broken Thorn
Part 9


Ici stumbled a step or two before she caught up with his pace and ran with him. She juggled the heavy bag until finally finding a way to comfortably carry it, as her brain tried to find a way to make sense of this new development. She didn’t know who he was, but she knew what he was- no hero could hide that well.

They ducked around a corner out of sight just as a small army of mages and demons marched by their previous hiding place. He pushed her flat against the wall, and crouched, hidden in the shadows, as they passed by unsuspecting.

He turned to face her, and for the first time, she could clearly see him. She held her breath to stop herself from reacting, but she knew who he was. His dark, almond eyes were flat and cold as they considered her. His course dark hair and sallow skin spoke of an Asian heritage, but something in the shape of the face, the jaw maybe, or the cheekbones, indicated there was something European in the mix as well. He was wearing the same sleek black and dark red armor over a lean, toned frame as in the surveillance photo the Ghosts had. He was known as Bounty-Killer, and he was considered extraordinarily dangerous.

She carefully let out her held breath. She didn’t know if she’d fooled him or not, but she was not about to reveal anything more than she had to this man. “What do you want?” she asked finally.

“I have a job. I’ve been hired to acquire this book,” he said, tapping the bag Ici still held. “I can’t fight and carry it, because the strap is broken on the bag.” He paused and looked her over once more, “I’m not in the habit of helping heroes, but we can help each other out.”

Ici carefully considered before answering, “I’ll help you carry out the book, and... you’ll get something for me.”

He raised his brows, clearly surprised. “What is this thing, and what does it have to do with your lost powers?”

She blanched, but stared back, raising her chin defiantly, “Its just a little piece of wood, and who said it had anything to do with anything?”

He leaned in close, his nearly black eyes locked on her pale blues. He held her gaze, like a snake staring at a helpless chick before saying softly, “I'm not a fool.” He straightened abruptly. “The only reason you aren't dead yet is because I want to know why they want you.”

Ici felt her chin start to tremble, but forced herself to meet that cold stare. “What’s up with this book? What’s it for?”

Bounty-Killer scowled and crossed his arms. “My employer wants it, he’s willing to pay good money for it. That’s all I need to know, and more than you need to know.” He stood, motionless, his black eyes narrowed.

Ici flung her hands up in the air and looked skyward, as if she expected someone above to be able to see reason. “Fine! They took it from me, they kidnaped me, I want it back, I don’t KNOW what they want from me, and I want OUT OF HERE!!!”

He watched her, for a long moment. She held her breath, waiting. She was just about out of bravado. Then, suddenly he moved, fast as a snake he snatched the book back from her. “ I think I'll let the Circle have their way with you.” He whirled away from her and strode out of the room.

She stood, held motionless by a storm of emotions. Anger, despair, terror picked her up and tossed her around in a ride a hundred times worse than her trip under the waterfall. She took a step, then another. She reached a hand out towards him and could barely manage to speak above a whisper, “Please...” She coughed, swallowed back a sob, then managed, louder, “please help me.”

He slowed and stopped. She saw him bow his head and heard a mumbled curse. She let herself sob with relief when he turned back to her. With a carefully expressionless face, he thrust the bag back at her. “ You carry this book, I'll lead the way to your... little piece of wood, if I suspect anything unusual out of you, I will kill you... Understood?”

Ici felt her chin come back up as she opened her mouth to retort angrily. With a display of tact most unusual for her, she closed her mouth with a snap, and nodded once. She took the heavy bag, tucked it under her arm, and waited for him to lead the way.
---

A small team of Ghosts exited a crowded magic shop in Steel Canyon, led by a furious Atarax. He stood on the sidewalk, staring at the stick-on letters proclaiming “Dana’s Mistykal Boutique.” With a sudden, explosive exhalation Atarax punched straight through the window, sending shards of glass spiraling wildly through the interior.

He turned away from the window, and activated the supergroup channel on his radio. “Sooner, are you there?”

There was a long pause before Sooner’s voice, responded, “Ya, Ata, what’s up?”

“The Circle has her.” He took a couple of steadying breaths. “They tricked her, they set her up. They made her think she was safe.” He turned and punched the wall.

“What are you talking about, Ata?”

Atarax abruptly thrust the radio to Sooner Magic and stalked away, “Cyd,” Sooner’s younger sister spoke. “Cyd, they made her believe... ah, hell.. Its complicated. They drugged her, they stole her powers, and then they took her into Oranbega. They’re going to do something to her, we don’t know what.. But from the way the shopkeeper was talking... it’s bad.”


“They stole her powers?”

“The bit of thorn that was in her...” Sooner Magic answered.“ They used magic to get it out. She doesn’t have any powers without it, and they took her with them. You’ve got to get to her. They’re going to do something awful. The shopkeeper said someone named Kajinast hates her and is going to... Ah, Cyd.... you’ve got to get her out!”

“We’re working on it, Caryn!”

Part 18 of Homecoming is up.

Just have an epilogue left to finish this one up.

Part 8 of Broken Thorn is up in RP section.

The Broken Thorn
Part 8

Sooner gathered a small group of her friends together. Atarax, Midnightangel, Wulf, Ruby Sapphire, and Ahren sat around a large round table, dwarfed by the large conference room that could easily hold the entire membership of the Ghosts Reborn.

“We’re going in after her,” Sooner said. “Akarist says he knows of only one place in this entire hemisphere that would be appropriate for the ceremony to repair a broken thorn. Of course, its directly under Paragon City. So, we’re going into Oranbega to retrieve the thorn.” She paused for a moment, knowing her next statement would not be received well. “All of us but you, Ata.”

“Like hell!” he protested. He had been fond of Ici from the moment they found her in Oranbega and her recent difficulties had brought out the most protective side of his nature. He now sat back in his chair, obstinate and angry.

“Ata, we don’t know where she is. I need you to take a team and see if you can find out what happened to her. She can’t have just vanished.” Sooner met his eyes and held them. “I don’t care if you have to break the skull of every CoT in Paragon City, someone has to know where she is. I need you to find her.”

At that moment, an old, semi-retired member of the Ghosts walked in to the room. Witch-frost, looking very proper in her knee length suit and her white hair pulled back in a tight, smooth bun, pulled up a chair and joined them. “There aren’t very many ice-sorceresses in Paragon City,” she said. “We have to look out for each other.” She smiled.

Sooner smiled back at her. More fire power - or ice power in this case - was more than welcome. “Ok then, Wulf, Ruby, Midnight, Ahren, and Witch, you’re with me. Ata, find yourself a team and go find Ici!”

Witch leaned forward with a smile, “And when you do find her, we will politely kick her [censored] until she tells us what she was thinking!”
---

Alanak reluctancy entered Kajinast’s presence. Before he could summon the courage to speak, the thorn’s voice growled at him, “Where is SHE!?”

“We have not yet found her.” Alanak answered.

“You fools! Idiots! One helpless girl and you can’t find her?!”

“She may be dead. She fell a long-”

“Then where is the body? Surely her corpse is not more wily than your minions?”

Alanak had no answer, he knew that anything he said would just infuriate Kajinast further, so he stood, staring at the far corner of the table.

“Find her, you worthless imbecile! Find her now! I have waited FAR TOO LONG! FIND HER! FIND HER!”

Alanak broke and ran from the room, as the voice bellowed after him.
---

Ici jerked upright as she heard Walter’s far too familiar voice echoing through the ancient halls. With a sudden rush of hope, she crept out from behind her rocks and snuck down the hallway. She knew, powerless as she was, she’d be finished if she were spotted by even a single mage. For the first time, she wished she wore something besides the pastel blue of her uniform which stood out in sharp contrast to the dusty earthtones of Oranbega.

She followed the deep, rhythmic voices chanting some evil incantation. She clung to the shadows as much as she could, but she was a bundle of stress by the time she found the source of the chanting. It was a small room, and the broken thorn that she thought was safely shut away in the MAGI vault rested on a stone table. The fragment that had been taken from her rested at the tip. The room itself had only two occupants, two mages in green robes chanting and bowing on either side of the table. The hallway leading to it, however, was heavily guarded. She counted a half-dozen mages and three giant behemoths. It was a narrow, well lit hallway with no cover to speak of. Try as she might, she could think of no way at all to get into that room and recover the fragment.

She wedged herself into a narrow nook and carefully considered her options. And slowly realized that she had none. She could not enter the room without being seen, had no hope of fighting her way into the room, and very little chance of escaping Oranbega on her own.

She sank down into a crouch, and, for the first time, felt defeated. She could not recover that lost fragment. She could not recover her powers. She could not imagine how she was going to escape Oranbega. The best she could hope for was that she be killed rather turned over to the being in the thorn. It was hopeless. She put her head in her hands and began to cry.
---

He stalked the halls of Oranbega irritably. The book under his arm grew heavier with each step. One cut webbing strap... it threw off his balance, increased the odds that an awkward movement could cause him to be seen, and could slow down his draw. Ultimately, that one cut strap could cost him the job.

He would likely have noticed the soft noises earlier if not for his irritation. He paused, and heard it again. It was a quiet sound, but not one he usually heard in his jaunts into the ancient city. He turned off his planned path, moving silently and unseen. He crept closer to the source of the noise and finally saw it - or her.

It was a young woman, huddled far back into the shadows of a narrow crevice. She crouched, holding her head in her hands, and her body shook with hopeless, nearly soundless sobs. Every visible inch of her was covered with bruises, scrapes and abrasions. Something in the white-blonde ponytails and pastel uniform was tweaking a memory, but it wouldn’t come. He turned and started to walk away. The job did not need another complication. Then, a slightly louder whimper called him back.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he approached.

The young woman swallowed a shriek and leapt to her feet. As he saw her face for the first time he cursed under his breath, took the time to set the book aside, and drew his blade. He knew that face. She was a Ghost, she was powerful... her name.. her name... was Ici Cold. With a hero of her power, victory was often a matter of who got the first blow. He held his strike, however, for she didn’t even attempt to attack him. She was scrambling back even further into the narrow space, eyes darting back and forth trying to find him, but not even making an attack on the general area. He watched her with narrowed eyes, and considered what he was seeing.

Her eyes fixed on his general location, and she spoke, her voice high and breathy, “Who are you and what do you want!?!”

He put his sword away. His still didn’t understand, but he didn’t have to have all the puzzle pieces to see the general picture. This hero was no danger to him. “ Who I am isn't important, I got what I want. The question is you, why are you here?”

She drew herself up and lift her chin like an obstinate terrier. “I was out for a moonlit stroll, and took a wrong turn.”

“Sarcasm,” He snorted. “Well then, you can stay here... enjoy it while you can.” He tucked the book back under his arm and turned to walk away.

There was a long moment when he thought she would let him leave, then he heard her stage whisper, “Wait! No, no, no! Come back!” He turned and looked back at her, one brow lifted and an expression of exaggerated patience on his face.

She took a couple of hesitant steps forward and lifted her pale blue eyes to his. He could see through the bravado to the terrified kid underneath as she made an attempt to quip, “I’m supposed to be the main course on a thorn’s banquet menu.” He turned to face her fully, and lifted the other brow. She left out a huge sigh, “I... need.... something and I can’t get it.”

He started to answer, but suddenly became aware of marching footsteps. A lot of marching footsteps. Headed towards them. He snarled a curse under his breath and thrust the book at out her. “Hold this.” he demanded, as he grabbed her other wrist and started off at a fast walk. “Come with me,” he insisted when she pulled back. “Come now.”

Part Seven of The Broken Thorn is up the RP section.

The Broken Thorn
Part 7


She was in a featureless white room; her friend and mentor Ice9 - who had been dead for nearly two years - was crouching nearby watching her. He was wearing the uniform he’d worn when he died, the uniform of the Ghosts. He looked remarkably healthy for a dead man, still tall and powerfully built, more like a man who should be in the thick of battle trading punches, rather than standing back fighting from range. His white hair was still neatly trimmed except for the strand that kept stubbornly falling over his eyes. He was watching her with an expression of mingled amusement, exasperation, and concern.

She dragged herself to her feet, and he stood as well. “Am I dead?” she asked.

“Not yet,” he answered. “But it’s a close thing, li’l sis.”

She scowled. Had he ever called her that? She’d called him big brother a time or two, but couldn’t recall if he’d ever returned the sentiment. “Are you really here or am I dreaming you?”

“Do you want to talk meta-physics right now? Or do you want to get out of here?

“Oh, my god, do I want out of here, Ice!” she answered. “But I can’t!”

“You can. You’ve got to want it, but you can.”

“I can’t swim out, Ice! I can’t!”

“Indeed. You can’t.” Ici just stared at him, exasperated. “Where’s the light coming from, li’l sis?”
---

Ici sat up in her little cave coughing and sputtering, “What?” she said, but there was no one there. She coughed again before she was able to draw a good, full breath, and then dragged herself to her feet.

Was it really Ice, or.. Did it just not really matter? She was sure he’d never called her “li’l sis,” when he was alive. But, perhaps that was a thought exercise best left for another time.

“Where’s the light coming from...” she murmured. She glanced around the cave. The light was dim, but it was bright enough to see by. Yet... there was no visible light source. She looked up, at the high ceiling of her cave, and saw three openings with light spilling from all three. One of them, a large, round opening, was very close to the wall. She was filled with a longing for her lost ability to fly so strong it nearly dropped her to her knees.

Instead, she turned to the wall and began studying it intently. She had no intention of staying in that cave a minute longer. She’d never been a rock climber, but knew people claimed they could scale smooth concrete buildings. She was small, light, strong, and facing a rough stone wall. If she couldn’t fly out, then she would climb.

She determinedly set her jaw, reached up, and grabbed a small outcropping. It seemed so easy at first. She had a small fall, then started up again. She would locate a new hand hold, reach for it, grab and test her grip, then use it to support herself while she found a new toehold. Then her muscles started to ache and burn and quiver. She found herself plastered against a wall that was starting to curve inward, a climb that was only going to get harder, muscles telling her they had nothing left to give, and a drop far enough to be certain to injure her if she fell.

Despair welled up and slapped her. She dropped her forehead against the wall as tears formed in her eyes. For just a moment, all she could think of was flying around Founder’s Falls at sunset. It was a memory so beautiful and real that she lost herself in it. She shrieked as her left foot slipped from its perch, and then her right. She tightened her hand grip and hung, terrified, her feet dangling over the stone floor too far below. Then she felt a cool strength steadying her hands and smiled. Whether he was real or not, Ice9 was still with her. She cautiously, slowly, reached with her left foot for the tiny ledge it had rested on earlier, and, when she found it, took some of the strain off her grateful hands. She set her right foot back into place and looked up. If she could reach the chimney above, there was a tiny ledge wide enough for her to rest. Until then, she just had to keep moving.

By the time she reached that ledge, her whole body was aching and trembling. The chimney extended about 20 feet up and narrowed as it got higher. For the first time she wondered if it would be too narrow for her to fit. She wedged her body into the narrow stone chimney, her heels on the ledge, her back against the opposite wall, and locked her knees. She let her exhausted arms dangle down, and lifted her face to the light above.

She would have given just about anything if she could have lifted up and flown out of there right then. She had refused to consider the possibility that she might not recover her powers, but she could no longer hold back the thoughts. Her reckless flight around Founders, Eden, and the Hive that was cut short by Walter’s awakening might very well be the last flight she ever took. But, that hardly meant that her life was over. Even her life as a hero didn’t have to be over. Ahren, for instance, lost not just his powers, but half of his very life when the Shades stole his Kheldian half from him, but he returned, taught himself new skills, and continued the fight. She could do the same. Gun, sword, maybe even an axe. Maybe some armor. She could talk to UPS about nanites, or the Sooner sisters about fighting. And even if she didn’t fly under her own power, there were rocket boots or wings she could buy. It wouldn’t be the same, but she could still be a hero.

But still, she was filled with a painful longing to regain her powers. She’d even gladly welcome Walter’s grumbling if it came with the ability to take flight and call the heart of a winter’s storm. And almost as strongly, she longed for her friends in her safe, familiar base. And... Oh! How she wished she’d confided in them when this all first started. They might have been able to help her. And even if they hadn’t, she would certainly not be stuck alone and powerless in Oranbega facing the possibility of slow death by starvation if the mages didn’t find her first and turn her over to the raving lunatic who had been promising to torture her soul for eternity.

That thought was motivation to resume climbing, even though the burning ache started again almost as soon as she pulled herself up the first time. She was panting, nearly sobbing with the pain by the time she finally reached the top. Her fingers were bleeding, her back was scratched from a near fall, and she wasn’t sure she would ever again have the strength to stand, much less walk.

She looked around cautiously, and was more relieved that she would have cared to admit to find the dead end hallway at the top deserted. She dragged herself out by sheer willpower, and was nearly stuck when her hips reached the top. Her body had a few more scrapes when she finally pulled her legs out. She crawled behind a tumble of rocks where the hallway had collapsed, curled into a tight ball, and shuddered with reaction and relief.

And then she was suddenly back in that featureless white room. Ice9 leaned back against the wall.

“Well done,” he said. “Now, you have got to take care of that thorn. It must be destroyed or someone else might one day use it to control you, either directly or indirectly. It must be done, for everyone's sake."

“I don’t know h-”

He spoke over her, “It must be done. And, you, Ici, must learn that sometimes even a hero needs to ask for help.”

“Ice...”

But he was gone.

Part 17 of Homecoming is up.

We're almost done... I promise.

...and Part 6 of Broken Thorn as well, in the RP section.

The Broken Thorn

Part 6

In the upper reaches of Oranbega, a stone door slid open and a shadow flitted through. Only the most observant would have even heard a whisper of a footstep as death slid into the realm of the Circle of Thorns.

He crept silently along the stone passages, following instructions given by Magus Mu’Drakken. With care, he side stepped mages and demons guarding the halls and passed through the magical portals deeper and deeper into the ancient city. There was no need to shed the blood of these mages and no extra money to be had for their deaths, so, on that day, they were allowed to continue breathing.

He made his way to a spectacular room rising high into the air, and dropping down into the depths. Narrow hanging bridges, wooden walkways, and the occasional portal were the only ways to ascend the heights, or descend safely. Following his instinct, he made his way carefully down into the room.

The ground floor was knee deep in water, making it challenging for even a man of his talents to remain hidden. Nonetheless, he persevered, and was soon climbing a smooth stone staircase to a warm and dry hallway. And, just a few hundred feet later, and he found himself in an enormous library. The room was three stories high, and the walls were lined with books. The sheer number of books should have made his task impossible, but he had detailed instructions from his employer, and wasted no time finding his way to the correct section. From there, it was a matter of comparing the scribbled characters on a notecard to the ancient symbols on the spines of the books on the shelf. Not a single title was in a language he understood, but he quickly and efficiently went down the shelf until he found the thick book that matched.

He paused, waiting until the attendants in the room were occupied and began slowly sliding the book from the shelf. When more of its hefty weight rested in his hands than on the shelf, he shrugged his shoulder and the pitch black messenger-style bag on his back slipped around to hang in front of his body. He carefully slipped the book inside and then straightened, readjusting the bag so it hung unobtrusively on his back.

And that was when he was spotted by one of the enormous behemoths. It roared out a warning, and immediately belched fiery breath at him. He dived aside and drew his katana, the lush steel singing as it slid from its sheath. It was now too late to avoid combat, so he embraced it instead. He could have died many times over, out-numbered and out-magicked, but he was skilled, determined, and lucky. Again and again his katana found its way deep into vulnerable bodies, puncturing hearts, severing spines. He was an incredibly efficient killer; he took no joy in it, so wasted no time savoring it. It was the job, and right then, the job required those deaths.

He finished a last behemoth, and spun around to find he was the only living being left in the room. He turned back to the entrance, and that was when the strap on his bag broke and the bag containing the priceless book fell to the floor. He crouched, scowling to see that the strap had been cut most of the way through during the fight. It was a complication, and he didn’t appreciate complications on the job. He couldn’t carry the book and fight, and it was far too valuable to risk dropping if he was forced to fight again. But, he also wouldn’t collect the remainder of his fee standing in that library, so, he carefully cleaned the blade and sheathed it, tucked the book - still in the bag - under his arm, and set off.
---

A voice woke her, a deep, familiar voice, “Heroes use their powers to make a difference, powers never make Heroes.”

Ici startled awake, but she was alone in her small cave. She was surprised to realize she’d actually dozed off, but completely delighted to find she had woken up the same place she went to sleep. She had no idea how long she’d been there, but had to assume she was safely hidden. She was hungry and stiff, but while she’d slept, she come to a simple plan: escape the cave, recover her thorn fragment, regain her powers. and escape Oranbega Not necessarily in that exact order.

She crouched at the edge of the pool through which she’d entered the cave. The surface of the water was deceptively still, but she knew it was more turbulent under the surface. She was more frightened than she cared to admit to herself about the possibility of reentering that wild water and trying to travel down the tunnel. What if, after everything that had happened, she ended up drowning trapped in a narrow stone tunnel?

She shook her head and resolutely hopped into the pool. The water was surprisingly warm as the underwater currents swirled around her legs. She deliberately hyperventilated as she explored the pool with hands and feet. Near the deepest end, she found what she’d expected - a large opening extending away from her cave, and turbulence strong enough to knock her up on her toes. She held her breath and sank under the water, but she could not see the end of the tunnel.

She broke the surface of the water. “Oh.... this is so stupid!” she muttered to herself. “Drowning? Or starving to death in this cave?” She took a deep breath, and another, and then, with a third, dropped under the surface again and pushed off, swimming hard for the tunnel. She hadn’t even made the entrance when a swirling current picked her up, tumbled her around, and slammed her into the floor. She surfaced again, coughing and choking. “Oh, this is impossible,” she coughed.

Ici was nothing if she was not stubborn and determined. As soon as she had recovered her breath, she tried again. And again. And again. Each time she sputtered her way to the surface just a little more tired than before. She made one more effort, putting everything she had into one last push. She actually made it to the entrance of the tunnel before the wild water grabbed her again. Her head hit a rocky outcropping with a sickening thud, and she was instantly disoriented. She felt water hit the back of her throat and she began flailing frantically, desperate for one breath of air.

Her lungs burned as every cell in her body was clamoring for oxygen. She didn’t know which way was up and the only bubbles she could see were swirling around as madly as she was.

Then, like a gift from an angel, she saw a pale hand and arm plunge into the water. She grabbed at it, but she was too weak to hold on. She lost her grip, and slid away again. That was when the hand grabbed her by the shoulder of her uniform and dragged her out of the pool.

She coughed and gagged, trying to drag air into her body. She blinked her eyes clear and gasped again.

“That was a dumb [censored] move,” the dead man said.

“Ice?” she choked out, then collapsed.

Part five of Broken Thorn is up in RP.

The Broken Thorn

Part 5

Sooner finally collapsed into bed. She had spent the day chasing down CoT trying to find any word on what had happened to Ici, but had had no luck. Ici had woken up in the infirmary much earlier than anyone could have expected given the dose of sedative she’d been given, walked out without a word, and vanished.

With the news that the broken thorn had been taken from the MAGI vault, Sooner’s concern for Ici was twisting her guts. Sooner had finally returned to the base and spent hours more pouring over every book the Ghosts’s library possessed on the Circle. No closer to finding her friend than before, Sooner had just crawled under the covers and closed her eyes when someone pounded on her door.

“What!” she yelled, reminding herself once again that she really needed to find her own apartment.

“You have a call, from Azuria.”

“At 3:15 in the morning?” Sooner jumped out of bed and scrambled into her clothes. “I’ll be right there!” She sprinted out the door, after stubbing her toe viciously on her dresser, and flew at top speed down the hall. She snatched up the phone and nearly shouted, “Azuria? What is it? Have you found her?”

There was a long silence before Azuria finally answered. “No, sadly, no. I have important news, though. That word she kept saying “Kajinast” - I asked Akarist what it was.”

Sooner shivered as dread climbed her spine with cold claws. Azuria’s reluctance to speak the news - news so important she’d called in the middle of the night - was an ominous sign of just how bad that news would be. “What is it, Azuria? Just tell me.”

Azuria sighed audibly. “It’s a name. An extremely powerful mage - one of the most powerful of them. If the thorn is missing, and Ici as well, we have to assume they mean to reunite the pieces and bring Kajinast back to life. It can’t be allowed to happen. It would make them so much more powerful.”

Sooner let out her frustration is a hiss between her teeth before answering, “But we have no idea where they are!”

“Akarist may have an answer there as well.”
---

Ici walked in a stunned daze between the three mages. She kept looking at her bare arms, a vibrant pink she hadn’t seen since her first trip into Oranbega. She wished she understood what had happened to her, but it was too soon, too much to wrap her bewildered brain around.

They descended deeper and deeper into the ancient city, and finally the truly important question occurred to Ici: What was going to happen when they got where they were going? All of a sudden all of Walter’s random rants and threats took on a whole new urgency. What if he had a way to make it happen?

It was a much more immediate fear than her concern over spending the rest of her life never being able to fly again. It finally roused her out of her dazed confusion. She lifted her head and began to look around. She knew she needed to act, and quickly, before she found herself in a situation she couldn’t escape.

They passed through a stone doorway, and into a room design Ici had seen many times before. She didn’t think about the long drop, she didn’t think about the fact that she couldn’t even hover to break her fall. She feigned a stumble to get closer to the edge, and dived off the stone shelf. The fall seemed to take forever, and she couldn’t stop herself from screaming as she fell faster and faster. She hit the water below and it felt like slamming into asphalt. All the air whooshed out of her lungs as the water closed over her head. She hit bottom, and refused to even acknowledge the possibility she might be injured. She kicked up to the surface and took a desperate breath, coughing and sputtering, as she broke the surface.

Her captors were scrambling down the long stone ramps. With a strength born of pure desperation, Ici dragged herself out of the water and ran for her very soul. She broke around a stone pillar and looked around frantically for an escape. There was a tunnel leading away to her right, and a raging waterfall to her left. She hesitated for just a moment, then she saw a flash of someone in a Ghosts Reborn blue and white uniform beckoning her from within the depths of the waterfall.

Without another moment of doubt, she ran straight into the waterfall. The force of the water knocked her from her feet and she slid back under. The turbulence picked her up and whirled her around, and in seconds she had no idea which way was up or down. She struggled to escape, but it seemed hopeless. Her lungs were burning and she was growing weaker.

Just as she decided that death by drowning was at least preferable to spending eternity as a disembodied soul at the mercy of a vilely evil mage, her feet hit bottom again and she was able to stand. She looked around and found herself in a small cave with no apparent entrance or exit, and no sign of a supergroup mate, either. Then she looked down at the pool in which she stood and realized there was some sort of underwater tunnel behind the waterfall and she must have imagined the blue on white uniform in the tumbling shapes of the waterfall. She pulled herself out of the pool onto the relatively dry stone, and waited to see if this tiny cave was her trap or her haven.
---

With trepidation, Alanak walked into the small room. The broken thorn lay on the stone table, and Alanak could feel a cold stare even though the ancient wood had no eyes.

“Kajinast, we have the fragment!” he announced. He placed the conical bit of wood near the thorn, where it should have been, were it not broken off.

“Where is Ici Cold?” the voice demanded.

Alanak considered and discarded a number of answers. “She is... lost... in Oranbega.”

“Lost?” the deep voiced scoffed. “A powerless girl, and she escaped you?”

“As you say, she is powerless. She cannot escape Oranbega. She will be recaptured, and soon.”

Part 16 of Homecoming is up.

Part four of Broken Thorn is up.

The Broken Thorn

Part 4

Sooner Spirit stood in Azuria’s office waiting while the mage translated the scribbled notes. Sooner watched young heroes running busily about in city hall and was suddenly awash in nostalgia. It seemed so very long ago she had first stepped into this office and hesitantly approached Azuria for the first time.

“Here we are,” Azuria said. “I understand this was merely a phonetic transcript, but I simply couldn’t make out some of the words. Most of it is threats of some sort or another, ‘torture your soul,’ ‘make you my slave,’ ‘fiery torment,’ but here” she said pointing at her notes, “she mentions ‘making the thorn whole,’ ‘being free of this half-life,’ and ‘living again at last.’” Azuria looked up at Sooner, concern in her eyes, “Ici Cold was saying this, and it was all in ancient Oranbegan?”

“She was lying in our infirmary, holding her head and screaming this gibberish.” Sooner asked, “Azuria, what ever happened with the thorn we brought you?”

“Let me check.” Azuria leafed through a file cabinet and removed a thick binder. “Let me see.. There were three separate studies performed on it. Each found that while there was still significant magical energy contained within the thorn it was functionally inert. It was finally placed in archival storage and there it remai-” Azuria broke off and frowned. She swiftly turned pages back and forth in the binder. She looked up at Sooner, worry plain on her pretty face. “One moment, Sooner, please.”

Azuria picked up her desk phone and dialed quickly. She whispered urgently into the phone, and then stood, staring into space, obviously waiting on hold. After a long, long wait, in which Sooner became more and more certain what Azuria was going to say, Azuria jerked, glanced quickly at Sooner, and put the phone down.

“The thorn,” she said slowly and reluctantly, “has been stolen from the MAGI vault.”
---

Ici sat cross-legged on the couch in the back room. Dana had picked out a lovely pale blue crystal, strung on a white ribbon, and hung it around Ici’s neck. She placed a delicate china cup full of a strong smelling brew into Ici’s hands, and then stood solemnly before her.

“Are you ready?” she asked quietly. Ici nodded reluctantly. “Ok.. Drink the potion, and then sit back with your eyes closed. You’ll feel calm and peaceful, and may fall asleep. I’ll wake you when it’s done.”

Ici nodded and sipped the jade green, thick liquid. It has a strong overtone of anise, and something mustier underneath. She wrinkled her nose, but forced herself to drink all of it. She looked up to see Dana smiling with satisfaction at her, and something in that smile unnerved Ici. She started to stand, but the room was spinning and she fell back.

“Wait...” she protested. “I don’t know-”

“Just close your eyes and relax now. It’ll be over very soon.”

Dana’s words reached right through Ici’s concern, rode straight over her will. Ici obeyed. She leaned back against the rough wall behind her and closed her eyes. Dana began to chant, and the words, the rhythms, rang alarm bells deep inside the part of Ici that was still awake, and becoming more frightened. She tried to shake off the vicious lassitude that had overtaken her, but she just kept sinking deeper and deeper into sleep.

That was when the pain started. It felt as if something was trying to claw its way out of her chest. The added impetus of her sudden anguish finally woke her enough to open her eyes. Dana was surrounded by a green mist that sent terrifying tendrils drifting throughout the room. Ici felt as if her limbs were made of lead, but she dragged her hand to the flesh over her heart and was terrified to feel her skin bulging and crawling.

“No, no, no-no-no,” Ici murmured. She managed to roll onto her hands and knees and inch by inch tried to crawl off the couch. The pain grew worse, her ribs felt like they were being ripped apart. Her skin swelled and then split open. Ici screamed and fell back. She shrieked as she felt something crawl out of her skin. She put one hand to her chest and looked down as a conical piece of bloody wood fell into her palm.

Dana lunged forward and snatched the wood from Ici’s palm. Ici collapsed back onto the bed, suddenly warm and flush. With the pain fading, the potion was taking control and dragging Ici back into sleep. She blinked, and thought idly that she really should wake up as a trio of green robed mages entered the back of the shop. And then she slept.
---

Azuria sat in her office, studying the hand written notes again. She remembered Ici Cold as a novice hero. The girl had been unfailingly cheerful and delighted in each new manifestation of her powers. Of course, MAGI knew the source of her powers was the small cone of enchanted wood imbedded next to her heart, but there had been no indication that Ici was in any danger from it. But now, Azuria wasn’t sure if she was more concerned that a hero of Ici’s power was apparently losing her mind, or that the happy young woman she remembered had vanished and no one knew if she was safe or not.

Azuria was trying to put together any words she could from the phonetic spellings, but having no more luck. There was one word or phrase repeated several times, though, that she didn’t know. A curse word, perhaps? A proper name? The more she studied the notes, the more convinced she became that it was significant. Finally, she tossed down her pen, and dialed the phone.

“I need Akarist,” she said. “I don’t care what time it is, I need him here, now.” She listened and nodded. “Bring him to my office as soon as you can.”
---

Ici was very uncomfortable. It was hard to breath and the world was moving. And she was so warm. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt this warm. Her head throbbed in time with a deep ache in her chest. She snapped awake, remembering the pain, and the CoT mages entering the room as she lost consciousness.

She was slung over a green-robed shoulder, and she instantly recognized the warm stone illuminated by flickering fire as tunnels in Oranbega. She screamed, and pushed away from the mage holding her. She landed hard on her knees and stumbled up quickly. The three mages all spun to face her. She was confused but knew her first priority needed to be escape. Then she could try to figure out what had happened.

She reached for the cold, and it wasn’t there. She closed her eyes and tried again, but there was nothing. There was no cold, no sleet, no snow, no ice, not even a north wind. Her eyes flew open and she nearly fell again. Her mind chanted to her I’ve got to get out, I’ve got to get out! She leapt up into the air, to fly high and fast away, but crashed back onto her hands and knees. She couldn’t fly. Her mind reeled as she struggled to understand. She put her hand to the swollen painful wound on her chest and realized finally what had happened. She wasn’t a hero anymore.

And now I've posted Part Three of The Broken Thorn in RP.

The Broken Thorn
Part Three

Part 3

Ici woke again, trapped in blackness. She’d heard voices, but couldn’t understand them. Something very bad was happening, and she needed to wake up! She struggled and fought to open her eyes, to control her body, but she could not escape the darkness. She had a panicked moment, wondering if Walter had managed to wrest control from her once and for all, and if the remainder of her life would be spent trapped in this black void, then, abruptly, she was wide awake.

She was standing on a dingy street in front of a shop window with stick on letters as its only signage. She turned, and found herself face to face with an alarmed, middle-aged, plump woman. Her frizzy hair of indeterminate color was pulled back in a bun in a futile attempt to tame it. She wore a gauzy, tie-dyed skirt, rope sandals, an embroidered peasant blouse, and strings of beads from her neck, wrists, waist, and hair. She stared at Ici with wide eyes and one hand still lifted in a warding gesture.

“Your aura...” she said, “it changed...”

“My... aura?” Ici repeated.

“I felt it.. You were so... dark. Then you crossed my boundaries, and.. It changed.” The woman peered more closely at Ici, “Are you alright?” she asked.

Ici stared back at the worried, kind eyes of the stranger, and let herself slump against the wall. “No. No, I’m pretty much the opposite of alright.”

The woman reached out gently and took Ici by the elbow. “Come inside and sit down. You can call me Dana.”

Dana led the way into the cramped, dim shop. Windows were covered with overlapping sun-catchers of every imaginable description. The air was redolent with patchouli, and every available space from the closely packed shelves to the very window ledges was crammed with merchandise. Books covering topics ranging from wicca to snake handling to black arts, beads, crystals, tarot decks, powdered herbs and other assorted spell components, small carved totems, and even a rack of crudely humorous greeting cards.

They brushed through a beaded curtain behind the cash register in a tiny room with a couch, a TV, a table, a water cooler, and a mini-fridge. Dana settled Ici down on the couch and handed her a soda. Ici clutched it in both hands and took small sips as she began to shake with reaction.

“Now, tell me, what is the problem?” Dana asked.

Ici took a sip and looked up. “I’m a hero...” she said.

“Well, of course, dear, I recognized you,” Dana answered.

Ici nodded, and looked down at her hands. “I didn’t do anything special to become a hero.. It could have been anybody. It just... it just happened to me...”


Before she was Ici Cold, she was Brittany Frost, and a more bubble-headed, shallow girl was not to be found in Paragon City. She attended the best private school, obsessed about clothes, make–up, cars, and boys. She snuck the hems of her uniform skirts up a few extra inches to show off her legs, and worried far more about whether she could make captain of the cheerleading squad than she did about the still ongoing recovery efforts from the Rikti war.

Brittany was walking home from school that day because she’d been grounded from driving, and she was too stubborn to ask her parents for a ride. She’d taken a shortcut across an alleyway, and been grabbed. The men were terrifying in their robes and casual uses of magic, and no amount of crying, screaming, demanding made any difference.

She was just one of a group of captives led down into Oranbega. She was awed into silence by the ancient walls, cowed into submission by the casual force the mages used on the captives.

She was taken deeper and deeper into the underground city, until they entered a vast room with pools of water around the edges, enormous braziers providing the light, and guarded by huge demons. She was nearly paralyzed by fear by the time she was handed over to a group of a half-dozen mages. She was firmly held in place while they formed a circle around her and began chanting and gesturing. Before she could react, she was surrounded by a green fog that lifted her off the ground and held her immobile. She squirmed and wriggled in sudden terror, but was held fast.

The mage who had held her until the chanting began left the circle and opened an ornately carved box. He reverently removed a dark, wooden thorn and carefully re-entered the circle holding the thorn in front of him like lance.

Brittany had no idea what he had in mind, but the look in his eyes terrified her. She struggled with all her strength to be free, but was held fast, helplessly watching him approach. He was within arms reach of her when he paused and looked back at the corridor beyond. Brittany became award of shouts and screams, metallic clangs and meaty thuds. Several mages ran into the room, shouting warnings and waving arms.


The mage holding the thorn looked back at Brittany with a determined set of his jaw. He carefully placed the point of the thorn right over her heart. She finally understood what he meant to do and began to scream in hopeless terror.

He pushed against the thorn, and Brittany screamed anew as the needle-sharp point penetrated her skin. She struggled wildly against the magic holding her, to no avail. She’d never felt pain this intense and it grew worse by the second as the mage pushed again. The point penetrated her ribs, and it suddenly became hard to breathe. She didn’t even have the air to whimper a protest.

She thought she’d surely die from the pain when suddenly the thorn was struck at a glancing angle way from her by a glowing sword of ice. The thorn hit the ground, and as the mages stopped chanting, Brittany hit the ground as well. She put a hand to her chest as she gasped for air and could feel the skin moving under her palm. After just a few seconds, there was no wound to be felt at all. Brittany looked up and saw the thorn, its tip broken off, lying on the ground a few feet away. She stood up abruptly and gingerly kicked the broken thorn away from her.

The room was filled with people fighting. Even in her fear and shock, Ici recognized some of them as The Ghosts Reborn. The man who had knocked the thorn away from her was called Atarax, he was followed by a tall, slender woman in red leather that she recognized as Sooner Spirit, and behind them were Ice9, Broken Shadow and Celestial Nav.

Brittany danced back to stand against the wall and watch the fight wide eyed. Her hand kept going to her chest, where thorn had entered. There was no pain, but she could feel a chill seeping out of it, permeating her body. And then she heard the voice she would eventually call Walter for the first time. It roared out angrily, and, even though she couldn’t understand, she could tell he was furious. He ranted, his voice growing so loud she clutched her head, dropped to her knees and moaned.

“Hey! Hey, kid.. Are you ok?” She looked up, wide eyed, at Atarax and the other heroes standing in a semi-circle in front of her.

“I- I- don’t...” Brittany paused, and realized for the first time that she couldn’t tell anyone she heard a voice in her head. They would think she was crazy. “I don’t feel well.” She patted her chest again. “There’s something in me, I think.”

The heroes exchanged worried glances, and Atarax said, “no.. no I stopped them before they finished it.” He turned. “Look, there it is, see?”

Sooner Spirit picked up that thorn and brought it back to the group. “It’s.. broken.” she mused. She looked thoughtfully at Brittany.

Brittany was wracked with a savage chill, “I’m so cold.” She wrapped her arms around her shoulder and shuddered.

“We’ve got to get her out of here,” Celestial Nav said, glancing around the now quiet room.

Ice9 added, “Bring the thorn.”

Just then, a counter-attack of mages charged into the room. The heroes were back on the attack, and Brittany stayed pressed back against the wall, watching fearfully. She was growing colder and colder as they continued to fight, so cold she couldn’t even shiver.

A pair of mages broke off from the fight and ran straight at Brittany. The heroes either didn’t see or weren’t able to break away to help her. The pair grabbed her by the elbows and started to drag her out of the room.

Brittany, filled with fresh terror, pulled away, screamed “Nooooo!” at the top of her lungs, and threw her arms in the air. From somewhere deep inside, she released the cold and found herself standing in the middle of an icy rain. The two mages ran out of the stingingly bitter cold as the heroes at last responded and finished them off. The rain tapered off, and Brittany realized the heroes were all staring at her.

“C’mon,” said Atarax, shaking his head.

Sooner Spirit exchanged a significant glance with Ice9, shook her head, and looked hard at Brittany. “Perhaps you’d best come back to our base for bit.”


Ici finished off her soda, and looked back up at Dana. “...and that’s how it happened. I stayed with them long enough to show everyone I wasn’t going to turn evil, told my parents I was dropping out of school and becoming a hero.... and every now and then, I hear a voice.”

Dana looked thoughtful, “But... what happened to the thorn?”

“They tried some stuff on it, but it couldn’t be hurt, and it didn’t seem to have any special powers left. They turned it over to that chick at MAGI, and... here I am. I think they believe that breaking the thorn killed the soul inside, and.. I never told them any different.”

“And ‘Walter’ seems to be getting stronger now?” Ici nodded. Dana smiled reassuringly. “I think I can help you, Ici. I know a binding spell. We can do it together, and bind Walter so he can’t bother you any more.”

“Really?” Ici felt a flare of hope, but a small, cynical part of her was muttering about things that seemed too good to be true. “What would we have to do?”

Dana leaned forward. “We would need a flawless crystal, of which I have several, we would drink a special tea brewed especially for this ritual, and then I do some chanting.. And then no more voice in your head.”

Ici shook her head. “I’m sorry. You seem nice, but I don’t know you. I’m... I’ve got to talk to someone. I’ll go to... Azuria, or Cadao.” Ici stood abruptly. “Thank you for listening, but.. I just can’t.”

Several expressions flitted over Dana’s face before finally settling with concern. “But, Ici... what if-”

Ici strode quickly to the door. “I’m sorry, Dana. I can’t.”

A weight seemed to have fallen off her. The decision to seek help from someone she trusted made it seem as if things were already better. She pushed the door open and strode out through the door. She smiled up at the overcast sky and lifted into flight, but as soon as she crossed the boundary of the shop, the blackness swelled up, overwhelming her. Her vision was fading to black, she fell to the sidewalk and felt Walter come roaring out from deep inside.

<The last time! No more shall you push me aside! Your soul will never know another moment’s peace!>

With the last will she had, Ici turned around and crawled back toward the shop. As if through a dense fog, she could see Dana stretching out a hand for her. Ici reached out, and as she felt herself losing the battle, Dana’s hand closed over hers and dragged her back into the shop.

Walter vanished with a furious cry, and Ici curled up with her head in her hands.

Dana crouched in front of Ici and reached out to touch her shoulder. “Let me help you”

Ici looked up at her, fought back terrified tears, and nodded, once.

...and Part 15 of Homecoming is posted as well.