Chapter Eleven: Four Funerals and One New Villain

OOOOO

The outer ring, the ring of Void. Whether it can be thought or even exist was a philosophical question for millennia.

A seriously more practical question is whether you can survive in it.

For Brigadier General Mihai Costescu of the GSMC, Military Intelligence, second division, it was the question of his life, overwhelming in significance as he floated slowly in deep space, lungs ruptured, eardrums exploded, skin frozen. He would be dead in milliseconds.

Flashback time.

Three years ago, Mihai was just a grunt with the Gamezohan Space Marine Corps operating in the frontline, if such term applies to the sort of warfare going on there, of the Thaynan war. His unremarkable platoon became remarkable as the Crown Prince Wernher Gauss was assigned for a tour of duty in it. The soldiers’ hopes of easier assignments were frustrated, though, since Gauss insisted that no strategic changes were to occur because of him. He was in for experiencing the Real Life of an infantry private, supposedly to make him more sensitive to the needs of his subordinates.

He was 15, and the Wendaurian embargo (ordered by the then Economy Minister Adamus...) had caused the popularity of the monarchy to reach an all-time low. The GI’s of Mihai’s platoon weren’t especially nasty, but they did pick on the ‘fragile’ ‘spoiled’ kid, whose battle experiences until then had been limited to space, not usually very gruesome until you’re dead. Mihai, reclusive and generally antisocial, was the obvious choice of a friend for the young prince. Funny enough, Mihai was too distracted to think about the possible advantages he could get out of the situation.

And then the platoon went on patrol in what, intel had said, was a neigh-abandoned region. It was actually the core of the enemy resistance, the point where the Pyramid stood, beneath earth and trees, a Dht’n’k’lz-made hill. The Chamaleen knew this, and this was where they did not boast their presence, feeding the (then outdated) GSMC military intelligence algorithms the exact values to lead them into ignoring the region. Eventually, though, attrition and overwhelming technologic supremacy ran their course and Mihai’s platoon was assigned to that unfortunate patrol.

Gauss was assigned as Mihai’s spotter, both forming the platoon’s only sniper cell. Mihai and Gauss were Silver Beret-standard snipers, Gauss because of his usual ability with stuff in general, and Mihai because sniper school kept him out of the front lines during the worst of the Thaynan war. He had to be perfect to hit the exact point in the line between pass and fail, and thereby have to enjoy another six week’s training. Eventually, the gunnery sergeant, your typical army sergeant personality, got pissed off and passed him nonetheless.

The platoon walked carefully (but not enough, GSMC doctrine years behind seventh generation warfare...) through the jungle. As usual, monotony gave way to ambush in fraction of a second, as a sniper took out the highest-ranking NCO (they never cared much for officers, and were right: only after the post-Thaynan parliamentary inquiry the GSMC abandoned its traditional policy of reserving ranks to the upper classes), triggering a small amount of fire from a trench 100 meters to their left. Leaderless, the boot camp instinct kicked in, and the soldiers charged against the trench, confident on their superior numbers and weaponry. When they came within 30 meters of the trench, theretofore-quiet machinegun emplacements opened fire, mowing them down by the dozens, until they reached the trench, abandoned as the machinegun fire had commenced, when they couldn’t notice the absence of small arm fire.

As they cowered comfortably inside the enemy trench, the incendiary bombs booby-trapping it were set off remotely, killing everyone down there. The soldiers that still hadn’t reached the trench couldn’t take cover from the machinegun fire coming from behind them, where a machinegun emplacement had calmly waited for the best moment to finish off Mihai’s platoon. The chamaleen who had been in the trench got out of their underground camouflaged hiding spots right in the middle of the carnage, to make prisoners and mercifully finish off wounded enemies, as their religion taught them.

Until that moment, the twelve chamaleen (each one costing G$S 200 to train and G$S 10 per month to support, as opposed to the GSMC cost of G$S 100,000 per capita training plus equipment, and let’s not get into their ridiculous salaries, Gamezohan Army Logistics Commissariat optimistic estimate) had suffered no casualties, while the Gamezohan platoon had 58 KIA of 60 men. It explains how the "greatest galactic military superpower" took two hundred fifty seven years four months and twelve days to extinguish the Chamaleen, a so far peaceful race of green-skinned stone-age hunters, although the official military history books still blame it all on Sky Marshall "Fucking cock-biting ass" Nyelsson, who dropped twelve million tons of state-of-the-art weaponry and munitions on the wrong hemisphere, when the enemy previously relied on stone-tipped arrows as siege weapons.

What did Pvt. Wernher Gauss and Cpl. Mihai Costescu do when the ambush started? They lied on the floor, for starters. If they were to be blown up where they were, they would already have been. An ambush starts preferably with exploding mines or mortar shells, not a single sniper, if the alternative is available. Mihai scanned the area around them. The sniper had gone, his single kill enough for the day. The tall grass around the road kept the trenches hidden from Mihai, but also meant he was temporarily protected. He crawled to Gauss, who was checking on the sniped sergeant.

"Yup, dead," said Gauss, having nothing better to say.

"The separation of one’s head from one’s neck tends to accomplish that," said Mihai, darkly.

"Well, what do we do?" asked Gauss.

"We could surrender, I suppose," said Mihai, hopefully.

"Not an option."

"I am a corporal, you know."

"And I am the sub commander-in-chief of the Armed Forces whenever I want to," hissed Gauss, as if the chamaleen could hear them in the middle of the gunfire.

After the explosions, the hidden machinegun emplacement only five meters behind them uncovered its hatch and opened fire, bullets streaking less than two feet above the Gamezohans’ heads. They lowered their heads and held their breath to avoid inhaling the vaporized aluminum raining down on them from the bullets’ casings.

They remained that way until the fire stopped. The only sounds were the occasional gunshot from the chamaleen finishing off wounded foes, the screams of agony and the random explosion of ammunition on the burning corpses in the trench.

Mihai signaled to Gauss to circle around the machinegun emplacement. Gauss pointed at his knife inquisitively. Mihai shook his head and took his .62 Firedrake pistol from its holster and attached a silencer to it. Gauss nodded and did the same.

They met at the back of the foxhole. Gauss gave his weapon to Mihai and silently raised the wood panel. Mihai, holding both huge pistols akimbo, shot each chamaleen in the head. The reaction was beginning.

They relaxed a little. Gauss asked:

"Should I go dragon and fry ‘em up?"

"And get an RPG up your scaly ass? Not on my shift you won’t."

Gauss replied nothing, but braced his sniper rifle through the hole the machinegun used to fire through. He peered through the scope.

"Five of them walking amidst our men. I can take them all out within four seconds."

"Their sniper will be onto you in half that time if he’s any good."

"Well cover me then, stupid," said Gauss, glad his glove was absorbing his sweat, keep his grip firm despite the tension. He considered hitting the Nervcalm button in his AutoCorpsman robotized medkit, but dropped the thought as it would mean slow reflexes and then he’d have to use the Stimpack later and then... well, overdosing was responsible for some 6% of all Gamezohan casualties in the war.

S second. A chamaleen’s head explodes.

S+0.12 seconds. The chamaleen begin diving for cover.

S+1 second. A second chamaleen’s head explodes.

S+1.41 seconds. The chamaleen identify the source of the shots. They open fire with small arms.

S+1.85 seconds. The most distant chamaleen, at the machinegun emplacements and their sniper, notice what’s amiss and scan for targets.

S+2 seconds. Gauss kills a third chamaleen. The sniper spots him and begins to aim.

S+2.16 seconds. Mihai spots the sniper, bless his sharp eyes, and takes aim.

S+2.19 seconds. Mihai is hit in the shoulder by a machinegun round. He fires in reflex, hitting dirt somewhere near the sniper.

S+2.22 seconds. The sniper hits Gauss in the helmet, slightly above where he was aiming, between the prince’s eyes, thanks to the distraction Mihai provided.

S+2.63 seconds. Mihai recovers from the shock.

S+2.92 seconds. A second round enters the Chamaleen sniper’s rifle’s chamber.

S+3 seconds. Gauss kills the fourth near Chamaleen.

S+3.08 seconds. Mihai fires an unreadied shot at the sniper, hitting the sniper’s hand, severing it from the arm.

S+3.99 seconds. Gauss kills the last chamaleen.

The Gamezohans left the emplacement and crawled until they were inside deep jungle. They stood up and ran.

"Nice job, Mihai," said Gauss, pointing at the hole in his helmet.

"Don’t make me wish that bullet hit one centimeter lower, o my liege."

They stopped. Gauss radioed for an extract. The helicopter was to meet them above hill 404. Guess what hill that was... yes. There were Gauss and Mihai, the helicopter dropping ropes for them, when the ground collapses beneath Mihai’s feet. Gauss, already attached irreversibly to the rescue gunship, tried to cut the rope with his knife, to no avail. The gunship began drawing RPG fire from the woods; they went away, despite Gauss orders as sub commander-in-chief to go back and rescue his friend.

Inside the cave, Mihai was under a small pile of earth, having skidded down the slope of the Pyramid. He got out. The Pyramid pointed Its eye at him.

"Mortal. Identify yourself."

"Corporal, 131313," said Mihai, too scared to abandon the rank-and-identification-number rule. Yes, that was his number.

"Corporal Thirteenthirteenthriteen, I am the Pyramid."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Bow before me, I, the fourth most powerful object in the universe, second only to the Trinity!"

"What are you good for, o Pyramid?" asked Mihai, bowing slightly.

The Pyramid stopped. "What?"

"Are you a good Pyramid or a bad Pyramid?"

"Such questions are of no importance, foolish mortal. I have a Purpose."

"Oh, with a capital P?"

"Yes."

"Cool, what is it?"

"I was created to imprison Bushthulhu."

And the Pyramid told him a Secret.

"Oh, nice. Can you get me out of here?"

"Yes."

"Do it."

"No."

"I doubt you can do it."

"You shall see, you shall see and fear!" said the Pyramid, and teleported Mihai to outside the hill. Mihai then swore that he’d never think about the surreal experience he just had experienced ever again.

He emerged from the jungle two months days later, having fought his way alone with a sharp piece of wood (his equipment wasn’t teleported with him). He had a long beard with a developed ecosystem and was covered in filth, but he was alive and promptly interrogated.

He was the hero of the moment. He received the Medal of Heroism, the Silver Star, the Order of the Gray Heart for Knightly Merit, the Steel Medal of Exfiltration and the Paladin’s Grand Cross w/o Avenger Sword. Prime Minister Moebius himself presided the ceremony.

"War, fought or solved in the battlefield, today stands as the true absolute act of each one of us: it’s the only thing that can be done, because it’s the only thing that really is done," and Moebius’ speech was over, and there was deafening clapping. He turned to Mihai.

"So, Captain, how does it feel to be a hero?"

"Could be worse, I suppose."

"Thanks to you we got the Pyramid."

"Yes, sir."

"You’ll never speak about it to anyone, will you?"

"No, sir."

"Good boy."

Mihai had a nice career in the GSMC. When the coup came, he didn’t believe what was said of Gauss, but he embraced eagerly the New Republic and its promises. That was the main reason he was selected to be part of the KriegsKabal, a select group of officers commanding the operation at Gamezoha Prime Orbital Command Nexus (OCON-G) to develop the Mother of All Orphans, or MAO, President Joel’s pet project.

He was being toured together with four other generals by the president himself, attached to him first lady Katje as a trophy to democracy. "And this, gentlemen, is the, heheh, polyhedron of Pandora," said the demon, in his gangster-like suit, pointing at the massive object in the center of the hangar.

It was the Pyramid.

"Behold, the Enslaver of Gods. Axis of the Bushthulhu project."

"Who is Bushthulhu?" asked on of the generals, not noticing Mihai’s present near death scare.

"An Elder God barely alive. Gentlemen, we can relive him. The know-how has been around for generations. The thing is no-one would call the Hungry Destroyer, mainly because he would just destroy everything, without a hint of entertaining chaos or enjoyable evil. Erase what I just said from your memories," added Joel, raising a silver pen that flashed a red light.

"I love this toy. Well! In conclusion, gentlemen, we now imprison Bushthulhu when has destroyed what we want him to destroy. And release whenever the need for uncontrolled destruction arises... devildamnit, general, what the hell is the problem with YOU?" asked Joel angrily.

Mihai turned away, for some reason changed from the survival-obsessed man he had been three years earlier. "I can’t take part in this. I’ll go public, president. You can’t bring back an Elder God and imagine yourself able to control him. With this... stupid pyramid. You think you know..."

Joel gestured to one of his Schwarzwyrmkommandos. The man hit Mihai in the head with his baton, knocking him out. The other generals pretended not to see anything. They had slightly better understanding of what kind of "democracy" they were in.

"Take him to an airlock. No evidence. He is after all one of our most decorated war heroes," concluded Joel, laughing.

That brings us to the end of our flashback and subsequent death of Brigadier General Mihai Costescu, war hero and only man besides Moebius aware of the Pyramid’s Secret.

OOOOO

The second ring, the ring of Fire. This one tends to be pretty straightforward: destruction. What about life, or light? Fire can be good, and that is why the utterly evil will have no do with any other than Black Fire.

Black Fire, fire of the dark men of the planet Mulaghra Prime, one of which joined the colonial brigade of the Gamezohans and survived, and had a son and his son had a son, and that son had Klot.

Black Fire, the fire that burns in the inner eye of Klot.

Also the Black Fire of Guilt.

Klot knelt before Joel, presented his report and ignored the verbal abuse hurled at him. Suddenly, made of fiery intemperance, the tall man stood up, looking down and closely at Joel, with the obvious message - "I can kill you anywhere I want."

Joel flinched and turned his eyes, much to his surprise. He made a mental note to torture and kill Klot when he no longer needed the Schwarzwyrmkommando leader. He wondered if he could gain some form of psychological leverage with the man, and how.

Klot left the president of the newformed United Systems of Gamezoha. In his chambers, he knelt before the statues of his ancestors.

"Blessed father, I have been weak. I have been defeated. I cannot live with this burden."

He stood up. He opened the secret locker in his room where the kept the secret ingredients he needed for his spells. It had always been like this, the foolish civilizeds frowning upon the usage of children parts in religious rituals. The Art had to be kept secret, and he was ashamed of this. All he wanted was to be in the jungle, his ancestors proud, his ways pure, his daughter growing up a powerful witch, his wife... ... ...she’s dead, and that’s it. He should take another wife. Cursed civilized monogamy sneaks up on you, doesn’t it...

He was confused, but he didn’t stray from his objective. Damocles could keep him alive. But Damocles had chosen the wrong host. He wished to die.

NAY, I CHOSE RIGHT, thought Damocles, almost grinning to himself, observing from inside out Klot’s machinations.

Klot finished the potion. He drank it, sat and waited. He remembered his infiltration in the Silberwyrmritters, guided by the fatherly, wise and kind hand of Moebius. He rose in the ranks, and the rain of petals was seen not as a denounce against his phony faith, but as a sign of how special he was. "Special indeed," he thought, as his innards began to shrivel.

He took his sword and cut his stomach open. He took out all his organs, alive through the magic of the potion... not alive... the word is about to appear.

He wouldn’t work for the USG. He wouldn’t work for his beloved Moebius (he felt guilty for feeling a ‘civilized’, unnatural feeling towards his mentor... oh well), even if he promised redemption. He wouldn’t work for the Thing inside him. He wouldn’t work.

He would kill.

More than vengeance. He saw and feared. He saw the Glory of the Beast that ripped his throat. He saw it as the King. The Apex of Civilization. He wouldn’t have it.

A bitter way to feel, he would not admit other’s religions to be meaningful in a way his wasn’t. He felt inferior. He felt foolish. The wild man in him corrupted, the civilized man in him guilty of his wilderness AND of his civilization. Hating himself, he magnified outwards the hate.

The Albatross Is Pure Hate.

He repeated these words, the spell dancing around him, phantom faces, totemic spirits. And all his organs were out. He stood up. He walked to his window, overlooking Lake Gauss.

His legs faltered. He fell through the glass into the abyss.

Look at him sink. He drowns. Damocles can’t give him oxygen, even if it were trying. He dies. Schwarzwyrmkommando Klot is dead.

Undead.

His skin becomes as ebony. His fingers fuse, from five to three in each hand. His eyes fall off their sockets, useless. He’ll have to use shades, it seems. He’s moving again, swimming upwards. As he leaps out of the water, he assumes the shape of an albatross. He flies away... high away, he’s closer to the Gamezoha Prime moon, a red satellite, they call it Sky’s Wound... Black Fire? Sure, he can become Black Fire... he falls down on an unwary guard on the rooftops of the Ex-Imperial Palace at the capital city Kubrik... he becomes fire just in time to burn the guard to a crispy skeleton... an undead skeleton, the other guards will have a nasty surprise... he, flame, passes through a window on the other side of the street he’s just hovered over... he changes form, becoming a black panther, a huge one, and then he pokes the child sleeping in the bed right in front of him... the child wakes up startled, he playfully covers her mouth with a gigantic paw...

He shifts to human, black in black capes, black sunglasses over his non-eyes, leans over the child and tears her throat. He drinks the blood eagerly. When he’s finished, he extends his wrist, cuts it with his new claw, lets the cursed blood into the beautiful girl’s mouth.

He leaves her, doubly tainted, by the vampire’s blood and Damocles. He will make more, not enough to cause chaos in the city, but enough to frighten President Joel. In the chaos and fear, he will find his quarry. And he will fulfill his destiny, for that’s what his name is all about - Kwambula Lwetang’o Oretswan Tukwee, He Who Prevents Salvation.

Damocles smiles as only a nanobot can. He predicts Miriam will have human form by now - while he, amorphous, becomes a fire within, a curse they can’t fight, the New Order spread, curiously enough, through this primitive fool’s obtuse mystical disease...

The Black Light smiles. New entities aspiring godhood entertain it...

OOOOO

The third ring, the ring of air. Obvious image: invisibility.

What fuels fire? What fills the lung of criminals allowing them to commit their crimes?

Moebius sat in his throne. He always had one, deep in the bowels of his Prime Minister palace, now the Ministry of Necessary Violence. His plans went well in the future, as he will have had known. He reported to himself recently. He seemed pretty satisfied, and he never was able to fool himself.

It takes a crooked mind to be a time streamer. Moebius’ as like a writhing mass of worms in their death throes.

He looked at his chess set. The game has always been this. Himself versus Fortune. Oh, he knew fortune didn’t exist per se. But he didn’t feel opposed to the so-called deities, or better, he didn’t find them worthwhile opponents. Order, Chaos, New Order, Destruction, Constructive Destruction, Elder Gods, Good, Evil, Spirits in general: entities he couldn’t truly respect, as they didn’t earn their power, and they hadn’t ultimate power. He, Moebius, once a poor little boy lost in the mean streets of Citrus. Only it was still a medieval city. Anyway, he got power, and power, and power. He became the High Manipulator, the Secret King, the Cryptarch. And now... godhood is within reach, but not simple godhood. He’ll be unique. He’ll destroy the others, and reign supreme. He’ll have to destroy the universe, of course, to be absolutely sure he isn’t threatened.

"Paranoia, paranoia," he sang, madly.

Yes, unfortunately, the most cunning mind, mortal or not, of all existence happened to be completely insane. Not in the sense of psychopathic or stuff, but really wacko wacko crazy. He could hide it perfectly, and then he’d release it here, underground, his beautiful insanity.

There it sat, the chessboard. The King in the opposite side: Vincit Omnibus, none else. The queen, remarkably like... yes, our Miriam. Two bishops, Krystal and Gauss, never to meet one another: colorbound - one always on the black squares, the other always on the white ones, how symbolic and thoughtful of Moebius. Two knights, our old pals Oscar and Jon. The rooks - what the hell? Sky and Windsong? How come? WHY? Goddamn you, Moebius, since you know how this will end, tell us! TELL US!!

Too late for that, narration will have to continue, for now a secret door slowly slides open, an assassin here to finish Moebius, now and forever, or so she hopes.

Lady Katje van Hagenkaard was trained by the Department of State of the Gamezohan Empire to be their most perfect assassin. She would be the paradigm for Consulary Ops, the most diplomatic, efficient way to solve international problems, to the eyes of a Gamezohan.

She had drills simulating what she’d have to do to assassinate Emperor Gauss, his son Wernher and daughter Nike and Silberwyrmritter Captain Klot in one operation, and she always succeeded. She could absorb the blueprints of a facility with one glance, kill a dragon with one well-positioned stab, and had a morbid pleasure with observing her prey’s habits. She had a crush on the prince for a while. One day, she had a weapons training drill with him, which she fought masked, after all, she was Consulary Ops most secret weapon. She defeated him easily, disarming him of his katana with her off-hand sai and holding him against the wall with her other one. She lost all interest, for she would not respect an inferior combatant.

She was preparing the assassination of King Adamus of Wendauer when the coup came. She was unimpressed with the republican gibberish, but played along, vowing to end that nonsense any way she could.

And then she met her one true love, Nike, who managed to defeat her in an erotic fight that ended with their first impassioned lovemaking. Together, they got access to the New Republic’s innermost secrets through that jackass, Joel (who has a tiny penis heehee they would comment when he went away, fact that soon became public knowledge through the media gossip channels, bless their mischievous intentions).

Eventually she found out whom she had to kill, and that’s what she was doing in Moebius’ dungeon.

Moebius raised a hand, stopping the whirled blade in midair. He gestured, and Katje fell on the table before him.

"Tsk, tsk, my failed angel of death. Consulary Ops failed with you. If you had managed to kill me, a past me would have used you in a very important assassination, the Omnibus affair. But right now, you failed even this simple test."

She suddenly used a secret mantra to be release of his control and stab him. He pushed her away with a gesture and pulled out her sai.

"Nice. I didn’t see this one coming, and I’m ME. Oh well, you still die. You forgot people like me have tiny hearts," he added, with a smile. "Any last words?"

"Yes," said Katje, being choked by an invisible force. "Fuck yourself and die."

He broke her neck. "I’ve already done that, stupid blonde."

He looked at his wound, gestured and it closed. "Note to future self: do not let Nike find out what happened. We need her." He looked at the chessboard. There she was, his Queen...

What was that move? Queen take bishop?

OOOOO

The fourth ring, Water. Life? Yeah right, tell that to drowned sailors. Water is home to Bushthulhu, in his sleep under the seas of Earth... quite near Citrus, in fact.

Krystal is looking at the sea right now. Look at her, if you dare. Perfection. That’s the only applicable word, because the aesthetic standards of men were inspired by fey. There she stands, gold streaks in her auburn hair, or is it because of the sunset? With the wind it flies, and the wind is proud of collaborating with her beauty. She is waiting, waiting for her love. He has sent her a message. They have found and dealt with the Hikari-No, and now their quest truly begins.

She is a powerful sorceress, healer and, some would add, witch. She is also defenseless, completely unaware of her surroundings, focused in the horizon.

She closes her eyes, imagines his presence, and smiles. She can but imagine what a kiss would feel like, and shivers at the thought.

The nature of their curse is more serious than others think. To touch his lips with her lips, such a simple thing he has even done with his sister, would spell the damnation of the universe. Even a prolonged touch, or, god forbid, the most innocent caressing would be an abhorrent violation of the Dharma. Supreme cruelty, even in her thoughts and fantasies he was off-limits! Her hope was to dream, perchance then his presence, not her fault, would be forgiven...

She wished sometimes he’d just be happy with someone else. But that thought failed to comfort her, not because she wouldn’t be able of such a sacrifice, but because she is sure within her soul that he loves her as intensely, and from that she concludes he, too, could truly love no other woman.

She hears footsteps. Maybe her Beloved has arrived and she missed it, in her fantasies! She turns, and for a moment, she believes He is there. But then she recognizes His sister.

"Hello, Nike."

"Can I guess what you were thinking about?" Nike smiles, tauntingly.

Krystal blushes. "That wouldn’t be too hard."

"No, it wouldn’t." Suddenly Nike was in contact with Krystal (who couldn’t help but be flooded with pleasure, so similar was the sister to her brother). She spoke very close to Krystal’s face, her soft honeyed breath from her tempting lips. "When you meet my brother, tell him I would have killed you. I was meant to; someone set this situation up so I’d kill you. Right now, though, I take my fate in my own hands. I won’t kill you, because you love my brother, so I love you," she concluded, kissing Krystal’s surprised and willing mouth.

When Krystal opened her eyes, lips still quivering with the memory of pleasure, guilty, mysteriously unpunished, Nike was gone. She saw in the distance Gauss’s ship landing. Her heart was beating with fear and joy.

And then she was shot, a silent bullet to the heart. Her assassin walked to her body and fired at her forehead, two defilations of the holy. The assassin left, satisfied with her job.

Gauss was running to meet her when he felt her death. He stumbled to her body, held her against him and roared.

It was an inhuman roar. Its psychic echo was heard throughout the galaxy. Grief and loss echoed in the hearts of all those who’ve suffered similar pains, and for one moment, the universe was a single organism, united in pain. And just as abruptly as her murder, it stopped. He looked at her, and smiled.

"I’m sorry, for that one moment I was as stupid as ol’ Vinny," he said, caressing her hair. "I failed to recognize this moment for what it is: a chance."

He leaned over her body, and whispered her:

"There is that tiny thing we have to do, me and you, about saving the mortals, remember? So you’ll have to come back. When you do, I’ll be waiting. You won’t fail me, just as I wouldn’t fail you."

He kissed her dead lips. "And then... then we’ll make the rules. The Dragon King and his Fiery Queen!"

In Draconic, the same word means "save" and "achieve dominion over"...

OOOOO

The last ring. Earth. Heaven lasts long, and earth abides...

The assassin took off her mask, revealing a young mulatto face, completely unfitting with her eyes full of cold hatred and the previously seen act of violence. She was somewhat surprised to find a hologram of Moebius floating in her escape ship.

"You have inherited your father’s infallibility, Kara."

"I wish only to serve you," she replied automatically.

Moebius chuckled. "Good, good. You will be helpful."

"When will I get to know where my father is?" asked Kara, a hint of lost despair in her voice.

"Just one more mission, my young Angel of Death..." grinned Moebius.

Always a back-up plan. Always. Pawn takes Bishop, promotes to Queen...

<-- Chapter Ten: In a Sweeping Feat of Inhuman Congruity, I Tie Together a Huge Pile of Loose Ends Into a Gordian Knot of Plotdom | Index | Chapter Twelve: The Parting -->