AVALON SAINTE: Drawing The Blade (Origin)

(originally posted at mutantsandmasterminds.com, this is in reference to several chars of mine on Virtue server)
PART ONE:

...The Cult of Bhuul has long been a thorn in my side. Founded during the Aquarian Age by a young man who, most likely, had taken one too many hits of LSD, they took the altogether ridiculous concept of "demonic messages hidden backwards on records" and embraced it as their unholy scripture. The fact that, in this single instance, they happened somehow to be correct in the matter was beside the point; having successfully summoned ONE demon, the backwater flunky of some minor infernal lord, they had spent the next three and a half decades trying to repeat the process to no avail, thanks in no small part to the efforts of myself and my dilligent assistant.
In fact, having clashed with them on several occasions seems to have earned me a permanent place in their [censored]-backwards pantheon as the "eternal enemy of the Darkest Lord of All, the Ever-Potent Bhuul" (and don't get Chuck started on where HE placed...), especially since I was the one to actually banish their inbred pseudo-diety back to the infernal waste pit that spawned him in the first place. Since then, they've been little more than a dangerous joke, a Satanic "Jackass" that pops up every so often only to be smacked on the nose and sent scurrying back to their blacklight posters and paperback copies of Crowley.
This time, however, they seem to have come up with a new way of returning their Lord to this plane, one that has officially elevated them to the top of my "hit list," and it is now time for them to learn that, while it may be amusing to occasionally tangle with the Sword of St. George...
...you do not EVER touch his daughter.

"...in the names of the Quadrarch, we beeseech thee, oh Bhuul..."
"...Nhoj...Luap...Egroeg...Ognir..." The assembled members of the Cult of Bhuul droned the names in unison, their hooded heads bowing at each name in turn. Avalon Sainte wasn't exactly sure how many there actually were, though, since, between the flashing strobe lights, smoldering incense, and cracked mirrors in the old fun-house that was being used as their church, there appeared to be more here than there probably actually was. But then, she mused to herself, Dad always DID say most modern religions were all smoke and mirrors.
Avalon sneezed again; this whole ordeal was SEVERELY aggravating her allergies to smoke, and having a perpetually runny nose ON TOP of being strapped spread-eagled to a sacrificial altar (and in her Powerpuff nightshirt, of all things!) was simply a matter of adding further insult to her already injured pride.
She'd heard of the Cult of Bhuul, of course, from her father's casefiles mainly, but she'd never suspected that the new father of her classmate would be a member. Gassing his daughter's slumber party? Now that was a new low, Avalon scowled, even for the ranks of "wicked stepparents."
She strained her neck to look around, but, unfortunately, her view hadn't changed: same mauve-draped altar, same tacky fourescent paintings of some hideous (or at least poorly-drawn) creature she assumed must be Bhuul, same smoldering ring of that horrible peppermint incense that kept setting off her sinuses, and the same velvet-and-gold-tinfoil wrapped cult leader waving his arms and groaning about "ever-potent" THIS and "smiting, throbbing power" THAT...she was starting to suspect the Cult's popularity had less to do with dark powers as much as with compensation for the members' "shortcomings." At least that would explain why she was still in her pajamas...
"...now, at last, the way has been shown to us by Bhuul..."
"...the almighty, engorged Bhuul..." droned the assemblage.
"...to forge the path back to this realm that the eternal enemy..."
"...miniscule, insignificant enemy..."
"Oh, PLEASE," Avalon rolled her eyes and thumped her head back on the altar in disgust.
The cult leader shot her a dirty look, but continued without faltering, "...sealed with his treachery so long ago, and to show this path to the ever-potent Bhuul so that he may return to annoint this world with the seeds of his vast, erupting powers..."
"Excuse me," Avalon strained to raise her hand from the altar. "If Bhuul showed YOU guys the path to his return, why do you need to show it back to him?"
To her credit, the cult leader actually seemed to consider this for a moment, blinking owlishly within the depths of his hood before whirling back to his followers and continuing, "...and so, we shall spill this virginal blood in his name, the blood of the enemy that struck him in such a cowardly way from our yearning presence that flows through her supple limbs just as it does through those of his equally effeminate foe..."
"Waitaminnit...'virginal blood?' Um..."
Before she could say anymore, the cult leader had lept astride her, straddling her waist and reaching for the robes bunched at his groin. "Oh, no, that'd BETTER be a sacrificial knife you're going for, pervo..."
"Don't worry, ****..." the cult leader sneered as he pulled a long, curved dagger from the folds of cloth, "...it IS."
"Oh..." Avalon's eyes widened as the flashing lights gleamed off the blade; with the years of supernatural training her father'd drummed into her skull, she could tell a dark artifact when she saw one, and this knife practically dripped with the blood it'd spilled before her. Her eyes followed the knife as it raised high above her...
The sound of shattering mortar and splintering wood silenced the droning cultists as the ceiling of the "temple" was suddenly sheared away and lifted high into the sky. Standing atop a fluttering rectangle of cloth stood a man, well-muscled and imposing, garbed in skintight black with the pattern of a white sword stretching from his knees to his head. A silver hexmark, the upright circled pentagram that was the universal symbol of white magic, shone with the light reflected from the man's hands, which blazed with mystic power.
"I AM THE ARCAINE, THE SWORD OF ST. GEORGE, AND I WOULD LIKE YOU TO PLEASE REMOVE YOURSELF FROM MY DAUGHTER IMMEDIATELY." What mirrors hadn't already been shattered by the removal of the roof were pulverized by the magically-enhanced booming of the Arcaine's voice.
"IT'S ABOUT FRIGGIN' TIME, DAD!" Avalon yelled angrilly from underneath the terrified cult leader.
Most of the cult members were prone on the floor, pinned by their own fear, but several managed to gather their wits enough to bolt for the still-intact emergency exit. Just as they reached it, however, the doors smashed inwards, striking the first few escaping cultists squarely and knocking them into their peers behind them. Those still conscious and standing were greeted by the sight of a short, burly man in a loud Hawaiian shirt and what looked like fuzzy black pants come striding into the short hallway; as he stepped into the light, it was apparent that he wasn't wearig any pants, but rather had black-furred legs ending in cloven hooves. He took a long draw on his cigar, smoothed his short, curly hair back from his short, nubby horns, and smiled at the cultists.
Chuck watched as a couple of the cultists, perhaps thinking to rush the short satyr, began to edge towards him. With a sigh, he slung the M-16 he had behind his back upwards, cocking it noisily before levelling it at them. "Have a seat, ladies, the show ain't over yet." He chuckled as they hastened to comply, then turned his own gaze to the confrontation at the altar.
The cult leader, seemingly paralyzed with fear, had not moved from where he squatted atop Avalon, his eyes fixed on the floating figure of her father. It seems I don't know my own strength, the Arcaine smirked beneath his mask as he slowly drfted towards the terrified man. "Quite a rush to see a figure from your ridiculous texts in the flesh, isn't it?" As he drifted closer to the man, he reached out his gloved hand and said, "Now, please...hand the knife over and I'll let you go to jail with just a severe beating."
Avalon could see something "snap" inside the cult leader, but before she could react, he had spun back to her and, screaming, plunged the dagger at her chest. She actually flinched as she felt the tip of the blade pierce the cotton of her nightshirt and graze her skin before it stopped; the cult leader's scream of rage and defiance quickly turned to one of agony as the bones in his hand were suddenly powdered within the skin and the sacrificial dagger was flung from his grasp.
He continued to writhe and scream as the Arcaine lifted him into the air by his injured hand, suspending him telekinetically inches away from his masked face. "That...was...EXTREMELY...stupid of you."
A glint of light caught Avalon's eye. "DADDY! LOOK-"
The Arcaine didn't even have time to look before the dagger, arcing in flight and rocketing back, blade-first, plunged into his thigh. He bellowed with pain, dropping the cult leader as blood surged suggestively from the bulbed end of the dagger's hilt. He ripped the dagger free and hurled it at the ground where it struck the concrete floor with a clatter.
The spilt blood hung, suspended in mid-air, before flowing like water through an unseen canal towards the ring of incense. It struck the velour carpet, darkening as it began to etch out blasphemous symbols into the maroon pile. As soon as they appeared, the symbols ignited into sickly greenish flame, eventually filling the smoldering ring as the air began to swirl and moan about all present.
The cult leader's triumphant yelling was drowned out, along with all other noise, by the screaming winds, and Avalon could only watch in horror as a massive hand, gnarled and tipped with broken black talons, reached from the rising pillar of green fire.
A dark shape began to emerge, a massive, twisted, and horrifically endowed humanoid shape; it raised its horned head to the night sky and roared, its obscene call minging with the shrieking whirlwind as, in the minds of all present, a profane voice thrummed, *WHO SUMMONS THE EVER-POTENT BHUUL?!*

TO BE CONTINUED...

PART 2:
One of the more obscure dark artifacts in existence is the Knife of Kharag-Fal; this is not because of its origin, though. Like a good number of such items, it was forged millenia ago from the metal of a "fallen star," most likely a meterorite of some sort, by a sect of black priests to be used as a key element in their ceremonies against the forces of nature and against white magic in particular.
Its obscurity is most certainly not due to its history. In its existance, the Knife has been responsible for as much death, despair, and corruption as a small land war; in the proper hands, it has carved empires from the flesh of the just and true and has been responsible for the deaths of at least two of my predecessor Swords of St. George.
In a very real way, the fact that so few know of the Knife has to do with its power. If you'll allow me to misuse quantum theory for a second, the otherworldly metal of the blade resonates on a frequency that disrupts or, more accurately, "poisons" the arcane matrix of white magic. In fact, is is drawn to high concentrations of the stuff like a ravenous parasite, and any white mage or entity struck with it has little more than a painful withering of their power to look forward to. As such, many such mages and entities have seen to it that all mentions of the Knife be destroyed in order to keep the knife from being recognized for the instrument of corruption it is, since we are certainly not able to contain it safely.
As the saying goes, however, those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it, which is why I didn't recognize this profane instrument in the hands of the so-called "Priest" of the Cult of Bhuul until the damned thing was sticking out of my leg and my spilt blood had been used to summon the object of this ridiculous group's idolation back to our plane of reality.
Truly, contrary to popular belief, ignorance is most definately NOT bliss...

"Damn it all..." the Arcaine hissed as he clutched the still flowing wound in his leg. It was almost embarassing that such a usually trivial wound would cause him such pain; however, he could feel the corruption spreading from the hole through his veins, and any attempt at healing it simply fed the taint, rushing it faster through his body. He'd have to use his more mundane training to mentally will the pain away, though, because, right now, he had more important matters to deal with.
Bhuul towered over all present, his thorny, antlered head raised in a ground-shaking bellow of triumph as his leering voice continued to assault the minds of both follower and foe alike.
*FREE! AT LAST, I AM ONCE MORE FREED FROM MY TARTARUS, FREE TO FEED, TO DESTROY, TO [censored] AND RAVAGE THIS WORLD AS HAD BEEN DENIED ME IN THE PAST!* The inhuman head lowered, Bhuul's balefully glowing gaze falling upon the Arcaine. *YOU KNEEL BEFORE ME, MY FOE? HOW APPROPRIATE...SUCH PROSTRATIONS ARE NOT NECESSARY. INDEED, THE WHOLE LAND WILL KNOW OF HOW IT WAS YOU WHO ULTIMATELY ALLOWED ME TO RETURN TO CLAIM THIS WORLD AS MY OWN BROTHEL.*
As his bellows began to turn to bone-rattling roars of unholy laughter, the Arcaine forced himself to stand, putting as much weight on his uninjured leg as possible. "YOU WILL NOT LEAVE THIS TEMPLE, BEAST...YOU WERE BESTED BACK WHEN I WAS STILL NEW TO THIS TASK, AND NOW I POSESS THE FULL MEASURE OF MY POWER AND DECADES OF PRACTICE IN WIELDING IT. RETURN TO WHENCE YOU CAME BEFORE I PEEL THE FLESH FROM YOUR UNHOLY BONES!"
Bhuul regarded his enemy with a raised eyebrow, then his gaze fell to the wounded leg. *YOU ARE BLUFFING, IMPOTENT ONE...IF YOU POSESSED THE POWER YOU CLAIM, THEN WHY TO YOU ALLOW YOUR BLOOD TO FLOW FREELY? NO, YOU ARE NO THREAT TO ME...* He turned, then, and his eyes took in the still-bound form of Avalon, the Arcaine's daughter. *OH-HO! A GIFT FOR ME? HOW THOUGHTFUL...*
"Hey, what's that supposed to-WHOA!" Avalon's anger rapidly switched to horror and fear as the reason for Bhuul's "Ever-Potent" title became apparent. "Um, that's not...oh, nuts, it has SPIKES even..?" She struggled against the cords that held her, trying vainly to loosen them, when the Cult leader quickly placed himself between her and Bhuul.
"YES, oh Dark and Dire Master, it is I who provided you this virgin for your pleas-"
His words were cut off abruptly as Bhuul stomped a huge split-hooved foot down onto him, twisting it as he did like he was squishing a bug. *OUT OF MY WAY, SYCOPHANT...BESIDES, IF SHE'S A VIRGIN, I'M A CHERUBIM. STILL, I DO LOVE BLONDES...TELL ME, DOES THE CARPET MATCH THE CURTAINS, MORTAL..?*
"Say what..?!" Avalon sputtered, her shock momentarily dispelling her fear.
Before either girl or demon could react, a low thump sound could be heard, followed by Bhuul's ear-splintering howl of pain as a grenade detonated against his...intent.
"Now THAT'S what I call a nut-shot!" cheered Chuck as the satyr cocked the underhanging grenade-launcher in his machine-gun, quickly launching another explosive into the demon's groin. "Hand's off the boss's daughter, butt-ugly, or we'll see if I can circumsize you with this baby's full-autofire!"
Roaring with pain in a slightly higher register, Bhuul swung one of his gnarled, taloned fists at the diminuitive gunman; only Chuck's supernatural reflexes spared him the direct blow, although the shockwave of impact hurled him up and out of the funhouse/temple, over the splintered walls.
Pausing only long enough to gingerly rub his injured...parts...Bhuul stated to turn back to his intended prey when a flaring bolt of mystic force struck his face.
"Leave...the girl...alone..!" The Arcaine had successfully withstood the earlier shockwave, standing as steadily as he could, his gloved hands seething with power. As Bhuul turned towards him again, bellowing with frustration, the Arcaine launched another bolt of power at the demon's face, impacting with a nearly drowned-out crack of thunder.
Bhuul, more startled than injured, lunged forward, his speed fueled by rage and hatred as he grabbed the Arcaine and liffted him towards his mouth. *WEAKENED, IMPOTENT FOOL! NOW IT IS YOU WHOSE SKIN WILL BE PEELED FROM YOU BONES...WITH MY OWN TEETH!*
"Just...what I wanted...to hear...idiot...goodbye, Avalon..." The mage smiled grimly beneath his mask as he felt Bhuul's blast-furnace breath. As the jagged teeth of the demon began to close around him, the Arcaine mentally released all his reserves of power, what remained after the Knife's corruption, erupting with a blinding flash of white magic that enveloped the demon's head and hand.
"DADDY, NO!" Avalon's eyes were forced closed by the rushing wind of the explosion, but she managed to squint them open as the eruption of power died down...
Bhuul stood, his face and hand singed and smoldering, many of his ragged teeth blown free by the blast...but the demon lived. He reeled from the blast, lowering his hand; Avalon could see her father lying limp within the taloned, smoking grip.
The Sword is needed once again...do you accept its power?
Avalon blinked at the voice, looking around for its source.
The Sword is needed once more...do you accept its power?
This time, she was certain she was the only one who heard the voice...although the implications of the words hit first. "What...what do you mean...Daddy's the Sword..?"
He is of no more use to us...his time as the Sword is passed. Do you accept the power?
Tears began to flow freely from Avalon's eyes as she stared at the limp, unmoving form of her father. "He can't, can't be..."
Bhuul shook his head suddenly, blinking, then lifted the Arcaine up again, laughing a bit unsteadily. *THAT WAS YOUR GRAND GESTURE? YOUR FINAL, SUICIDAL BLOW? AND I HAD FEARED YOU FOR SO LONG...A PITY YOU WILL NOT FEEL IT AS I DEVOUR YOU, BUT WHY WASTE A HOT MEAL..?* He lifted the hero's body upwrd, dangling it from his fingers as he opened his maw wide...
"DADDY!"
...do you accept the power?
"YES!"
Avalon screamed as she felt a sudden searing rush of energy rip through her body. It roared down slender limbs, snapping the ropes that bound her to the altar; it flooded her senses, turning night into day as she saw the demon Bhuul for waht he was, a weakened thing barely able to stand after her father's last, desperate assault.
The Sword is drawn anew...now, in the name of St. George, strike down the corrupt being before you...
Without even realizing she had, she lashed out, her will propelling a surge of crackling energy that caught Bhuul across his chin, snapping his jaws shut as the limp and now faintly glowing form of her father bounced harmlessly off them to drop to the ground.
Avalon stood, her body glowing with power as she repeatedly pummelled the weakened demon with arcane bolts of energy. To her "awakened" eyes, she could still see the vestigal rift he'd emerged from; she mentally pried it open, the unholy flames seething behind Bhuul as he turned towards it.
*NO! DON'T SEND ME BACK...YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO LIVE IN HELL! I WILL SERVE YOU, BOW TO YOUR WILL! I'LL GRANT YOUR EVERY DESIRE, BUT WISH IT AND IT WILL BE YOURS!*
"Any wish?" Avalon held her blasts in check, regarding the cowering demon, her hands seething with energy that seemed eager to singe and strike demon flesh.
*YOUR VERY HEART'S DESIRE!*
Her eyes narrowed, glowing as a snarl curled her lips.
"I want my father back, you son of a [censored]."
All other sounds were lost as she unleashed her new power at the demon, striking his howling form with enough force to lift him from the ground and hurl him bodily through the portal. With an almost disdainful twitch of her hand, she flung the Head Priest's mangled body after him, the sealed the portal as if mentally zippering it shut.
Groaning, Chuck pulled himself onto the pier near where the remains of the Cult of Bhuul's funhouse-turned-temple stood. With a grunt, he slung his water-logged artillery onto the rotted planks, then hefted his own soggy frame after it.
"[censored]...knocking me into the damn BAY...I HATE being cold and wet, dammit...gonna castrate him with my damn hooves, the mother-fu-"
His words died in his throat as he finally saw the tableau before him; the surviving Cultists had already fled, so all that remained was Avalon, her young body still seething with white magic as she kneeled next to her father's limp, unmoving body.
"Oh, man...Anthony..."
TO BE CONTINUED