From her vantage point five stories above the street, Rae had an ideal view of the raid.  After Nabob had taken off and disappeared from sight, she hadn't even had to play an active role in the fighting.  The Cajuns had been devastatingly efficient, particularly given their numerical advantage, and had decimated the remaining vampires without much effort and no real casualties on their part.  Solomon had been the only one that had managed to break free of the melee, and she had faith enough in Nabob's abilities to believe that he would be able to bring the renegade vampire down before he got too far.

    Damn.  Was she going to get that warm feeling inside of her every time she thought of him from now on?  Mulling over it for a second, she decided that she probably would.  That brought a smile to Rae's thin lips again.

     "Pretty inappropriate time to be thinking about that sort of thing," she chastised herself, her voice only slightly wistful. "We're going to have to have a long talk after all of this is over."  A very long talk, she added inwardly.

     Maybe behind a closed door, with some champagne…

     And pie.

     He likes cherry pie, doesn't…?

     Rae blinked.  Something wasn't right.  The commotion had died down far below, but she could still feel the Rush empowering her.  That meant that some of the evil creatures still lurked.  She quickly scanned the battlefield.  Two corpses lay still in the firelight, and she caught a glimpse of a few Slayers just before they disappeared down the alleyway that Nabob had dove into.  None of the other vampires had escaped…

     Straining her ears, she thought that she could almost make out something that sounded like chattering…

 "Well hello there, honey," came the startling voice from behind her, on the rooftop. "Fancy running into you up here."

     She turned slowly, hand slowly sliding her Colt handgun out from her belt, already knowing whom she would see.  Sure enough, standing across the rooftop from her, arms folded across a well-muscled chest, was the cruel form of Lucas Pondexter.

     "I expected that you would try to get out of the city," she snarled. "Guess I gave you credit for having more intelligence than a donkey.  My mistake."

     He stepped forward.  He was wearing camouflaged black fatigues, and a long, slender assassin's knife hung from his belt.  "I couldn't leave just yet, sweetcheeks.  I made you a promise.  You gave me my freedom, and I promised you that I would return the favor some day."  Pondexter stretched out his hands, both of which were empty. "So here I am to repay the debt."

     "Don't call me sweetcheeks."

     "Sorry.  I suppose it isn't particularly becoming for a lady of your stature, is it?  Ladies who crawl around on filthy rooftops watching with glee while their friends risk their lives in the fight against evil.  I've seen it all too often before, and it sickens me to the core."

     "And you sicken me!" Barely even thinking about it, Rae brought the weapon up to eye level with both hands and took her aim squarely between Pondexter's eyes.  The man didn't even flinch.  Hesitation wasn't one of the traits that Rae's ancestors had passed down the generation line to her, though.  She pulled the trigger.

     Nothing happened.

     "Tsk, tsk…" he scolded as she pulled down on the trigger again and again, each time with the same result. "I told you before, technology doesn't suit me well.  Seems to practically design itself for failure just when you need it the most."

     Casting the useless pistol aside, Rae fished around on her belt and decided that the old-fashioned way might be best.  She pulled out her trusted ferro-compound stake.  "What's your game here, Pondexter?"

     He eyed her curtly, still maintaining his irrationally calm poker face. "You really haven't figured it out yet.  But then again, I guess I gave you credit for having more intelligence than a mere mortal."  He allowed a smug grin. "My mistake."

     Rae tried to circle him, probing for an angle that would prove most advantageous to attack by, but Pondexter remained totally nonchalant, eyeing her warily but without making any sort of movement in response.  From somewhere below she could make out the sounds of gunfire and screaming, but before she could even turn her head to get a better idea of what was going on, he spoke again.

     "That Nabob fellow…he really should have taken better care of you, little girl."

 She glared at him. "What do you mean?"

     "I mean that I warned him about this in advance," he said. "I told him that it'd be a real tragedy for him if something were to happen to you.  Too bad that he didn't listen.  Now he's going to have to find out what life without you is like."

     Delay wasn't helping, so she gave in and acted on impulse.  The Rush still beat strongly inside of her, and she sprang forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat, mentally blotting out the horrible sounds of pain from five stories down on the street below.  There would be time to worry about that later.  First she would finish Pondexter…with the Rush on her side no normal human could stand his ground for long against her…and then she would hit the street to help out against whatever…

     Her curled fist struck his face and the immediate surge of pain up her arm informed her that punching through an armored battleship's hull might have been slightly more forgiving on her fingers.

     Pondexter, for his part, flinched visibly.

     Immediately backing up, Rae stared down at her hand in disbelief, now swollen and red from the pain.  Then her gaze drifted back up to the man who had just withstood her best Rush-enhanced blow without giving so much as an inch of ground.

     Fear began to mount in her breast.

     "It's too late for you, Rae," he said calmly. "Almost a shame that your death is going to be such a waste.  Perhaps if you had lived your life better, it wouldn't be."

     "What…what are you?" she gasped, still cradling her hand.

     He considered carefully for a moment.  "Well…why not?"

     Then Pondexter's brow furrowed in concentration and his entire figure seemed to contort.  Rae's eyes widened with both horror and fascination as a radiant aura seemed to flow out from him, like something out of a dream.  Then, from his back, glowing, white tendril-like appendages burst through his fatigues as they materialized behind him.  It took her a moment to recognize them.  She had only had a vision of the Archangel Azraella once, but she distinctly remembered the silky tendrils of holy energy.  They were wings.

     An Angel's wings.

    "My true name is Rashanan, as you may have heard that crude Nosferatu refer to me as," he said, voice suddenly changed and somehow amplified beyond itself. "I was a True Angel, holy soldier in the most glorified legion of the High Heavens, lieutenant to the Archangel Janzen."

     "You…you're a fallen angel, aren't you?" Rae managed, awe-struck as she was. "One of the defectors to the Burning Hells…"

     "Not fallen, mortal.  Enlightened.  I have realized that the ideals of goodness and order are but a sham, a tired façade for the weak to hide behind.  This world in itself is proof of that.  Look around you, Slayer!" he swept a broad arm across the skyline.  "This is neither the territory of Heaven nor Hell, but look at it!  Corruption…decay…filth…hatred…all rampant across the face of this planet.  It is proof of which side is stronger.  I have joined the darkness so that I too may share in the spoils of glorious victory.  I have pledged myself to a new master…a master who has great things in mind for you Slayers."

 "You've gone totally mad, Rash…whoever you are!"

 Slowly, the Angel pulled the sword from its scabbard.  Upon contact with the air brilliant blue-green flames burst into being around it.  On any other occasion such a sight would have been serene, beautiful.  Right now, though, its presence struck chords of additional fear in her heart.

     "No, mortal, not mad.  Simply enlightened.  I have found my place in this world."  A grotesque sneer appeared on his face.  Angelic features had not been designed to produce such expressions.  "Everything has gone according to my master's plans.  My mortal form, my imprisonment…both were ruses to lure you Slayers out into the open, where you could be easily annihilated.  Listen carefully, Rae…listen to the sound of your comrades as they breathe their last…"

     "You gave them to Plague Sever!" she shouted, fury coursing through her, tangible as blood.  Indeed, she could hear the screams, now more violent and vibrant than before. "You gave them to the goddamn Specter!"

     Rashanan smiled cruelly. "Yeeesssss, and soon the repercussions will be fully realized.  Almost a shame that you won't be here to see it happen."  He began to move forward, thunder seeming to roll beneath his feet with every step.

     Rae tried to back up, her feet touching the rooftop's ledge.  Panic flashed through her as her eyes locked upon the advancing Angel.  There was nowhere she could run to, and there was no way that she could hope to defeat it.  "Listen to me, Rashanan…this isn't right, and you know it!  This isn't your nature!  Fight against it!"

     "You cannot tell me what my nature is, Slayer.  Nobody can.  Not anymore.  I am in control of my own destiny…"

     "And what good is that freedom if all you use it for is destruction?" she retorted. "That makes you no better than…than a demon!"

     He smirked. "It transcends your comprehension, mortal, but if you wish to call me a demon, then so be it.  If I am, then at least I shall have the strength of the Darkness. The strength…and the victory."  He pointed the sword squarely at her chest.  "And you shall be joining the Light that you so cherish, only to discover the truth."

     "What truth?"

   "That there is no Light."

     Then the fallen Angel lunged, flaming sword at the ready, lusting to run the female Chimneysweep through.  Rae spun out of the way, the sword barely missing the seam of her shirt, and instead piercing the space that she had been in an instant before with an audible roar.  Rashanan, formerly Lucas Pondexter, howled in irritation as the nimble Chimneysweep stayed half a step ahead of him, flipping past his expert slashes, narrowly avoiding the flaming weapon.  The streaming tendrils of light that composed his wings moved about in a flurry as well, trying desperately to snag her and hold her down for just long enough to deliver the death blow.

     Landing off of a springing flip on her hands, Rae braced against the concrete ground and leaped forward, her foot connecting with the outsider's face.  Pain sprang back through her leg, but this time it seemed to have not been in vain.  She heard the crack of the connection, and the fallen Angel staggered back slightly.

     Only slightly, though.

     One of the gleaming tendrils finally snagged Rae, wrapping around her leg and hauling her up with frightening strength.  With an intense force it lifted her clean off the ground by her leg and then smashed her back down upon it, knocking the wind out of her.  Rashanan gleefully repeated the process twice more, pounding Rae's willowy body into the cement.  When she lifted her face again, it was smeared with blood.

     More of the tendrils wrap around her arms and torso, and an instant later she was being lifted up off of the ground, dangled in the air like a rag doll.  Rae tried to struggle, tried to use her Rushed strength to break free of the grip, but against a celestial being it was a futile effort.  Rashanan forcibly lifted her across the rooftop and allowed her to hang in front of him, her feet hanging numbly above thin air and the five story drop that awaited her below.  Both of his hands free, the fallen Angel dramatically brought the sword forward, placing the tip of it just beneath Rae's chin.

     "I would tell you that I'm sorry that this had to be done, but I'm not.  Your death is peripheral to the grand scheme.  Like I said, fairly meaningless.  Just like your life."  The sword lowered, touching her sternum.  "This is just for the pleasure of doing it.  See you around…sweetcheeks."

     Then, with a motion no greater than a flick of the wrist, the sword pierced her breast, running her all the way through, the flames burning away the tortured scream of agony that tried to rise up out of her throat.  Tears formed in Rae's eyes as she watched the Angel slowly pull the blade out, leaving a gaping, burning hole in her chest.  The tendrils unwrapped themselves from her, releasing Rae's body to its long plunge down to the darkness below.

     A dull moan passed through her lips as she fell.

VIII.  "Rush Damnation"

    "I was across town.  Not all of us can will ourselves across the globe in a picosecond, Sith.  Why the hell have you intruded on my life?"

    "Straight to the point.  It's good to see not everything about you has changed, GAVAL."

    "My name is Ted Benoit, and if you continue to disrespect the wishes I've made clear for a while now about my designation, I have no further business here.  You're lucky I stuck around this long."  Ted turned away from the shadows and started out when he heard a dry leaf crunch under someone else's foot.  He knew Nighteye had finally emerged from the shadows.

    "Such disdain for someone who I've come to indulge with gracious redemption!  I really ought to rethink my philanthropic strategies!" Ted paused but didn't turn around.  He knew that at any moment a laser sword could pierce his kidneys from behind and emerge from his midsection.  Nighteye could kill him at any moment.  For Rachel, he had to curb his tongue, remain cordial despite hatred, and get out of this alive.  Let the Slayers or CWAL deal with Nighteye.  Tact.  Poise.  At least turn around so you can face him when he runs you through!

    "Are you under the impression that I'm some kind of charity case?"  Ted turned around and saw Nighteye leaning against a headstone, a grim mausoleum with leafless trees made up the background.  The Dark Jedi wore his usual black robes, a shroud of black making up his hood with only the shine of three small bolts emerging from the darkness within: that of the eyepatch Nighteye had to use after the Great Holy War had left its mark.

    "I would be hard pressed to elevate you to the level of charity case!"  Eye of the Night's teeth appeared from the shadow of his hood for a moment as he glared at the mortal who stood before him.  "You were once one of the great warriors of light.  You've stood toe to toe with evils even I would reconsider ever facing.  You've beaten death and the odds that nip at death's heels time and time again, and yet you are willing to settle for this pathetic existence?!  A manling living in man's herd of a world trying to convince himself that he can ever belong?  Ever make some kind of difference without power, allegiance, or responsibility to the cause that once drove you?"

    Ted's eyes narrowed a bit but he still showed no emotion despite the fury Nighteye's taunting had ignited. For Rachel. "Can someone so learned really be this ignorant of what life really is all about?  I know you have no virtue's worth mentioning, Nighty, but to ignore the power of one?  Haven't you lost enough battles to realize that no one with their heart in the right place should ever be underestimated?"  Ted let loose a pitying smile for the clueless being before him.  What can true evil ever really appreciate?  It's kind of sad, really, this guy...he'll never understand what life's really about...

    " `Virtue!'  `The power of one!'  A warrior for any cause knows that in the big picture it is the strongest who survive in the end, and you, manling, are pathetically weak!"

    "I'm not here to debate my importance in the cosmos, Nighteye, nor am I here to indulge your fascination with name-calling and insult.  What do you want?"

    He finally got up from the headstone as if ready to deliver a speech.  "What do YOU want?"

    "You called me here, answer my question."

    "What do you want?"

    Ted was getting really fed up.  Impatient.  He just wanted to be on the couch eating popcorn in Rachel's lap now.  Fear?  He had to get out of this and Nighteye wasn't going to let him off easy. Why won't he just tell me what he wants?!  Indulge him.

    "I want you to leave me alone."

    "No, no!  What do you want in the big picture?  Out of life?  What makes you tick, man?!"

    "I have what I want.  I have a normal life and I'm content.  That's what life's about, being happy."

    "Being happy?  Is that really all you require from your existence?"

    "Everything every being and creature does is to further its existence towards being content, then comfortable, and if possible happy."

    "Is THAT what they teach you in your silly philosophy courses?!  HA!"

    "No, that's common sense."

    "If the world were that easy I'd be indulging myself in a harem of virgins and Siberian Vodka for the rest of my days."

    Ted couldn't help but sigh.  "What do you want?"

    "Let me tell you what YOU want."  Nighteye began pacing slowly back and forth.  "You want to be a Slayer again."

    "No, I prayed very often to be free of my pureblood and the pain that it brought."

    "You relished in the adventure it brought!"

    "I prayed to be able to experience love and peace without putting those I love in danger."

    "You knew full well that you could have both a life of adventure and bliss!"

    "I was tired.  I'd had enough!"

    "And yet you fought for months exhausting every possible resource to regain your metahumanity!"

    "I had one final mission to complete."

    "VENGEANCE?!  Is this one of your precious virtues?!"

    "No, but I felt obligated to redeem Coy, and Cabbott and the was MY fault they lost their lives!"

    "Cabbott is alive and well and still fighting the good fight despite his loss of power.  Why wasn't that good enough for you, Cajun?!  WHAT DO YOU WANT!?"

    "I want you to get the hell out of my life!  LEAVE ME ALONE!"  Ted started to turn around but was suddenly gripped by an unseen force, his head forced to turn towards Nighteye, his eyeballs glued to the Sith's face as he spoke from a dark shroud with disgust and hatred.

    "You pathetic worm of a man.  If you weren't so harmless and wretched I'd have killed you before you even knew I was here, but I want to relish in a clean victory over the GAVAL who meddled with my genius so many times!  AND TO WHAT END?!  I lose an eye!  I lose my dark lord!  I am forced to retreat to the frozen wastelands in a place nobody wants to be or own!  I shall have my will fulfilled, Cajun, and you shall indulge me, not because I say so but because you will WANT it to be so."

    Ted struggled against the dark power but found himself to be a puppet in Nighteye's hands. The sensation was one of utter helplessness, something he was very unused to.  "What are you...talking about?"

    "I know where Plague-Sever is.  I know he is going to strike soon.  I know he'll take the lives of several of your friends as they try to hunt him, and I know that even now he lurks in the darkness relishing in the thoughts of the nourishing nectar that he shall steal from his favorite delicacy, the heart and soul of an Evil Slayer.  He cannot be found unless he wants to be found except through the means I have at my disposal.  The Slayers are pathetic and weak.  Over the years they have lost the might that their god had granted them so long ago and if not for the few lucky excursions such as those you've been able to pull off before you fell to the Specter, the ASG would be all but washed up, their legacy lost in the pages of history.  I have foreseen it and have no reason to mislead you in this premonition."

    "They'll find him and they'll stop him."

    Nighteye's right hand reached out as if to push an unseen foe before him and Ted's feet instantly left the ground as he felt himself hurtled into the cemetery wall.

    "AREN'T you listening?!  The Slayers have lost the power to stop an ancient creature of this Specter's power!  They've lost the power and they've lost the knowledge!  He'll keep on eating every last one of you until there is no more mana to sustain him and by then there will be no more Slayer's Guild!  There will be no more pureblood, and there will be no one significant to maintain balance!"

    " want to prevent this why...Mr. Evil shorts?"

    "That type of chaos is for ME to bring about, not some endangered species that likes Slayer on Rye for its bedtime snack!  Besides....Plague-Sever's demise brings about something else I"


    " again, once again strong enough to stand up to the pain that I would finally be able to inflict upon you before crushing you like I've always wanted to."

    "What are you talking about."

    "Let me spell it out for you, Ignoramus!  I can give you back the Rush that the Specter took from you!  I can give you back your powers over evil and more!  A Rush you could bring about at will!  An inner strength that would not only allow you to deliver vengeance against Plague-Sever, but also to recapture the purpose you've lost while still being able to enjoy the luxuries in life that you think are so important...the girl...the education...the future; all because my power you would be able to control."

    "What is this?!  The last temptation of Ted?!  I don't want your power!  I don't need your help!  The Slayers will find the creature and kill it!  Of this I have no doubt."

    "As I said, your friends will fall.  I have foreseen it.  Only I can give you the power to save their lives, and all I ask from you is that you submit to my power so that I might restore the light that once burned inside you...and..." He waited for Ted to ask him what else, but the Cajun would not indulge him.  After a few moments he angrily finished his conditions.  "...and that you face me in mortal conflict in one year's time at my palace in the ShadowlandsA fair fight to the demise of the weaker.  Something to look forward to besides Mardi Gras next March, yes?"

    "What a bunch of bull-shit!"  Ted got up and straightened out his jacket, knowing now that Nighteye's obsession with "fair revenge" would allow him to walk out alive.

    "That's not all, Cajun.  The ritual that would return your power would have its consequence. It is a corrupted magic, that which can take your light and rekindle it.  Every time you use the power, you will lose a bit of your soul as it fuels the flame.  Your conscience will dwindle and your inhibitions will decay as the power consumes you.  This is not my doing, but a nice perk that comes with the incantation.  The Rush will be more painful every time you use it as well, albeit more powerful.  Still,  I get to watch you lose your character and then I get to take away your life as well!  Damn I'm good!"

    "You're nuts is what you are.  Goodnight, Blinkie....oh, hey, and I suggest you see someone about this Moby Dick syndrome of yours..."  He started on his way out feeling somewhat less defeated.  "...oh, and this obsession with power that you have?  Don't underestimate the satisfaction that comes with a nice bear hug from the one that you love.  You do know what love is don't you?"   Ted walked out of Gothic Cemetary, the leaves crunching under his feet rhythymcly.

    "Oh, I know what love is, CWALer.  And you will be back," he said almost quietly and to himself.  It wasn't important that Ted heard Nighteye's parting words.  He would be back.  It was foreseen.


     "Hit it!" Nabob shouted, his voice coming out in panting heaves as he tried to scuttle backwards along the ground in the alleyway.  He couldn't see more than the occasional glimpse of the Plague Sever, but he knew that it was there, knew it all the way from his head to his bones to his very soul.  "HIT IT HARD!"

     From behind him the gathered Cajuns, shouting with glee at the prospect of finally catching up to their quarry, let loose with everything they had.  Silver bullets screamed through the air out the barrels of specially-modified automatic weapons.  Vials of holy water were thrown or spat down the alley.  Crucifixes were in every hand, and sanctified clubs, knives, and baseball bats were being held at the ready.  Nabob swore he could smell garlic too.  A number of holy bolts and Turning spells were evoked as well, something that only the Cajuns were capable of doing.

     The chattering sound from the Plague Sever swelled to a crescendo as the holy implements exploded around it, showering the alleyway with silver and holy water.  It shrieked as though in grave pain…

     …And then fell silent.

     Every Slayer hesitated, scanning the dark alley with Rush-enhanced vision, eyes darting about to look for any sign of the vile creature.  A chattering tooth, a whisper of movement, a rush of cold air…anything that could indicate its presence.  Nabob scrambled back up to his feet and brought out his not-so-trusty Beretta M9, for whatever good it would do, as he slowly backed into the crowd of other Slayers.  Countless heartbeats passed in total quiet.

     "You think we actually got de bastard?" whispered Chalice.

     "You're still standing on two legs, aren't you?" Nabob hissed back. "If the Rush is still here, then it means that thing hasn't croaked just…"

     Then came the scream.  Powerful, penetrating, a roaring wail of loss, remorse, and fear.  The Slayers all whipped around, scared as hell, just in time to see one of the Cajuns who had been bringing up the rear be literally lifted up into the air, his entire body trembling with spasms as though he had just been dipped into the coldest of ice waters.  The wail came from his throat, and a second later the chattering began again, goading, almost triumphant as the Slayer's eyes rolled back into his head and the spasms slowly stopped.  The body was cast aside, violently smashing into a wall and slumping to the dirty ground, more lifeless than anything Nabob had ever seen before.

     "It's behind us!" someone shouted unnecessarily as the group of Slayers suddenly disintegrated into a panicked, frenzied mob.

     Guns cracked almost at random, holy water was flung in every direction, stakes of all kinds and makes were pulled out as the Purebloods ran about frantically, trying to combat something that they could not see.  Another scream rose from the bunch, and another unfortunate Cajun felt the cold sting of death as the Plague Sever reached inside of him and drained away his very essence, and then his life.

     The Specter was out in the open, now, with most of the Slayers darting around it in a vain attempt to find it.  Nabob, blood trickling down his face like tears, pushed himself into one of the shadows in the alleyway, hands unconsciously caressing his pistol.  His eyes were sharp, though, looking through the crowd of Slayers, catching the occasional glimpse of the Specter amongst them…

     Thinking that he saw it off in the distance, he pointed his gun and fired, aiming just above the heads of two terrified Cajuns.

     For a brief instant, illuminated in the light of the muzzle flash, Nabob caught a glimpse of the skeletal, ethereal form of the Plague Sever Specter, hovering less than a foot in front of his face.

     Fear almost froze him in place.  If it had, he would have been added to the night's casualty list.

     As it happened, his reflexes saved him.  Nabob dropped to the ground instantly, and he could feel the chill of the Specter's embrace brush past his cheek as he dove.  What started out as a tumble turned into a frantic, desperate scramble out of the way as he felt cold air pass by him and knew the Specter had just lunged again, and missed.  Against a foe he couldn't see, though, it was only a matter of time…

     A handful of seconds later, another scream rang out, and two more Cajuns went down writhing, not dead but clearly drained in some dark sort of a way.  A third was thrown into the flaming garbage can, fire licking at his body.  He did not rise to push himself away.

     Chalice then stepped out in front of Nabob, blue flames encompassing his fists as he held them out from his body, a holy bolt of pure tactile telekinetic energy forming.  He caught a glimpse of the Plague Sever, then released the holy Cajun weapon right at it.  The chattering burst into a shriek as the holy energy struck the undead creature, briefly highlighting its form in the air.  Nabob's eyes widened as he saw evil in its entirety.  A deformed, misshapen skeleton hanging above the ground, its skull twisted with pure malevolence, a cloud of vaporous ectoplasmic residue hanging about it.  Then the apparition disappeared again, and the chattering returned.  It was at that moment that Nabob realized that they could not win this fight.  Not today.

     Apparently Chalice realized the exact same thing.  "Fall back, you bastards!" he shouted. "Fall back!"

 Nabob began to run as the final attempts to keep the Cajuns together as a coherent force failed and the Slayers finally scattered, fleeing as quickly as their legs would carry them in any direction.  He caught sight of Chalice somewhere beside him, but quickly lost him in his peripheral vision.  The chattering of the Specter's teeth intensified for a frightening moment, and then began to fade away into the background.  As he ran, though, the feeling of dread inside of his soul did not decrease, but instead redoubled itself.  He didn't know why until he caught the sound of a shredded, muffled moan somewhere amidst the screams that surrounded him.

 Nabob shouldn't have been able to hear it, but somehow, he did.

 It was cut short by the sickening thud of a body hitting the hard ground.

 On to Page Five