Lord of the Mall
Part Three: The Darklight and the Phoenix

Death might not be the end, but that doesn’t mean it’s pleasant.

            The guy doesn’t look like much, just another freak running around the Mall causing trouble, but a lesson that I keep learning over and over is that looks can be deceiving.

            He’s dressed like a Steven Seagal wannabe. Black pants that look expensive, a black shirt buttoned up all the way to his chin, polished black boots. He looks towards us as we approach and hey, guess what, instead of eyes he’s got two empty, black sockets.

            His head is shaved bald and covering him totally – even his face – are strange markings. It looks like some kind of writing, but none I’ve ever seen before.

            He’s standing in the middle of my Mall’s food court, in a circle of burning candles, chanting in a language unknown to me. Here’s a tip if you’re ever in a situation like this – handle with care.

            This type of thing doesn’t surprise me. The entire week has been like a Salvador Dali painting. The Mall has its fair share of weirdoes, but lately that’s all there have been. The Bad Guys have been pouring out of the woodwork like it’s the opening weekend of an ugly festival.

              An agent walks over to him, “Hey buddy, what’s up?”

            The guy’s hand shoots out like Speedy Gonzales, grabs the agent’s neck like it’s a big piece of cheese, and snaps it. The thing is, Mr Black doesn’t stop chanting once. Nothing changes, not his facial expression or anything else. He lets go of the agent and the body drops limply to the ground.

            The other agents pull out the ridiculously Brobdingnagian guns they like to carry around and shout nervously at the Kojack-lookalike.

            The guy stops chanting – I don’t think it’s because of all the hardware pointing in his direction, I think he’s finished what he’s doing – and removes a long, curved knife from his belt. He ignores all the agents and looks directly at me.

             Before he turns the knife on himself and rams it deep into his chest he says, “The Darklight is coming.”

*     *     *     *

            I don’t have time for this.

            I stopped Mephisto from drying up the River of Souls, returned the Orb of Gondlar to a safe place, prevented the Helsing from totally wiping out the Tech-Vamp population, defeated Icarus and fended off a god who wanted to take over my body, and then I travelled back in time to rescue my girlfriend from certain death.

            I think I deserve some time off.

            For some unknown reason I have a funny feeling that this guy has something to do with all the weird shit going on in the Mall. And as for this Darklight he mentioned, well, that just can’t be good.

            The group I’m with are all LED agents. Apparently there are two factions in the London Espresso Distributors, one faction – the one with most of the power – are a bunch of fascists. They’re the guys engineering assassins like Alison Wonderland. Super-assassins created to sell to the highest bidder.

            The other faction is made up of agents working against the guys with the power. When Icarus had the ring, he killed a team of LED agents. I don’t know if he had a reason behind it or if they just got in his way. The point is, it wasn’t me.

            The agents I’m hanging with are the ones who believe all the stories about Mephisto and Icarus and my innocence. They tell me that the whole ‘Swordsman equals murderer’ thing is just so the powers that be can get rid of me because if I knew what the LED was up to I’d put a stop to it.

            That last bit is debatable. These days I’m finding it real hard to care.

            Karen and I were on patrol when she got a call from the agents who found Kojack. She isn’t officially an agent anymore, but she knows people – the same people who don’t want to kill me – who keep her in the loop. She says the only reason they keep her in the loop is ‘coz she knows me. To some people around here I’m sort of like a celebrity.

            Kimara Bond, a rookie agent, removes a vial from her suit and is about to toss it on the dead Bad Guy when I stop her.

            “Hold on a second.” I kneel down next to him and tear his shirt open. The markings cover his chest and arms as well. “Does anyone know what this is?”

            “It looks like writing,” says Karen, “what do you think it says?”

            “I don’t know, but we’d better not destroy the body just yet.”

            “Do you think Grand Wolf could tell us?” she says.

            “Probably, but I have no idea where he is.” I turn to Kimara, “we need someone who can translate this.”

            “I’m on it,” she says. She moves away from us and speaks to HQ on a communicator on her wrist.

            Karen takes me aside and says, “Are you okay? You seem a bit freaked out.”

            “I don’t know. Something about the way that guy looked at me. Like he knew who I was.”

            “You’re the Swordsman,” she says, “lots of people know you.”

            “This was different somehow. I have a very, very bad feeling.”

            “Okay, Paranoid-Boy,” she says, “I’ll handle it here. You go and find Grand Wolf, maybe he knows more about this ‘Darklight’ thing.”

            Finding Grand Wolf is easier said than done. After I went through the River of Souls he disappeared. He said something about finding himself, pretty corny for an old guy. Then he popped up out of nowhere and guided me through the Illusion so I could get the Golden Honeycomb. Then he went off again. I think he’s working for the Oracles or something. Well, that’s what I gathered from his conversation with Rorschach.

            So if I can’t find GW I’ll have to do the next best thing.

I wonder how Balgog is keeping?

*     *     *     *

I walk into Balgog’s lair and find him and a bunch of his buddies in the middle of a fight. I almost think, why me? and then remember that there’s a guy out there making my life miserable for his own entertainment.

            Oh why can’t I be a Jane fucking Austin novel? Would someone please tell me this?

            At first glance, the untrained eye would wonder why the Book-Demons – or Enuma, as is politically correct – were all looking so worried. They’re busy brawling with a bunch of the sexiest women I’ve ever seen. And they’re not doing too well.

            “Swordsman,” says Balgog, “what brings you to this neck of the woods?” He slams his feet into one of the sexy androids and then throws the one holding his arms back over his shoulder.

            I stab my sword through a Terminator-Barbie’s chest, “I need your help with something. It’s probably not important, but I’ve got a feeling in my gut that I need to get rid of.”

            “Sounds like indigestion to me,” he shoots electricity from his fingers past my head and a Robobabe behind me explodes, “but seriously, what’s up?”

            “Tell me what you know about the Darklight.” I say. I shove my hand at one of the girls and she erupts into flames.

            Balgog leaps into the air, sticks to the ceiling like a spider, and smashes two metal heads together. “Never heard of it,” he says, “anyway, you should be spending time with your girlfriend, not chasing after Darklights.”

            “Hold on a second,” I say. I close my eyes and concentrate. I’ve pretty much got this waxed. I don’t know where this power came from, but I assume it’s got something to do with the blood of Gondlar running through my body.

            Click.

            Everything freezes. I run round the room and make sure all the robots are disabled.

The feeling is much like when you hold your breath and duck underwater. That awareness that if you don’t keep holding it in your environment is going to change, i.e. You’re gonna be sucking H2O.

I’d do this more often, but it uses up more of my energy than starring in a forty-eight hour porn marathon. It’s just not as fun.

I release my breath.

Click.

The robots drop to the floor and the Book-Demons start moving again. Balgog lands next to me and says, “What did you just do there?”

“Buy the book,” I say.

He laughs, “Nice one. You know, if this old guy would just call these robots off and let us do our job we could get his daughter’s soul back a lot faster.”

“I guess this one has gone to the top of your priority list.”

“Sure has,” he says, “I was just heading out. HQ thinks they’ve found it.” He grabs me by the collar and gets a psycho look on his face, “You in for a rumble? I could use the company.”

“Actually,” I say, “I was wondering if you could translate something for me?”

“I’m late already,” he says, “but maybe when I get back.”

“I’ll tell you what, I could use a break. So why don’t I come with you, to make sure you get the job done properly, and when we get back you can help me with this Darklight thing?”

“Deal.”

“Cool,” I say, “let’s go.”

Just before we disappear into a white light he asks, “Why’re you so stressed about this? What aren’t you telling me?”

“I don’t know,” I say, “I just feel that I should know what’s coming, and I that I should be real worried.”

*    *    *    *

Balgog and I have been through a lot. I used to treat him as the enemy, and for a while I suppose he was. He was once possessed by a Satyr. Actually, he told me he was possessed by something else too. A Book-Demon’s soul can’t be removed, for all I know they’re immortal, and Balgog was trapped in his body with at least two other souls. I can’t imagine the battle he must have fought to expel them.

I used to think that the Oracles were powerful. Oracles can walk through time, going to any point they choose, but the Oracles are observers whereas the Enuma have a purpose.

The Enuma can travel between realities. Not even Gondlar or Mephisto can do that. Only the most powerful gods can cross from their plain to ours, but that plain is still within this universe, this reality.

Imagine a round ball that, to the naked eye, appears black. But if you look closer, real close, the ball is covered in billions of billions of small, black dots. Each of these dots is a universe, and each of these dots is in turn a ball with billions and billions of black dots covering it, and so on and so on. But then if you step back, and take a long look at the first black ball, you’ll find that even that ball is just a dot on a bigger ball. And the bigger ball is also just a dot on an even bigger ball.

Now the Enuma can travel from dot to dot, and from one ball to the next ball. And they can also walk through time like the Oracles.

Take a book, any book, it has a beginning and an end, just like your life. But when you read a book you can enter the character’s life at any time, you can go back and ‘re-live’ parts of his or her life. Time is static, everything is happening now.

I was able to save Karen by travelling through the book that documents my life, or should I say documented my life. For all I know someone is reading a book about me and thinking it’s just a story created in someone’s mind, their imagination, but I know this is not true. My world, my life, has been fed into some guy’s subconscious, and he writes it down as a story.

And they say doctors have God complexes.

My vision swims with the colour and intensity of a thousand rainbows. The feeling of absolute peace floods my mind for an eternal instant. And then Balgog and I materialise in another reality.

*     *     *     *

For miles all I can see are trees. Massive trees with trunks three metres thick, the tops of which I can’t see. The ground is a beautiful carpet of yellow and brown leaves. Soft sunlight shines down through the trees and bathes us in its warm glow.

Most people imagine Paradise as a secluded island surrounded by clear blue ocean, but this is Paradise. Even the air seems to have magical qualities, the taste of it brings an euphoric sensation that fills up my senses like a drug.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“The Dark Forest,” says Balgog, “be on your toes and keep your eyes skinned.”

Yeah, right. We might bump into Bambi or maybe Snow White. Which makes me wonder, is Mickey Mouse real?

“So tell me,” I say, “is Batman, like, an actual dude? Could I meet him?”

“Jeez,” says Balgog, “you wanna meet someone with problems, all the Joker needs to do is send Bruce Wayne his shrink bill.”

An ear-splitting roar tears through the tranquillity of the forest. The leaves on the trees whisper angrily, like a strong wind, a prelude to a tempest, has assaulted their peace.

“Oh shit,” says Balgog, “she’s awake.”

“Who’s awake?” I ask, not really sure I want to know.

“The Chelicera. Keep your eyes to the sky.”

“So, some kind of bird demon,” I draw my sword, “looks like Buffalo wings are back on the menu.”

“Okay,” says Balgog, shooting me an odd look, “this way.”

It’s like we’re running in a cartoon, the scenery doesn’t seem to change at all. Place should be called the Xerox Forest.

My nostrils are assaulted by the foulest of foul stenches. Behind us it sounds like a giant lumberjack is chopping down trees.

I look back and see… something lunging from tree to tree, latching onto each gigantic trunk and springing to the next. It’s moving fast, and all I can make out is that it’s really big and smells really rank.

But that’s not the bad part. The bad part is that it’s following us.

It thunders from tree to tree, and pretty soon the massive, black, spider-like thing passes over us and lands a few feet in front of Balgog. I don’t see any eyes on the monster. Where its eyes should be are four dripping, round holes that suck at the air like a snotty vacuum. It’s covered with a smooth, brown exoskeleton and on each side of its body are six slimy, shining claws that dig into the ground. A sharp, twisted tail sticks out behind it, slashing at the air.

The Book-Demon ducks as the Chelicera swings a massive claw for his head. He turns and runs back in my direction. “Get down,” he shouts at me.

The Chelicera leans back, inhales deeply, and then shoots a disgusting green-yellow river of phlegm at us.

I hit the ground like a sack of hot potatoes. The mucous missile slams into a tree. I look back and see the bark bubbling and frothing, slowly being eaten away by the ugly’s acidic snot.

“Bless you,” I say. Balgog shoves my head down.

It roars again and leaps forward over our heads and attaches itself to a tree above me. It smells the air for a moment, trying to find our scent. Its huge claws let go and it drops down.

Balgog and I roll away in opposite directions.

The Chelicera turns to face me. It has two jagged pincers in front of its large, dribbling mouth. Its tail swings angrily behind it, barely missing Balgog’s neck. He doesn’t have anything to worry about. If Balgog’s head gets cut off it just grows back. My head, on the other hand, doesn’t grant me any such favours.

The Chelicera shrieks and charges towards me. As I dive out the way I shoot blue flame from my palm. The fire scorches the beast, but that pesky armour covering its body protects it from any harm.

The Chelicera stumbles forward, crashing into a tree. It’s big and fast and ugly, but it scores a minus ten in the manoeuvrability department.

I haul ass through the forest, keeping an eye of Balgog. If I lose him I’m stuck here.

The monster screeches in anger and redoubles its effort to catch me.

I need a plan. I run between two trees and turn to see the Chelicera flying through the air. It slams into the trees. It’s too big to fit through. The giant claws grip the trunks and the thing roars at me.

“More attitude than smarts,” I say to it, “don’t you feel stupid?”

It opens its mouth and a long, disgusting tongue shoots out. On the end of the tongue are four tentacles with big, angry stings covering them.

The tongue would’ve taken my head off, but my reactions are faster. I swing my sword and sever the drooling idiot’s licker. In the same move I spin round and hurl my sword like a spear towards the beast’s belly. The blade erupts in blue-white flame and slams through the Chelicera’s exoskeleton into the fleshy stomach beneath it.

The monster hangs on to the trees and shrieks in previously unknown agony. I run forward, grab the hilt of my sword, and rip it up toward the demon’s head.

My sword gets stuck as it hits the hard bone of the Chelicera’s skull. The leftover part of its tongue curls around my neck and squeezes.

“Oh no you don’t,” I grab the tongue with one hand, lean back, and with all my strength bring my sword up through the monster’s skull, splitting it in two.

With a final shriek, cut off by my blade, the Chelicera drops limply to the ground.

Balgog pats me on the shoulder, “Nice work.”

“Thanks,” I say, “but I think I’ve had just about enough of Paradise for one day.”

*     *     *     *

“We’re heading for a village on the outskirts of this forest,” says Balgog, “we think the soul is there.”

“What happens to the souls?” I ask, “I mean, is it kept in a bottle or something? Like a Djinn?”

“The Satyrs are evil. I’ve often thought about why they do what they do, and all I can come up with is that they’re just evil. Pure evil. Most souls are weak, those are the souls that the Satyrs take. They couldn’t take the soul from, say, an Oracle or Enuma, because people like us know how to fight them off. I’ve had many Satyrs try, they can inhabit the body and wrestle for control, but they could never remove my essence.”

“I used to think that’s what you did I thought you were pure evil.”

“How sweet,” says Balgog, “by the way, don’t say anything to the villagers about killing the Chelicera, they worship it.”

“Whoops. Here comes the Antichrist.”

“Something like that,” laughs Balgog, “it’s quite lame really. They sacrifice virgins to that thing. Like a cheesy horror movie.”

“Or a clichéd fantasy novel.”

*     *     *     *

We get out of the forest and follow a dusty road until I can see the gates of the village up ahead. This world is just like mine, except maybe a couple of hundred years behind. The whole ‘horse and cart’ thing.

“The Satyr that runs this town has her,” says Balgog, “the girl will be in incredible pain until we rescue her.”

“Not cool,” I say, “so we get to kick some medieval ass and rescue a damsel in distress.”

“Korpak, the Satyr who we’re going to see, is incredibly powerful. He’ll give us a much harder time than Charlotte back there. So this is strictly a rescue mission, with as little disturbance as possible. We get the girl and get out.” Balgog stops walking and turns to me, “So don’t start any trouble. I mean it. You don’t want to fight this guy.”

I smile at the worried look on Balgog’s face, “Hey, this is your show buddy. I’m just coming along for the ride. You’re the boss.”

“Just so long as we understand each other.” He says.

*     *     *     *

The entrance to the town is guarded by two surly-looking, bouncer-type guys. They’re wearing leather tunics and belts with broadswords in them. They draw their swords as we approach.

The biggest guard says something unintelligible to us. Bloody hell, don’t they know that English is the universal language?

Balgog speaks in the same gobbledygook back to him. They argue for a while, with the other guard staring sullenly at me.

Eventually, Balgog says something angrily, grabs the guard by his ears, and slams his knee into the guy’s crotch. He turns to the other guard and punches him right in the throat. Then he grabs the bigger guard’s sword from his belt and smacks him on the head with the hilt.

I get with the program and kick the other guy in the face, knocking him out.

“I thought you said not to start trouble?” I say.

“Ah, well.” Says Balgog, “What can you do?”

*     *     *     *

This place looks like every other ‘Ye Olde Village’ that I’ve seen in movies and read about in books. You know, guys travelling around in carts, young maidens carrying pails of water from the well. There’s even a blacksmith’s over there, with the accompanying sound of hammer on steel. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen an anvil before, apart from in Road Runner cartoons.

“So how’re we gonna find this girl?” I ask.

“In there,” says Balgog, pointing to the big, evil-looking castle at the other end of the village.

‘Let me guess, that’s where this Korpak guy lives?”

“Yup,” says Balgog.

“And she’s being held in some dark dungeon with violent guards?”

“Sort of,”

“So what are we standing around here for?”

“We’re not,” says Balgog heading towards the castle gates.

*     *     *     *

The fortress of Korpak stands out in this place. Everything else is Sharky, that’s the unique shade of colour somewhere between Shit and Kaki, but the castle is beautiful in a scary kind of way.

It has two giant towers shaped like massive teardrops. Between the towers is an even bigger tower that looks like a gigantic blade slashing the sky. The two smaller towers are painted in a swirling red and black. The main tower is a deep, coffin-black that seems to almost pulsate with evil.

Talk about dramatic. I don’t know how I come up with this shit.

We walk up to the front gate and take out the four guys standing guard. This all seems really easy so far, which makes me nervous. In my experience, things are always quiet before the hurricane.

Balgog kicks the front doors open like he’s Butch Cassidy walking into a seedy saloon.

At the end of the long hall sits who must be this Korpak dude on a golden throne. He watches us as we walk towards him. On either side of us are hundreds of guards standing in rows staring at us. Looks like everyone turned up for Fight Night at the Palace.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” says Korpak. His voice is incredibly high-pitched, like an old door with rusted hinges. I half expect all the dogs in the neighbourhood to come running when he speaks.

He gets off the throne and bows low to us.

Korpak makes Marilyn Manson look like a normal, well-adjusted child. His hair is jet-black and like steel wire. It sticks out in every direction, twisted and bent – much like his mind, I would guess. His mouth grins incredibly wide like a scar on his pure white face. For eyes he’s got two big, saucer-size, black and white swirls, like those turning discs that are supposed to hypnotise you. His body is tall and thin, and he’s wearing what looks to me like a jester’s outfit.

“Let’s get this over with,” I say drawing my sword and stepping towards him.

He looks at me and my body is bound in chains. My arms slam against my sides and I drop my sword. With my legs stuck together I wobble a bit and then crash onto the floor. How embarrassing.

“This has nothing to do with you, Swordsman.” He says, “you cut my head off once before, but luckily that doesn’t matter much to people like us.”

He turns to Balgog, “Does it?”

“Cut the shit, Korpak.” Says Balgog, “Where is she?”

“Korpak cartwheels past us, giggling like a maniac. “Whoever do you mean, sweetheart?”

“You know who I’m talking about.”

“Oh,” says Korpak, “that one.” He stops and puts his hand to his chin, deep in mock-thought. “You know, I actually kind of like that one. Sweet as honey, she is. I think I’ll keep her.”

Balgog uses what I later find out he calls ‘The Voice’. He opens his mouth and it sounds like a thousand echoes from the roar of the Dog-God, “Give her to me!”

Korpak stumbles backwards and a pained expression comes across his face. The insanely huge grin on his face turns down into an almost comical frown. He falls to his knees and it looks like he’s about to hurl. Then he looks up, his eyes burn blood red and he screams.

A black mist flies from his mouth and wraps around Balgog. The Book-Demon swats his hands like he’s walking through spiderwebs, but the mist curls around him. I can see his body being sucked dry, like the mist is absorbing his blood or something.

I struggle against the chains but they’re too tight. I allow the fire to release and my body erupts in flame. It’s no good, Korpak’s magic is too strong for me.

Balgog has the same idea. Blue electricity sparks from his body, the mist retreats like a frightened snake.

I struggle with the chains. I’ve battled gods, surely I can get out of this. Then I remember that Balgog and Korpak are much more powerful than the puny gods of my reality. I call them gods but they’re really just super-powered beings. Are the Enuma and Satyrs just higher gods than the ones I’ve faced, and if so, are there beings even more powerful than these? I suddenly feel like a little worm on a really big hook.

Kafka told me that Book-Demons could be killed by absorbing them in the books that I thought they sucked souls with. But can the Enuma and the Satyrs actually die? Or can they only be caged like Gondlar was?

Balgog shoots two black beams from his eyes that hit Korpak in the chest. The Satyr falls to the ground in agony as Balgog slowly walks towards him.

“Stop him, you fools.” Korpak shouts at the guards.

The guards just stand and watch with a grim satisfaction as this tyrant writhes on the ground in pain.

“I’ll kill you all,” screams Korpak, “stop him now.”

The guards turn and slowly walk out of the castle.

Balgog kneels down next to Korpak. He places his hand on the Satyr’s face and I can see his fingers slowly digging into Korpak’s skull.

“Give her to me!” says Balgog in ‘The Voice’.

A white glow leaves Korpak’s skull and runs up Balgog’s arm. The light fades and Balgog reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out a thin paperback. The book flies from his hand and opens itself. It floats in the air for a while and in front of my eyes Korpak is sucked inside.

The chains binding me disappear. Korpak lies unmoving on the ground.

I pick up my sword, “Well, that wasn’t too difficult.”

*     *     *     *

That’s the problem, isn’t it? That wasn’t too difficult. Sure, the guy pretty much stomped my ass, but Balgog took him down without breaking a sweat. And that makes me wonder: If Balgog is so powerful how come he never gave me so much trouble before? I used to chop his head off on a regular basis.

“Back then I was fighting for my soul,” he says, “I don’t remember ever fighting you.”

“Then who was I fighting?”

“Probably Korpak, or the other guy. Korpak was in there for a while, but I fended him off pretty easily and sent him packing. The other being was much stronger, if he’d been able to expel my soul he would’ve been magnificent, but his powers were mostly spent fighting me. Which was quite lucky for you. The way you beat his face that one time, I was glad to be somewhere else.”

“Which other guy?” I ask, “Just how many different personalities can fit in there? And if Korpak could just take me out like he did now why didn’t he do it back then?”

“Well, when Korpak took over my body I was still inside somewhere. The reason you didn’t have such a hard time with him was because most of his power was being used up fighting me and this other guy. He even thought you were going to remove him with that book.”

I remember that, I beat his face to a bloody pulp. Kafka told me you could kill a Book-Demon by using the books I thought they sucked souls with. “And what about this other guy?” I ask.

“Well, I never met him, but I always sensed another mind was there. When I got rid of Korpak the other mind was in control for a while, but then it just vanished. It either left or just stopped trying to gain control.”

“Oh,” I say, “And what’s with the books? I heard they can kill you.”

“We use the books to cage Satyrs,” says Balgog, “and I think it’s best that as few people as possible know how to kill us.”

We walk outside like two guys at the end of a buddy-cop movie. All the villagers are standing staring at us. They can’t believe that Korpak is gone. I hope they don’t expect us to set up a democratic government or anything.

Then one of the guards pipes up and shouts something in their language. The villagers all start cheering and patting us on the back.

“What are they saying?” I ask Balgog.

“They’re saying: ‘They killed the Evil One’ and: ‘Hooray for our saviours.’”

I’m about to start signing autographs when some guy comes running through the gates and up to us. He spits in Balgog’s face and glares at us, shouting something loudly to all the villagers.

The villagers stop cheering and a stunned silence echoes through the village.

“We’d better go,” says Balgog, “ right now.”

The change in his voice puts me on edge, “What happened?”

“You remember that big spider you killed?”

“The Chelicera?” I say, “Sure.”

“And you remember how I told you they worshipped it?”

“Yup.”

“Well,” says Balgog, “that guy just said: ‘They killed the protector. They killed our queen.’”

“Oh,” I say, “we better go then.”

*     *     *     *

Ah, the fickle finger of fame. One day you’re the greatest guy in the world, and the next you’re being chased by a bunch of angry villagers with pitchforks and flaming torches.

Talk about bad press.

Balgog and I leg it. We run out the gates with the entire village snapping at our heels.

“Where are we going?” I shout, looking over my shoulder at the lynch mob.

“To this world’s quaquaversal point.” He says.

I’m a good student, I remember what that is. Grand Wolf told me the quaquaversal point is where a world begins. Actually, it’s where a universe begins. How convenient that it’s on this world.

Balgog’s energy is at an all time low. Apparently he used up a lot fighting the Satyr. He stumbles and hits the ground.

I look back at the storming villagers. “Now’s not really the time, dude.”

Balgog just groans and a glazed look crosses over his eyes. I wave my hand and I wall of flame shoots up in front of the mob. They stop and shout at us through the fire.

Balgog sits up and looks around like he doesn’t know where we are.

“Lets get out of here.” I say.

“Good idea.” He smiles.

*     *     *     *

Balgog takes us back to my reality. It’s good to be home, maybe now we can sort out this whole Darklight problem.

“Hope you enjoyed the trip,” he says. Balgog grabs my throat and I can feel electricity racing through my body. He throws me across the room and I slam into the wall.

Balgog stands above me, he’s got that ‘lunatic-eyes’ thing going on. His fingers crackle blue sparks which he shoots in my direction.

I roll out of the way and get to my feet. “What’s up?” I say, “Is this some kind of Enuma victory dance or something?”

“Always with the jokes,” he says, “I’ll start laughing in a minute, Phoenix.”

There’s that name again. The Helsing called me the Phoenix before I snuffed him. Must be yet another subplot that I don’t know about.

I draw my sword. I figure I’ll cut off his head for old time’s sake, maybe it’ll bring him to his senses.

Before I can move Balgog leaps over my head, slamming his foot into my face on the way. He lands behind me, I feel his hands wrap around my head, and then I think the electricity running through my brain has something to do with the blacking out.

*     *     *     *

The cold wind blows through me like a million invisible knives, chilling the marrow in my bones. I’m lying in snow, on top of a faraway mountain.

A woman stands above me. She reaches down and her hand presses into my chest. In an instant the cold is replaced by an unbearable heat. I scream in agony and flame passes out my chest and into the assassin’s body. She erupts in fire with an explosion that almost flings me off the mountaintop.

I slowly and painfully get to my feet and try to find the fire within.

It’s not there.

*     *     *     *

My eyes burst open and I hurl to my feet shouting.

Where am I?

Who am I?

I rack my brain but can’t remember my name, where I am, or how I got here.

I look around at the people staring at me. Some are stepping away shaking, others are shouting and screaming. I turn around and try to get a feel for my environment.

The room is painted in a dull white, every window is covered with a steel mesh. To my left is an enclosed room with a bunch of women looking through a Perspex window. The jail door next to the window opens and three muscle-bound apes in white uniforms run towards me. my legs are weak, like jelly, I can barely find the energy to stand on them.

The first dives and tackles me to the ground. I feel like china in a bull shop. My body is weak and slow, and my mind is a fuzzy haze.

I swing at the guard, clipping his chin. He pulls me to my feet and one of the other gorillas punches me hard in the stomach.

I drop to my knees, clutching my stomach. I raise my other hand in submission, “Okay, I get your point. No loud noises.”

I only notice my clothes now. I’m wearing a white hospital clothes with a dirty white gown over my shoulders. On my feet are uncomfortable, white slippers.

I slowly get to my feet. The bouncers back away, keeping their guard up.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say, “you won’t have any more trouble from me.”

The first guard turns and opens the gate again. The other two back away with their fists clenched.

The gate opens and I take the opportunity. I run for it, knocking the two guards out of the way. The first guard turns and I slam my knee into his crotch. I grab him by the back of his shirt and throw him back into the other guards. Then I slam the gate, locking them inside.

I turn around, wondering how the hell I’m gonna find my way out of wherever I am. When a massive fist slams into my nose. The back of my head hits the bars before another, equally sizeable fist, rams into my solar plexus.

Then some guy with a sense of humour decides it’s ‘baton-time.’ I curl into a tight ball as the heavy, wooden nightsticks beat me senseless.

Oh, man. Someone had better have a darn good explanation for this.

*     *     *     *

The next five days I spend in a white room with padded walls. I still don’t remember anything. How did I learn to fight so badly? Whoever taught me didn’t do such a good job.

Three times a day a hatch opens and food is dropped through onto the floor. I suppose they think I’m gonna make weapons from chicken bones or something ‘coz all the food is soft and the water I get to drink is in a polystyrene cup. How come I know that the cup is polystyrene but can’t remember ever seeing one before?

I spend my time struggling to remember anything. My name is a good start, but even that eludes me. The only thing that could maybe be considered a memory is the face of a beautiful, blonde girl. In the memory she’s laughing at something I said that I suppose was funny. Or maybe it was something stupid. That would get a laugh.

On the seventh day the door opens and a thin guy with small, round spectacles in a white coat steps through followed by four big guys.

“Ready to behave yourself?” he says.

“Sure,’ I say stepping forward, twisting his arm round and slamming my palm onto his elbow. I hear a wet crack and see a look of incredible anguish cross his face.

“That’s for locking me in here.”

The guards jump on top of me and I’m collecting more bruises.

Maybe all my memories are of this. That would explain my brain wanting to forget.

*     *     *     *

The next morning the door opens and the same bespectacled guy comes in with five guards this time. Oh, yeah, his arm is in a cast.

“Take these,” he says handing me two pills, one red and the other blue.

This all seems familiar, like I’ve seen it before somewhere. A red pill and a blue pill.

“Do I have to take them both?” I ask, “Or can I choose?”

“Both,”

I pop the pills in my mouth and pretend to swallow.

“Check him,” says the doc.

Two guards grab me and force my mouth open. I spit the pills at the doctor’s feet.

“This will seem like the presidential suite compared to where you’re going,” says the good doctor.

And then it’s lights out.

*     *     *     *

The woman pulls the flame into her body. She smiles maniacally and shoves her hands out in front of her.

Fire bursts from her palms, exploding the snowy ground in front of me. I fly back, sliding off the mountaintop. I grab the edge of the cliff with one hand and hang.

It’s about a hundred-mile fall onto sharp rocks below.

“I’ll kill them all,” she says, “they deserve to die for what they’ve done.”

I manage to climb up. I have no idea where I find the strength. I slowly stand up and say, “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I will stop you.” Pretty lame dialogue, in my opinion.

“You poor, naïve boy,” she says, “You have no idea. If you only knew what they have done.”

“Who?” I ask, “What did they do?”

“They created me to be their slave. Even you should recognise the irony in that. The assassin they made to do their bidding, turning on them.” She moves faster than thought, disappearing and reappearing in front of me. Her fist slams into the side of my head and I tumble along the ground and off the mountain.

*     *     *     *

I wake up in total darkness. I’m not even sure if my eyes are open or if they’ve been sewn shut. I feel my pupils growing larger, like a cat’s, and soon the immense blackness becomes brighter.

I’m in a small cell with stone walls and a steel door. I shouldn’t be able to see a thing, but apparently my eyesight is inhuman.

I place my hands on the steel door, it’s not that tough. Maybe if I have super-eyesight I also have super-strength.

I start pounding the door with my fists, denting it. Then I feel my hands heat up and next thing the steel door explodes outwards. It hits a stone wall in the tight corridor and falls to the ground. The steel bubbles and melts at the place I was punching.

“I’m a superhero,” I say to myself, “and this must be my arch-enemy’s fortress.”

“I thought you would try to escape, Phoenix.” The guy speaking is standing at the end of the corridor. His massive shoulders almost touch the walls on either side and are covered in a long, black cape. His tight, grey suit has some kind of insignia on the chest and his face is half covered in a black mask. On the top of his head are two pointy ears.

A younger voice behind me speaks, “Holy bubblegum, did you see what he did to this door?” 

I turn around and look at this guy’s sidekick. He can’t be older than fifteen and is wearing a loud, multicoloured suit with a domino mask. The door he’s talking about is the one I just blasted, it’s all melted and gooey.

“Look guys,” I say, “I really don’t know what’s going on here, but I’ve got to get out.”

“Why?” says the older guy, “So you can inflict more terror on my city?”

“We’d love to let you go, Phoenix,” says the kid, “but we don’t think you’re totally rehabilitated yet.”

Maybe I was wrong and this isn’t the enemy’s fortress. Maybe it’s the hero’s stronghold. Maybe I’m actually the super-villain.

The sidekick is just a distraction. The big guy throws some kind of boomerang at me. It hits me on the forehead and I drop to the ground. The kid and the big guy run towards me.

Click.

Everything stops. The big guy and the kid just stand there, dead still. Did I do this?

I get up and look at the two of them. I could beat them senseless while they just stood there frozen, but I don’t think they’re evil, just insane. I mean a guy dressed like a flying rodent and a kid in green underpants? I would recommend they seek counselling immediately.

I walk past them and up a flight of stone steps. This is it, my big breakout. While everyone just stands around doing nothing.

*     *     *     *

The city I walk into is dark and gothic. Lots of tall buildings with stone gargoyles and stuff on them.

I hear the click when I’m way out of the asylum and the cars on the street start moving again. In no time I’m gonna have those two clowns after me.

A feeling like frozen cockroaches running up my spine spins me around. Someone’s watching me. But not just some harmless guy on the street, this someone feels big. The way you’d think of God as big.

I look ahead and it feels like I’m looking straight at his face.

Something’s pulling me. Not pulling me so that I’m moving from the spot that I’m standing on, but more like pulling my mind. The world goes blurry, and everything disappears.

*     *     *     *

I drop out of the air onto cold, hard tiles. In front of me is a coffee table with two feet resting on it. Connected to the feet is a pair of legs, and connected to the legs is a young guy with a shaved head reading a comic book.

“Holy monkey!” he says, jumping out of his seat and looking down at me. He’s dressed in black, something tells me he’s always dressed in black.

I get to my feet as the guy walks around the coffee table, keeping his distance from me. He drops the comic book on the table and backs away a bit. “How did you do that?” he asks.

I look down at the comic. The first panel is of a dark, gothic city. The next is the back view of some guy walking through the streets. The next panel is of the guy’s face, looking all confused and stuff, staring out at the reader. And get this – the guy staring out is me.

“Are you God?” I ask him.

“You know who I am,” he says, “I’m not God. I’m Rob.”

I recognise him from somewhere, but the him I know isn’t called Rob. “And what world am I in now… Rob?”

His right eyebrow raises, “Um… the real world?”

This might be the real world, bit I somehow know it’s not my world. The force pulls me again. I feel my mind being sucked back through whatever portal brought me here.

*     *     *     *

I fall flat on my face into the dirt. A tumbleweed rolls over me. I look up to identify the cause of all the shooting going on.

It’s a gunfight. And I’m right in the middle of it. A guy in a long, brown coat and a cowboy hat is shooting at three large, surly-looking gentlemen.

The guy in the hat runs over to me, grabs the back of my shirt, and drags me behind a big, metal vehicle that looks like a car but has no wheels.

“Wrong place at the wrong time, fella.” He says.

“Tell me about it,” I say, “Let me guess, those are the Bad Guys?”

“Yup,” he stands boldly up and pulls another gun from his belt.

 I hear shouting from the other side and the vehicle the Bad Guys are hiding behind explodes.

The gunslinger grins like a maniac, “This way,” he says. We run towards what looks to me like a motorbike, but like the car back there it also doesn’t have any wheels. He jumps on and tells me to do the same.

“Wait,” I say, “this isn’t my world.” I don’t know how I know this isn’t my world, it just doesn’t seem to fit right.

Parts of my memory are coming back in bits and pieces. Like I somehow know that I need to be careful when going for a haircut, or that time is static. Puzzle-pieces that will hopefully fit together sometime soon.

            There’s that thing tugging at my mind again. The gunslinger and his bike blur and the spaghetti western vanishes.

*     *     *     *

I drop into sand again and think that I’ve done a loop somehow. When I look up, however, I think differently.

I’m in a desert, but I know this desert. I’ve been here, I almost died here. The group of odd-looking gentlemen encircling me, chanting, look very pleased with themselves. I suspect they must be responsible for the shoving around of my mind and body.

They’re all wearing hooded robes like monks. They look a bit like the Priests of Hermonthis, the dead souls who protect Cleopatra’s Amulet. Where did that come from? Is it some lost memory trying to get out?

“Okay, guys,” I say getting to my feet, “let’s start from the top.”

One steps forward and all the others stop chanting. He looks into my eyes, “Do you know where you are?”

“Not a clue,” I say, “but really, that’s the least of my worries.

“Imagine that your mind is a reservoir of knowledge,” the monk says, “he drained it, but slowly it will fill itself with the stolen knowledge.”

“So, this he that you cryptically allude to didn’t really steal the knowledge. He just redirected it to another place.”

The monk frowns, “Something like that.”

“And just who is this guy who has been refilling everything in my head?”

“He was once an Oracle, until he chose to turn from their Way.”

“What’s an Oracle?” I ask.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “the master will explain all.”

Enough with the disappearing and reappearing. Can’t I just take a taxi or something?

*     *     *     *

The guy in the monk-suit didn’t lie. My memory is slowly dripping back into my conscious mind. I still don’t remember my name, but I remember a sword and a magical ring, and that blonde girl’s face just gets more vivid. I think I might be in love with her.

We pop out in knee-deep snow, standing in front of some kind of temple.

I turn to the group of monks, “What now?”

“Enter,” says the only one who seems to possess the power of speech, “and embrace your destiny.”

They all bow to me like I’m the king of England or Elvis or something. I bow back ‘coz it seems like the right thing to do, turn around, and head up the hundreds of stairs toward the temple doors.

*     *     *     *

After climbing about seven hundred stairs I finally reach giant, golden doors. Carved into the doors is beautiful, elaborate writing. I stand for a while, mesmerised by the intricate beauty, before pushing them open. I look back at where the monks were standing but they’re gone.

Beyond the doors lies an empty room. Well, not totally empty. At the end of the room is a small figure sitting on the floor.

I walk over and sit on the ground in front of him. His eyes are closed like he’s sleeping or in deep meditation or something.

The walls and floor and ceiling are covered in the same intricate script as the golden door. The room is lighted by hundreds of candles. From where I’m sitting I can’t see any windows or doors leading to other rooms. This is it, a temple without a bathroom, there must be a lot of yellow snow out there.

“Um… hi.” I say to the small figure. I don’t think he’s noticed me yet, maybe this is some sort of spiritual isolation chamber. “Nice weather we’ve been having…”

 “The Darklight is coming,” he says suddenly, “if it is to be defeated, you must embrace your responsibility to humankind.”

“Okay,” I say, “but first could I get some warmer clothes. I feel like a brass monkey here.”

He ignores me and says, “There are two prophecies, two endings, we must make sure that it is ours that endures.”

“Look,” I say, “I wasn’t aware I’d signed up for Cryptic 101. I was under the impression that you’d explain everything that’s been going on. At least that’s what your disciple, or whatever, told me.”

“It is your sacrifice that will decide the outcome,” he says, “but first you must find what you have lost.”

A hand touches my shoulder. I turn my head and see that it’s not a hand but a paw. The paw is connected to a yellow dog. My mind remembers something and I see that it’s a golden Labrador.

“His name is Fennec. To defeat the Darklight you will need the power of the Elementals. Fennec will guide you on your journey.”

The dog whimpers and nuzzles my neck. I look into his eyes and he holds my gaze. I turn back to the old man but he’s gone. No mirrors, no wires, no puff of smoke. He just disappeared. In his place is a folded pile of clothes a lot warmer and a hell of a lot more stylish than the asylum threads I’ve got on now.

“Oh well,” I say to the dog, “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

*     *     *     *

 They say that the unconscious mind remembers everything you see and hear. Looking out at the white forest and the snow falling, my unconscious remembers every minute detail up to each individual shape of each individual snowflake. The mind automatically sorts all sensory input between the conscious and unconscious so that our brains don’t go into information overload.

Someone took a huge chunk from my conscious and filed it in my unconscious. For what reason I don’t know.

But now I have to get it back so I can save the world. Or at least that’s the impression I got from the little Zen-like dude in the bathrobe.

*     *     *     *

Fennec leads the way and we head past the forest and towards the snow capped mountains. The snow starts falling harder and pretty soon I’m struggling through knee-deep slush.

Fennec doesn’t notice. In fact, the dog just walks on top of the snow like it’s hard ground.

I look back towards the small dot that is the temple. We must have been walking for about an hour when we reach a winding path leading up the mountain.

Fennec slows his pace so I can keep up, every now and again running ahead and then doubling back.

The snow gets deeper, and pretty soon I’m up to my waist and can’t walk on. Fennec whimpers and tries to tug me out of the snow. It’s no use.

The dog looks at me as if to say: “I’ll be right back.” He runs off up the path.

A few minutes later I hear him howling, followed by a roar like a thousand pissed off mountain lions. That can’t be good.

Fennec comes bolting down the path like his tail’s on fire, behind him is a ten-foot wave of snow.

I scramble out of the snow that I’m stuck in. Now lying on top of the snow, trying to crawl on my belly away from the ice-cold tsunami, I look back and see Fennec swept up in the torrent. A moment later the wave lifts me up and swallows me whole.

Man, that’s cold.

*     *     *     *

There’s a sword. The blade of this sword looks like any other, but I can sense that there is something different about this weapon. Holding it in my hand, I can almost sense a heartbeat, a rise and fall inside the metal, a consciousness buried deep within the steel.

Then there’s only blood.

*     *     *     *

I’m inside a cave. Fennec, the golden dog leading me toward my destiny, lies on the floor. I touch his body and can feel his breathing. For some reason I really feel like chocolate – what’s up with that?

The dog raises his head. He bears his teeth like he’s smiling at me. For all I know he’s into extreme snow surfing.

We both get to our feet and I say to Fennec, “Well, now what?”

He barks once and runs off into the cave. I follow him, wondering if he knows where he’s going.

The cave is dark, but I can see almost perfectly. Judging by the speed at which Fennec is running, he can see perfectly too.

It opens into a huge chamber. Like a massive room in some ice castle there are dozens of frozen pillars holding everything up. Fennec runs ahead and sits down in front of a shapeless mound.

As I approach him I see that it isn’t a shapeless mound but a glacial throne. Sitting on the throne is a tall, old man. I’m talking centuries old. His white beard touches the floor, he’s so wrinkled and unmoving that I’m scared to make any sound in case he crumbles to dust.

Fennec barks at the geezer but he just sits there. I think he might be dead, frozen this way until they find the elixir of life or a cure for mortality. I look around for a duck wearing a sailor suit and no pants, but then realise that Walt Disney could afford a better tomb than this.

I figure this guy has something to do with me regaining my memory so I walk over to him, place my hands on his shoulders, and shake him. “Hey, old guy, wake up!”

Not too subtle, I know, but I’ve got a destiny to embrace and a world to save.

His eyelids slam open. Bright ethereal blue light shines behind them. An ice-cold hurricane blows me back onto the floor. I get to my feet, rubbing my arms to get some warmth back into my body. The old guy opens his mouth and a long tongue of ice races out and wraps around me.

Fennec, my incredibly helpful guide, just sits and watches as my entire body is surrounded by a ‘do-it-yourself Siberian vacation kit’. I’m frozen solid, waiting for a giant to crack me out of an ice tray into his Pina Colada. 

“F-f-feel f-f-free t-t-to j-j-jump i-i-in a-a-any t-t-time.” I chatter to Fennec.

My skin is so beyond the prune stage like when you’ve been in the bath too long, I feel the blood in my veins screaming from the pain, some part of my brain that doesn’t get out much says, “Don’t you wish you’d brought a scarf?” My vision clouds over. The last thing I see is the stupid grin on Fennec’s hairy face.

If I ever get out of this, the first thing I’m finding is a rolled up newspaper.

*     *     *     *

The thing about destiny is that it doesn’t just happen to you. The biggest fallacy is that Fate decides how your life will play out and that’s that. I mean who really believes that Fate or Destiny or God, in the infinite wisdom that such an entity would possess, looked down and decided: “Walter, you will be an accountant!”

That’s just not the way it works. If anyone ever says to you, “He was destined for greatness.” Please reply, “Big deal.” Because every last one of us is destined for greatness! The problem is that people think they can just sit back and let it happen.

You need to find your destiny. You need to search the deepest, darkest, most inaccessible reaches of your soul and find that destiny. And embracing it doesn’t mean lying back with open arms and saying, “Come and get me.” It means grabbing it by the proverbial horns, kicking it in the ‘nads, wrestling it to the ground and saying, “I’ve got you now, you slippery bastard.”

That’s how you embrace your destiny.

*     *     *     *

The darkness is cold. I try to curl into a tight ball. Things are knocking and bashing against me. I can hear the sound of leather wings frantically beating, then blood-curdling screams of pain and terror bludgeon my ears. This isn’t happening, somehow I know this is another memory.

The ring was useless against him. Without the ring, I thought I would never defeat Mephisto, but even with it I was no more than a pest to be crushed.

The name fills my heart with fear and dread and a fierce, burning anger. Who is Mephisto? Why does his name terrify me? Am I supposed to find this ring? Is that my destiny? Or my curse?

I can hear a voice calling my name, even though I don’t know what my name is. My eyes are clenched shut against the terrible darkness, I try to force them open. The calling gets louder.

I open my eyes and a man is standing in front of me, the only light in this hell. The mere presence of this person lifts my spirits. “Save yourself,” he says, “It must not end this way.”

“How?” I cry.

“The fire is within you.”

*     *     *     *

Fennec barks. The old guy with the blue eyes is still sitting, watching me freeze to death.

The fire is within me. I don’t understand those words, but some part of me is awakened by them. I feel a ball of white, healing light form deep inside me. It spreads throughout my body, and soon I’m almost wishing for the cold to return.

I open my mouth to scream and release the pain. Then my entire body erupts in white fire.

I don’t have time to worry about the old guy disappearing right in front of my eyes because the chamber is shaking and coming down around our ears. Sorry, my bad.

First the Zen-dude in the temple and now the blue-eyed boy, I must be in the country where they invented the trapdoor.

Fennec barks at me and I decide to stop making lame jokes and follow him. We run out the same way we ran in as the entire chamber collapses in on itself.

The fire is within me. I can feel it burning, waiting to be released.

*     *     *     *

Okay, so I remembered something. It’s not much, just some guy in the dark and excruciating pain, but it’s mine.

It also doesn’t seem so cold anymore. I think that’s because I’ve found ‘the fire within me’, but when I open my eyes I see it’s ‘coz we’re not surrounded by ice and snow. We’re back in the temple and the little guy in the brown, unassuming robe is sitting on the floor.

“I see you found it,” he says, “I knew you would succeed.”

I think he must be talking about the memory, but then I feel something in my hand. Fennec is sitting next to me. He barks once and the old guy smiles like he understands. My hands are clenched in fists, I open them and in the palm of my right hand is a ring.

The ring is silver, and it has a beautiful blue tinge to it.

“What’s this?” I ask.

Fennec barks again and the old man smiles. “It is the Ring of Seiden. It is not yours to keep, but by passing the test you have been granted use of it until the battle has been won. Or until you are dead.”

“Thanks.” I look at Fennec, thinking of something to say. “What does it do?” I look up at the Zen-dude but he’s gone again. Fennec barks and runs towards the temple doors. They open as he approaches them.

I slip the ring onto my finger and follow him. The next bit is strange.

*     *     *     *

Memory is a funny thing. I mean, how come I know that there are worlds within worlds, that time does not flow from one end to the other but is static, that a doughnut has a hole in the middle?

How come I know that there are more than one hundred chemical elements known to exist in the universe, but that an Elemental is a supernatural entity or force that is thought to be manifested by occult means? And how come I know that the dictionary definition of an Elemental is bullshit, and that they are in reality kind of quasi-gods? The four gods of earth, wind, fire, and water.

How come I can remember how to tie my shoelaces but don’t know what my name is?

*     *     *     *

The door to the temple opens and I follow Fennec outside. But outside isn’t outside. At least, it’s not the outside I just came from. That outside was a snowy, mountainous landscape. This outside is where you go if you want a serious tan.

I turn around and look back inside the temple. It’s still there, just the same as it always was, but now it’s in the middle of a desert. I wonder if the temple moved to the desert or the desert moved to the temple? Semantics.

The next bit is kind of expected. Fennec runs off across the sand. He’s heading towards something distant on the horizon. I follow him and as we get closer I see that the thing we’re heading towards is in fact a tornado.

Let me guess. This must be Wind? I might be wrong, but probably not. I’m not a total moron, I figured that the old guy with the icicle-beard was Water. And now I’m facing Wind, or Air, or maybe I am wrong and it’s just an innocent tornado.

The average width of a tornado is a few hundred metres but sometimes it can be a kilometre wide. This tornado is a big boy by anyone’s standards, it must be about seven or eight kilometres in width. The funnel of a tornado is made visible by the dust sucked up and by condensation of water droplets in the middle. I think there’s more to this tornado because I’m sure I can see things moving inside the funnel. Probably just my imagination, but there seem to be faces – screaming faces – protruding from the funnel.

What was I saying earlier about memory? I can’t ever remember learning this shit, it just pops into my head. Same as I don’t know where I learned karate, jujutsu, kung-fu, judo, aikido, tai chi chuan, or kendo. I just know them. Hell, I even know that if you pitted me against a world-class sumo wrestler I’d give him a run for his Yen.

Fennec stops and barks at the approaching dust devil. For all I know, he’s making degrading comments about the thing’s mother or telling rude tornado jokes.

How many tornadoes does it take to screw in a light bulb?

The top of the funnel detaches itself from the cumulonimbus cloud above it and bends down. Oh shit, it’s heading right for yours truly. I try to hold my ground as I see Fennec get sucked up into the chaos, but that doesn’t work. An involuntary shout escapes my lungs as I’m lifted off the ground and inside the spinning turmoil.

*     *     *     *

I step into the elevator and press the button for the top floor. The lift hums softly while I listen to a panpipes version of an old Metallica song.

When the lift stops halfway to let someone else in, I’m ready for a brawl. But instead of a bunch of demon-heavies, in walks the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.

It’s the girl whose face I see. I don’t know my name, or this girl’s name, but I know her face.

In her right hand she’s carrying a violin case.

“So,” I say, “do you always carry a machine gun around with you?”

I cringe, hoping that I didn’t really say that.

She smiles and looks sheepishly down at the violin case, “Actually, it’s my lunch.”

*

The beautiful girl whose name I still don’t know slams the violin case on the floor and whips out, if I’m not mistaken, a machine gun. Although it’s like no machine gun I’ve seen before, like something out of a 2000 AD comic. She opens fire, spraying the bad guy with little lead unfriendlies.

He looks at her for a second, then throws her right through the glass wall.

I dive out the window, picking up the dog chain on the way, and make it in time to grab her by the arm. I swing round and land both of us back in the window.

“Nice save.” She says.

*

“Why should I do that?” I ask, “So you glory hounds can use it as another excuse for your fascist police force?”

“No,” she says, “because I don’t want to see you die. In case you haven’t noticed, genius, I actually like you. And just by the way, do you know the meaning of indestructible? It means: Can’t be destroyed. It means: You’ll get your intestines fed to you like the Godfather’s spaghetti Alfredo.”

*

She drops towards the sea of bloodthirsty androids.

I’m on the metal bridge now, standing next to the unknown man. I look down and see her disappear into the fray. “No!” I shout and dive over.

I hit the ground and start whacking at anything that moves, frantically trying to find her. I can feel the fire ignite inside me. I have to fight it, I can’t afford to lose control now.

I can hear her shouting and fighting somewhere close.

Then I see her, struggling against a tangle of steel arms hitting and crushing and ripping her. She’s covered in blood. Looking more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her.

I throw the robots off me and run to her.

She looks up at me. I see tears in her eyes. And then the light fades from them. She drops to the floor limply, her last breathe a painful cry.

*

I see Icarus slash her cord, and I say the words that Balgog taught me. I don’t know what they mean or even what language they belong to. It doesn’t matter.

Everything slows to a standstill. I gently take her from the air.

She opens her eyes and stares at me. Her mouth opens to say something but I place a finger to her lips.

“I’m here to take you home.”

And then, as I cling desperately to the woman I love, we both fade from the page.

*     *     *     *

Whoa! That was weird. I remember everything. Well, everything important. I remember Karen Keating, the LED agent that unknowingly stole my heart and soul, the girl who couldn’t give them back even if she wanted to, the woman who is my entire reason for being. The thought of her has saved my life too many times to remember. She will never know how much she has done for me.

I’m spinning. Being flailed about inside the tornado. I can faintly hear Fennec’s barking. Thousands of hands that seem to be connected to the tornado are punching and grabbing me.

If you’ve ever had your life flash before your eyes you will know two things: firstly, it takes less than a thousandth of a millisecond, and secondly that you only remember those events that have had the most profound effect on your existence.

But I remembered something else. I remembered that I am the last link to a god’s bloodline. I remembered the power. My power.

Click.

Everything stops. I grab onto one of the protrusions of the tornado. I was mistaken, they’re not so much arms as they are bony claws. I climb up to Fennec. He doesn’t look like he’s being bothered much by our predicament. In fact, he looks as calm as if he was munching on a juicy t-bone.

I grab him and climb down. This takes a while and I’m not sure if I can hold everything for much longer. I dig down deep and find reserves of strength that I didn’t know I had, but that’s not saying much – I still can’t remember my own name. I am the Swordsman, that’s as much as I can remember.

Click.

When we’re on the ground I let it all go. I’m expecting to have to fight against the Wind again but as soon as it starts up it stops.

Standing in front of me is the old man. The same old man who was in the ice castle. Actually, it’s not the same man. He looks just like the other guy, exactly like him, but his eyes are white.

And then we’re back inside the temple with Zen-Boy in his spot on the ground. Smiling like he just won a lifetime supply of Enlightenment.

*     *     *     *

I’m up to my knees in mud, but Fennec just runs across it like it’s hard ground. He sniffs the air and barks once. The muddy ground of the swamp bubbles in three places about five metres in front of me.

I look down at the rings on my hand – the bluish one that I got from the Water Elemental and the white-silver ring from Wind. I still have to find out what they do or even if they do anything.

The bubbling bog rises and seems to take shape. Three figures grow from the mud, they stretch and flex their arms like they’ve been asleep for a thousand lifetimes.

After leaving the desert and appearing in the temple, Zen-Boy and Fennec had one of their ‘conversations’, and we did the whole ‘travelling temple’ thing. About a minute ago I stepped out with my canine compatriot into a muddy swamp. I’m guessing this is the Earth Elemental.

The three bog-boys stare at me and growl loudly. They’re not much to look at, just three guys covered in mud, but they make up for lack of physical features with their size. They resemble a trio of tag-team wrestlers. The first one roars and runs aggressively towards me. I step forward and aim my foot for his chest.

As I do this I notice that the other two have separated and are circling me. Aha, teamwork. I wonder if I can count on my flea-ridden buddy to extend the same courtesy.

My foot connects with the mudman’s chest, but instead of knocking him on his sludgy butt it kicks right through and my leg gets caught inside his body.

The two other clayfaces grab my arms and try to pull me to the ground. The mud that I kicked out of the other guy’s chest just reforms and holds my leg tightly in there.

The mudmen pull me down into the dirt. My head dunks beneath the mud and they try to hold me down under it. I’m not too worried, part of my training with Grand Wolf was in the ocean, I can hold my breath for ages.

The slickness of the swamp helps me here. I manage to slide free from their grip. I yank my leg from the other guy’s chest and sweep his legs out from under him. He splashes down in front of me.

I roll free and get to my feet. The three mudmen stand in front of me, planning another attack, no doubt.

Man, I wish I had my sword.

With that thought the blue ring, the one I got from the Water Elemental, morphs into a sword.

This is more like it. This is what I do best. The sword is light in my hand, in fact it’s the same weight as the one I used to have. It even looks just like the sword that the other ring, the ring that part of Gondlar’s soul was trapped in, looked like.

I run towards the bog-boys, swinging my sword like a man being attacked by mosquitoes, and sever the head from one of them. He drops to the ground as his head flies away.

I cut the second mudman in half at the waist. The sword tears through his body like a rhinoceros through a senior citizens tea party. He’s only half the silt he used to be.

The third guy doesn’t seem even slightly phased by this turn of events. He pounces at me but I drop low and stab the blade into his quaggy stomach. I rise up and slice from his stomach though his chest and out the top of his head. He falls back, the halves of his upper body bending away from each other.

Oh yeah, soap beats no-soap! Swordsman: one; Mudpuppies: zero! Cleanliness is next to Godliness! Um… Insert victorious one-liner here!

I’m just about to do my ‘hooray for me because I won’ dance when the three of them start moving.

The one I split down the middle sits up. I watch as his body grows back together. He gets to his feet and roars angrily at me. Oh great, all I did was piss him off.

But this isn’t the bad part. Not even close. The mudman whose body I cut in half doesn’t rejoin. Oh, no. His upper body grows a new set of fully functional, equally dirty legs, while his lower body forms a brand spanking new chest, arms and head. Ditto for the decapitated mire-maniac – growing a head is one thing, but growing an entire body to go with your head is just silly.

The trio growl at me.

And then their two new friends, grown from the mucky off-cuts, growl at me as well.

I look around for Fennec. He’s sitting peacefully on the edge of everything, watching me. “Some help, please.” I say to him. He barks at me and just sits.

So much for man’s best friend.

The Mudpuppies start slowly encircling me. I can’t carry on cutting them up because they’ll just grow into more mudmen.

I’ve been in stickier situations than this, I just need to figure a plan. I look at the sword in my hand – it’s just like the one that my old ring used to change into. I let go of it and it changes back into the ring. If it can do that, then maybe it can do some of the other tricks that my old ring could.

I will the ring to change back to the sword. It does this in an instant. I drop onto one knee in the mud and stab the sword into the ground.

When I fought the Helsing I was able to gather all of the fire and focus it into the sword. I clear my mind of everything but my task. I focus my power into the sword.

I feel the power swirl inside me, but something feels different. The power tastes different.

I gather it all and push it into my weapon. My eyes open and I see a blue glow start at the hilt of the sword and run down the blade. As soon as the blue light hits the ground the mud starts to lose its watery texture and harden. The blue glow races across the mud, turning whatever it touches to ice. The mudmen back away from it but they’re too slow. The blue light engulfs them and in a matter of seconds they are frozen solid.

I get to my feet and swing the sword in a massive arc, smashing the clayfaces into millions of tiny, frozen shards.

This time, they don’t get up.

The mud a few feet in front of me starts bubbling and frothing frenetically. What now? A tall figure rises out of the swamp, but he’s not covered in mud like the others, this is the Elemental.

His eyes are black. I know it doesn’t make sense, but they glow black. I look down at my hand and a third ring has appeared on one of my fingers.

Three down, one to go. The Fire Elemental is next. Why do I feel like I know what to expect?

*     *     *     *

“You have learned much,” he says, “but the final enlightenment is yet to come.”

Fennec barks and the little monk nods.

“You have remembered your past,” he says, “and soon you will know your future.”

The doors open and I head towards them. I don’t even have to look back to know that he’s gone. The mysterious Zen monk in his brown bathrobe has vanished – I don’t think I’m going to see him again.

*     *     *     *

“And just how am I supposed to get up there?” I ask the dog. He barks and licks my hand.

We’re staring up a massive mountain, on top of which is a large cone, at the top of the cone is a gigantic vent commonly known as a crater. The crater is spitting huge flaming rocks and lava is pouring down the mountain.

Fennec barks again and gives me a condescending look.

“I know,” I say sarcastically, “I’ll just fly up there. How about that?”

My feet lift off the ground. I can feel one of the rings glowing. I can also feel the dog’s smug, smarmy smirk on me. I think about rising higher and I do – just like that.

The only other time I’ve flown is when I got the Golden Honeycomb – it’s an incredible feeling.

“You coming?” I say to Fennec. He sits down and barks up at me. He’s gonna watch from the sidelines again.

Fine, it’s not like he was much help anyway.

*     *     *     *

I soar above the crater, sweat pouring off my body in bucket loads. I figure the last test is down there, as well as the Fire Elemental.

The ring given to me by the Water Elemental gave me the power to freeze stuff and control water, the Air Elemental allowed me to fly, and I suppose the ring from Earth will allow me to talk to plants or something. I’ve already got a fire within me, so what do I really need to see this guy for?

Whatever. I suck it in and prepare for anything this guy’s gonna throw at me. I do a fancy loop in the air and rocket down into the mouth of the volcano.

My feet hit the ground hard. I will the Water ring into the sword and assume the stance – both feet parallel, pointing straight ahead, right foot in front of the left.

But it’s all unnecessary. There’s no test. The flames and heat all disappear and the Elemental, looking just like the others except for his red, fiery eyes, walks forward.

And then I die. Just like that. I’m dead and the world is saved. Everything, my birth, the orphanage, finding the ring on the beach, kissing the angelic Karen Keating, watching her die, rescuing her, meeting the author, battling the Darklight, dieing in a flaming explosion, everything flashes before my mind’s eye. And after I die, when the last of my breath escapes from my body, there is only darkness. A cold, unforgiving darkness. And a voice.

*     *     *     *

“Oh my god, I thought you were dead.”

I open my eyes. I’m standing in the Mall, or at least what used to be the Mall. Now it looks more like an enclosed battlefield. The person talking to me is Karen. She’s covered in blood and dirt. All the shops and tiled floor and pretty benches are destroyed. Fires burn everywhere. Legions upon legions of LED agents are running past us, heading into the fray. Who they’re fighting I don’t know, all I can see ahead are the backs of agents.

“What’s going on?” I ask her.

“I don’t know,” says Karen, “someone, or something, just walked right into the main headquarters and started killing agents. I’ve heard so many different stories, some say it’s a fiery monster, others say it’s just a girl, but one thing they do know is that it’s unstoppable.”

“I’ll kill them all,” she says, “they deserve to die for what they’ve done.”

I think I know who is doing this. An assassin created by the LED for whatever purpose. An assassin who somehow stole my power, the power that I only got back when I found the Honeycomb. An assassin called Alison Wonderland.

“You can’t beat her,” I say, “I need to get you to a safe place.” I take Karen in my arms and rise into the air. “Whose in charge here? We need to tell your agents to back off.”

“I’m not part of the LED anymore,” says Karen, “but I know that Commander Zylo is the highest ranking officer. All the others are dead.”

“I’m taking you to a safe place,” I say, “and then I’ll handle this.”

*     *     *     *

Most people think that Time flows from a beginning to an ending, but I know that they are wrong. Time is static, like a book that can be opened at any part, Time can be opened anywhere.

The Oracles can walk through Time, they have the power to travel anywhere in the stream of it and enter at that point. Balgog, a Book-Demon, an Enuma, allowed me to travel into what I thought of as my past and save the girl I love from death. Balgog also betrayed me, he locked me in a different reality and wiped my memory. I still need to find out why.

The Fire Elemental showed me this. I saw my birth, experienced my entire life in an instant, and then I felt my death. All at once I felt every experience I’ve ever had and I’ll ever have. I never understood what they meant when they told me that time was static. I could appreciate the theory, but not until now did I understand it.

I fly Karen outside of the Mall and tell her to wait. The essence of the four Elementals shines in my eyes as I turn around and head back into the fray.

Fulfilling my destiny means wilfully ending my life. I walked through time to save the woman I love, can I sacrifice a life with her to save the world?

Destiny doesn’t just happen, it needs to be embraced.

*     *     *     *

LED agents are being flung around and killed, but they are fearless and charge into certain death with more fury and courage than I’ve ever seen.

Alison Wonderland is moving faster than mercury. Most of the agents she has killed never even saw her.

I land in front of the assassin.

Click.

Everything stops. Even the assassin is slowed. She doesn’t move fast, even though that’s what it looks like. What she does is slow everything else down. A power I found I had inside myself.

But my power has been growing, and with the power of the Elementals it has increased thousandfold. I slow Alison Wonderland down to a standstill.

I look at the assassin, I can sense the fire she stole from me inside her. She is frozen in time, I could kill her and she wouldn’t even know I was here.

Then I let her move again. Only her, everything else stays solid and unmoving.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask.

She stumbles back. Never before has she met a being with more power than her. She shoves her hand out and shoots flame towards me. I mentally grab onto the power she’s projecting and pull it in. She screams as she feels the fire being pulled from inside her. I’m stealing her power and she can’t do a thing about it.

I draw the fire back inside me and she drops to the floor. She feels like a part of her soul has been stolen. I know, the power latches onto your being and becomes a part of it, losing it is like losing part of your very essence.

The LED created Alison Wonderland to be a super-assassin. She uses an unnatural amount of her mind, allowing her to do amazing things. But she is still only human, and I am… more.

I am the Phoenix.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask again.

Alison Wonderland looks up at me, “Because they created me to be there slave. Because the pain they put me through still burns in my veins.”

“This is not right,” I place my hand on her head, “I will take the pain away.”

The assassin screams, and I can feel all the anger and pain and power as it drains from her body and into mine.

*     *     *     *

For a second, when I see Karen in an LED uniform, I hate her. Then I tell myself that it wasn’t Karen who did this. The handful of people who authorised and carried out the experiments were the higher powers in the LED, the people beneath them, the people who do their dirty work, know nothing about it.

Alison Wonderland, the assassin they created, already killed the men and woman at the top who made her. Then, when she found no peace from their deaths, she started working her way down the ladder.

When I placed my hand on the assassin’s head I experienced all the pain and anguish they put her through to create the perfect killer. It was like I was her, like everything they did they did to me. A part of me, the part I removed from Alison, hates everything about the LED.

There’s this story, ‘Flowers for Algernon’, about a bunch of scientists who turn this retarded guy into a genius. The scientists make him super-smart, smarter than themselves, smart enough to know that he’s not gonna stay that way and that he’s gonna get dumb again. But that’s not the tragedy, the tragedy is that he’s gonna remember what it’s like to be so smart after he’s stupid again.

I couldn’t do that to Alison Wonderland. After feeling her pain and what they put her through I knew that she wasn’t evil, just angry. I know what it’s like to be consumed by hatred and the desire for vengeance at any cost. When I killed Mephisto I thought everything would be better, that the hate burning inside me would just go away. But, of course, it didn’t.

I couldn’t leave her like that.

I’m surrounded by LED agents. They followed me after I saved their asses back there. I recognise a few of the faces, I recognise Kimara Bond, most of them think I’m a murderer.

“What did you do to her?” he says. I know this guy. His name is Xavier Zylo and he thinks I’m the next best thing to dog crap on toast.

“I sent her away. Somewhere she’ll be looked after. She won’t remember the pain she had to endure or the power it gave her.”

“You should have killed her.” He says.

I grab Zylo by the collar and slam him down into the ground, “You made her. The LED tortured her and so she could be your dog. I had a mind to let her finish you all off.”

I stand up and turn away from him. The rest of them are staring, I can see in their eyes that they fear me.

I hear Zylo get to his feet, and then I feel his hand grab my shoulder. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

I used to be scared of this guy. When I first met him I was still quite new to all of this. He seemed so in control when I didn’t have a clue about what I was doing. It’s funny how perspective can change.

I look at his hand on my shoulder, “I don’t have time for this.”

He spins me around and his other fist flies toward my jaw.

Click.

Zylo and everything else freezes. To everyone it’ll look like I just vanished and reappeared behind him. Perception is everything.

Click.

Zylo stumbles forward. His fist swishing the air harmlessly. “What the…”

“I told you,” I say, my eyes glowing bright as a flame appears inside them, “I don’t have time for this. Go back and rebuild you little police force, but be warned. If I ever hear of anything, anything at all, going on that I disapprove of, I will make anyone responsible pay. You will come face to face with the wrath of the Phoenix.”

I look at Karen. I can see bewilderment and confusion in her eyes. I can also see fear. I don’t think she wants to come with me. I think she wants to stay here with her own.

I can understand. I’m not who I used to be.

*     *     *     *

Most of the Mall has been destroyed, where there were once clothing stores and restaurants and gift shops are now smouldering craters. This isn’t the first time the Mall has been totalled. When the Dog-God chased Karen and me the same thing happened.

I wonder how they explain these types of occurrences? That one day everything’s fine and the next it looks like WW3 just took place?

I walk towards one of the many secret entrances to the underground, one of the doors that lead to the thousands of passages and chambers beneath this ordinary shopping mall, and find it blocked.

I hold my hand up towards the pile of rubble obstructing the entrance. One of the rings glows and I direct its energy towards the hindrance.

The earth in front of me shakes and then rapidly parts down the middle. It shifts and piles on top of itself until there’s a neat little walkway just for me. I step through the door and into the corridor, the debris falls back after I’m through.

I feel different, I guess this is what they call ‘embracing your destiny’ or something. I once was the Swordsman but I’m not that person anymore, even though he’ll still be a part of me. My name is the Phoenix, the descendant of Gondlar and the emissary of the Elementals. My rebirth meant the destruction of all that mankind knew to be true.

Everything you learned was a lie. Soon you will become familiar with the real world.

*     *     *     *

I stand in what once was Balgog’s lair. It was where the Enuma planned their quests but now it is just another empty chamber far beneath the Mall.

Balgog betrayed me and I have to know why. What part does he play in my future? Even though I experienced everything that will happen in my life, from my birth until my death, I don’t know what will happen. When your life flashes in front of your eyes it’s only the feelings and emotions that you remember, not actual events.

“So you’re looking for him to? Grand Wolf said you would.” The voice belongs to a Tech-Vamp that I know only as Dexter. He’s standing with a group of Vamps that I recognise as the last of their special operatives or field agents. He’s also keeping company with the Grand Wolf.

I recognise these people because a small part of me remembers that I once held them dear, but that part is dieing.

“Why are you looking for him?” I ask, not with my own voice, but with the voice of the Phoenix.

“It isn’t really him.” Says Dexter, “Balgog has been… infected.”

“Infected with what?”

Grand Wolf steps forward, “There is a parasite inside him controlling his actions. A religious man would say he is possessed.”

“Possessed by who?” I ask, “Or what?”

“You remember the Helsing?” says Dexter, “Well, his body is a nice, comfy flesh-suit for the guy who created the Helsing.”

“Orlock.” I say. I look at Grand Wolf, “And what do you have to do with all of this?”

“The Oracles sent me to find Orlock and return him to them,” He says, “I think they’re trying to figure out a way to kill him.”

“Where have you been?” says Dexter, “It’s like the end of the world around here and no one’s seen you for about a week.”

“I was being born,” I shove past Dexter and Grand Wolf on my way out, “I have my own score to settle with Orlock. Try to stay out of my way.”

Grand Wolf grabs my shoulder, “What’s the matter with you? Something’s wrong.”

“I have… Become. The Phoenix has been born.”

Grand Wolf looks down at the rings on my hand, “Do those have anything to do with the attitude? You’re behaving like you did when the ring was controlling you.”

Those words slap me back from Brood City. GW’s right, I can feel it now. For a second there it was like my mind was slowly being washed away and replaced with someone else. Maybe this Phoenix thing that I’m supposed to be evolving into isn’t a good thing.

I remember something that Grand Wolf once told me. He said that altruism is just a concept, it doesn’t really exist. He said that even people who seemingly sacrifice their well being for others have some sort of agenda be it to alleviate guilt or make themselves feel like a better person, they’re doing it for themselves, not anyone else.

What agenda does the Phoenix have? And am I strong enough to hold it back?

*     *     *     *

“Was that me?” I ask.

“Dude,” says Dexter, “you were like the Terminator back there, a black cloud of angst above your head and everything.”

“Sorry,” I say, “if it happens again smack me in the mouth. I don’t want to be held responsible for any bad Clint Eastwood impressions.”

“Yeah,” says Dex, “you need every facial expression you can get, don’t trade them all in for just one.”

Grand Wolf interrupts, “Is this it?”

“I’m not sure,” I say, “I think so. It totally caved in. It was pretty deep.”

“This is the place,” says Dexter, “we had to find our way back out because you locked yourself in there with that thing.”

“Then lets get to work.” I say. I raise my hand and feel the Earth Elemental’s ring glowing. With a loud, deep scraping sound the dirt in front of us starts tunnelling, quickly making a passageway down.

*     *     *     *

If you happen to be a scientist, or if you happen to read comic books, you’re probably quite familiar with the concept of alternate realities or universes. Unfortunately I’m no where near smart enough to be a scientist, the only skills I have are with a sword, so all my knowledge of this comes from reading old comic books that Grand Wolf leaves lying around.

These comics often speak of alternate universes where Superman didn’t end up in a nice farm in Kansas with good, God-fearing parents who taught him about truth, justice and the American way. So there are worlds where Superman becomes this dictator who rules the world under his Kryptonian fist.

Anyway, the point here is that when I was being dragged around worlds, or universes, I came across this guy called Rob. He was reading a comic book that I popped out of. The thing is, Rob looked exactly like Dexter.

So what I want to know is if there is a world with Dexter and a world with Rob and these people are basically the same person in different universes is there also a world or a million worlds with me as a different person in them?

Are there a million worlds with Karen Keating and Balgog and Grand Wolf? How different are these people? Should I just shut the hell up about things I have no knowledge of before I embarrass myself completely?

*     *     *     *

“It’s not here,” says Dexter, “I would’ve sensed it by now.”

“I destroyed the Ankh along with the Helsing,” I say, “we won’t find Balgog here.” We backtrack and as soon as we get out of the tunnel it collapses in on itself.

“Nice one, Moses.” Says Dexter.

Grand Wolf is probably just making excuses so he doesn’t have to listen to us anymore, he says, “I need to consult with Rorschach and the rest of the Council. Maybe they know where to find him.”

He walks off without as much as a “See ya.” But that’s the Grand Wolf I know, all business and nothing else.

“He’ll get hold of us later,” says Dex, “and these guys have got other stuff to do.”

With that the other Tech-Vamps, the V-Ops squad, turn on their heels and head off, leaving Dexter and me.

“Maybe you can help me?” I ask, “I need something translated. And I need to know about something called the Darklight.”

“Never heard of it,” says Dex, “but I know someone who probably has.”

*     *     *     *

Kafka’s organisation is like a Tech-Vamp Mafia, or a super-secret government intelligence agency, or a huge corporation that deals in information and carries out clandestine operations. I used to think that the Tech-Vamps craved information like Dracula craves vital fluid, but I’ve heard stories and found out that they use most of the knowledge they steal for humanitarian purposes.

Their main base has moved since the Reaper destroyed the last one.

Dexter and I squeeze into a phone booth. He punches in a code and the floor descends. I look up as another floor slides across in the booth.

The lift stops and we walk down a long, white corridor.

“We have sensors here that scan everything from your retinas to other, unmentionable cavities.” Says Dexter, “We also have a couple of levels of X-Rays, so we know if you’ve got any weapons on your person. Also so that if someone swallows a bomb with the intention of setting it off inside we can know about it. In that instance we would seclude the party and detonate the explosive.”

“Pretty paranoid for a bunch of computer geeks.” I say.

“Hey, we invented paranoia.” He says, “All to block access to what we geeks jokingly call our LAN. The booth outside can never be used to get here again. We call this corridor the Firewall. The guy sitting in the little room monitoring us right now is called the Server. Another little joke. If he doesn’t like what he sees on his computer he can either eject us or kill us. His call.”

“Should I fill out an indemnity form?”

“Don’t worry,” says Dex, “he knows you. Everyone around here knows you. You’re the boss’s hero. He even designed a Swordsman action figure he keeps on his desk.”

“He must have a lot of time on his hands.”

“Not as much as you’d think. I always imagined that once you got to the top you spent most of your time with the kids and on vacation. But the boss says that when you’re in charge you gotta work harder than anyone else. Those are his ethics, anyway.”

We get to the end of the corridor and the white wall slides open.

It’s weird to think that even a couple of decades ago a sliding door was something out of science fiction. Dick Tracey would talk into his watch and it was a big ‘top secret-like’ deal, now days they’re planting phones in people’s heads and cloning sheep. James Bond’s stuff is still cool but it’s not that amazing anymore, it’s just stuff that’s gonna be on the market in a year.

The room we walk into is wall-to-wall computers. Dozens of Vamps are sitting at desks staring into monitors and hammering keyboards.

Kafka is looking over some guy’s shoulder into a computer screen.

“Got someone here to see you, boss.” Says Dex.

I can see the other Tech-Vamps who’ve noticed my arrival whispering to others. They stare at me like I’m the President or Bill Gates or something. They’ve probably been monitoring me since I got back to the Mall.

“M-my old c-cell-mate,” says Kafka, “h-h-how are you, my f-friend?”

The last time I saw Kafka was in the LED jail they called the Ritz. He liked being there because he could drain all the info from the LED mainframe and they didn’t even know he was in the building.

“Still confused,” I say, “but I guess some things never change, huh?”

Kafka laughs and pats me on the shoulder, “I th-think I know why you’re h-here.” He waves a hand and the wall in front of us lights up. The wall isn’t a wall but a ten foot high screen, black shapes run from left to right on it. The same shapes that were all over some guy who killed an LED agent and then himself.

“I think it’s some kind of language,” I say.

“It is,’ says Kafka, “a l-language that hasn’t b-been s-spoken for about a thous-sand years. And even th-then only a handful of p-priests s-spoke it.”

“Can you translate it?” I ask.

“We’ve b-been w-working on it. So f-far we haven’t c-come up with m-much.”

Another Tech-Vamp with long hair and dressed in a leather jacket comes over. His name is Mike and he’s usually with a guy who doesn’t talk much.

“Where’s Geoff?” I ask him.

“He’s upstairs waiting for us,” says Mike, “as soon as we read this he headed off to get the chopper ready.” Mike passes me a sheet of paper, “Read this. It’s what that says.” He points to the giant screen.

“So where is this place?” I ask after reading the paper.

“In the middle of the Pacific,” he says, “it’s not on any maps. Well, not any that are around these days.”

“We have to stop it,” I say.

“Then get your butt into gear and lets go,” says Mike.

*     *     *     *

“The helicopter was the first vehicle capable of vertical flight,” Dexter tells us, “it’s different from the autogiro in that its rotor gives both lift and propulsion.”

He does this a lot. I think it calms him. Hey, some people meditate, Dexter talks. He’s really talking to himself while Geoff flies and Mike stares out the window. I’m busy wigging.

“An important feature of helicopter design is the development of devices that counteract the torque, or reaction force, developed when the rotation of the rotor in one direction tends to turn the fuselage in the opposite direction. Experimental choppers have used small, ramjet engines mounted on the tips of rotor blades to provide power and to eliminate torque.”

My mind is spinning with questions. Who am I? Am I the Swordsman or the Phoenix? I somehow know that they cannot both coexist, and if I give in to the pull of the Phoenix I will be lost forever. The power of the rings is seeping into my body and one day I will no longer need them. Is this my destiny? Was I born to become this? Must I give up my own free will and give in to the will of the Phoenix?

“A helicopter can be flown forward, backward, or sidewise by tilting the rotor in the desired direction. Tilting the rotor changes its lift from purely vertical, to a combination of vertical and horizontal.” Dexter uses his hands to demonstrate the next bit, “The rotor is first tilted in the direction of the turn, and then the thrust of the tail propeller is altered to turn the fuselage in the desired direction.”

“There it is,” says Mike, “set her down, G.”

Geoff nods and soon we’re landing in a grassy clearing on an island in the middle of the Pacific. Palm trees wave lazily in the cool island breeze. The sky above us is clear blue. Geoff stays in the helicopter as Mike, Dex and I get out.

The writing on the body of the dead bald guy was part of a prophecy. After I told Kimara Bond to translate the writing on Kojack’s body she entered it into the LED mainframe, along with a report on what happened. The Tech-Vamps, old hands at siphoning info from the mainframe, managed to translate it.

The prophecy tells of the Darklight opening Death’s Lake. It says that this will happen right here on this little, unknown island. It also says that this Darklight will be aided by the Enemy of Bubastis.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

The rest of the prophecy didn’t inspire much confidence in me. I don’t even want to go into what the rest of it said.

Okay, now I feel like I’m in a bad movie, “Can you hear that?” I ask.

“Hear what?” says Mike, “I can’t hear anything.”

“Exactly,” says Dexter, “not even a parrot-squawk. Nothing.”

I can’t believe the words that come out of my own mouth when I say, “It’s quiet… too quiet.”

A sharp sound, like a hiss of air being squeezed harshly from a tyre, follows the shadows that dart from the trees toward us.

I’ve seen things like this before. They came from the Traveller’s suitcase and they came when Mephisto summoned them, but these ones look different. They’re like flaming shadows, like a black fire with attitude.

I release the flame from within and the Shadowfires back off. If they’re here then at least I know we’ve come to the right place. The Wind Elemental’s ring glows as I lift into the air.

“Get into the chopper and follow me,” I fly high into the air until I can get a view of the entire island. On top of a hill, standing in a circle, are more Kojacks, dressed in black like it’s Halloween and they all went as a scary piece of coal.

The screech-hiss of the Shadowfires overpowers the sound of the chopper blades. They hurl through the air towards me. The sword is in my hand and I slice its icy blade through the first. Its shriek is cut off and it dissolves into a black mist.

I feel the Phoenix taking over. It’s as though I’m being pushed out of my body and watching someone who looks like me grip the sword and swing it through the air. The sword pulsates and releases an icy wave that ripples from it and engulfs the Shadowfires, turning them to nothing but an oily mist.

The Phoenix shoots through the air and lands in the middle of the circle. Their eyes remain closed and their chant carries on. Every last one has the same tattoos all over their bodies.

The Dog-God, the enemy of Bubastis, is supposed to be raised by the hairdresser cult. It dawns on me that there could possibly be more than one way to skin a cat, or rather to summon a demon dog.

The Phoenix stands still, as though he is wondering what comes next, when one of the circle steps forward. The other guys have dark, tanned skin with the prophecy tattooed on their bodies from head to toe, but as this tears his shirt open I see that his body is snow white and possesses no markings.

The albino opens his eyes and instead of the dark, empty sockets that Kojack had are bright, white orbs.

The Phoenix swings the sword for the albino’s head. The white boy grabs the blade, stopping it in mid-swing, and kicks the Phoenix square in the chest.

Pain lances through my torso as the Phoenix flies back. I get to my feet and watch as the albino walks through the circle and comes toward me.

The Phoenix runs at the albino, sword above his head, and attacks him.

This feels weird, it’s as though my body has been possessed and I’m watching the Phoenix use it, but I feel the pain as the Casper’s foot hits the Phoenix on the side of its head. The Phoenix rolls with the kick, staying on its feet, lets go of the sword and punches the albino in the ribs.

This isn’t what it should be doing. The Phoenix is playing into the albino’s hands. We should be stopping them raise the Dog-God, not brawling with Snow White.

An excruciating pain wraps around my brain as I try to regain control of my body. The Phoenix is struggling, it loses concentration and control as the albino sweeps its legs out. As I’m falling the Bad Guy follows through and punches me in the chest.

I roll along the long, waving grass, feeling like I’ve been put through a knuckle-blender. I pop up onto the balls of my feet, Casper the not-so-friendly ghost is running toward me. I start running at him and dive over his head. I fly through the air and land in the middle of the circle on one knee.

Slamming my hands on the ground, I can feel the Earth ring bending to my will. The ground that the tattoo-boys are standing on erupts and flings them back, cutting off their annoying chant.

Above me the chopper hovers and I look up to see Dexter and Mike drop onto the ground. The wind from the rotors flattens the grass and drowns out the leader’s voice as he shouts at the others.

Mike and Dexter stand next to me. They don’t have the edge the four rings of the Elementals gives me, so they’re kitted out in battlesuits and large assault rifles.

Casper is still shouting. The others line up next to him and get down on their knees. The albino walks forward and raises his arms in the air.

For a second, no, make that a fraction of a second, I think that they’re surrendering. Until the white monk’s eyes shine like a thousand torches and the ground in front of him explodes as the Dog-God is unleashed.

The Dog-God looks more like a Chinese dragon, its face like a lion and a dog’s rolled into one. Its body is smooth and hairless, and underneath its yellow-brown skin are bunches and cables of ferocious muscle.

When the Bohemian raised the Dog-God he needed the Orb of Gondlar, a magical ball of energy created to control gods, but these guys are in a completely different league to the scaly, scythe-wielding monstrosity that killed Grand Wolf’s wife.

The albino says something that I can’t hear over the chopper blades and the Dog-God crouches and then leaps into the air. I rocket skywards, trying to stop the beast.

I’m not quick enough, I try to feel the click but the Phoenix burned up most of my energy. I just hope I can save my friend.

The Dog-God was aiming for the cockpit, but luckily Geoff tried some elusive tactics and the beast only takes out the chopper’s tail end.

Geoff sees me coming and dives out of the helicopter. I catch him as the chopper explodes and crashes to the ground.

I’ve never seen Geoff smile or frown, his facial repertoire consists of one look and even now he has that calm, almost bored look on his face. I land on the ground and Geoff looks me in the eye and shakes my hand. He rewards me with a smile and the only words I’ve ever heard him speak, “Thanks.”

Dexter and Mike open fire on the Dog-God as it charges toward us. The bullets don’t phase it one bit, but it doesn’t crush us underfoot, it leaps over our heads and lands in the middle of the men in black who’ve formed another circle.

The albino looks at me and says in a deep, grainy, powerful voice, “The Darklight is coming.”

A whirlwind forms in the circle, lightning booms from inside it, and with a crack that shatters the ground underneath them they vanish along with the Dog-God.

Mike walks over to me and says, “I’ve contacted home base. They’re sending a pick-up. Should be here in a few hours.”

We don’t have a few hours, whatever needs to be done needs to be done now.

*     *     *     *

The sea beneath me is a blur. The air is screaming past my head. While the Phoenix is rocketing towards the Mall I’m trying to slow everything down.

Time does not flow, it is as unmoving as blood is red. Every second, every moment, is continuously recreating itself and replaying. Right now I am being born and I am dying. All I can do is try to halt those moments, if I can just slow them down. As the Phoenix heads toward whatever destiny awaits me, I am struggling to stammer each moment.

Whatever needs to be done, needs to be done now. I left Dexter and Mike and Geoff on the island. The Tech-Vamps will get there to pick them up in a few hours. If the Kojack-lookalikes, whoever they are, raised the Dog-God then they intend to open the River of Souls.

As the sea whips past me below, I look up and see a faint smudge of land on the horizon. The Phoenix pushes forward even faster.

Only the most powerful gods can cross over to our plain of existence. They exist within our reality but at the same time they don’t. A universe can have more than one plain of existence.

If everything in the universe was created by a god, be it God in the Christian sense or any other religion that believes in a Creator of all things, then logically we are all figments of that god’s imagination. We exist, but the question is: Do we exist outside of God’s head? Mephisto and Gondlar, the two most powerful gods on opposite ends of the spectrum, are capable of crossing over from their plain to ours. Even though we call them gods, they are no more than incredibly powerful beings from another dimension of our universe.

A flock of seagulls, frozen in the sky, are torn apart as the Phoenix just blasts right through them.

Gondlar crossed over centuries ago and impregnated a woman. That woman was Daedalus’ wife, and the son she bore was Icarus. Daedalus, angered by this, caged Gondlar in the Golden Honeycomb. Icarus, Gondlar’s son, created a ring from the Honeycomb and tried to fly up to claim his imagined place beside the gods.

I am part of that bloodline, the blood of a god runs through my veins.

Mephisto, Gondlar’s eternal enemy, tried to stamp out the bloodline. He murdered my mother and father, and tried to destroy me, the last of that line.

Mephisto is the only god who has tried to open the River of Souls, besides Gondlar he is the only god who can cross over to our plain ay will, but Mephisto died when I stabbed him with the Golden Honeycomb.

Or did he?

I didn’t see him die, I saw the Honeycomb bond with the ring and absorb Mephisto when he was using Icarus’ body as a host. The ring had trapped Mephisto, and the Honeycomb held most of Gondlar’s essence. I can only think that Gondlar took over the body that Mephisto was using, and the Honeycomb and the ring melded holding both Gondlar and Mephisto.

But what did that create? Are both gods trapped together in the same cage, only utilising Icarus’ body? Or did the joining of the ring and the Honeycomb create a totally new being, one that has both the power of Gondlar and the dark evil of Mephisto?

The Phoenix is heading for the desert. We rocket over the city and in a few seconds have slammed down in the sand.

The more souls a god collects, the more powerful it becomes. When someone dies their soul automatically goes to the god they worship, but those who don’t worship any god are sent to the River.

Mephisto planned to open the River of Souls and absorb every lost soul inside. This would’ve made him incredibly powerful. I would love to say that I stopped him from accomplishing this but the truth is I got lucky. The ring caged him, I had nothing to do with it.

This is where Mephisto opened the River of Souls.

The desert sky is painted red. Blue electricity bursts from the air as the River of Souls, Death’s Lake, is torn open. The Dog-God’s nature is to destroy, even when the hairdressers raised it, the Dog-God tore through them like so much meat. Now the beast stands transfixed, hypnotised. In front of it stand the tattoo-boys, but it’s not any of them that I’m worried about. I’m worried about the thing standing in front of them. The thing that right now is walking into the River of Souls.

I saw it once before when Mephisto died. When the ring and the Golden Honeycomb were brought together.

*     *     *     *

Do you believe in coincidence? Or do you believe that there is some Great Plan, that every event in life is a piece in a giant, complex puzzle?

I believe in the latter. I strongly believe that everything in life happens for a reason. I thought that the reason I found the ring, the reason I discovered that Mephisto killed my parents, the reason I dedicated my life to avenging my mother and father’s death, was so that I would stop the dark god from taking every soul in the River and using that power to destroy the Earth.

I suppose that’s the problem with people. We all believe that we’re the lead character in life’s motion picture, but now I think I got it all wrong. Things do happen for a reason, sure, but we’re fools to think that we can ever imagine that reason.

Maybe the only reason my parents died was so that I would hate Mephisto. Maybe the only reason I found the ring was so that I would lose it in the River of Souls. Maybe the only reason that Icarus reclaimed the ring was so that I would seek out the Golden Honeycomb. I was supposed to bring the ring and the Honeycomb together so that Mephisto and Gondlar could become one god – the Darklight.

Am I supposed to stop the Darklight from entering the River? Or is this what all the puzzle pieces, once they have been joined up, are supposed to amount to?

Was my entire reason for being merely to create the Darklight?

*     *     *     *

I feel my mind being shoved aside and watch as the Phoenix flies for the Darklight. If we can’t stop it from entering the River then we have to follow it inside. I know that I can’t enter the River of Souls without dying, but I have no choice in the matter. I wonder if the Phoenix will carry on living even if I die?

The wind is knocked out of me as the albino slams my body into the ground. The Darklight disappears into the gateway and the air heals itself.

I stand across from the albino and I hear my voice saying, “You will not succeed, Lu-Chan. The prophecy will not be realised.”

“It has been foretold,” says the albino, “it has already happened.”

For a moment I’m allowed a glimpse of what is growing inside me. I am not evolving into this being known as the Phoenix. The Phoenix has been drifting forever, and has fought this battle a thousand times, in a thousand different forms.

The man standing across from me has been called many things: the Septuagint, the White Dragon, Tiamat, Lu-Chan the Serpent. I can’t discern what is legend and what is real. To some he is the Dragon King, the embodiment of the four brothers Ao Kuang, Ao Jun, Ao Shun, and Ao Chi’in. Others know him as Amenti, the bringer of the fire that will cleanse the earth.

The air crackles and hisses and seems to be on fire, as the very fabric of reality is ripped open. Lu-Chan smiles.

The beast that steps from thin air is covered in red flame. Its face is a twisted mess of horns and feelers and teeth. It rolls its huge shoulders and raises its arms in the air. The Dog-God cowers as it slams its clawed hands into it. The Darklight lifts the Dog-God above its head and the flame erupts around them both. I turn my head away from the explosion and when I look back the Dog-God is gone.

The Darklight looks toward the city and the ground shudders as it bursts into the sky and flies toward it.

The Phoenix doesn’t seem to understand. Its entire reason for being is to stop the Darklight from whatever its got planned. It turns to Lu-Chan. I can feel the Phoenix’s hate for the White Dragon. It wants to destroy him, but I know the Phoenix has more important things to do.

My eyes burn red and I explode from the desert sand and follow the thing that I helped create.

My actions fulfilled this much of the prophecy. I brought the ring and the Honeycomb together. I created that thing. The Phoenix has to stop the Darklight. I need to fix the gigantic, sloppy mess that I got everyone into. If that means losing my soul then so be it.

*     *     *     *

We burst into the city. I try to stop thinking of myself in the plural.

You’re probably wondering why I don’t just let the Phoenix sort this all out. I mean, he’s the one who was born for this moment. I was quite happy to give my body over and forever lose my humanity. But I’ve started to realise that this Phoenix, this consciousness, has been battling Lu-Chan for so long that he’s developed a grudge. He doesn’t want to stop the Darklight as much as he wants to kill Lu-Chan. It wasn’t the Phoenix that headed off after the Darklight, he wanted to stick around and go toe-to-toe with the white boy back there, I took control and followed big ugly.

The Darklight hovers above the city like a fat guy staring down at a buffet table. I don’t stop flying for him. My body slams into his like a runaway train, and I’m introduced to the concept of an unstoppable force hitting an immovable object.

The shockwave from my psycho-wrestler impression smashes every window in about three square kilometres. The glass from the skyscrapers rains down onto the cars and people below.

They probably think it’s an earthquake or something. If I was a betting man I’d bet not one of them would think that a heavy-set, fiery demon, a mesh of two of the most powerful beings they will ever know, was floating above them, biding its time before it ripped their souls out to make itself more powerful. 

Well, I assume that’s what it wants to do. I don’t really know.

The Darklight looks down at me. I think I see recognition on its face as it wraps a hand around my waist and hurls me through a building.

The Phoenix turns us around and heads back for the monster. The Darklight is about five or six times my size and weighs about half a ton. I’m not going to win this by slogging it out with him but that’s what the Phoenix is planning to do. I suppose when you’re created with one purpose you would function like a machine. The Phoenix only cares about destroying the Darklight, it doesn’t care about the people below who could and probably will die in the process.

I need to take this away from the city. The Wind Elemental’s ring glows as a whirlwind wraps around the Darklight. I push the wind away and the Darklight is carried with it. It struggles and breaks free. I push harder and the whirlwind frosts over and freezes into hard ice. Another whirlwind forms beneath it and the hard, twisted ice block is thrown beyond the outskirts of the city and back into the desert.

I let the Phoenix follow. We land next to the Darklight as it smashes the ice. The sword appears in my hand, I don’t know what good it’ll do against this guy, we might be able to pick his teeth with it. The whole David and Goliath thing looks good on paper, but what faith do I have.

Then the Darklight get a confused look on its face. It spins around in the sand as the air around it seems to fold over. From the outside heading inward, the surroundings fold over and cover the Darklight until it vanishes, literally, into thin air. Standing behind it is Balgog.

*     *     *     *

The Phoenix doesn’t know who this guy is, I’m not even sure I know who this guy is. He could be Orlock, he could be Korpak. Hell, he might even be Balgog.

The fact that Grand Wolf is standing with him makes me feel a bit safer.

“Balgog?” I ask.

“It’s me,” says Balgog, “My mind was away, my body was possessed, but I’m back now.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” I say.

“It’s okay,” says Grand Wolf, “he is who he says he is.”

“Where’s Orlock?” I ask.

“He just left,” says Balgog, “one minute he was there and I was fighting his mind, and the next he was gone.”

“What did you do to the Darklight?”

“We hid him,” says Balgog, “in one of the dark corners.”

“I’m not following,”

“There are layers of reality,” says Balgog, “worlds on top of worlds, we shoved him down into one of the deepest. He will find his way out, if it was anything else our problems would be over, but it will claw its way out of there soon.”

“How do we stop it?”

“I don’t know,” says GW, “but we will find a way.”

I wonder why Grand Wolf always seems so calm in situations like this, then I remember that he’s a legend. People are always amazed when I mention his name. Half of them don’t even believe he exists, the other half act like he’s some kind of celebrity. In the LED his name is legendary, feared and hated by some, revered by others.

“We need to regroup,” says Grand Wolf, “come up with a plan of action.”

I’m about to say something when everything hits me. I haven’t had a rest since I was pushed and pulled between worlds. My body’s taken a lifetime of beatings. I sway from side to side and end up flat on my face. In the sand and unconscious.

*     *     *     *

The Phoenix soars high above the five cities of the plain. It was sent here to destroy two of them, to burn all the clay houses in a rain of Brimstone. The wickedness of their inhabitants had brought the Wrath upon them.

The sky becomes red and thunder roars down at the sinners. The Phoenix lifts its arms in the air and when it brings them down the skies rain fire.

*     *     *     *

I wake from the dreams and memories of the Phoenix to a high-pitched sound like an invisible needle rapidly being pushed into my brain. On second review I realise it’s just the telephone.

The telephone is not being pushed into my brain, it’s just ringing.

I jump out of bed and don’t know where I am. Then the memory catches up with me and I realise I’m in a room in one of GW’s houses.

I find a note next to my bed. It’s from Balgog:

Gone to return a soul. I don’t know where

 your grumpy friend is. Stay out of trouble.

I stumble through to the hallway and pick up the receiver. A young girl’s voice is on the other end, speaking so quickly I can barely understand, “He just took her. He swept through a bunch of us like we weren’t even there. God, I don’t know how many he killed. But he took her. Oh my God, the shadows.”

I recognise the voice, but I can’t place a face or name to it, “Who is this?”

“He just killed them. And he took her. The shadows. He said he wanted you. He killed them.”

“Who killed who?”

“The old man. He killed them. He opened his case and they killed them. The shadows.”

The cogs in my mind slowly turn. I know the voice, it belongs to an LED agent, Kimara Bond. “Kimara,” I say, “try to get a breath. Who are you talking about? Who did he take?”

A shadow of fear slides over my heart. Nausea pushes bitter bile into my throat.

“Oh my God, the shadows…”

“Where are you?” I ask.

Kimara gives me an address in the city.

“Wait there,” I tell her. I drop the receiver and head out the door.

 I know who she’s talking about. An old man. A suitcase. Shadows. She’s talking about the Traveller. And for some reason he’s taken Karen.

*     *     *     *

I once heard someone say that they believed people were born basically ‘good’. All evil in the world was man-made, and if someone became a bad person it was because of outside influences – their environment. It’s the whole Nature versus Nurture debate.

To discuss this, we need to think about the nature of evil. What is evil? If I had to give the short answer I’d say that evil stems from selfishness. And if evil stems from selfishness then no one can say that everyone is born ‘good’ because when you’re a baby, and for most of your young life, you’re only thinking of yourself and yourself alone.

Think about it real hard. When was the last time you did anything for anyone else that didn’t in some way benefit you? You might be an upstanding citizen who works hard, goes to church, and pays your taxes, but don’t think for a second that that makes you a good person. You might not be a bad person, but the absence of ‘bad’ does not equal ‘good’. Are you a ‘good’ person? Or are you just ‘not a bad’ person?

I accept that I’m not a good person. Sure, I’ve risked my life before to save the world, but don’t think for a second that I did it for you, because I didn’t. I saved the world because I quite like living in it, thank you very much. And I risk my life for my friends because I like having them around.

The reason I’m now on my way to rescue Karen isn’t for her benefit, it’s for my own. I love her with all my being and if anything bad happened to her I might as well die myself, but I’m saving her for me. For my own selfish reasons.

*     *     *     *

When I reach Kimara she’s calmed down a bit. The LED barely exists anymore, Alison Wonderland killed all the people who created her and then moved on to the rest. Most of the agents she killed didn’t even know who she was, they didn’t know what their bosses where doing.

When I absorbed Alison’s power I also absorbed most of her memories. I took her somewhere safe, where people will look after her and protect her. She won’t remember anything that the LED did to her or anything about this time in her life.

I don’t know where these new powers of mine came from, but I’m not asking too many questions.

Kimara doesn’t know that it’s a trap, so I can’t blame her. She thought that I was going to march in like a knight in shining armour, slay the evil dragon, and rescue the damsel in distress. She doesn’t know much about the Traveller, and to tell the truth, neither do I. I can only assume that he followed Kimara here, to this LED safehouse, and waited for me.

She hands me a note that he gave her, but even then I know it’s a trap. From the corner of my eye I notice the shadows moving.

“Get out of here,” I say to Kimara. She starts to protest and I shout, “Get out of here now!”

I’m too late. I turn to see the Traveller standing in the doorway. He’s not carrying his trademark suitcase. I suppose the Nightcrawlers are already out-and-about.

“Where is she?” I can feel the fire becoming stronger.

The old man laughs softly to himself. He rubs his shoulder, it’s the spot that my sword pierced when I last fought him. I want to know why he’s doing this.

“I thought Balgog called you off?” I say. It feels like a thousand years ago, why has he come back now? And for what reason?

“I don’t know any Balgog,” he says, “I got a message from him, saying to leave you alone. He didn’t hire me. A Satyr named Korpak sent me after you.”

So it was Korpak, using Balgog’s body, who tried to have me killed. Balgog tried to call him off.

The old man’s face twists in anger, “You hurt my children. Almost killed them. So I thought, an eye for an eye.” The Traveller smiles and says, “Except, unlike you, I’ve done the job properly.”

“What are you talking about?” the sword is in my hand, the fire burns in my chest, “Where’s Karen?”

“Oh,” he says, waving his hand about the room, “she’s over there somewhere.”

The Wind Elemental’s ring burns on my hand as the air around the Traveller lifts him up, “What have you done to her?”

“She is one of my children now,” he says, “the cold burns her, she hungers for warmth. You see, Swordsman, there are worse things than death. You can cause a man so much more pain by taking the things that are precious to him. And then he will do your job for you, because death will become his only other option.”

Kimara is crying. She knows what’s happened. Karen is dead, her soul has become one of the Traveller’s Nightcrawlers. The fire dies and the rings of the Elementals become useless to me.

The Traveller laughs as all my power seems to fade away and he drops onto his feet. “So,” he says, “you can do my job for me, because life seems worthless now.” He turns and walks out of the room.

I drop to my knees. This is the second time I’ve lost her. Her soul now burns in pain. I can go back and save her, but this Swordsman will have to carry that pain with him forever. You see, when I went back and plucked Karen from the warehouse, before she fell to her death, I opened another timeline, another reality. In some alternate world there is a Swordsman whose only love was taken from him. She didn’t die, she fell and then just disappeared. Somewhere, in another reality, I am walking around without any knowledge of what happened to her. My only reason for life just vanished without a trace.

If I come back and save her a different version of me will walk the earth never knowing where she went, and another version of Karen will be trapped forever as one of the Traveller’s ‘children’.

I can’t let her live like this.

The fire bursts from me in a rage. I hurt the Nightcrawlers before, this time I will set them free.

How many souls has the Traveller hurt to do his bidding? How many people have suffered and become his servants? How many suffer even now as his ‘children’?

I hear the shrill screams of the shadows as the fire engulfs them. Tears stream down my face when I think that one of them used to be Karen. But I can’t let her exist like this. I know that death is a release from an eternity of pain.

I lost her once before, now I must kill her in order to set her free.

*     *     *     *

Nothing seems real. As I walk out of the LED safehouse into the city streets I wonder where I’m going. Then I see the Traveller walking away. I don’t think he knows I killed his ‘children’.

Click.

Everything freezes. I burst into the air and land in front of the old man.

Click.

“Why did you do it?” I scream at him.

“It was nothing personal,” he says, “just my job.”

“Well,” I say, “this is personal.” Before I know what I’m doing the sword is in my hand and I’ve rammed it through the Traveller’s chest. All the meditation and the training and Grand Wolf’s speeches about never doing anything in anger are lost.

His face contorts in pain. Blood seeps from his lips as his mouth turns up into an agonised smile.

“Thank you,” he says grabbing my shoulders, “thank you.”

I pull the sword out. The Traveller coughs once, and drops to the ground.

My anger swims inside and changes to despair. My mind is a frantic tornado of emotions. The sword morphs back into the ring and my body explodes in fire. I tear into the sky, leaving a massive crater in the street below me.

Can I save Karen again? And if so, is it my right to? I’m not the same person she loved, the Phoenix is growing stronger and soon I might not even exist.

Can we ever win the battle between our selfish desires and what is right? Or is evil winning, and our struggle against ourselves useless?

*     *     *     *

The Phoenix pushes its mind through the Illusion and finds the Darklight. Whatever barriers or boundaries separate our world from the others cannot hold the energies of Gondlar and Mephisto. The joining of both the dark god and the Swordsman’s ancestor created a new personality, a new being that is both of the gods but at the same time is neither one.

The Darklight is tearing through the dark corner that Balgog sent him to. It is angry and the hunger for power burning inside it is strong.

Without a Darklight to fight, the Phoenix is dormant. When the beast finds its way out, the Phoenix will rise and claim my body as its own.

I walk through the door and am greeted by Grand Wolf. I see his lips moving but can’t hear anything but a garbled sound. Nothing seems real.

Another man, dressed in black, walks into the room. Balgog follows him, along with Dexter.

“Why are you all here?” I ask, “The Phoenix was created to fight the Darklight. I’m sure it doesn’t need your help.”

“We’re pooling our resources, dude,” says Dexter, “Balgog thinks he’s found Orlock, and we’re all very concerned about what to do with him.”

“Found him where?” My voice sounds hollow.

“When he left my body he also left this world,” says Balgog, “I think he needed me to figure out how to cross over.”

“Why does he want to cross over to other worlds?”

“He doesn’t understand,” says Balgog, “you remember this?” He holds up the book, Lord of the Mall, “He thinks that the writer created this world. He doesn’t understand how it works.”

Balgog told me before, every book is a universe, but the authors don’t create these worlds, they are fed into their unconscious minds. The writers merely have a window into another universe, they see what happens and write it down. They think they imagine it all, but they don’t.

I take the book from Balgog and flip to the last page. It’s just a string of unintelligible letters strung together.

I turn to page one:

There’s something about a near-death experience that makes you want chocolate.

I flip back to the last page, “Why can’t I understand this?”

“You can’t read about anything that hasn’t happened yet.” Says Balgog.

“So what does Orlock want with this guy?”

Balgog scratches his head, “I can only imagine that he wants him to change things. He probably thinks that Nathan Casey created all this, and that would make him God, but the writer of this is inconsequential. He only saw what has already happened and wrote it down.”

I look at the man in black standing in the room with us, “And who’s this?”

Grand Wolf says, “This is Eleus Demeter. A high priest in the Order of Canus.”

“A hairdresser?” I say, “What is he doing here?”

Eleus Demeter speaks in a soft, mellifluous voice, “The prophecy tells of the White Dragon raising the Shadowfire. It says that this Shadowfire will destroy the Spirit of Canus. We cannot let this happen.”

“Well,” I say, “you’re too late. I already saw our bad boy tear that puppy in half. Guess you guys are gonna have to find something else to do with your biscuits and squeeze-toys.”

“If what you say is true, then we shall have our vengeance.”

“The point is,” says Grand Wolf, “they’re willing to help us find this White Dragon and figure out what to do about our situation. We can all win this one. They get their revenge and we get… well, everyone gets to keep on living.”

My voice changes as I go into Phoenix-mode, “I will find Lu-Chan. And I will destroy him.”

“Snap out of it,” says Grand Wolf, “Eleus also tells me that the Darklight, as you call it, is not content with just our world. It wants more.”

“The Oracle will carry it over,” says the hairdresser, “the Shadowfire yearns to become a god.”

Dexter clears his throat and says, “But I thought it was a god?”

“They are not gods,” says Balgog, “they’re just powerful beings on a different plain. Enuma can travel to other universes, but we’re not gods either, we just return souls to their rightful owners. It’s hard to understand, but if there is a god, it created everything. Every world and every universe. There are anomalies like the way events in other worlds get fed into people’s minds, those anomalies let my kind travel between these worlds. If it wasn’t for writers we wouldn’t be able to do any of that.”

The Phoenix is out of my mind, “But I saw you travel without using a book?” I say to Balgog.

“Well, we’ve picked up some skills along the way. We learnt to jump across without the books. It’s a long story.” Balgog says, “Anyway, Orlock used his time inside my mind well. He’s learned how to cross over, and he wants Nathan Casey to change history.”

“We think that the Darklight will use Orlock to get to other worlds,” says Grand Wolf.

“But the Darklight is in another world right now,” I say, “and he’s coming back to this one. How can he do that if he can’t cross over?”

“The Darklight is just coming back here,” says Balgog, “he’s being pulled back by the White Dragon. The two of them are kind of a team. The Darklight isn’t the one who wants the power, it’s this White Dragon guy.”

“So why doesn’t the White Dragon just cross over himself?” I ask, “If he can pull the Darklight back, surely he can walk into another universe.”

“He probably could,” says Balgog, “but he doesn’t know how to. The Darklight and the Dragon are drawn to each other. I don’t think either of them know what they’re capable of.”

The high priest, Eleus Demeter, says, “The Dragon will find the Oracle. It was written. The prophecy says that the Shadowfire, what you call the Darklight, will destroy this world, swallow it. It will continue through all universes until it is all that is left.”

“If you believe so much in your prophecy,” says Dexter, “then what are you bothering for?”

I almost feel sorry for the hairdresser, almost. No one around here likes their kind much. They sacrifice babies to their Dog-God for some unfathomable reason. No one really understands why they do it, and to tell you the truth, no one really cares. If there ever was pure evil, they embody it.

“There is more than one prophecy,” says the high priest, “both of which could possibly come to pass.”

The small, Zen-guy in the bathrobe told me the same thing. He said that it was my sacrifice that would save the world. I think that sacrifice is giving in to the Phoenix. I wish Fennec were here to guide me. He wasn’t much help, but there’s something about animals that makes me go a big rubbery one.

“Then what are we standing around here for?” says Dexter, “Lets find Orlock and save the world.”

“I admire your enthusiasm,” says GW, “but before we can find the White Dragon Eleus needs to make a connection.”

The Phoenix has a connection with the Darklight, when it comes back to this world I’ll know about it.

“It will take time,” says the hairdresser.

“Well, while you’re connecting the dots we can find Orlock.” I say, “And the guy with the glass panel in his head who caused all this trouble.”

*     *     *     *

When Kafka asked me to help them destroy the Ankh of Orlock he teamed me up with Dexter because the loquacious Tech-Vamp had some kind of connection to it. I’ve never really understood why he has this connection, and he doesn’t either. He thinks that it might have something to do with the fact that his father helped the Oracles, and Grand Wolf apparently, catch Orlock the first time he tried to wipe the Vamps off the face of the earth.

I can only imagine that Orlock, in his single-minded pursuit, wants Nathan Casey to delete the Tech-Vamps from history. No one knows why he hates them so much, I figure he’s just insane.

Dexter is dressed in a battlesuit, and he brought Balgog and me suits as well. With the rings of the Elementals and the Phoenix I don’t think it’s really necessary, but I put it on for old time’s sake.

Dexter has contact with Grand Wolf, in case they find Lu-Chan before we get back and in case we get stuck in a situation which calls for the old guy’s expertise or, lets be honest, we need him to come bail our backsides out of.   

We take one of the cars that Grand Wolf has in a massive garage. Dexter says the silver 1957 Cadillac El Dorado we speed off in epitomises the large cars of the ‘American dream’, “The tail fins do almost jack-shit for the performance,’ he says, “but they look cool.”

I don’t drive much, so Dexter, more than happy to see what the totally souped-up engine can do, races us through the night to the Mall.

“He’s down there somewhere,” Dex says as we walk down a long, dark passage into the bowels of the Mall, “I can feel him.”

We stroll into a cavern and Dexter grunts in pain, “He’s here. He must have the Ankh. I can feel it burning my brain.”

Dexter and Balgog have night vision glasses on. I don’t need them, I don’t even notice the darkness.

“Phoenix,” echoes a voice in the cave, “I see you have come to meet your maker.”

The guy he’s holding must be Nathan Casey, the guy who’s been writing about my life. I can’t imagine how he must feel, discovering that the figments of his imagination are actual flesh and bone.

“He’s got nothing to do with this,” I say walking toward them, “he’s just unlucky enough to see into our world.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” says Orlock, “but he’s being very uncooperative.”

Orlock is an Oracle, a watcher who isn’t supposed to get involved in this world’s affairs. I can’t get a look at his face because, like Rorschach, he is in permanent shadow. The writer he’s holding up is unconscious.

I recognise the guy. As I get closer my jaw drops open. And I shout in protest as Orlock, a powerful host to an insane mind, snaps Nathan Casey’s neck and throws him toward me.

I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I run to the body and turn it over. I look at the face of the man who Orlock tore from his world and has now killed because he wasn’t the god he was thought to be. I can’t believe my eyes.

It’s me.

Nathan Casey, the man who had a window into my world and wrote a book about my life, looks exactly like me.

*     *     *     *

Dexter keels over as Orlock brings the Ankh into view. I destroyed it, or at least I thought I did.

“Get him out of here,” I say to Balgog, “I’ll deal with this.”

Balgog must have known. He took me to the world where my life was just a novel. He must have known that the writer looked like me.

It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. I wonder if Nathan Casey wrote himself into his own book, or if he just didn’t get this far?

The ground around Orlock’s feet explodes as I use the power of the Elementals. He’s thrown into the air and I fly toward him, the sword appears in my hand and explodes into flame. I used to think that Oracles could not be killed. They’re immortal, but I’ve been learning that even gods can die.

The air around us lights up. It burns my eyes. I look down at the Darklight as it flies up, grabs Orlock, and is gone.

The Phoenix bursts through. I watch as it hangs in the air, strong now that the Darklight has returned. It bursts into flame and tears through the roof of the cavern.

I feel its burning rage as we rip through the floor of the Mall and speed to wherever the Darklight is taking the Oracle.

*     *     *     *

The Phoenix and Lu-Chan have fought this battle a thousand times in a thousand different forms. The Phoenix used to be a god alongside Gondlar and Mephisto. Until it was cast out of their realm, its form taken from it.

It became a protector of Earth, taken in by one of the Elementals, released whenever needed. The Fire Elemental groomed it to be its emissary, a calling that once also belonged to Lu-Chan.

But the White Dragon spurned the Elemental, wanting more power and control than he would be allowed as Earth’s protector. I realise now that beings like the Darklight have threatened the Earth many times before, each time being brought down by the Phoenix.

But the Phoenix’s form was taken from it when it was banished by the gods, and it must find a new form, a new body, whenever Lu-Chan threatens the earth.

I am that form, and I must give in to the Phoenix if this world is to be saved.

*     *     *     *

My feet slam down onto the streets of the city. The Phoenix turns its head at the shouting. It sees the Book-Demon and the Tech-Vamp and the old man running toward it. Behind them is an army of men dressed in black, the priest’s minions no doubt.

It can’t hear what they’re shouting. They think it is the one whose form it has taken.

My mind wrestles with the mind of the Phoenix. I look over at Grand Wolf, Balgog, and Dexter. An army of hairdressers are behind them.

The Phoenix is startled as Lu-Chan, the White dragon, bursts from the shadows and attacks it. The tattoo-boys follow him, they run past the Phoenix as the Swordsman’s friends join the fray.

Lu-Chan and the Phoenix were like brothers. Together they served the Elementals, Earth’s protectors. They let the good people live in peace, and punished those who were wicked.

The White Dragon raises his hands and a storm of black fire bursts for the Phoenix. The Phoenix releases its white flame and the two fires crash together, pushing against each other. The Dragon shrieks and the black flame pushes harder. The Phoenix drops to the ground and the black flame lifts it up and slams it down into the concrete.

The Dragon dives at the Phoenix, his hands wrapping around my throat.

The Phoenix kicks Lu-Chan off him. It slams its hand on the ground and the streets beneath the Dragon open up and swallow him. The Phoenix leans over the gaping hole in the ground and pours fire from its hands into the pit.

A high-pitched sound, like a missile falling from the sky, makes me turn my head back.

The street shatters as the Darklight smashes down. It roars and the flame-like shadows that assaulted us on the island pour from it. In its massive hand is Orlock. The Oracle is unconscious. The Darklight will use Orlock to cross over and destroy everything.

The Shadowfires attack me. I wrestle control from the Phoenix and swing the sword at them. The cold from the sword tears through them. The Darklight lifts off the ground and shoots high into the night air.

The Phoenix turns his attention back to the Dragon. It has become so wrapped up in their personal war that the Darklight doesn’t seem to matter.

I turn us away from the hole in the street and look toward my friends.

Click.

Everyone stops dead still. I look up at the Darklight, it’s moving like nothing has happened. The strain of holding it all together is almost too much for me to bear. The rings on my finger glow as a wind lifts all the Darklight’s followers off the ground and carries them into the hole with Lu-Chan, the street around them closes up. The ground beneath them moves apart as I bury them deeper than any man has ever been into the Earth.

Click.

I look up. The night sky is red as the Darklight gathers his energy. He drained the River of Souls, and now he wants to take every soul on Earth and cross over to the next world.

I rocket skywards, toward the beast. It lets go of Orlock and the Oracle floats in front of it. A beam of white energy flows from the Darklight and engulfs Orlock. I watch as his body withers and his energy is eaten away by the Darklight.

A memory that belongs to the Phoenix raps into my head. This has happened before, the Darklight, in a different form, has destroyed the Earth and stolen all the inhabitants’ energy. How long ago was that? It must have been millennia ago, so long ago that evolution has taken place and humanity has once again risen as the dominant species.

That was long ago, when the Elementals were not benign protectors of the earth but punished the wicked for their sins. The Dragon and the Phoenix worked together then, they brought the Wrath of the Elementals upon those who would poison the earth. But when the Elementals changed their ways, when they let mankind be free to do with their home as they would, the Dragon protested and abandoned them.

Lu-Chan, the White Dragon, plans to cleanse the Earth with fire, but the Darklight craves more power. The Dragon is using the Darklight to bring wrath upon the sinners, and the Darklight is using Lu-Chan to become a god.

The beast looks down at the Phoenix racing toward him. Earth’s protector has faced demons like it before, and once the demon succeeded and Lu-Chan destroyed all the sinners in an ocean of flame.

Lu-Chan thinks he has control of the Darklight, but the Darklight has its own agenda. Even so, if the beast succeeds then the Dragon’s wish will be fulfilled and the earth will once again be cleansed by fire.

The Darklight roars and flame shoots from its hands toward the ground below. The fire will consume every living thing on the planet, and the Darklight will absorb every soul and become more powerful than anything to have ever walked the Earth.  

I can’t let that happen. I take control of the Phoenix and draw the fire flowing from the Darklight into me. The pain is unbearable, and the Darklight has more than enough of the flame to destroy me.

I fly toward it, not concerned whether I live or die, and slam my hands against the beast’s head.

A million images assault my mind. I’m not sure which belong to Gondlar or which belong to Mephisto. I feel the hunger and the power and the rage and I take it all in. I draw the energy and the essence of each god inside myself. Too much power. I can’t control this. The Phoenix knows what I’m about to do. It stops struggling for control and watches as the body of the Darklight drops limply toward the Earth and I fly faster than thought toward the desert.

*     *     *     *

I crash down into the sand. My body writhing in agony as I fight to keep everything inside.

I absorbed all the memories and all the power inside Alison Wonderland, setting her free from the burden of her existence. But the Darklight’s power is too much. I can’t contain all its energy.

This is how it must end. My sacrifice will save the world. It has been written. My last thought is of Karen. I wonder if I’ll ever see her beautiful face again, or feel the warmth of her sympathetic touch.

I let the power course through my veins. I clench my teeth and let the power take me. The Phoenix is gone. The Darklight has been stopped and the Phoenix no longer inhabits my body.

The desert sky lights up as the power implodes and every fibre in me burns away until there is nothing left but ashes.

*     *     *     *

This is death.

Nothing but black.

A strange calmness soothes me as I realise that nothing matters anymore.

Then I hear a Voice.

I try to speak but I don’t have anything to speak with. a soul is pure energy, it doesn’t have a mouth.

The Voice exists everywhere. In every reality, in every world. It is around us all the time. Always speaking to us. If we bothered to listen to it, it would reveal the secrets of the universe.

I realise that death is not the end. It is merely a fundamental part of the Cycle.

The Voice tells me it is everything that is not Earth, Fire, Water, or Wind.

It is the highest Consciousness. It is around us in every world and universe and reality. It watches them all as they are born and as they die.

And it watches as they are born again.

*     *     *     *

My eyes burst open. I’m sitting at a table. A cup of coffee is in front of me.

“Hey dude,” says someone walking in the restaurant door, “Where the hell have you been?”

I recognise him. He looks just like the Tech-Vamp named Dexter. But I know that this is not that world. I’ve been to this world before. When I was pulled too far.

“Rob?” I hear myself saying.

He pulls out a chair and sits down next to me, “No, the fucking tooth fairy.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Well,” says Rob, “we only have coffee here, like, every morning. But unfortunately today I can’t stay. Got things to do.”

“Okay,”

“Gee, don’t sound so upset,” he says sarcastically, “why don’t you just sit here like you do every day and not speak to the waitress you’re in love with.”

I look up as Rob slaps me on the back and leaves. The waitress walks past my table and says, “More coffee?”

She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I dream about her every night. Our souls were meant to spend eternity together.

“Karen?” I gasp.

She smiles, “Yup, that’s what the name badge says.”

“Your favourite flowers are lilies,” I say, “because they remind you of how little time we have on this Earth, and that we need to spend that time with those we love.”

“I haven’t told anyone that,” she says, “how could you…”

“I’ve known you before,” I say, “in a past life maybe?”

She smiles and everything instantly seems like it’s going to be okay. “We haven’t been introduced properly,” she says holding her hand out, “my name’s Karen Keating.”

“Hi,” I say, shaking her hand and blushing. The rush of elation like the first time I met her. I feel like I’m floating on…

“Well?” she says.

“Well what?”

“What’s your name?”