It was the bell that woke Reggie from his fitful sleep. It wasnt some psychic early-warning system, or magical ward, or guardian spirit. Just a bell on a string. That particular string led to the maintenance door on the roof, and at... (he rubbed his eyes and struggled to focus on the clock) three in the morning, it could only mean that the Circle had found him again.
Fear shot through him like a thousand volts, and he rolled out of bed with all the grace and agility of a 6-month Taekwondo student (who may have missed a few classes). He snatched the Louisville Slugger from under his thin mattress and backed into a corner. Sure, he knew some karate, but in the real world, karate plus a baseball bat was always better than karate alone.
Gritting his teeth and choking up on the bat, he stood there in the dark, naked except for his boxer shorts, staring at the bells dangling over his bed. Which one would ring next? The service elevator opened directly into the boiler room - which also happened to be Reggies apartment. If they came in that way, he would have to face them all at once unless he disabled the elevator. That would slow them down, but it would cost him the element of surprise.
But the stairs and the main elevator opened into the laundry room, which in turn, faced Reggies locked door. If they came that way, he would have some surprise, a neat bottleneck at the doorway and some cover from the crossbows. That would be very nice, but he doubted the Circle of Thorns would be so considerate.
The third entryway didnt worry him at all. The basement window wasnt much of a threat, being just barely large enough for one at a time, and situated as it was above an algae-slick puddle of water with a convenient handrail within arms reach (jury-rigged to send 240 volts through anything that touched it). But apart from that, he couldnt think of a good reason to open the door on the roof, only to come in through the window.
Then again, he couldnt think of a good reason they would try to kidnap him four times. Surely there were more convenient sacrifice victims in Paragon City. None of it made a whole lot of sense. What was so special about him? The cultists had been going on about his bloodline, and taking extra special care not to actually spill his blood, but he got the impression that they were interested in emptying his body of its most important cargo - Reggie.
What are they doing up there? He briefly entertained the notion that some muscle-bound hero was up there at this very moment dealing with the threat, but quickly cast that hope aside. One miraculous nick-of-time superhero rescue was about as much as one guy could hope for, and hed already had his.
Maybe if he were built like Mary Jane Watson, or had a pair of legs like Lois Lane he could expect more heroic attention, but as it was, he was just another face in the crowd. Solotaire wouldnt even recognize his one-time rescuee from six months ago. Reggie had been one of a dozen or more intended victims at the time, and had probably been rescued because one of the other eleven knew people who knew people.
Nevertheless, Reggie constantly kicked himself for not asking for that heros phone number. With three Circle of Thorn attacks in the six months since then, hed probably get more sleep if he had the ability to contact a convenient hero when
*BING*
The bell hooked to the service elevator sounded off. Reggie tried not to imagine what was headed his way down that long dark elevator shaft. Simple robed guards? Spectral demons? Mages? Behemoths? What would they send against him this time, after being denied three times before? His heart pounded in his ears. What good was a baseball bat against magic?
*BONG*
Oh no. It was the bell for the stairs. They were sending two groups! His mind scrambled to absorb that and work out his options. Two groups meant that they were prepared for him this time. There would be little hope that theyd underestimated him. The exits would be covered or magically sealed. There was nothing left for him to do but slug it out. The only question was how a man in a pair of fruit of the looms with a baseball bat was going to beat down a half-dozen or more spell-slinging, sword wielding, crossbow shooting cultists.
One at a time. That was the best answer he had.
Rihaj slid from one quantum wormhole to the next, covering light years in minutes. One of the few benefits of lacking a host body was the ability to take advantage of the trillions of quark-sized holes in space-time that perforated the cosmos. Physical beings, like his pursuers, would be forced to take massively bulky ships, stretching each wormhole they needed until it could accommodate them, then sliding through, only to begin the search for the new one. It was a process that would take time.
Given the distance to Earth and our relative speeds, we will arrive fourteen point three seven days before our Hunters. This allows for our pursuers to begin the chase after a one hour period of preparation, and of course, assumes that they know where we are going, the Vlegrit ego offered.
Vlegrit was one of Rihajs first hosts. A peerless physicist from a world that had long ago put war and murder behind it. As always, when violence and ugliness came near, Vlegrit retreated to his calculations. His ego could not cope with such things in any other way, even after two centuries. Vlegrit, like Rihaj himself, was a lover of peace. But where Rihaj strove to end conflict, Vlegrits only mechanism was to avoid it.
Rihaj could not afford to let him retreat. Oh, have no doubt, Vlegrit, they know where were going. They will find us. We will have less than fourteen days to find a human host matching our resonance, and hope that he is a fast learner.
Sadness and despair wafted from the Flahad ego. And pray that his body is stronger than mine was. Parting with it was so hard, Rihaj and the pain of its loss! It hurts so much! Does it get easier?
The other egos reached out and gave strength and comfort to Flahad. Rihaj, for his part, felt more guilt and self-doubt than ever. The Flahad host body had been a nearly perfect energy fulcrum, and he had hoped her offensive abilities would be enough to stop his pursuers. Yet, Rihaj had led her to her death. He could not save her. Still, they had all planned for this. They had always known that Flahads form would not be enough.
Humans are stronger, in some ways, yes. But we dont seek them for their strength. Their minds are agile, adaptive. It is said that with a human host and sufficient training, we will be able to use the memory of each of your bodies where needed. It will be almost as if your body is alive again, Flahad. You will fly again, I promise you.
It took precious seconds to yank the ancient fuse for the service elevator, bringing it to a halt on about the ninth or tenth floor by Reggies guess. It would have been nice to have rigged the elevator to free-fall the last ninety feet, and it was something Reggie had actually considered. But bypassing the rickety elevators barely adequate safety features might have hurt or killed people who didnt deserve it. There was no time for regret now.
He scrambled to the boiler and gave the pipe wrench a quick tug. Steam shot out like dragons breath and he ducked aside. Would it fill the room and obscure their vision? He didnt know, but it couldnt hurt. He knew the old boiler room better than they did. Not much of an advantage, but any advantage was a welcome one.
What-else-what-else? A hundred half-considered contingencies fought to be recognized. How many sleepless nights had he spent wrapped up in paranoia trying to plan for every scenario? Too many, it seemed then, but now
not nearly enough. Was he about to panic? He hoped not, but he couldnt think. There was something else that was a good idea
if only he could calm down enough to remember!
Work light! His bare feet slapped a desperate rhythm on the cold concrete floor to his tool bench. There, the five-hundred watt halogen work light waited to be plugged in. To have the switch thrown and maybe for a moment, blind an attacker. He stabbed the plug toward the socket, his hands slick with sweat. Wrong way! His nerves made the task of twisting the plug so much harder than it should have been.
*click*
The laundry room door! He was down to seconds. His left hand groped among the tools on the workbench for something, anything to improve his impossible odds. His fingers found and rejected a half-dozen tools before wrapping themselves around the handle of an old ball-peen hammer. The head had probably been ready to fall off when the last maintenance man had been young. Long overdue to be replaced, but tonight, he just hoped it flew straight.
He hefted it in his right hand, waiting for the inevitable. The door would open, and he would have to fight.
The old brass knob seemed to wiggle, they were testing it to see if it were locked. Of course it was. The knob began to glow a dull green, so subtle he might almost convince himself he were imagining it, then it turned. The door opened just an inch or two. They had learned that lesson well, from the last time. But this door was not booby trapped. They grew more confident and opened it a full foot.
Then, Reggie saw the cultists face, and let the hammer fly
--right into the plaster of the wall near the door. Hed missed, and badly. A crossbow came up, the door widened. Reggie saw at least four other men behind the first, but did not waste time counting. He leapt from the shadows before the first cultist could see where the hammer had come from, and body-slammed the door. A satisfying wet thud of resistance jolted his shoulder as he knocked the lead cultist into his friends. Yanking the door aside he swung the bat in a wide and powerful arc, hitting the dazed man in the collarbone before reversing the swing to catch another cultist across the teeth. That man would not be getting up any time soon.
All hope of surprise now ruined, Reggie brought the bat up to finish him with. Die! You miserable satanic bast--!
A wickedly sharp curved knife sliced his hip. He danced aside and swung the bat around toward the new threat, but the thunderous BONG told him that hed only made contact with a washing machine.
ENOUGH! a voice boomed. Reggie swung his face around and saw the glowing eyes of a mage peering through the gloom. The sorcerer raised a robed arm and Reggie felt cold, otherworldly hands grab his waist and ankles. Gooseflesh crept up his torso as the invisible hands worked their way up his body, where they would soon immobilize him completely. He felt his feet lift off the linoleum.
More out of spite than any hope of escape, Reggie summoned all the strength of his arm and shoulder to send the bat flying. Miraculously, it hit! The sorcerer clutched at his solar plexus and doubled over with a very unmage-like Ooomf!
The spectral hands vanished and Reggie fell to the floor, jarring his legs, but too numb with adrenalin to notice. While he was down, he yanked out the wooden block that served for one of the legs of the industrial washer. One of the men on the floor stretched out to grab his foot while he was trying to stand, and Reggie brought the heavy washer down on his head. Without sparing a backward glance, he dove back into his apartment. In seconds he had re-armed himself with a three-foot pipe wrench.
The first man to the door took a crushing blow to his crossbow arm, and Reggie hoped he heard a bone snap. The second man, however had a long falchion, and parried Reggies overhand swing effortlessly. But Reggie was not above planting a knee between the mans legs and dropping him that way. Cultist or not, every man had a weak spot.
As the cultist crumpled to the floor in agony, the mage had caught his wind, and began chanting, while more cultists probably the team from the elevator- came running past him to keep Reggie occupied. Whatever spell the sorcerer was casting, Reggie didnt intend to make himself an easy target. He limped out of line of sight, ducking under the hissing steam, and holding a hand to the deep cut in his hip to try and stop the blood running down his leg. Three more cultists poured in through the door, now that he had given up defending his bottleneck.
He cracked the first skull he saw ducking under the steam after him, and the body fell limp, its hand splashing into the slimy pool where the leaky pipes did their leaking. Another cultist fired his crossbow through the mist blindly and Reggie heard the bolt whistle and THUNK into the fuse-box behind him. Sparks flew, blinding him for a moment, and he heard the two cultists charge.
With his eyes closed, he twisted his his body like a spring, and brought his foot into the lead cultists chest, sending him flying and taking his friend with him. They both splashed into the puddle and thrashed around like freshly caught fish. One of them had seized the handrail by instinct, and now, would never let it go in this life.
The other scrambled free of the electrified pool and growled like an animal, brandishing a nasty curved knife with a forked blade. You will pay dearly for that, mortal!
Reggie backed up to the wall, two steps behind him, and gripped the wrench tightly. The drop-forged iron was slick with blood. He would have only a split second after the light came on to strike with any advantage. He threw the work light switch.
And a weak POP and a whiff of ozone from the impaled fused box was the only effect. The cultist advanced, weaving graceful patterns in the air before him with the knife. He was in no hurry.
Reggie dropped into a forward stance, ready to spar for his life, but his foot slipped on the thin coating of blood that now covered the concrete. The cultist lunged to capitalize, and Reggie threw the wrench awkwardly. It glanced off the mans shin and clattered into the water behind him.
The throw wasnt without effect; the cultist was off-balance and vulnerable. Reggie grabbed him by the belt of his robe and HEAVED with all the strength he had left, aiming for the electrified puddle. He felt his wound rip wider, and he cried out in pain but finished his throw. He was NOT going down without a fight.
The cultist went flying and fell short. But only because his head had hit an overhead pipe, knocking him senseless.
Thats when Reggie noticed the mage had entered the room, staff in hand, and two more lackeys at his flanks. The sorcerer shrugged. It is all for nothing, Reginald. These bodies can be replaced easily. You are quite resourceful, but you should know by now that we would never give up. We must have your bloodline.
Reggie felt cold. He hoped it was only severe blood loss, and not those invisible hands again. He had no weapon left to save him this time. Why me? What did I ever do to you?! He blinked to try and clear his vision and tears rolled down his face. His voice cracked as the unfairness of it all became too much.
The mage took a slow step forward, content to let the blood loss do his work for him. It is your destiny. You are descended from a powerful line. The line of Mu. Your ancestors had great control over the spirit realms and we are hoping that your diluted blood carries some of that still.
The mage had to see it, didnt he? Its not me! Im just a handyman! I dont have any magic! Please, you have to let me go, Im not the one youre looking for! He dropped to his knees and sobbed, hating himself for it but unable to stop.
The sorcerer stopped in his tracks, and sniffed the air. A smile cracked his lower face, but didnt reach his eyes. Ah, you see? Your spilled blood has power still. You have summoned a spirit. Weak and tired from a long journey, but a spirit nonetheless! It is here, in this room even now.
The long trip through space had been easier without Flahads keen senses. Deep space, for the most part, was very empty, and the greater ones senses, the more hungry they were for input. For the most part, there had been nothing to see apart from the gravity of a pulsar, the hot breath of solar wind, the slow friction of nebular dust. For these, Rihaj had senses enough. Energy was everywhere, and Rihaj saw it in all of its myriad colors and intensities. For Flahad, the trip would have been pure torture.
But here, in this room, with his prospective host, he wanted nothing more than to see his face with true eyes, and smell the air with the tiny cilia of Flahads delicate feelers. There was so much to learn, and so little time.
He is wounded! boomed the TeRak ego. Ever the protector, that lumbering giant ached to save him. Only the years of familiarity and mental union kept the ego from superceding Rihajs control over his own form. TeRaks every instinct begged Rihaj to leap in front of the wounded human, to protect him from those who would harm him. But without a host, it would have been futile. He was all but powerless just a loose collection of energy: a traveling mass of thought.
Others were wounded as well. The one who called himself Reggie had accounted for himself admirably. Life energy from three of the attackers had been steadily fading; yielding to the cruel wind of entropy as the process of decay and cellular breakdown began. They were dead. Others were wounded badly, leaking their lifeforce now, but slowly repairing themselves.
All of this from an unexceptional life-pattern
Reggies body did not radiate exceptional health or any anomalous energy patterns at all. But its resonance! There had not been a pattern in all of his centuries that matched his so perfectly! His whole life was written there in that pattern: Born of a noble line, hunted for his lineage by a superior force, resourceful, tenacious to a fault! For Rihaj, it was like looking in a mirror. Even their names bore an uncanny resemblance.
Flahads ego whispered, Vhitad. Fate, destiny, kismet, karma, all rolled into one. Every culture he had encountered in his travels had a word for it. Rihaj had never believed in the silly concept until now. But here, in this room, he became a believer. It was as if every moment of his three and a half centuries had been propelling him toward this time and place. And now that he was here
what was he to do?
The Fallen were fond of possessing an unwilling body. Subjugating its will while they used it as a plaything and discarding it when they grew bored, or had squeezed it of all vitality. But Rihaj was no Nictus. He could not simply usurp Reggie, even to save his life. It must be voluntary. Mutual. A lasting bond. Both of their salvations depended on it.
With TeRak, weeks had passed before they had grown close enough, before TeRak had come to understand the consequences of a bond. With the others, even longer. Here, he had mere seconds. The one who called himself Shaemus was drawing on energies far more powerful than those available in this room. Soon, he would use them, and Reggie would be lost to them forever.
Reggie, listen, I can help you. We can help each other!
Reggies mental pattern reeled at the unfamiliar voice, but recovered quickly. What are you?
The part of Rihaj that was the Vlegrit ego longed to explain what it was to be a Kheldian symbiote. The former teacher would have done a fine job of explaining how Rihajs energy pattern would merge with his own, and would have explained the complex metaphysics of the union in excruciating detail. It would have been perfectly content taking a month or more to do so. But Rihaj did not have that kind of time.
Time enough to explain later. I am hunted, just as you are, but together, we can be greater than our hunters. I cannot describe the price to you now it would take too long - but at this moment, ask yourself if any price is too high to live another day! Decide quickly!
Reggies pattern swam with pain and confusion, but also a new vector: hope. Perhaps, on some level, he sensed the same thing Rihaj did: Vhitad: This thing that was meant to be.
What do I have to do?
Elation burned away the light years of fatigue and the centuries of doubt. For a moment, the luminous mass of energy burned bright enough to touch the visible spectrum, and Shaemus halted mid-step, gaping in wonder at something his magic-jaded eyes had never seen.
You will feel me enter you. Do not struggle. Embrace me! Do not let fear build a wall between us!
With that, Rihaj approached, and let himself be pulled into the human pattern. The pattern hesitated at first, but recognized something it had always needed, and never known how to satisfy. Not food nor drink nor sex nor even human love could ever complement that pattern like Rihaj. The union did more than complement Reggie: It completed him. It was as if Rihaj had been the long-lost missing piece of him.
The world faded to white for a few seconds, and when it came back, it was not the same world. Where the room had been dark, it was now lit with the glow of heat, sound, and radiation. The spout of steam was now a floodlight: its energy reflecting from everything and illumating the room perfectly. The electrified pool, and its dead occupant, sparkled with beautiful streams of color, reversing themselves many times a second as the current alternated.
The three cultists were peering through gloom that only they could see, looking for a threat that had suddenly vanished. But like most threats, this one was never more dangerous than when it seemed gone.
You are about to feel some pain in your shoulder. Thats a buildup of energy, but to focus and use it, youll need to clench every muscle and force it along. It will be slow at first, so focus. Think of it as a ball imbedded in your body that must be squeezed into the palm of your hand.
The sorcerer squinted at Reggie, bringing his staff to his side and leveling it like a lance. Ah, you feel it dont you? Youre trying to command it. To do what, Reginald? To attack me? Ha! I have subjugated demons to my will! This pathetic wisp is no threat to
But he never finished his monologue. A blinding white streak of energy knocked him down. The two guards took a step back, and Reggie pressed his advantage, taking a step forward....
.... Except his foot never touched the ground. He was flying!
Now is our chance! We must escape while they are off-balance and unsure of our powers! Before they can grow brave and test them!
Reggie didnt need to be told twice. Willing himself forward, he flew out the door, and straight into the laundry room wall, nearly giving himself a concussion. Control will come later, for now just get out!
In another minute, Reggie stood on the adjacent roof, peering down over his little slice of Kings Row. The New England night was cold, and with only his boxer shorts between him and the black sky, Reggie should have been freezing. But he was not. Just tired.
Another ten minutes passed before he saw the cultists slipping out the door of his building, each carrying something heavy. At first, he imagined that they carried the bodies of their fallen, and wounded, and some of them probably did. But there were far too many of them. They were leaving with more bodies than they came with.
Theyre kidnapping the other tenants!
Yes, they are.
We have to stop them!
We will. But not now. Not tonight. That is exactly what they want us to do. Give chase, show ourselves while we are weak and they are expecting us. No. We are wounded, tired and untrained. We cannot win tonight.
Wow, this is really good! I love it when humour and action come together. Keep it coming! 
The tiny grey body of the female alien looked like that of any other of her race, but for the smoking crater that had once been its diminutive chest. Gaze prodded it with the barrel of his quantum blaster. The body rolled bonelessly off the ancient communication console on the hilltop, but the tentacles did not so much as twitch. This vessel was empty, Rihaj had fled, taking the mind and soul of his former host with him. Behind his veil, the Void Stalker smiled. He had chased this host across four worlds, and had finally beaten it. But the hunt would go on. Perhaps the next host Rihaj chose would prove more resilient.
He turned to the two seekers, just now catching up to him to find their quarry already dispatched. They were winded, but struggled not to show it, scrambling over the flakey crystalline ridge and sliding to a clumsy halt. Weaklings and amateurs. They will have to grow much stronger if they are to survive this hunt.
Gaze slung his rifle over his shoulder and pointed to the one on the left, whose name he had not bothered to remember. You. Tell me where Rihaj has gone.
Yes, Hunt Master. He has sought out old communication outposts, no doubt in a sad attempt to contact the resistance. His pattern indicates a push toward the core of the former Kheldian home world. He means to return to his home, perhaps to rally other fugitive Peacebringers to his cause.
Gaze took two steps and brought his hand up to strike the Void Seeker across the face. You shame yourself, and disgrace me with your ignorance. Speak not a word for sixteen days, so that you might listen and learn!
The humbled Seeker lowered his head, resisting the urge to nurse his rattled jaw. Gaze snapped his face toward the other Seeker. You! Tell me where Rihaj has gone and pray that your answer is better than his, for my patience is thin!
Honored Hunt Master, our quarry is not using the old Ygnasian communication network to find his supporters. He is using them to find the navigation beacons toward the outer rim. I believe he has come to realize that his only hope is to find a host with the focus and adaptability that only humans possess. He is following the beacons toward Earth.
Gaze nodded, which was as close to a compliment as his subordinates were ever likely to see. And tell me what will happen should he reach Earth before us, and find his human host.
The Seekers voice seemed to swell with pride. He will become a far greater threat, Hunt Master.
And tell us why we must follow him.
The Seeker recited the passage verbatim: According to the Eighth Directive set down by our Nictus masters, a Kheldian must not bond with a human. All who do so shall be hunted to the ends of their days, and any Void Hunter who fails to hunt them till death shall be subjected to torture beyond mortal reckoning, followed by merciful death.
Again, Gaze nodded. This one may prove useful. The other an example. Time will tell.
To the ship. We cannot delay in this. Already our quarry lengthens his lead.