solimond

you were the only...but by far the best in the writing of the stories. awesome job, and complete twist, 'cause i didn't even think of that ending. i wish more people had responded to that because i want to write summore on it. fuck it...too busy

and...TAXI DRIVER, TAXI DRIVER, TAXI DRIVER!

Just want to see if this works.


Chapter 1

Michael Gregory Hunsacker was born the first day of winter, 1962, to a relatively poor family in upstate New York. His father, Roger Hunsacker worked days as a gravedigger, and occasionally nights as a janitor at a local bar, The Mutton Chop. His mother, Claire, lived at home caring for Michaels two siblings, Harry and Gabrielle(Gaby). Claire sometimes sold custom embroidery to add money to the familys dwindling funds. Despite a fairly prosperous time for the country as a whole, The Hunsacker family did poorly. Michaels father was addicted to gambling and would often leave his gravedigging job early to attend the bar before it closed to play cards (and more often than not, loose money). This was a secret Roger kept well from his wife and children. Already feeling pressed by the weight of responsibility pressed on him by children and a dependent wife, Roger took a deep-seated resentment for this new child. As Michael grew from an infant to toddler, Rogers time spent at home lessened. Finally, when Michael was eight, Claire became fed up and finally told Roger that he would have to take some responsibility for the children or she would leave him (with them). Roger, feeling the weight of responsibility (though accepting it as little as possible), and fearing growing old alone, began to take the children on as he could. He developed a special bond, over the next six months, with Gaby (who was Michaels senior by 2 years) and would frequently spend time with her on his days off from work (which were few). Roger treated Harry with a grudging respect that was accorded one who did well and made no trouble (which is exactly what Harry did).
Michael himself had only a superficial relationship with his brother, as Harry kept primarily to himself, studying books and concentrating on schoolwork. Michael did, however, become close to his sister Gaby. Claire, after two previous children, who had both been difficult births, had little energy or compassion left for a third child (who was also a boy. Claire had wanted another daughter). Gaby did, however, and took on many of the responsibilities that their mother shirked. Michael, for his part, adored Gaby, and abouve all respected her for filling the position that he realized was left quite empty by his mother. The two of them would often spend days after school together in the woods, or reading and telling stories to each other. Gaby was always the one to decide what it was that they would do, and no matter what it was, Michael enjoyed it. Despite his limited contact with his reclusive elder brother Harry, Michael secretly respected him. Part of this was due to Harrys age (five years older than Michael), but mostly it was due to Harrys bookish disposition. For while Michael enjoyed the books he and his sister read together, the overall appeal of books and hours of rigorous study eluded him. Michael was convinced absolutely everything in the world must exist in those books, but having fun seemed so much better an investment of time.
Then Gaby got sick. Cancer of the Pancreas. Michael at first would not believe that this was anything more than one of the many colds or flues that Gaby frequently suffered from, despite what his mother told him. Due to the familys lack of money, adequate medical care for the girl was not possible. Day by day, Gaby was dying. Michael poured over his brothers books, looking for a cure. When his brother (private person that he was) discovered Michael going through his library, he attempted to stop his younger brother. Michael pushed, then punched Harry in his determination to find the cure. Slowly but sternly, Harry explained to Michael that not all of the answers were to be had in books. Harrys black eye prompted Roger to hit Michael for the first time. It was not to be the last.
As Gabys condition deteriorated, Rogers abuse of Michael became more frequent. Roger realized that lack of money, and poor living conditions, had contributed to his daughters illness. Lack of money had come, of course, from the birth of his third (and unwanted) son, Michael. The resentment buried for years, combined with anger that it was Gaby who was paying for Michaels birth and not Michael, began to manifest itself as physical violence. Often Roger would take him to work with him (at Claires insistence), and Michael would watch as his grim father dug grave after grave. Roger would tell him specifically to stay put, but often would emerge from a freshly dug pit only to find Michael wandering far off. This would usually result in a beating.
Two days before Michael turned nine years old, Gaby died. It was a painful death, and near the end she would cry a lot and moan. And although she lost the power to speak in the last few weeks, as the cancer had wound its way up to her throat and lungs, she would sometimes stop crying long enough to look at Michael (who sat on her bed frequently when he was home and his parents let him) and smile. When she did do this, it seemed as though all pain left her face, indeed, her whole body, and it made Michael happy for a little bit. The truth was, up until Gabys death, Michael never really believed that anything could take his sister. After her death, Michael did little more than to wander here and there, a perpetual look of confusion on his face.
Roger took the death of his daughter very badly. In the few hours after Gabys death, the gulf widened so greatly between him and Claire so as to be irreparable. The morning of Michaels ninth birthday, he awoke to find a wrapped present at the foot of his bed from his mother. It contained the toy gun that Michael had wanted for months. Michael had been watching footage of the Vietnam war, now entering its sixth year, on the small old television the family owned. Excited, but unable to feel truly happy, Michael took it with him to his fathers work. Late in the day, as the sun was setting, Michael played with the toy rifle while his father finished digging his last grave of the day. Beginning to get carried away with a fantasy which involved him winning the entire war and saving many POWs Michael scampered off from the side of the grave where his father had told him to sit. Michael was about to shoot and forever kill the last of the V.C.s (Viet Cancers, Michaels own customized enemy over which he regularly triumphed), when his father grabbed him roughly by the collar.
I told you to stay put, you little shit! Cant you ever listen? Are you stupid? God, youre a stupid kid!
But I was about to kill...
Suttup! Stupid kid! Its your fault!
His father yelled at him as he dragged him back towards the freshly dug grave. The anger that usually smoldered behind Rogers eyes was ablaze. Michael had never seen his father like this, and it frightened him.
Know what its like? Want to?
Michael found himself sailing briefly through the air only to land painfully at the bottom of a freshly dug grave.
There! Now maybe youll stay put! Thats where you belong anyway! Stupid kid!
Roger gathered his digging tools and suddenly there was silence for Michael. The sun was almost down, but Michael could still make out his surroundings. The walls were much too high for him to reach, and the earth provided no handholds. He looked about, stunned at where he was and wondering when his fathers face would reappear at the side of the grave. It didnt. As the suns last rays were leaving the grave, Michael noticed something jutting from the wall on his right. He looked closer, then cried out and drew back as he recognized the human bone. Michael began to cry, and to become very afraid. Within minutes, it seemed, there was no light in the grave. The sky was overcast, and Michaels imagination, always very creative, began to run free.
A skeleton burst forth from the wall next to him, its eyes glowing green, its hands outstretched. His father came back for him, only he wasnt helping him, but shoveling dirt upon him. Wolves crouched at the edge of the grave, staring down at him. Bones pierced his flesh from every angle. The spirits of the dead emerged from their graves and mausoleums to claim his soul. Michaels heart raged as he began to feel mortal terror. If only he had his gun, he thought. Then he could defend himself. If only. Then a small voice came to him, through the moans, growls, and cries for his blood.
Its not really, is it? the voice said lightly.
Michael ignored the voice, intent on the terrors that confronted him, but the voice continued when he did not respond.
Is it?
The voice was that of a young girls. It was demanding, but somehow just a little bit playful. Michael suddenly wanted to answer, but pushed back the desire as he frantically clawed at the wall. Escape was paramount, all else could wait.
Well...is it? The voice sounded like Gaby.
Michael paused for a moment. Then resumed his frantic work, yelling out a confused response.
Is what? Is really what? What isnt really what?!!
All this. she replied. All this. Its not really as real as it seems, is it?
The terrors of his mind disappeared. Michael stopped an listened.
I dont understand.
You will... she was soothing, reassuring. Michael believed her entirely.
You see, Michael, its all not nearly as complex as you thought is was...
Its not...? It is... he insisted.
Michael faltered. His mind felt like it was growing to encompass the universe, as though it could drink all the stars down into the grey matter and store them there. A cosmos in his medulla, a binary in his hypothalamus, a constellation in his cortex. Where were these words coming from? Why did he know what they all meant?
Suddenly, Michael understood. Everything. All of it. The beginning, the end, God, Satan, and much, much more.
ITS NOT!! I UNDERSTAND!!!
Michael screamed, and as he doubled over in raw mental pain and pleasure, a blast of Tejas burst forth from him in a sphere of light and power.
The grave collapsed on him.
Michael? Michael? Gaby questioned, almost pleading.
Michael tried to call out to her, to anyone, but he couldnt move. He opened his mouth the littlest bit, and dead earth poured in. He couldnt move, and worse, he couldnt breath. Fear washed over him, and he panicked. He couldnt move his arms, his legs, he was blind and deaf. His lungs began to convulse, and just as his perceptions began to dim, the fear washed past and away and Michael knew with a calm, almost serene certainty that he was going to die.
He was dying.
He was dead.
Suddenly, the ground gave way beneath him, spilling him, soaking wet, onto the ground. The sound of water dripping right behind him, off of his entire body. There were pieces of a greenish, fleshy thing around his feet, and it occurred to Michael that he had been inside it somehow. How he had moved from the grave to here, however, was a mystery.
Michael looked around. He was in an area that could only be described as grey. Everything about it shared the same muted tone of dull grey. Several figures moved around him, some slowly, some normally. All looked somehow defeated. In the distance, two figures, one male, one female fought. Light swirled and danced around them, but even that seemed muted somehow. Michael wondered where he was, and what was happening. Just then he felt a tapping on his shoulder. He turned to face an old woman, possibly in her eighties, with white hair and tired eyes.
New here? she inquired in a sweet but uninterested voice. She gazed into the distance, somewhere over Michaels left shoulder, staring at nothing.
Where am I?
The woman smiled warmly. Youre dead, honey.
I...I what...?
Suddenly, the ground seemed to heave up, spilling out a thick black ichor through the cracks. The woman screamed and Michael stumbled back. The very earth under the womans feet gave way and a horrible pair of black hands reached out of the ground and grasped her by the waist. In another second, she was gone, disappearing under the ground. But the ground was not whole again. Out of the tear in the grey earth appeared the most horrible thing that Michael had ever seen. It was black and huge and twisted, with several sets of arms, no legs, and more teeth than Michael could conceive of. This was a specter, he knew, though he didnt know how. Three of the creatures five eyes focused on Michael, and it moved foreword, floating, seemingly through sheer desire. Michael stood transfixed, for though he was terrified, he was fascinated as well. I am dead, he thought. This is what happens when a person dies. It occurred to him in that second that Gaby might be here somewhere, but then he realized of course that this could not be true. Gaby was in his head, in among the cosmoses and constellations. The specter bore down on him, and Michael stood his ground, though he couldnt imagine why. Why not run, why not hide? Because the Specter was not going to get him. This knowledge too just came to him. As the specter was just reaching him, he began to float and lean foreword. His eyes closed, the specters inhuman cries faded, and he was covered with dirt instead of fluid. Dirt floated around him and off of him. Am I doing this? he wondered. He realized that his eyes were open, and that for some reason, he and the rest of the dirt that had collapsed on him were floating in the air. Slowly, his body moved over to stable ground, and he was lightly set on his feet in front of a large man. He looked up at the man, wiping dirt from his hands and face. The man was of middle height, but had a very broad build, with thick shoulders, large forearms and a close cropped dark beard. His face was not especially old, maybe forty or forty-five, but his eyes and the twitch at the right corner of his mouth told differently.
I, he said, am Haquif Halad. You will be one of my sons. You will learn from me, and you will teach to others. Youre life, as you have known it, is over.
Michael new cosmic brain felt like it was on fire. He felt like he could reach out and move the moon, would it have suited him. This man could not possibly have anything to teach him.
Arrogant one. Youll learn. Realities unfold before you, my son.
Im not youre...
Had the man read his thoughts? He decided to try a different approach.
I thought there was only one reality.
Not anymore.

Chapter 2
Moses paused and looked in the mirror to make sure everything was in place. Cleanly shaven, but for the chin fuzz he had taken a liking to (and to which his father had taken a distinct disliking), ceremonial robe, hair held back tightly; he was ready to go. But still he paused. So much had happened over the last eight years, that it almost seemed like another life, that life before his awakening. He chuckled. It was, in a way. If all are just spokes in the wheel, he thought, then there are many spokes within that one. Wheels within wheels, always a new puzzle, always a deeper layer to pull away and confront. These were only a few of the lessons his father had taught him in the last near decade. He had begun this life over eight years ago. Master Halad had taught the young, and somewhat impetuous Michael what he was in that first week as they traveled by bus towards Nevada. Michaels newly awakened mind sucked up the information. At times, his brain hurt for knowledge. There seemed no limit now, no ceiling, and certainly no earthen walls to bind him. The first few hours of awkward conversation with Master Halad had convinced Michael of his incredible overestimation of his newly expanded vision, and his underestimation of its potential. Magick, the man had said, Magick,! To think!
Master Halad explained everything to the wide-eyed boy. The wheel, reincarnation, the Atman, Ojas, and the Agama te. That was the astounding part, Master Halad had said to him once, that Michael had put himself through his own Agama te, the rebirth-through-death that all of their order went through. When Michael insisted that he had had no intention of doing such, Master Halad simply chuckled and waved his hand in Michaels direction, seeming to say, As if that mattered.... As Moses now knew, Rimpoche Halad had homed in on Michaels simultaneous self inflicted Awakening and Agama te like a beacon and restored the boy through adept manipulation of both Prana and Cit. Moses had given up insisting a debt to his Rimpoche, for Master Halad simply stated that what had happened was what was to be done. Not long after that first night, Master Halad had insisted that Michael choose a different name, one that was not only indicative of his heritage, but of his future. So with his Masters approval, Michael had gone on his first seeking. Moses remembered those early ones well. He smiled at the fondness of the memory. Discovering Gaby all over again, getting used to the idea that not only was she not dead, but that she would be with him for the rest of his life, took some getting used to. Master Halad had said that he would tag along psychically, but that Michael was to expect no help from him.
To journey inside, Master Halad had told him, is to travel alone.
Michael had imagined a door inside himself, inside a room. He had passed through it, only to find himself in another room, this time faced with four doors. He had tried the door on the left, and found himself in a room with eight doors. He had paused and considered. Master Halad had said that he would have to travel to a place he had never been before. So if that were true, why would there be a door? After another moment of consideration, Michael had knelt down and started prying up floorboards. Back on the physical plane, Master Halad had smiled. Beneath the floor, Michael had found a stairwell. It led down to a piece of floor with no walls and no ceiling. Below and all around was only darkness. Michael had thought again of a journey to a place never before traveled. It had taken him a full three minutes to screw up the courage to jump. But he had not fallen, he had floated. And then Gabys voice came to him again. You made it, silly. Her voice soothed, calmed, always.
Michael had remembered his Masters instructions on dealing with the Atman (or at least his personal part of the Atman, as Master Halad had put it), but he could not have demanded things of Gaby.
I miss you, Gaby.
I miss you too, Michael. But now you have work to do. We have work to do.
I know that Gaby. Its just that...I love you...and Im alone.
Not anymore, Michael. Ill be with you from now on. You wont ever be really alone. Gabys light giggle.
You have come to me for a name, Michael, so now I will tell you.
Minutes later, Michael had awoken.
Moses El Gilgran Halad.
Master Halad had cocked an eyebrow.
My name, Rimpoche. Thats my name. Moses had reiterated, thinking his Master had not understood.
Master Halad had only stared at him.
Moses shook himself from his reverie. He was going to be late, were he not careful, and he certainly had not studied for the past eight years to miss this.
Upstairs, in the enormous Grand Hall, the other initiates were assembling. Training for this moment, Moses knew, did not normally take eight years, but he had started young. In addition to that, he had taken his time with the hundreds of texts, tests, and lectures that had confronted him over the previous years. Moses had come to feel that to do something was to do something well (and if at all possible, with style). He had trained mentally and physically, putting muscle on his thin frame, and gaining a preternatural balance. Meditation became a daily ritual, and Moses spent many nights either reflecting deeply, or else hunched over a book (sometimes many). As his Rimpoche had promised, his vision of the tellurian had expanded incredibly. Once, when he was fourteen, during a philosophical conversation with Master Halad, Moses had begun speaking above and beyond that which Master Halad could grasp. Master Halad had sent him to the Great Marabouts Paramaguru, The Azim. The Azim continued the conversation with Moses, and posed questions to him that pushed his brain to its very cosmic edge. Master Halad acknowledged that Moses had surpassed him in the realm of thought, for his mind was amazingly open to possibility. However, Moses still had much to learn from his Rimpoche. But every so often, he would be invited to The Azims chambers to speak and discuss the philosophy of the tellurian and the realm of possibility. Moses brain felt like it was on fire each time he left.
Moses took his place among the twenty-three other students at the left and right sides of the hall. This was the Nevada Marabout of the Knights of Radamanthys, one of the few places on the North American continent where the Knights trained new recruits. Most Knights, Master Halad had said, came to the Sect fully versed and trained in the ways of the Chakravanti. All classes at the Marabout consisted of students in multiples of eight, and each eighth of the class was responsible for complete understanding of one of the spokes of the Wheel. Twice a week, the class would break into groups of eight, each consisting of one student from each of the eight spokes and speak for hours on the nature of the spokes, how they related to each other, and how they could all best be followed. Of course each student in the Marabout was responsible for knowing, studying, and understanding all of the spokes, but this represented a deep commitment with years of focus on one particular aspect of wheel. The idea was that as each student understood their spoke, they could relate it to the others and learn from their studies. It had worked well. George Mundone, a former art student and rebel of twenty-six years, assigned to Daya (the acknowledgment of the pain and suffering in others, and the pain that the Chakravanti cause. The spoke of Daya demands that a Chakravantis eyes are forever open to this) was Moses good friend and confidant. Marigold True was another of Moses friends, responsible in their group for Gopaya (the tenet to guard humanity (i.e. those caught in the thrall of the Great Wheel), regardless of personal risk or suffering). The three of them had become very close over the last few years, spending many late nights studying, theorizing, and simply enjoying each others company. Moses and Marigold had become especially close in the last few months, as the three neared their graduation, and Moses had fallen quite in love with her. What neither Moses nor Marigold knew was that George also had fallen for Marigold, for he kept his feelings hidden.
Moses tried to focus on the words of the orator, a well respected Rimpoche from the North Carolina Marabout. The gentleman was speaking of the Knights commitment and tenets, all of which Moses and his friends had studied in great detail. Finally, the Asian Chakravanti finished speaking, and The Azim began to speak. He did not speak loudly or commandingly, but in a calm, direct tone of voice that automatically commanded respect. The Azim spoke only briefly before launching into the names and deeds of the students. The ninth name he called was Moses:
...study far above and beyond that which was required, extensive firearms training, exceptional understanding of Chakravanti philosophy and history... were the Azims comments on Moses.
Moses grinned slightly to himself. His first assignment was next week, and he wondered how much all of his hard work would help him. The Azim was saying Marigolds name now...
Marigold True, for study above and beyond that which was required, extensive training in the martial arts, ranged fighting, poisoning and seduction, and outstanding achievement in the area of short sword fighting.
Moses smiled again, not allowing his gaze to shift from The Azim, but sensing Marigold further down the row. A little bit of magick told him that she was sensing him too.
George Mundone, The Azim continued on, exemplary study in the field of death and the causes there of. George had not been the best student, often struggling to keep up with Moses and Marigold. Moses suspected that it was due to his age, as often the young learned more quickly, being not so set in their own paradigms. Still, he had done well, and had never discontinued to paint and draw, though Moses had noticed a distinct change Georges artwork over their years at the Marabout. It had taken a distinctly morbid turn, but that was hardly unusual for a Chakravanti.
Finally The Azim finished, and the great hall was filled with voices, as masters congratulated students, and students each other. A minute later, Moses found Marigold in his arms. She smiled warmly, red hair glinting in the light of the chandeliers,
Congratulations Mo, She was the only one who called him that, the only one he would allow to.
Congratulations yourself, Mari. Suddenly she kissed him. His eyes widened in surprise, then closed as he enjoyed the kiss. The world spun, and Moses knew then that he loved her, and had for some time. He knew that she loved him too. He would marry her given the chance. Finally, she broke the kiss and smiled that smile at him again.
Ive been put on assignment with you, next month. You had better come back from this one.
Dont worry, he said, smiling back at her, I will. He kissed her again then.
Across the hall, George looked on for a few more seconds, then turned away.

Chapter 3

Moses first assignment was tedious at best. He and three other Knights of Radamanthys went to defend a fledgling chantry from a planned technocracy attack that had been discovered due to a information leak. Before he had left the Marabout, he and Marigold had made love, then talked through the night about what they planned to do with their lives, all the time each subtly conforming to each others plans. They would be together for a long time, Moses knew. But now Moses had to concentrate. He had studied the Technocracy, from combat techniques to philosophy. However, Moses was completely unprepared for what hit the Cincinnati Marabout. Early in the morning of the expected attack, a garbage truck drove by. The same garbage truck that, Moses was told, drove by every Thursday. However, when the garbage truck stopped outside the townhouse Chantry, the garbage men began to fire lasers, and the truck opened up and rockets poured out of the at the building. Quick use of Tejas and Tamas destroyed most of the initial volley of missiles, and several Akashics, Verbena, and two of the Chakravanti that had come with Moses ran downstairs to do battle with the four HITmarks that had appeared outside the Marabout. Moses himself stood in a hole that one of the rockets had made in a wall and fired down upon the HITmarks, backing his deaths head bullets with Tejas for maximum effect. Within ten minutes, the whole thing was over. Most of the building still stood, four HITmarks lay dead(or non-functioning), and seven Tradition mages were dead. Moses took a moment to silently wish them well on their journeys back into the wheel, then went to attend to the wounded. While doing this, one of the Akashics caught his arm.
Dropped two, did you?
Moses nodded.
Good shooting. The Akashic moved on, holding a bleeding stump where a hand used to be. He would be healed, Moses knew. His injury was not nearly so bad as some of the others. Moses could only think of Marigold, seeing her when he returned. He toyed with the idea of asking her to marry him when he returned, but thought better. After all, what was the rush?
* * * * *
Later that week, Moses returned to the Nevada Marabout, and found the place in complete disarray. Chakravanti ran here and there on important errands, parts of the walls had been damaged, and Moses wondered what could have done this to one of the greatest Chakravanti Marabouts in North America. Moses wandered inside, then suddenly bolted to Marigolds room. When he arrived there, Master Halad and The Azim were standing outside, speaking softly. His Rimpoche looked at him sadly...
Moses...
Move! Moses demanded, pushing them both roughly aside and almost unconsciously forcing the door open with a touch of Tejas. Marigolds body lay on the bed. Blood covered the walls. Her eyes and tongue were missing, and there were cuts up and down her arms and legs, across her breasts and between her legs. She was naked, covered with blood, her hair made unnaturally redder and matted. There was a circular hole in her stomach, which had been used as a source for the finger-painting in blood that adorned the wall.


If either his Rimposhe or the Azim had offered any words of consolation, Moses did not hear them.
Later, Moses had learned, the Nephandi had attacked the Marabout. In a rare act of all out violence, the Demon worshipers (perhaps demons themselves) had launched a savage attack. One of the servitors of the dark lord, Moses Rimpoche had told him, was George Mundone. Moses could only hold his head in his hands.
* * * * *
Months after the funeral, after three more missions, Moses could still think of nothing else. Marigolds prone body drifted in his dreams and more often in his nightmares. Moses had sent out inquiries to all Marabouts about George Mundone, asking for information, desiring any knowledge as to where he might be. No information came back. Moses tried his best to continue on with his life, vowing to combat the nephandi wherever he found them, and upholding the beliefs of the Traditions. As a Knight of Radamanthys he did what few did, he offered his services up not to particular people, but to the High Council of the Traditions. The three missions he had after Marigolds death were slow, only one resulting in combat. Moses became more and more depressed, were that possible. Unlike so many tragedies, the anguish of Marigolds death became more and more weighing, for as he studied what limited information he could of the Nephandi, he realized that they must have her soul. This knowledge tortured Moses to no end. Not enough that he could not be with her, but that she might be suffering constantly, stayed with him every moment of his now seemingly pointless life. He would read for hours, then stop and suddenly realize that perhaps every moment of the last five hours he had spent reading, Marigold had been suffering incredible agony. Not even Gabys soothing words could raise his spirits. Had anyone thought or known to look, they would have seen that Moses soul was dying, day by day. Then came the Kansas mission.

Chapter 4
Three years after Marigolds death, at the age of 20, Moses was all but a walking corpse. The muscle that came from his long workouts could not hide the malnutrition that clung to his body. His semi-long hair was still kept back in a pony tail, his chin scruff was still present, but those who knew him previously would barely recognize him. His cheeks had become hollow, his ribs were showing, and the Johr, the death taint that clung to many Euthanatos, oozed off him in waves. Sleepers avoided his gaze and his company, animals would not come near him, and even other mages, especially the Verbena, steered clear of his path. He didnt care. He had studied all the information the Traditions had to give on the Nephandi, and was currently researching more arcane sources. He had moved out of the Nevada Marabout 2 years prior, annoyed with his Rimposhes constant worry over him. Moses now had a small apartment outside of Las Vegas, where he spent his time reading, sleeping, and training. He had created two talisman pistols for himself. Taking over 7 months to complete, they were exactly what he wanted. Laced with Avayavin, they would return to the holsters Moses had created for them if they were touched by anyone but him. The Avayavin or Correspondence as other mages called it, also served to provide perfect placement of the deaths head bullets that were Moses trademark. Each bullet had a skull etched on the head, which served as the focus for the Tejas that he often backed the bullets with. There was one more Avayavin effect bestowed on the weapons, which was connected to a box of bullets in his apartment. This allowed the box to feed the guns, where ever they might be, a constant stream of ammunition. This ensured that Moses would never need to reload in battle, though he often carried several extra clips with him just in case. The holsters were positioned at the small of his back, back to back, so that the handles faced out. Years later, Moses would crack a smile at Nicholas Cages character in the movie Face Off. The guns became Moses primary weapons, which he fired with a certain flair for the dramatic in battle. This was his own private hubris.
The Council of the Traditions sometimes called on Moses to aid here and there, defending a chantry or participating in a rescue mission. Though he had a high success rate, the Council had reservations about Moses deteriorating state, and avoided sending him on any missions that might provoke emotional conflict (i.e., any dealing with the Nephandi). Moses was oblivious to this, going where he was sent, and grimly doing as he was told. He had no friends.
Information was sent to him, one day, about an operation in Kansas to rescue several young mages between the ages of 7 and 9, who had gone missing. The kidnappers were as of yet unknown, and Moses was asked to go in case there was a battle, for though his mental stability was questioned, there was no doubt as to his martial ability. Moses entered each battle with a quiet calm and precision that unsettled those around him, as he worked at enemy lines like a surgeon, betraying no emotion. There was no arguing with the results. Moses had amassed an impressive kill count of HITmarks over the past three years, though he seemed to take no pride in it. A few hours before Moses was to catch the flight that would take him to Kansas city, his fax machine beeped and pressed out a piece of paper from the Council. MOSES, it read,
YOUR ASSISTANCE IS NOT NEEDED ON KANSAS MISSION.
MANY THANKS FOR COOPERATION.
INFORMATION ON NEXT MISSION WILL BE FORTHCOMING
COUNCIL
Thinking little of it, though vaguely annoyed at having packed unnecessarily, Moses burned the fax as was the rule. Just then the machine beeped again. The source address was identified as the nearby Marabout, the one he had trained in, but no name was given. It said only one word.
GO.
Moses went. The second fax had to have been from his Rimposhe, or else the Azim, though Moses suspected the former. As he sat on the plane, cruising high over the countryside, the waitresses shunning him and the woman originally seated next to him more comfortable elsewhere, Moses wondered to himself why he was disobeying the Council to go on a mission of rescue where he was not needed. Gaby was silent. So he leaned his head back, and dreamed of red hair.
After leaving the airport, Moses went to the meeting place dictated by his original instructions. In the Royal Hotel, Suite 302, he found two women and four men, one of whom answered the door and looked not at all surprised to see him. They were warriors, all of them, Moses noted as he tersely introduced himself. One of the women, a pretty blonde with a sleek body dressed in tight black leather, was named Joan. She was a Euthanatos, though Moses had never met her. She gave him a nod of acknowledgment, recognizing one of her own. The other woman had short, jet black hair, a slight Asian look to her features, and was dressed in black silk pants and a black silk shirt. A pair of short swords crossed her back. She was introduced as The Dragons Sharp Tongue, and the Akashics demeanor certainly suited her name. Two of the men were brothers, the larger one obviously older than the other. They were Order of Hermes, both dressed in red and had slavic features and dark hair. They both toted pistols and daggers. The older one was named Mikhail, the younger Nikita, and they both spoke with Russian accents. The leader of the group, the man who had answered the door, was also Order of Hermes. He introduced himself as Brian. He wore black slacks and a red silk button down shirt. His blonde hair glinted in the low light of the room. The other man, who Brian called Fritz, a Son of Ether, sat in the corner of the room tinkering with some sort of weapon which he mutteringly referred to as a Phaze Plasma Rifle. They were gearing for battle, all of them, and Moses wasted no time in unpacking his suitcase and arming himself with his pistols which he had used Tejas to mask from the airport scanners.
If the group of mages had been informed of Moses removal from the mission, they made no mention of it, and Moses himself certainly did not bring it up. They were vaguely uncomfortable around him, but no more so than he was used to, and mages adjusted much better to the Johr that poured off of Moses than Sleepers did. The plan was this. Three children were being held in a building on the other side of the city.
Our sources say that they are to be killed later tonight. Brian briefed them. It is our belief that if given the chance, the Nephandi will
Moses blinked twice, that was all his emotions betrayed. Joan, however, caught the reaction and raised an eyebrow in his direction. Moses ignored it.
Brian continued, kill the children before they allow us to retake them. So their rescue must be expedited as quickly as possible. Apparently, there is to be some infernal ritual going on, which will culminate in the deaths of the children at the end of the night. Obviously, were not going to let that happen. Five of us, he looked at the brothers, you two, Fritz, Joan, and Sharpie, he nodded to each in turn, will attack the front. Moses and I will enter through the back, and rescue the children. When you five get the message, pull back, and well meet back here. Moses, he looked at Moses, youre supposed to be a ranged attack expert. Good with guns, yes?
Yes.
Good then. Youll provide cover fire and defend me while I free the children. Agreeable to everyone?
It was plain that Brian was in charge of this mission, and everyone assented. Moses guessed that when he had received his cancellation fax, everyone else here had received the pertinent details of this mission.
So this was why his Rimposhe had told him to come here. This would be Moses first actual contact with the Nephandi. He had studied them extensively, but he could never have known what would happen.

Chapter 5

Explosions from Fritzs contraption rocked the building as Brian, with Moses right behind, ran down a narrow corridor towards the locked door at the end. Moses had teleported them both in, a trick he had only recently learned, and one he had laced with Quintessence to ensure success. Upon teleporting in, Moses had shot dead (at least he thought it was dead) a horrid red creature that had attacked them almost immediately. Brian had given him a look of admiration before taking off through the door and down the hallway they now ran, his life magick homing in on the children like a bloodhound.
A beautiful woman, naked, stepped into their path from an adjoining hallway. She had sharp features and dark hair. Her body rippled with muscles. All of these details, however, were incidental next to the tentacles which snaked from her nipples and hips towards the two at terrifying speed. Brian stopped short, legs spread, unconsciously blocking the hallway, his arms already forming an intricate spell. Moses, instead of slowing, dove through Brains legs and into a somersault. As he came out of it onto his knees, so as not to block Brians spell, his pistols were in his hands. Two of the girls black tentacles were nearly to him; his guns spoke. The bullet fired from his left pistol severed the tentacle at the girls right hip, and the other smashed into her left shoulder. The tentacle that was still active grazed his right shoulder, drawing a line of blood across his tight black cotton shirt. Moses placid expression did not change at the pain. He squeezed both triggers simultaneously, this time backing the bullets with Tejas. And as the girls head exploded, and her twitching body fell to the ground, Brian canceled his spell.
Moses regarded the womans body, still twitching, warily. He didnt know what it took to kill a nephandi, and he didnt want to take any chances. Brians life magick, however, had already verified the creatures death, and he pushed past Moses, who was still on his knees, and ran down the hallway. He shouted over his shoulder for Moses to hurry up. Moses hopped to his feet and took off after Brian, who was nearly to the door at the end of the hall.
Wait! Moses said loudly. Brian stopped short, right at the door. As Moses came up next to him, Brian looked grimly at him.
Like our intelligence said, theyre killing the children rather than let us have them. Ones already dead. Theyre through this door. There are also four other... entities in the room. We have to hurry.
Moses marveled at Brians masterful use of the life and correspondence spheres. Mentally, he made a note to learn that trick. For now, he said:
Let me go first. When I drop, come in over top of me.
Brian nodded, and Moses kicked in the door. The scene that confronted the two mages might have been out of a bloody horror movie.
The room was devoid of furniture, apart from three chairs. The three children were tied to the chairs, two girls and a boy, each stripped naked. The eyes of one of them, a blonde girl perhaps 8 years old, darted to the door that Moses and Brian had just opened. The other girl sat lifeless, her long dark hair hanging in front of her face, and blood covering her chest and stomach from her slit throat. Three women, all dressed in black, stood around the children. The forth Nephandi, tilting the boys head back while holding a knife to his neck, was George Mundone. Apparently about to slit the boys neck, George looked up, stunned, into Moses eyes. Moses almost didnt recognize him. Not because Moses imagination had in the last 3 years turned George into a hideous, evil looking man who only vaguely resembled a human, because it had. Moses almost didnt recognize him because he looked almost exactly as Moses had imagined. His eyes were sunken, his cheeks hollowed, and his eyes were fiery and hungry. It occurred to Moses that they must look alike.
As the three seconds passed in which Moses stared at George and George stared at him, the women began to move towards Moses, and Brian shouted: Go!
Moses started foreword.
Stop, Moses. George said as his mouth broke into a smile and he made clear his intention to cut the boys throat. The women held up short, and all was silence.
Drop your guns, Moses. George smiled grotesquely. Moses could feel that George wanted Moses to keep coming, so great was his bloodlust.
Moses put his hands straight up in the air, holding his guns aloft. Brian held his hands up as well, a look of defeat crossing his face. Moses leaned his hands back slightly, holding the guns even with the ground between him and Brian. As he began to drop them, George began to speak.
You loose again Moses! You couldnt save Marigold and you wont save...
As the guns fell behind Moses back, he brought his arms down and back, catching each of the pistols behind his back. Bringing his right arm back up, he calculated the shot in a second. Everything in him told him to shoot George right between the eyes, to wipe this blight from the tellurian and have revenge. Doing that, however, would almost certainly draw the knife across the boys throat as Georges body fell back. So Moses pulled the trigger, backing the bullet with Tejas. The bullet hit George in the elbow of his knife hand, severing the arm half way down. George staggered backward, a look of disbelief on his face, as his arm and knife fell to the ground next to the boy. Blood splattered the boys face, matting his dark hair, but he was unharmed.
Moses left arm came up, pointing straight out, and he squeezed off three rounds into the woman on his left. As the other two women moved foreword, lightning fast, and as George retreated, Moses fell to his knees and then to his left side, both arms, pistols blazing, pointing towards what had a moment ago been his right. The woman there crumpled like a puppet with no strings. Brian leapt foreword, over Moses outstretched arms. The third woman, the only one left standing, charged towards Brian and the boy. Moses rolled to his stomach, his arms stretched in front of him, trying to take down the third girl, but Brian was in the way. As Brian pulled desperately at the childs bonds, the woman was almost on top of him. Only parts of her were visible around Brians large form. So those were the parts that Moses shot. Brian looked up from the child, preparing for combat and cursing Moses for not keeping the woman off of him, in time to see several bullets hit her. Her right ear, part of her right shoulder, her right hand, all disappeared. Brian could feel the heat of the bullets passing within half and inch of him, streaming into the womans right side and thigh. George retreated through a door on the other side of the room, and suddenly the only sound was the children crying and the impacts of Fritzs weapon on the front of the building. Moses stood and looked about the room. The last woman he had shot was lying on the ground, struggling weakly, bleeding to death. Moses shot her in the head, shortening the process. Brian jumped at the sound, then stared at Moses, who stared back at him.
I swear, I will never understand you Euthanatos.
Moses looked away, wordlessly.
You had better give the signal. Brian said. Moses looked at him, then pointed his guns at the ceiling.
Cover your ears. Brian said to the children as he finished untying them, and they did so. Moses spent a moment in concentration, then fired upwards. He not only pushed the bullets foreword with Tejas, he also configured the heat the created in the air around them into sound waves. The bullets made a high pitched whistle as they crashed through the roof and into the night that could be heard for miles. The concussive blasts of Fritzs weapon stopped shortly thereafter.
Moses started for the door that George had gone through.
Wait! Brian said. Moses stopped. I need you to teleport these kids out of here. Moses didnt move. If we dont get them out, what was the point of all of this?
Emotions raged in Moses. After years, he was so close to George, to revenge.
Moses turned, and removed his shirt, handing it to the little girl. Brian removed his, and gave it to the boy, then he helped both of them put them on. Moses produced a small knife, which he used to make a small cut on his palm. Circling the children and Brian with the blood dripping from his hand, he stepped into the circle and completed the spell, lacing it with the rest of his Quintessence.
They met back at the hotel. One of the brothers had sustained a bad injury, and most of them were covered with cuts and bruises. More than anything, however, Moses felt exhausted. He had pushed himself to his absolute limit by teleporting both himself and others around. Brian went about the group, healing what injuries he could. Moses declined help. He instead retreated to the bathroom and sewed up his shoulder wound with needle and thread. He wanted to keep this scar. After bandaging it and putting on a fresh shirt, he exited the bathroom only to come face to face with Joan.
Did you get your revenge? She asked.
Moses was unshaken and unsurprised by her insights into his motivations, though he reminded himself to hide his emotions better.
No.
Too bad. She said. Her words were not meant to console, simply to acknowledge his answer. They stared at each other for a moment. She made no attempt to conceal her attraction to him.
Next time. He said, and pushed past her. She smiled and walked into the bathroom. He lay down on one of the two beds in the room, put his hands behind his head, and listened to the others talk. All but Fritz, who was making some adjustments to his equipment. Apparently, he was unhappy with its performance. He closed his eyes for a moment.

Moses awoke to Gabys voice.
Wake up, Michael. Youre going to miss your plane.
He looked around. The room was empty, and sunlight poured through the window. The clock said 10:30am. He had slept for nearly 11 hours.
He quickly rose and gathered his things. A piece of paper had been left on his suitcase. It read:

Call if you need anything.

Joan
A telephone number was also contained. Moses almost allowed himself to smile as he rushed out the door to the airport.