Ehyeh-asher-ehyeh (I am that I am)
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DEEP INSIDE HELL"And again I saw how they began to gore each other and to devour each other, and the earth began to cry aloud. And I raised mine eyes again to heaven, and I saw in the vision, and behold there came forth from heaven beings who were like white men." Book of Enoch 87: 1, 3 Apocrypha As their chartered jet left Benito Juarez Airport, Zarach looked out his window. "Don't even think about sleep tonight," he declared as soon as they got in the air, towards New York. "I doubt if there will be much rest for any of us before dawn."
bottle on the tray in front of him, brought his eyes back from looking out at the night sky. Another long night—at this rate Lilitu wouldn't have to fight them. She could just wait for them to collapse from exhaustion right in front of her troops. It would be ironic to lose one's head just because one was too tired to lift it, he thought.
situation sounds pretty grim. Do we have anything resembling a plan?" "Yes," Methos answered grinning. "Find them, and kill them all." "I don't know yet," admitted Zarach. "We are not dealing with the usual battle between Immortals in the Game. Normally, Lilitu would have planned this campaign with great care, working for many years to ensure that it ran smoothly. In the old days, she used to send bands of spies and saboteurs into the city disguised as good people. Working slowly and cautiously, these 'workers', mortals and Immortals, established themselves in the human community, rising to positions of power among the unsuspecting ranks of their prey. Thus they learned all the secrets necessary to guarantee the success of a sneak attack. Nothing was left to chance. When the surprise strike finally took place, these spies turned on their former comrades, destroying them without mercy." Heru-sa-aset stroked his cheek. "We all know this first hand, Zarach." "Yes; we all do," Zarach continued. "Sometimes the strategy worked, sometimes it didn't. Much depended on the strength of the Headless Children she used, their loyalty, cunning, and discipline. In this case, however, Lilitu has forfeited any such advantage by calling for an immediate surprise attack. She hopes to catch her enemies unprepared and unaware. And it just might work; the mortals may not suspect such a bold, cunning stroke. However, considering the size and scope of the assault, the dangers are many. For both sides." Aylón frowned. "The human governments recently have become a hotbed of intrigue and dissension. The mortals are not the unshakable rock they once were. Lilitu is evidently hoping that internal bickering among the leaders of the nations will hamper their efforts to marshal enough forces to combat her. Not to mention the fact that as of now, they consider these international emergencies as natural, not man-made, disasters. There's a lot of talk about the end of the world as written in the Bible, etc. They don't really know what they're dealing with; they don't know about Immortals; they especially don't know about Lilitu!"
alert. Plus, let's not make the mistake of underestimating mortals. They're not stupid; they can see a pattern right in front of their faces. And in defense of their loved ones, they can be formidable fighters!" He raised his arms above his head and stretched languidly. "You know? I'm beginning to feel I am being underpaid for this work. After this episode is over, I'd like to renegotiate my contract within the Ancient Gathering," he said smiling, and then drank from his beer. Myrddin smiled across at the elusive member of their party. "No argument from me, Methos. You are a rare treasure. You are worth your weight in gold." "Don't give him any ideas," Heru-sa-aset said, grinning. "He's already too arrogant for his age." His smile left as he began to plot. "In the meantime, I've already ordered my agents to acquire several of those special 'items' developed by the Army. They could prove to be very useful. And there would be some 'special' stuff in New York, along with a new military jet waiting for us in my hangar at the La Guardia airport. I think you will find it … intriguing."
'intriguing' ones." At the same time Myrddin asked, "A new jet?" "Yes, very advanced. A prototype designed to find anything we look for—like Lilitu's stronghold," Heru-sa-aset replied. "Speaking of your contacts, Prince," Zarach said looking at the Egyptian. "What's the word from Washington?" Before leaving Elena, Corazón Negro and the MacLeods, Heru-sa-aset had made a few calls.
answered, "that it is only fitting that he offer the use of the National Guard, considering the scope of lawlessness in New York City. The Governor also alerted the President, but the conference won't be cancelled." Zarach considered this for a long while. "So they are on alert? Good. But … why not encourage the introduction of federal troops?" he asked finally. "They would be more reliable." "More disciplined, better equipped and higher in number," Heru-sa-aset nodded, raising a finger. "But the American Army can only be used inside the country in the case of an extreme emergency, and for defense only. It protects the American President and his civilian government against a military coup. The National Guard is the domestic branch of the military. Also, the Army is more difficult to influence. Unless you have more connections within the Pentagon than one might reasonably expect ...?" Zarach shook his head almost imperceptibly, and Methos studied him while appearing nonchalant. Zarach was somewhat recovered from Lilitu's attack days ago, but he still retained some of the stunned look about him that had accompanied his displacement, as if it were a struggle for him to remain fully engaged with those around him. "So you see," Heru-sa-aset continued, "The Governor is ready to deploy the Guard. As Methos said, the last century they have trained more carefully because of domestic terrorism activities. All that remains is for the mayor in New York to accept the offer, if he has choice in the matter."
attention. He gestured toward the phone. "Do it, my friend." Heru-sa-aset took the phone. "Secure line? Good." He punched in a number, and did not have to wait long. "Good evening, Senator. Yes, it's me. Forgive me for disturbing you at home ... Are you able to talk? Yes, Senator. I'm acutely aware of what's happening around the world..."
was at the same time heartening and alarming. "If I remember correctly," Heru-sa-aset was saying into the phone, "your friends on the oversight committee owe you several favors? And I believe the Governor is already on the verge of declaring a state of emergency in the city of New York, correct? Yes, yes. I believe you should encourage the committee in that direction. Best for everyone, don't you think?" Methos noticed that Heru-sa-aset was careful not to mention names. "Yes, that's right," said the Egyptian Prince. "The Governor is going to offer the National Guard. It's imperative that the oversight committee accepts this offer. And perhaps you could put a call through to the mayor as well—use your influence. Oh, and a citywide curfew is advisable also. How long can we reasonably expect these measures to be authorized for?" Heru-sa-aset listened, nodded. "Yes, I understand. I know you'll do your best ... Yes, I've heard your name mentioned as a vice-presidential candidate ... What do I think? I think your services are far too valuable in the Senate. Goodnight, Senator." Heru-sa-aset hung up the phone. "Twenty-four hours. The troops will go in. State of emergency, curfew. But if something doesn't happen within a day—" he threw up his hands.
by thinking aloud or in conjunction with others. He considered. He pondered. He weighed options. And when he was ready, he would speak.
seem tired. "We're fucked," Methos rephrased. "The Governor will be willing to keep the National Guard in New York on alert beyond the twenty- four hours, even if not actually deployed," Heru-sa-aset said. "I know the troops won't do our work for us. But they will make it more difficult for the Headless Children to carry out their plans."
them, and for the most part, order will be restored. The Governor will return authority to the mayor and the city council at the end of the twenty-four hour time frame. There'd be too much public backlash otherwise. The crisis will pass. The troops will go home." "The 'crisis' as they see it will have passed," said Methos. "But our 'crisis' is just beginning," he stated, looking at the Egyptian Prince. Heru-sa-aset did not argue the point, and Methos knew enough to bow to the Prince's superior knowledge of the inner workings of American politics. All sat in silence for several minutes. Aylón was the first to speak. "Once martial law is no longer in effect in New York, Lilitu will have a free hand." Zarach nodded silently. "While the troops are still deployed, in that span of time, we must find Lilitu and kill her," he stated firmly. "We will be in New York, but must be ready to leave on a moment's notice, to strike at Mother personally."
arms. "Time is running against us. Already too many have died, mortal and Immortal alike. Myrddin, we must find her stronghold, at all costs. In fact, if we find her and decapitate her before the attack, we might be able to prevent many deaths in New York." "I'm working on it," Myrddin answered tapping the keys of his computer. ==================================== Island of Nod Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean March 29, 2013
streaked and ran like watercolors of gray tones. The vivid images and incantations that had sustained the ritual fell about her like a gentle rain to puddle at her feet. She rushed angrily through the puddles, each footstep leading her instinctively toward more familiar stomping grounds. The topography of the melting vision gave way to a landscape of death.
soul. She was far angrier than she was focused. Far angrier, she repeated to herself, as if to steel her conviction. It would not be long now. Already she could see the familiar outlines of New York rising out of the misty rain inside her mind. That's where the attack would be. Soon she would be triumphant. The Ancient Gathering, no doubt, would be waiting for her.
faces. There was a time—yes, she admitted, even millennia did little to dim the vividness of the memory—when she had welcomed that look on the faces of her kin. When she had courted it. Staying out those few extra years just to see its momentary flicker on the others, before the expression fused into the harsher lines of anger and indignation.
She had a new army now. A mass whose 'bravado' was—quite rightly—feared even in the courts of the Immortals. She would be subject to that bravado. No; she was their Goddess. She would be strong. She would be aloof. She would be unassailable. She would be angry. She thought, I just have to stay angry.
in place in New York. Her eternal night, her inner darkness, was about to fall onto the city. "I am that I am!" she yelled, raising her arms toward the darkness. ==================================== New York March 29, 2013 Vlad Tepes, the mythical eternal dragon, Capo de Capo of the Russian Mafia, read his e-mail a second time, then laughed. A deep, booming laugh that filled the Headless Children headquarters in New York.
wrist computer. "You seem happy." "Very happy," Vlad answered, grinning. "It is good news from Livia. Excellent news from across the ocean. You will be surprised and pleased." Rasputin's eyes narrowed in thought. An opportunist, he believed in taking advantage of every chance to make himself popular within the Headless Children security brigade. "I suspect that tonight we will meet our just reward. Let me read this."
spies to report important information to the organizational headquarters in the island of Nod. Knowing that untapped phone lines were impossible, the Hunter's cryptographers working for Lilitu had devised a nearly unbreakable code based on a randomly generated number sequence derived daily from the temperatures of twenty-seven cities throughout the world. As members of the inner circle of the Headless Children, Vlad and Rasputin could decode the message mentally. Scanning his little digital screen, the monk nodded in satisfaction. The information was straightforward and to the point. The news could not be much better. "Everything is in order. The leaders are gathering at the United Nations just as Mother predicted. Our time is now," Vlad said smiling. "The mortals will have extreme security systems around the area. We are few and work mostly in secret. Any ideas?" Rasputin asked. "Wise words," answered Vlad, still smiling. "However, they are just a bunch of talking monkeys. We, on the other hand, will be widely feared, and widely respected. We shall exploit that difference in perception to our advantage." The Voivode's eyes narrowed, as if receiving an inner thought. "Besides, Mother gave me exactly what we need for this war." The monk's dark eyes were burning. "What do you mean?" Rasputin inquired, uncomfortable at being surprised. Vlad's muscles tightened. The Voivode had a habit of saving his best news for the last possible instant. "You'll see. Follow me." Rasputin followed Vlad toward another room. "Enter," the Voivode gestured absently toward the cleared patch of floor at the room's center and turned away. Until very recently, this space had been as heaped with arcane paraphernalia as the rest of the cramped sanctum. To all appearances, the room's new arrangement was the result of a fastidious application of blasting powder. He is insane, Rasputin thought. Dangerously insane. Cautiously, he gathered his strength. For hours, the monk had endured the smug glances, the knowing chuckles, and the too-familiar touches of his comrade-in-arms. Each of the hundred tiny gestures had been calculated to convey the same unsettling message—I'm in charge here. Rasputin cursed himself for a fool. It had happened that night of the first meeting of the Headless Children. The entire congregation had gathered to worship Lilitu. At its center, every one of them plunged into the very heart of the nightmare to come, New York's destruction—Lilitu's graveyard. They had followed. He could still recall the vivid towers of pitted steel and sizzling neon rising above him on all sides from hours ago. He could feel the teasing hint of the familiar behind the rambling processions of bus stops, tenements and yellow police tape. The city he knew was soon to be wasted.
that they could see with their own eyes the changes that soon would be. Ripples from a single stone would drop upwards into the river of Mother's eternal night, into oblivion.
own image. Rasputin had thought that the anomalous element to be introduced into the city should be they, the Headless Children. The very words seemed to whisper of blasphemous secrets and unholy predations. It was a breath straight from the eternal grave. It was words of power, a name to conjure with. The mere mention of the cult of enemies of humankind conjured images of moonless nights centuries distant, nights when Rasputin' forbearers had hunted—and been hunted in turn—among the blasted crags of infinity. And the Headless Children had gone to great lengths to distance themselves from such recollections. Rasputin could remember the first caress of Lilitu's dark sorcery upon him. He remembered Mother going down under the enemy assault. He remembered the sick feeling in his stomach as he found himself involuntarily rushing to her aid—as if just reaching her would be the culmination of all his centuries of eternal life, of all his strivings, all his sacrifices. Damn her. Then he was at her side. She touched him. She knew him. She smiled. Damn it, he hated that smile. It was a smile she reserved for meetings upon thresholds. She would take your hand and smile in that certain way and you knew with unshakable certainty that she had contrived this entire improbable gathering just to steal this one sympathetic moment with you. To squeeze a hand, to exchange an exaggerated sigh, and then to be torn away again, becoming everyone's once more.
the reality, of course, not the damned smile. She didn't need them half as much they needed her. They all knew it. Even if it were nice to pretend otherwise, if only for a short while.
Ancient Gathering, Rasputin was never exactly sure of what. Mother was hot, raging on about invaders, earthquakes, and traitors.
Rasputin didn't know how he saw, but in that instant the Voivode knew everything. Over the last days, Vlad had gone to great pains to let Rasputin know that he knew. These warnings—the elemental regalia that Livia and the others had supported the monk's aid in this war personally— were only the latest in a long string of insinuations. The monk had followed his master's instructions to the letter. He'd thought that would be the end of it. He would present his hard-won treasures before Lilitu. He would be humiliated. He would be exposed. He would perhaps even be blackmailed. But this? Surely Vlad wasn't going through with this. From his place near the doorway, Rasputin looked at the Voivode. But Vlad was lost in his preparations. Rasputin stared at Vlad for a long moment, his thoughts racing through the possible scenarios— intrigues, threats, blackmail, confession, violence, submission, bribery, and reconciliation. He picked up and examined each in turn like a rare jewel. Just as carefully, he set each aside again, dismissing it. Gradually, something crystallized within him. His features became hard, angular, and sharp.
She would use their power, and then discard them. They were her pawns, her sacrificial lambs. They were all doomed.
eye of the storm, the diagram's easternmost point. It was a plank made from gallows, long, thin, straight as a stave. The wood had the added virtue of never having touched the earth. He was now committed. From this point, there was no turning back from this mad course. Forcing down any further uncertainties, Rasputin had paced off the precise distance to the southernmost point, the hall of fire. Here he'd drawn forth from his bundle a rusted dagger. The classical lines of the Russian design were unmistakable, even under the years of wear and corrosion. Rasputin had placed the knife carefully, its blade pointing treacherously inward, toward the center of the room where Vlad must stand to invoke the darkness.
ceremony, he'd deposited the cup of hemlock. He had not paused to glance into the dark waters at the bottom of the chalice. They would only remind him of those other dark waters and the faces of the Headless Children, round and bright as moons. He'd hurriedly turned and moved to the northern corner of the room.
purse spilling thirteen of its thirty coins. A very inauspicious throw. The monk had let it die. Standing now with Vlad, Rasputin turned to him. Surely, the game was up now. The Voivode was going to expose him. Vlad would turn on him, mock him, and scorn him. He would bellow something dramatic like: now take your proper place at the center of these treacheries that you have brought into the Headless Children. But as he thought further about it, Rasputin saw that Vlad was composed, hauntingly still. Rasputin recognized that stillness. It was the lull, the pregnant pause into which the blood spills. No, this was foolishness. It had to be stopped. Vlad would ruin everything. What possible use could these assembled barbs and insinuations serve in an actual ritual? An invocation of the darkness was a thing of delicacy and great danger. What kind of madman would knowingly ward himself in these petty treacheries? Vlad's voice was calm. "Rasputin?" "Yes." "Are you ready?" Rasputin swallowed thickly, his voice almost breaking in a sudden attack of terror. "Voivode, we can't..." he began, but fell silent when he saw the darkness—the twisting strands of dimness stretching toward the floor from Vlad's dangling fingertips.
could see the vicious parallel slashes running down the Voivode's forearm. There was a hole gouged in the center of the upturned palm. A single black and red stone was pressed deeply into the center of the wound. In Rasputin's excitable state, the whole resembled nothing more than a single unblinking eye. Lilitu's eye.
she promised to let me use her darks powers in order to destroy the Ancient Gathering!" Vlad exclaimed.
these things that accomplishes her Endgame," the Voivode laughed. He coughed, releasing a fine spray of darkness. Fingertips groped for Rasputin's face. The monk braced himself and stood unflinchingly before the ravages of the evil he felt around him, reaching for him. Then, as if struck by an entirely different thought, Vlad let his hand drop absently to his side. He mumbled something and, turning away, began smoothing the wrinkles from his ceremonial robe. Vlad looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Like a magpie, he turned from one curiosity to another. At times he stumbled. At times, he dashed things from their cubbyholes. "Lilitu's black power is ours now," the Voivode announced. "We must hurry... We must attack now... Nothing can stop us... We are invincible... The mortals will be nothing in the face of our power."
troops waiting to attack. ==================================== Island of Nod Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean March 29, 2013
the lighted surface of the world. It was no matter. No one suspected she was there. In fact, no one had reason to believe she existed at all.
==================================== New York March 29, 2013
find the answer to the riddle. In the halls of power, creatures existed to whom years were playthings and the real world was a distant, unreal thing. Yet the real world had a way, on occasion, of making its presence known, of asserting itself. Change, so long held at bay, had come crashing down upon Immortals, an avalanche sweeping all before it. The Endgame was at hand. The events in these modern days were moving at an alarming pace. The mortal world could not be kept at bay. Not forever.
the lines we have to watch, the stronger our defenses can be. If we spread ourselves too thin, Lilitu will slip through. If we pull tight, nothing gets through."
We must press our lines forward, not withdraw them so the enemy can strike swiftly at out heart." Zarach stood, shaking his head patiently but firmly. "We are going to match them for manpower. We've going to concentrate our special abilities." "But surely we must have contingencies, the airport—" "Keep a screen around the La Guardia airport, Prince. Keep it protected at all costs. When the big push comes, we must take your fancy war jet at once in order to reach Lilitu quickly and kill her." Zarach shrugged. "This has got to be it. We'll never get this many Immortals together and organized. We make our stand here, in New York." Zarach finished, sitting again. Heru-sa-aset nodded, looking at his hands. Beside the Egyptian, Myrddin turned his laptop so the others could see its screen. "Look," the Druid said. The monitor showed a very detailed image of the New York City area, focusing on the United Nations headquarters.
shows New York cop foot patrols. Blue shows the current location of Secret Service, FBI and other security teams."
satellite. Myrddin never spared any expense for his toys. Heru-sa-aset studied the map with intense care. Finally, without looking up he said, "All right, we can go in here, then toward here. We come around this place," the Egyptian went on, giving commentary that followed the map. "And we could enter in here."
with all the leaders dead, there is little chance of getting the world back." Heru-sa-aset leaned back against his seat. "I agree. We can hold on here. We have to. We shorten the lines; make sure we're not broken. I suspect the Headless Children high command in New York will be antsy. We can figure time is on our side. We hold out long enough, those bastards will start slitting each other's necks and forget all about Lilitu." Zarach pondered that, nodded thoughtfully. "The Headless Children are not known for their solidarity," he agreed. At that moment, the fasten seat belt signed and the pilot said. "Two minutes." "I know," Heru-sa-aset responded. "Prepare yourselves." ==================================== United Nations Headquarters, New York March 29, 2013 Robert Sacchi, a seven-year veteran of the Secret Service, stood on a tower overlooking the events unfolding below. He was in charge of a squad of sixteen agents, and each squad commander reported to a superior. It wasn't often that the Secret Service broke down into squads like this, but given the size of this particular event, it was the best way to keep track of everything and everyone.
familiar. Then suddenly, as Robert Sacchi was just about to turn away, he thought he caught a glimpse of something large and black blocking a portion of the distance building lights, moving about forty feet above the city. He keyed his mike. "Can I get confirmation that the airspace has been cleared?" "Roger that," a voice responded. "Airline flights have been shifted to the north approaches." "Thanks," Sacchi said, staring intently at the area where he thought he'd seen the black form. Nothing.
Maybe he was just getting too paranoid for his own good. He was starting to imagine things. And in his job, that wasn't a good thing to do. He went back to scanning the road that led onto the United Nations, and all the stretch limos still waiting to be cleared. This was going to be a long night before it was over. A very long night. ====================================
"This isn't right!" Rasputin sputtered through clenched teeth. Vlad barely suppressed his rage. "The attack must go forward, monk. It is a simple order." Rasputin obviously felt otherwise. In his agitation, he paced among the preternatural shadows that concealed the two from view; he ran his fingertips along his hair, up and down, one thumb above another, pinkies together along the crest of his head. Ostensibly, he had left behind the religious trappings that had so bound his mortal life, but like a penitent with lapsed confessions, he didn't like to press his luck.
up the orders. This can't be right. I'm not letting all the credit for this attack go to damned--" "…To damned warlords?" Vlad offered, allowing a certain level of menace to creep into his voice. Rasputin glared at his fellow commander and groped for a less inflammatory term. "To… to others," he spit out at last.
ire. "Your patrols will ensure that our victory will be complete. None of those people will escape us, and no one from the outside will be able to interfere."
again, I will remove your head from your shoulders. Now, give the order, or step aside for someone who will … someone who can," the Voivode ordered.
had decided would require drastic action. Vlad, however, stood at perfect attention. Only his steeled nerves kept him from striking out. "Take?" asked the Voivode's icy-calm voice. "There's nothing for you to take, monk. Your job is to give—to give the orders that were entrusted to you."
My boys can kill as well as anybody. However—" "The orders have changed, monk," Vlad menaced again. "What about the Ancient Gathering? They could be anywhere," Rasputin thought aloud. "If they show up, they will find their way blocked," Vlad answered. "There will be no help for the mortals." The Voivode stepped closer to Rasputin, whose every ounce of determination was barely preventing him from fleeing into the night. "Give the order," Vlad said. "The attack will go forward." The Voivode turned and walked away, secure in the knowledge that his directive would be carried out promptly.
Vlad was filled with pride at the skillful advance of his squadron of legionnaires. The inky blackness crept forward, wrapped tightly around the base of the building, and then oozed up the long ramp and stairs to the main entrance. The other exists were being secured as well, the Voivode knew, most notably the parking area attached to the building where intelligence reported at least fifty drivers and a hundred body guards awaited their international leader bosses. A man stepped in front Vlad. "Parking area secured, sir." "And the other exits?" "Secure, sir." "All of them?" "Yes, sir." "Very well," Vlad said, smiling. "Take your positions." The Voivode raised his radio to his mouth. "Commander?" "Yes, sir?" a voice responded almost immediately. "Exterior secure," Vlad reported. "Phase two complete." "Phase three commencing, sir." "Confirmed," Vlad reattached the radio to his belt. Now everywhere Vlad looked, the shadows were alive with slow, methodical movements. Not figures emerging from the substance of the shadow itself, but larger shapes, vaguely humanoid— some more than others—moved in ranks toward the building. The shapes varied in outline, as well as number and configuration of limbs, but the figures shared an immenseness of stature. They towered over Vlad. The impression given by this new advance was almost that the buildings of the city were closing in on the United Nations. It might as well be so, thought Vlad, so sure was he of his plans. He had served Lilitu long enough to know that Mother did not lend support—much less a full squadron of her powers—to affairs that were chancy.
converged upon the darkness-shrouded building, at which point they separated into patrols. One patrol headed toward the parking-area elevators. Another prepared to force entry through the main doors. Others began to scale the walls. Vlad was amazed at the efficiency of this mass attack, but he reminded himself that they'd been training specifically for missions such as this, perhaps for this exact mission. But Vlad's time of being an onlooker was at an end. There was blood to be spilled, and he would have some for himself. One final time, he checked his sidearm and the special grenades attached to his bandolier, reminding himself that they were here not to capture or enslave, but to kill and destroy, with malice and prejudice. Then, with the ease that came with Lilitu's borrowed power, he released his physical form to join with the blackness before him, and led that blackness upward along the outside of the building, past the ascending shadows and Hunters, and on to the victims waiting inside.
Special Agent Robert Sacchi couldn't even begin to identify what he was seeing coming toward him. Pure dimness. A cloud of pure darkness. Or a shade of something very obscure that seemed to have substance. Just obscurity. It fascinated him and scared him to death in the same instant. He keyed his microphone. "Any contact at all with the Council Chamber?"
the order. "Code one. Evacuate." Around him Secret Service Agents moved as a tight unit, and not far behind him the rest of the security forces jumped into action, each group taking care of their orders. The President should be instantly surrounded and moved quickly with the Secretary of Defense toward one of the waiting cars outside. Along the road that led back from the United States Headquarters and all the way into the city, Special Agent Sacchi knew all traffic was being cleared. The cars were going to leave this place far, far faster than they had come onto it. The evacuation procedures should work to the last detail. He just hoped it was going to be fast enough. Across the surrounding area, the cloud of blackness continued to spread. At that instant, he lost contact with his men, and then all hell broke loose. Robert Sacchi never knew what killed him. ==================================== The Conference Building, which connected the General Assembly and Secretariat Buildings, extended along the waterfront for four hundred feet and was cantilevered over the Franklin D. Roosevelt Drive. Its narrow top level on the fourth floor housed the dining rooms and an industrial size kitchen. More than half a mile of teak railing from Burma ran along three sides of an outside terrace on three levels of the Conference Building.
feet wide, one hundred thirty-five feet long and twenty-four feet high. The Security Council Chamber was furnished by Norway and designed by the Norwegian Arnstein Arneberg. A large mural by Per Krohg of Norway—symbolizing the promise of future peace and individual freedom— covered most of the east wall. There were 164 seats for the public and 118 for the press, all of them currently filled. At least one member, and some of they represented each of the nations of the world by the leaders of those nations. The entire building crawled with security as the representatives of every major nation gathered for the opening ceremonies of the emergency international peace conference, to be held this very night. The nighttime was lit with spotlights. Track sensors guarded the United Nations, and three different security satellites provided constant surveillance of the entire area. The U.S. Secret Service and the FBI, working with each government's security agency, were responsible for the security of all the world's leaders. As far as they did all concerned, not even a fly could get near these leaders without them know about it.
on a constant basis. Both the FBI and the Secret Service had a command post set up outside the Security Council Chamber, where the opening ceremonies would take place.
exacerbated by the intense security check each car had to go through just to get near. Inside the building, the cold of the winter day was long forgotten in the Security Council Chamber, as the packed bodies in the gallery and the heat from the television lights forced the temperature in the room up far above normal. Several of the attendants, despite the intense media scrutiny of these hearings, had taken off their jackets. Many viewers were fanning themselves with personal computers or papers. Their doubts about the recent events around the world were clear with every action of the hearings' chairman, the flamboyant General Perez. Perez was a white-haired man who was clearly using the hearings on the catastrophes around the world to propel his own career towards the White House. In front of the hot room, at the witness table, was Dr. Ann Ford of the Geology Department at UCLA. Sitting among an international group of scientists at the long wooden table, she had a commanding presence. A strong, good-looking woman in her late forties, she had been called upon to explain to the Security Council the basic science behind the natural catastrophes around the world. She had prepared herself extensively with the drafting of her presentation. She needed to explain events—not only to the Council, but also to the audience on the other side of the television cameras—that she and her fellow scientists didn't understand quite well themselves.
circumstances, there was no doubting her presentation would make the news. Dr. Ford, an expert on plate tectonics, had decided that too many religious ideas had resulted in persecution based on the long-standing tradition of fearing the unknown. So the best thing to do, she had determined, was to help the regular people understand the events for what they really were. The bigots like General Perez would fold like wet tissue if public opinion shifted against them. But at the moment, the public was scared to death. The Vatican, a large section of Jerusalem, a Buddhist Shrine in Nepal and an entire island in the Okinawa chain of Japan were gone. General Perez was a master of playing that to the hilt.
she began her presentation, "strange events have occurred all around the world. Those catastrophes, I must say, are beyond our understanding for the moment." This statement was greeted by cries and complaints. In the meantime, images on the screen showed various pictures taken via satellite, along with a graph displaying a diagonal line that indicated the day and hour of the devastations. One image took over the screen, focusing attention on the volcano erupting in Nepal. Around Dr. Ford, the crowd's interest increased. Some revulsion emerged as men and women confronted the images of the destruction. "This volcano had been dormant for nine centuries. According to the best seismologists in the world, our colleagues from the University of Tokyo," she said, nodding at one of the men sitting by her, "it was lightly expected to erupt again," The image on the screen changed, showing the vestiges of the Vatican. "This is what was left of the Vatican after the earthquake." The screen shifted once more. "Here we can see Jerusalem, covered by a sandstorm. And here," she pointed to the new photograph of the ocean, "was the place were Taketomi Island used to be." The room felt silent. "Our satellites show no trace of any of these events before they happened, no preparation, nothing!" Dr. Ford paused for breath, and then went on. "Ladies and gentlemen, these tragedies occurred in the blink of an eye."
at a small child who had just done something cute. "Thank you for the lights, Dr. Ford," he said in a vaguely patronizing tone. "It was quite—how should I say it?—educational."
this hearing. Four words: What is causing them?" There was a low rumble among the crowd. "Well, General Perez," Dr. Ford responded, "we in the scientific community are doing everything we can to—" "Well," Perez interrupted, "in that case, as always, you scientists are doing the best you can." The General made a pause as his aide moved behind the panel and handed him a black folder filled with documents. "And right now, the whole world is in danger."
if—"
played to the television cameras. Perez smiled and wiped a drop of sweat from the side of his head. He was going to attack Dr. Ford, and attack her hard. "Are you blind? Let me remind you, 'doctor', that these 'natural disasters' are happening in a pattern. Surely even you could notice that the major religions on the world have been attacked." "What I did say—" "Let me tell you what you said," Perez said, talking over Dr. Ford's objections without hesitation. He raised a blown-up photo of the Vatican. "You came here, and frankly, I could say everyone of us expected some sort of explanation about these attacks, excuse me, 'natural events' as you called them. Instead, you entered this room just to tell us what we already knew: that you have not a single clue."
Dr. Ford. Somehow, they are connected." He picked up the folder filled with documents and held it up for the crowd to see. "Right here I have proof!"
started nine days ago in Australia. Remember the murders there? Some radical group is plotting to put the world under siege," he concluded, an intense look of concern on his face.
behind the events." A number of people actually gasped at that statement. "Dr. Ford, we deserve the right to defend ourselves against any threat. As we speak, numerous countries are mobilizing their armies toward their frontiers. I would think that a menace as this one should be of paramount importance to you scientists."
folder."
attacking us, and we must defend ourselves."
angry now. "You are the one who wants to put the world under siege." "Ladies and gentlemen," General Perez said, now more than ever playing for the cameras. "The truth is that the United Nations is ready to face any danger. We must find who the enemy is and destroy them..."
almost palpable thing, and with a start, she realized the probable source of the danger just as the deep and resonant voice of Perez called out. The sound was distorted, but the scientist was thinking the words too, so she understood it immediately. "We are under attack!" Dr. Ford felt the inky mass of darkness begin to press its way into her body, and the mindless, horrific, plasmic mass did not discriminate. She fell to the ground and rolled as if the pitch encasing and invading her were fire that could be extinguished.
the room revealed, the good doctor silently prayed that the darkness might return and she be granted a quick and painless death under cover of the senses-dulling cloud.
offender and victim alike. She shivered and felt the blood around her, smelled it, lots of blood everywhere.
geologist witnessed every nightmare she could ever imagine. The reality of the victims before her made any other possibilities unthinkable. Burned, twisted, torn apart bodies were everywhere.
desperation. She knew they were doomed. The sounds of machine guns filled the air. The grotesque attack could only be the result of a powerful organization. But who? And how in the God's name had they entered here? How had they managed to bypass all the security of the United Nations? And even more frightening: Perez had been right, the assault was indeed a joint effort, undoubtedly by the diabolical group responsible for much of the evil and brutality of the past days around the world.
then, much about what was happening was beyond her. The 'why' wasn't so mysterious, she supposed, if this group had managed to organize themselves beyond the 'how'. However, the 'why' still applied to many questions, every one of them with the same answer. Why now? Why New York? Simple: total extermination. World genocide, starting with the world's leaders, so conveniently assembled like a group of sacrificial lambs. The screams of pain and the sound of the machine guns increased their resonance. "The exits are closed!" someone yelled. "There's no way out! This way, Mr. President!" Feeling hopeless, Dr. Ann Ford, professor of geology at the University of California-Los Angeles, mother of ten-year-old Alex and eight-year-old Tanja, wife of attorney Robert Ford, and a member in good standing of the Lutheran Church of Santa Monica, closed her eyes, praying to God for either a quick escape or a quick death. At that moment, an unnatural silence felt over the chamber, inside and out. Dr. Ford raised her eyes and met those of a man dressed in black under a bulky Combat-Armor with a terrorist's mask on his face, night-vision goggles, and a complicated-looking, obviously computerized pulse-rifle in his hands. The Smart-Pulse-Rifle prototype was a very rare model M-52V 10mm pulse-gun-machine, not yet in the market. Using a body brace and gyro-stabilized support arm, the assault rifle was a computer-aimed, video targeted automatic weapon—a very sophisticated light machine gun. The attackers apparently combined the specialized techno-combat training of the twenty-century fighting-men with those qualities universal to 'grunts' through the ages.
Gathering!" He turned to retreat, weapon held tightly as a nightmarish silhouette materialized out of the smoke behind him. It struck like lightning. The man fired reflexively, wildly. The torrent of bullets almost decapitated another terrorist nearby.
instant, Dr. Ford was sure about one thing: new players had come into the arena. Somehow, she could feel them.
saw black Arab robes, a beard, and some kind of tattoos on his face. The man looked powerful and dangerous, and above all, unstoppable. Tendrils formed of darkness groped like living things seeped across the floor, dancing and whirling at the periphery of the new arrival, but not touching him.
and lightning filled the chamber again. "Let's get the fuck out of here!" a voice said. "Watch it ... behind you. Fucking move, will you!" another man shouted in a language Dr. Ford recognized as Greek. She was ashen, confused. Gulping for air like a grouper. They'd just been talking a moment before. How could the situation have unraveled so fast? Who had attacked them? And who was attacking the attackers? One terrorist strayed too close, and the Arab's scimitar—my God, it was a 'scimitar!'—bit into him, cutting him in two. The comrades of the fallen man were so terrified that for an instant they hesitated before they charged upon their prey, rifles blazing.
their trajectory. A second huge man appeared in scene, and Dr. Ford saw the defining moment of this bond when the Arab locked his gaze with a shaven-head man and whipped a second sword from his back and extended it, pommel first, toward the new arrival. Shattering windows sounded above the cacophony of terror. Then, as if the panic and disorientation were not enough, hell truly broke loose when grenades burst and spread across the assembly.
stand. For a moment, she stared into his amazing two-colored eyes. "Take them all out of here!" Then the attackers pounced upon them. The doctor screamed. Suddenly, a sword flashed in front her and lopped off one of the terrorist's arms. Its keening wail was so high-pitched that it sounded above the other ruckus. Shattered glass panes dropped near Dr. Ford.
was a clear exit, invisible in the smoke. "Get out while you still can! Run for your lives!" a tall, thin, black-haired man screamed. He had a sword too and his face was painted in blue. He was already fighting against the shadows. Running in the direction he'd suggested, Dr. Ford spared a glance to see what had become of her rescuer. A tenebrous tendril as thick as his leg was knotted about the blond-haired man's waist and it spun about like a bucking stallion, smashing the man time after time onto the tiled floor of the chamber.
she tried to run a bullet hit her leg and she immediately fell back to the floor, awash in pain. Desperate, she stood again and bolted, limping slowly, surveying the battlefield, which was a blur, a body-strewn wasteland she had to navigate. She nearly stumbled over a man's shattered body. It could have been Perez for all she knew—or cared.
herself, in the space of a few heartbeats, safely ensconced in the cubicle of wood, which had made up the lectern for her speech and was still, miraculously, whole. There was a single moment of clarity amidst the chaos of darkness, blood and ruin. It was refreshed in her mind during each split- second interval of the thunderous pounding her body sustained. A million thoughts raced through her mind. She guessed herself not so much in shock as completely and utterly baffled. She heard the screams and threats and war cries all around her, and discovered, to her horror, that she was kneeling in a puddle of blood. She forced herself to remain calm. Panicking now would only bring the attackers upon her quickly. But when a pair of red eyes seemed to flash from the darkness directly toward the spot where she crouched, she lost her resolve. She tried to stand and to run for her life again, in spite of her injury and her terror.
a man with long gray hair and beard, dressed in a white robe, like a Druid from the history books? The man raised a huge golden sword at the shadows in front of him, and as Dr. Ford ducked again, the man commanded. "Burn!" Tendrils of fire seemed to explode out of the blade, searching for victims in the terrorists ahead. An explosion rocked the top of the building. Gouts of flame burst from the upper windows and fled into the night with the shriek of tormented spirits. Dozens of bodies, mostly dead but some still alive and now shrieking, began to burn. ==================================== Feeling the darkness around him, Methos' senses instantly grew hyper-alert, compensating for the sudden loss of sight. Someone nearby screamed—a primeval instinct in any crowd plunged into darkness and live ammunition, and one that didn't die with the mortal soul—but Methos had not survived so many centuries by panicking. Instead, a long forgotten memory possessed him at once: he was no longer just the Immortal Methos. He was much more than that. He was now more than the calculating son of a bitch Joe Dawson used to call him. His entire body felt it. His primordial soul changed. In the midst of battle, he became Death once more. He noticed everything at once: the crowd being attacked, trying to escape the fusillade of bullets. Zarach and Aylón taking advantage of the darkness to move closer toward the terrorists, killing enemies at their path, charging like lions through a herd of herbivores.
not expected a sudden attack, but he also knew this was no accident. Where are the fucking emergency lights? Even evil creatures need to see! He wondered, as he shifted his weight, and saw that there was some light from emergency units, that it was flickering— No, he corrected himself, the light wasn't moving; the shadows were.
blackness maneuvered to surround the mortals present. The gunshots, red and yellow, enhanced the effect. Then the darkness caught up with him, closed around him, and blotted out again what little light there was. Alerted to the unnatural quality of the enveloping blackness, Methos now perceived that there was weight and substance to the shadow, and it pressed against him with increasing determination. Tentacles of blackness took form, grabbed at his arms, his legs, and his sword.
through the gallery like rockets, and as they died, the true darkness of the night descended to add its influence to the preternatural shadow.
sword slicing through palpable darkness. The severed tentacles dissipated into nothingness, and the shadows drew back from him momentarily, only to renew their assault from different directions.
struck forceful blows that knocked mortals to the ground. Other strands of black, proving only to be diversions, passed harmlessly through fist or sword set against him. But always, in the midst of all, were the swirling shadows, sweeping through the large chamber like churning storm clouds, so that one moment Methos was standing side-by-side with Myrddin, and the next, after the darkness closed in, he felt alone among the placeless expanse of black. Methos tried to be sure of his blows. He caught a glimpse of Zarach striking at a shadow but instead smashing his blade into the face of a terrorist. The man went down in a heap. Aylón too, seemed to be holding his own against Lilitu's attack—for what else could it be? No other creature could wield such power. Beyond keeping the tentacles at bay, however, Methos was unsure how to deal with the problem. A dozen yards away, a mass of black writhed and jerked violently on the floor. Something like an arm emerged; clothed in a formal jacket that Methos seen on a bodyguard moments ago. Now the arm, and the man to whom it was attached, struggled against the relentless shadow that pressed him to the floor. Methos' wild thoughts of what to do next—how to find Lilitu controlling the darkness, how to stop the attack at the source—were interrupted by the discovery that his problems had just multiplied many times over.
advancing through the disorienting scene were many larger, monstrous shapes. "Get out while you still can! Run for your lives!" Methos shouted, hoping to get the attention of Zarach or one of his brothers-in-arms who might make a difference. Methos found himself staring at the terrorists that seemed to be coming from every direction. One pressed ahead of the others, and Methos saw eyes, blazing red with hatred and hunger. "Hunters!" Myrddin yelled. Pleased to have an opponent more tangible than the elusive shadows, Methos stepped forward to meet the challenge. His sword whistled through the air, and one of the Hunter's arms fell to the floor in a spray of bloody ichors. The man shrieked and staggered back toward his mates, which were still advancing deliberately. Methos licked his lips and tasted some of the mess that had splattered across his face.
Throughout the chamber, most of the bodyguards of the presidents were going down, and quickly. Then Methos clearly heard Myrddin shouting. "Burn!" Glass shattered. Shards of the outer windows exploded inward, dug into clothing and flesh alike. Methos shielded his eyes but ignored the other dozens of glass splinters and the heat that tore into him. Some Hunters started to burn. At the same time, the Hunters in front of him renewed their attack.
Hunters stumbled backward and collapsed for good. And Methos—no, Death—again waded into the fray.
Heru-sa-aset ignored the pounding of the darkness against his back. He slashed with his sword, and three Hunters dropped to their knees. The simultaneous roar of what he had noted were Smart-Pulse-Rifles was deafening. Heru-sa-aset's blade ripped through the Hunters again, tearing away limbs, shattering bones. Another roaring filled the environment.
and the gunfire never touched him. The lead seemed to bend around the ancient Immortal. He stood untouched in a torrent of gunfire.
his arms and face as he decapitated two more Hunters. Then Myrddin yelled, "Burn!" Tendrils of fire passed next to the Egyptian Prince, as if the tongues of flames had a life of their own, burning the Hunters next to Heru-sa-aset. The ancient Immortal heard the explosion above him as shattered glass felt upon him like rain.
went far beyond it. He ran like a wolf toward his enemies. The scent of battle filled his nostrils. It was a delicious aroma of fear and courage at the same time. In front of him, five more Hunters were reloading their firearms. And more important, beyond the terrorists, the Egyptian Prince saw one of the primary forces of the attack, the bastard Rasputin.
to one side and then somersaulted to his feet. Heru-sa-aset nodded approvingly that Myrddin was wily enough to keep the Hunters between himself and Rasputin.
it constantly and instantly in focus. He might protect himself from it, but there was nothing he could do for Myrddin other than charge.
little more than stagger. Heru-sa-aset snarled a smile. "Just fire, damn you!" shouted Rasputin to the Hunters. "Shoot them! Shoot them all!" Six more shots were fired, and this time Heru-sa-aset made them pass through the air around him. Then he briefly met the gaze of Rasputin, who had by now spotted him. Rasputin shouted at the Hunters. "To your left!" The Hunters turned to face Heru-sa-aset, but he was already on top of them. The Egyptian Prince went right for their necks. He attacked hard to right, then left, and back again. Heads rolled on the ground.
bullet merely scathed him, but the other pounded fully into his chest, and he felt it rattle through his rib cage.
around his back and knotted onto him. The jerk was sudden and unexpected, stunning Heru-sa- aset for a second. But only for a second. The Egyptian Prince wanted to save some surprise for later in the battle, but the situation had turned ugly too quickly, so he called his inner power. The darkness around him melted and continued to disintegrate.
he did so in an instant. He noted that Myrddin and Methos seemed to have their situation under control.
are you waiting for? This one is dangerous!" Spinning quickly, Heru-sa-aset formed a funnel cloud that elongated toward the ground, and touched down like a dancing tornado. Within the center of the vortex, the shape of his body could be seeing appearing, until at last the final wisps of haze evaporated and Heru-sa-aset was left standing before his opponent. Heru-sa-aset grimaced at Rasputin and mocked at his words. "Dangerous? I think, bastard, I have seen your best trick, but you have no idea what I might yet reveal to you." There was gunfire behind Heru-sa-aset, but it was not directed at him. Even so, he risked a glance backwards and saw that the Hunters were firing at Methos and Myrddin, who were charging hell- bent toward them.
to the other direction before rolling back to his own left. Rasputin reacted quickly, but his ankle gave way slightly and the advantage of his reach was negated.
fighting a slow retreat, concentrating on defense. Rasputin was anxiously looking around, but Heru-sa-aset forced him to delay a moment longer. The Prince focused his senses searching for a weak point he might exploit. Every chain had its weak link, and the Egyptian was adept at pinpointing such.
inside the monk's guard. He slapped hard at Rasputin with one hand, and flesh and gore instantly spread from the point of impact. The follow-up came immediately. Heru-sa-aset's blade crashed through the fractured chest, and with a spray of blood, splashed into the flesh. Rasputin bucked like a raging stallion and howled a high, piercing squeal that shattered the room. But Heru-sa-aset held on. With a quick movement, the Egyptian Prince divided Rasputin's body in two. As long as the head remained attached to its neck, there would be no Quickening. Nevertheless, Rasputin was out of the fight, forever. And his beheading could always come later… Methos looked at this. His clothes were shredded in many places, and his skin bore the marks of burns from the tentacles that lashed him, but he was parrying the thrusts of the living darkness. The tentacles stretched from the shadows beneath one corpse, and yet another tendril began to blossom forth. It wriggled through the air and joined the assault against Methos. Heru-sa-aset's face spilt with a grin of admiration, for Methos' movements were breathtakingly fast. Four tenebrous arms sought to smite him now, but the sword in his hands was an even faster blurs that knocked aside virtually every lunge against him. Some few glancing blows penetrated his wall of defense, but even these Methos fended off before they could grip him. Myrddin was yelling loudly. " We can't hold out much longer." Heru-sa-aset knew Myrddin was correct. Fortunately, he had more tricks up his sleeves—tactics that would never be expected from the Ancient Gathering. ====================================
strength in his time of need. The last time he'd seen Heru-sa-aset, the Prince was fighting against Rasputin. He knew the Egyptian would defeat the monk, and that he could hold the attack long enough.
battling—underestimating their enemy. The Druid was far more powerful than he looked. He could remember at least seven previous times when this mistake had saved his life and caused his opponents’ defeat. He hoped this would be the eighth. While he was unable to watch the progress of Heru-sa-aset against Rasputin, he assumed that the Egyptian would not enter into such a fray unless he thought his own chances of survival were at least reasonable.
leg as the approaching presence of another Immortal, a Headless Child, no doubt. Dark tendrils faded away. Darkness vaporized into a void.
Dracula!" Methos raised his sword, mocking, "Bella Lugosi was more believable, motherfucker." Myrddin yelled. "Move!" Vlad cackled. "The last resort of a badly beaten Ancient Gathering!" his angry eyes seethed with fire and danced with shadows as he charged toward Methos and Myrddin. They moved aside, avoiding Vlad's furious charge. Then Myrddin realized as he moved, the Voivode was favoring his left foot. He'd been sure it had been Dracula's right foot that had been struck by a bullet.
the body language of others, and in a flash he also realized that Methos had come to the same conclusion.
started five hundred years ago!" He spun this time to face Vlad and pressed a flurry of attacks that drove the Voivode back, then back again as Dracula struggled to defend himself against the powerhouse blows. Methos feinted at his opponent's legs, drawing the Voivode's long Toledo sword down, then came up with an overhead slice at the head. He lured Vlad's blade into a defensive position perpendicular to his body. Quickly, he slipped into the Dracula's guard, catching the broadsword with his own.
position to defend. The Voivode caught Methos across his chest, a wicked slash that flayed the first layer of muscle. Methos hissed and spun away, bleeding.
turn and parry the killing blow, his eyes shining with fury. They battled in darkness, the Druid on the attack. Again and again, Vlad found himself forced to retreat to what he hoped was a better position. But then Methos rejoined the fight. With a roar and mighty slash of his sword, Methos locked blades with Vlad once more and pressed his back against the blackness. Grimly, both members of the Ancient Gathering came at Vlad, striking blow after furious blow. Even the Voivode's speed was not enough, and he took a painful slice from Methos across the ribcage. Vlad roared and tried to dart away, but Myrddin was right on him. As Myrddin swung again, Vlad ducked assuming a crouching position and came up again. But then he felt the unmistakable pain of Methos blade entering his abdomen. Myrddin pulled his feet from under the Voivode with a sweep of his leg. And then everything went dark again. Blackness, living shadows. A cloud of it enveloped Methos and Myrddin, blocked out their vision, muffled sound. The gunfire sounded again, but the inky blackness coated them like a second skin. Chills shot through their bodies, and their muscles started to spasm. The sensation was repulsive, unnatural, evil. "Move!" Methos shouted. "Move aside!" Myrddin was disoriented by the shadows, but he dove hard, hoping it was away from Vlad. He felt the drag of the darkness clinging to him like a greedy lover, but the force of his lunge tore him free. He landed on the floor, rolled and jumped to his feet. The gunfire was louder now.
==================================== Aylón was ragged. Much of his face was burned away, and his chest and clothes were in tatters. But the potent force that feed him was still strong enough to hold him together, to pull him back from the brink of the abyss.
toward the terrorists who were dogging him. The Hunters shifted their fire. The bullets shredded one of the snaking black tentacles, but several others found their marks, knocking Hunters aside, crushing some of them against the solid walls. The chamber was full of smoke and gunfire. Some Hunters reloaded the shotguns and fired another burst. Aylón charged in behind the blast. He jumped out of the way—no, not jumped, hovered. The Old Man of the Mountain floated in the air, hanging there as if suspended by a cable. That small moment of unexpected floating was enough to throw the Hunter's timing off. They tried to dodge, but Aylón's huge scimitar raked across their heads. Aylón landed, sword in hand, wading into the fray again. But then Methos yelled, "Use the fire again, Myrddin!" His voice sounded far away, distorted by the unnatural darkness. "We need to find Vlad!" Aylón looked at Myrddin a cross the chamber. Balanced on the Druid's right palm was a ball of flame, a fire conjured from thin air. Methos dove as the Druid hurled the fire. It passed right over Methos, shot across the room, and landed amidst a new group of Hunters. The fireball erupted into a true inferno, burning terrorists. Amidst horrible screams, smoke filled the chamber, growing thicker every second, threatening to use up any breathable air.
rifles, apparently looking for Vlad. At that time Aylón gazed at Zarach. The bullets were striking the two-colored eyes Immortal, driving him back half a step every few seconds, but the entry holes were closing over as quickly as they appeared—and Zarach merely smiled.
weren't so quick. The flame struck them and burst into a great conflagration. They whipped around and flailed madly, but the fire raged, burning away clothes, hair and flesh.
landed, he jumped away from the ground as if it were now burning. The Voivode screamed, a panicked, terror-filled sound. He slapped at his legs, his chest, his face, trying to put out the flames.
Man of the Mountain was moving also, blasting away everything in his way, ending all with his scimitar, practically ignoring the hail of Smart-Pulse-Rifle fire from the terrorists. Aylón had remained incredibly calm throughout the fight, despite the seemingly long odds he'd faced. Now that most of the Hunters were dispatched, he took on an almost demonically gleeful aspect. His eyes shone with delight seeing his enemies being destroyed, in the broken and burning bodies. Now he was preparing to finish the job. They needed to do that quickly. The darkness around started to disappear. That could mean only two things: Lilitu was losing her powers; or the Headless Children in charge of the assault were dead, or escaping. ==================================== Zarach clearly heard Heru-sa-aset. "Dangerous? I think, bastard, I have seen your best trick, but you have no idea what I might yet reveal to you." The Son of the Endless Night turned just in the right instant to watch the Egyptian Prince tearing apart Rasputin's body. At that very moment Methos yelled. "Use the fire again, Myrddin!" His voice sounded far away. "We need to find Vlad!"
the flames. Then the Voivode disappeared in front of Zarach's eyes. Now was the time, and Zarach knew it. The Headless Children attacking the United Nations were defeated, and Lilitu's powers were fading away. Now was the moment for the Son of the Endless Night.
itself changed, grew taller, darker—as if the smoke and shadows filling the chamber were drawn toward him, drawn into him. The room was growing brighter as the darkness was sucked into Zarach. He was growing shadowy, pools of obscurity seeping into his many wounds, as if his body could contain the eternal night.
into the darkness around him. None hurt him. At some point, Zarach's arms became no longer arms, but spiraling black tentacles, obsidian cobras poised to strike. All this was shifting among the smoke and deepening dying shadows. Nothing remained clear except Zarach's two-colored eyes, glowing bright and fierce.
his face, the pure darkness disappearing through a man-shaped portal from hell. This was a demon that would subjugate them all.
him, took hold of his limbs and gave him strength. His enemies down or immobilized, Zarach charged. The first blast from his two sai—his Chinese trident-like weapons—ripped apart four Hunters. The second strike three. Finally, Zarach sank his blades into the chest of one last man.
moment later, light returned to the chamber. ====================================
the interior of the Security Council Chamber. All around him stretched a wasteland of smashed chairs, broken glass, puddles of mingled gore and fire-retardant chemicals. And the dead. Sighing, he surveyed the full scope of the devastation. Interior walls had been violently reduced to rubble. The entryways portals were toppled and trampled, badly scored by fire. World leaders, their staff, the viewing public, and reporters, black-clothed Hunters—so many had died! So many! Fifty-five seconds. The whole battle, the massacre, had lasted only fifty-five seconds. Zarach's gaze traveled uninterrupted around the vast chamber. Nothing above knee-height remained standing, save Aylón, Heru-sa-aset, Myrddin and himself. Zarach, however, could not long dwell upon this tragedy. There was still far too much at stake. He looked at his comrades in the Ancient Gathering. "Where is Methos?" "I think he went after Vlad," Myrddin announced, his gaze opened wide by the devastation in front of him.
discussing the matter while the mortal forces come and find us. Let's move," Aylón said starting to walk.
toward the noise, not entirely motivated by sympathy. After he removed the debris, Dr. Ann Ford emerged from what was left of the podium. "Oh my God! What happened? Who are you?" she said holding the hand Zarach was offering her.
he looked at his brothers-in-arms. "Join me. We must use the Voice all together at the same time to erase our presence for the minds of the survivors. We must hurry."
upon the mortals inside the room. ====================================
impossible to keep the mortal forces away completely, even if the Ancient Gathering carried the night. And there was no guarantee that they would triumph. As word trickled back, it was becoming evident that Lilitu was fighting as an Immortal possessed. The hell with this, Methos decided. He dogged behind a car, scanned the darkness for the Immortal presence, felt it, and moved forward. The street seemed like the last chance to hold the line. The battle inside the United Nations was over. However, helicopters and sirens filled the area. While it was still dark enough for him to hide, Methos raised his sword. That motherfucker Vlad might be nearly invulnerable, but stealthy he was not. There. He heard the plodding footsteps. Vlad was also quick, but he wasn't going to get away from Methos. He gauged the distance of the footsteps, and then sprung up. This time Methos had a second trick. Seven .44 magnum slugs into the darkness. Nothing. Maybe he hit him. Maybe. He popped out the empty clip, slammed in a full one. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw something like a smile in the blackness.
moving.
slammed in a last one. Seven more shots into the darkness, now within ten yards.
voice, intruding upon Methos' thoughts. Methos whirled and leveled his Desert Eagle gun—at Aylón. The Old Man of the Mountain wasn't smiling—he almost never smiled—but just like the darkness yards away, there was something about him, his manner, which suggested danger.
just fired all your shots." He nodded toward the darkness disintegrating in front of them. "If you're trying to lure the mortal forces to you, you're doing a good job. We must go."
declared. We need to find Lilitu. Vlad is unimportant for now. We must go before the bridges and tunnels are closed."
as if nothing had happened. But this wasn't the time to bring it up. There wasn't the time, with Mother still on the loose. So Methos said the first thing that came into his mind. "This whole mess sucks. Like the Yankees, man." Aylón cocked his head. "You lose money on the Mets or something? Let's go." As they walked, the other members of the Ancient Gathering joined them. Methos gazed at them. Their faces were icy-cold. They were all recovered from their multiple wounds. Indeed they were powerful!
happened, like if the United Nations, and the world, weren't being decimated by Lilitu's war. Methos thought for a moment. He remembered hearing the screams of pain inside the United Nations, but he'd been absorbed in his own fight... Then he looked more closely and saw the blood on his hands. Blood dripping. Not his own blood, either. In his mind, he could recall vividly the bastards who, a few minutes before, had been Hunters, dying under the power of the last Horsemen, the one called Death. ==================================== Yüklə 2,56 Mb. Dostları ilə paylaş:
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