by Prometheus
New York City
A beautiful evening bathed the glass and granite kingdom of commerce. Millions of souls jostled through the sidewalks, each trapped in their individual lives. Traffic, as usual, flooded the downtown streets of Manhattan with growling motors and impatient horns. Epic totems of architecture steered high into the sky, shadowing the waves of humanity below.
Amid the carousel of cars, a sleek, black limousine pulled free, dipping into one of the skyscrapers private drives. Slowing to a stop in front of the enormous stone steps, the front passenger door opened, a young man stepping gracefully out. Adorned in an all black business suit, brown hair slicked back onto his head, sunglasses covered narrowed eyes, as he searched his surroundings with a hint of paranoia. Another man, dressed just as similar, stepped out from the driver's door. Walking around with a similar paranoid style, both finally looked at each other, each holding their corded earpieces in place, giving the other dual quick nods.
The first man reached down, opening the back door. Kit Piper slowly crawled his hefty frame from the backseat, looking at the two men.
"Don't worry, Mr. Piper. It looks clean, sir." Michael Fortenberry, the Luchadore, announced in a very overly-serious tone.
"...it's just a business meeting, guys..." Kit sighed, as he helped Shirley out.
"We'll be taking any bullets for you, sir." John Bates spoke just as serious.
"Bullets? What bullets? It's a meeting!" Kit asked, completely baffled.
"That's what they want you to think, sir." Luchadore replied, jerking his head around, trying to spot anything wrong.
"We welcome death, in service of protecting you today, Mr. Piper." John spoke again, also scanning the area as well.
"No one is going to die today, John..." a calm, thoughtful voice emanated from the man getting out behind Shirley. "....and, not for nothing, I'll be telling Mr. Piper what they want him to think, Luchadore."
"Heard that, Huerta!" Luchadore nodded.
"Simper Fi, motherfuckers." John announced to absolutely no one.
Shirley just looked at Kit, biting down a grin.
"...why did I let you guys come...." Kit asked, rolling his eyes.
The limo creaked a bit, something tapping in the trunk.
"Oh...right..." Luchadore immediately snapped to attention, walking briskly over to unlatch the trunk.
"Well, I am knowing how it is Blackwulf is coming to Newyorkcity!" a broad, jolly Russian voice boomed from the smiling man rising up out of the trunk. "It is being liking nightlife! Liking to boogy! Liking to disco!"
"But, it's two-forty-five in the evening, sweetie...." Shirley replied, Luchadore slamming the trunk.
"Yes, pretty Shirley!" Blackwulf stated with his constant, broad smile. "I am being like two wild and crazy guys!"
"Awww...." Shirley cooed as one would to a puppy. And, for no apparent reason, she reached up, scratching the man behind the ear. And, also for no apparent reason, his left leg began to jerk.
"Go getting our home, Boss Kit Piper. Blackwulf will think of you in great battle, and will salute you with much ale." the large, purplish man announced, before turning and heading off down the cobblestone drive to the main road.
Whistling the theme to 'Bewitched' for, again, no apparent reason....
Kit just sighed deeply, shaking his head.
".....I could play the stock market.....maybe even go back to working cons......" he mumbled to himself. The group began to walk up the steps to the enormous skyrise.
Luchadore and John ran perimeter on each side of Kit and Shirley, John going into random duck-and-rolls along the way. Luchadore would, at times, spin suddenly around to any imagined foe. Dr. Huerta merely paced behind the two calmly, his hands folded behind his back.
The doorman tipped his hat, and reached for the door. John immediately tackled him, Luchadore opening the door in his place. Huerta quickly yanked John off, apologizing profusely.
"Sir, I should go through first." Luchadore said, stopping Kit. "I'll take the blazing slugs of molten metal into my wide and fleshy chest. If you avert your eyes quickly, my shirt and tie may be able to soak up enough blood so that you don't have to gaze at the pool of crimson red flowing from my torn, and shredded lungs."
"Oh for god's sake.....Huerta!" Kit exclaimed, Dr. Huerta already stepping up, grabbing Luchadore by the shoulder.
"We are staying here." he spoke to Luchadore.
"No, those two can stay here...." Kit corrected. "I need you with me in this meeting."
Huerta nodded, staring at the other two men.
"Gentlemen, your mission....if you choose to accept it---"
He knowingly paused as John began humming the 'Mission: Impossible' theme.
Huerta looked at John.
John went silent.
"....is to protect the limo." he continued very formally. "We need the rental deposit back. If anything happens to the car, it's coming out of both your salaries. Understood?"
Both men propped into an instant salute.
"You can count on us, Dr. Huerta." Luchadore replied.
"We are prepared to die for the car today, Dr. Huerta." John agreed.
Huerta, Shirley, and Kit left the two, walking into the cool, dim lobby.
"Thanks for letting them come along, Mr. Piper." Huerta said. "They needed to get out for awhile."
"Well, I needed you, so, it's a package deal...." Kit nodded.
"How can I help in here, sir?" he asked, calling the elevator.
"Shirley's already prepped you pretty well...." Kit half-yawned. "...I require your profiling expertise. Read them for weaknesses."
"Very 'corporate shark' of you, sir."
"I was a con-man long before I was in finances, Doctor...." he spoke, the elevator arriving with a chime.
"However I can help." the doctor nodded.
"Okay. What's the clinical term for 'bankrupt'?" he joked, stepping onto the elevator.
A few blocks away, just on the edge of the commerce district, a local tavern was abuzz with loud partying. A heavy number of large 'Hell's Angels' filled the dimly lit, smoky bar. Playing pool with loud obscenities, and drunken rough-housing, an almost eerie silence filled the place, as a swath of sunlight suddenly bathed the bar from the opening door. The bikers stared, hard looks and sneers frozen, as a large, purplish man entered the establishment.
"Ah!! Brothers!!" Blackwulf announced with wide arms, and an even wider smile. "It is being time to party like the year of 1979, da'?"
*********************
The shore of the freshwater ocean churned and frothed, a rainbow cascade of light sparkling off the surface. The light flared and flickered, emanating from the multicolored wall of energy currently holding steady about a mile from shore. It stretched across the ocean as far as the eye could see, rising into the clouds. Pulsating, tendrils of chaotic energy whipping out like solar flares, it pushed heavily against an unseen force; trying...heaving...to roll forward.
Along the shoreline, spaced out at almost measured intervals, seventy-seven sorcerers, priests, clerics, and others stood fast. Their mystical abilities, incantations, faith, and will power held the advancing wall in place.
...barely....
The temple of Haven sat behind them in the distance, dominating the skyline. Surrounding it, close to a thousand monks, all identical in their red tunics, stood attentive to the impending aggression.
Gathered at the top of the cliffside in front of the temple, an army of silver Knights, each proudly patient on their steeds, stood prepared to charge at a moments notice. Their horses snorting frosty, evening air, jostled and grunted with impatience. At the head of the pack, a black horse trotted back and forth in front of them, pacing. A tall, stout woman, adorned in regal gold armor plates, and chainmail, sat rigid and taught. Straight, jaw-length black hair held firmly back along her head, a sleek, silver tiara rimming her forehead. Hard, piercing brown eyes, weathered by wars unknown, rested squarely on the shoreline. And, on her hip, a legendary sword of myth waited to answer the call of battle.
She was Amelie' Pendragon, heir to the throne of Camelot, and sworn protector of Haven.
Down along the rocky precipice, a multi-ensemble of figures stood, also watching the wave.
"What time did it start? Relatively?" Tayden and Grissom's 'friendly gent' asked, his coat folded over one arm.
"About ten minutes ago....we were in the temple...." Lady Greystoke replied, her mane of hair tossing against the harsh breeze kicking off the ocean.
"But, you don't know the exact relative-time?"
"No, Wells. Does it matter?" she replied a bit curtly.
Graham Wells shrugged.
"To me..." he replied innocently.
"It's like a Floyd show......" Artemis Cross said, propped lazily back on one of the rocks behind them, staring with wide eyes at the spectrum of color, "......but, with, like, Ozzy on lead....."
Z, sitting on one of the adjacent rocks, glanced at him; her gum smacking loudly.
"Yu' high again?" she retorted with slight sarcasm.
Cross looked quickly over at her, then back at the wave.
"I'm not sure......do the rest of you see that?" he asked, pointing towards the wall of color and light.
"Ah, if it were only one of your hallucinations, my dear Arthur...." a graceful redhead spoke, walking up directly behind them. "....unfortunately, this is a baffling experience we must all share......"
Under and along the perimeter of her bare, supple feet, blades of vividly-green grass, and tiny sprouts of blooming flowers pushed their way silently, outlining her every footstep in a micro-garden of beauty. The pale, Asian man dressed all in black, stood directly behind her in total silence, staring as everyone, at the wall of light.
Graham Wells pulled his pocket watch out, glancing at the time.
"...we lose Artemis in ten seconds, relatively...." he mumbled to himself.
"Any insight on this thing, Rowena?" Greystoke asked, turning towards the redhead.
"I sense no direct life readings...." Rowena responded. "....however, there is a primordial essence that must be recognized...."
"Ahve' no idea whot' she jus' said...." Z remarked to Cross. He quickly shot his gaze around to her, staring at her briefly.
"Are you....." he began cautiously, as if trying to remember something. "......Mona Lisa?"
"...right on time...." Wells mumbled to himself, a small smile creasing his features.
Z just sighed, snapping her gum.
"Z, Cross. I'm Z...."
"Right! Right. Right. Right." he said, quickly nodding. "Okay...so, this isn't the Louvre'..."
"It's time for Tallmoore to chain the LSD down in your system again...." Wells spoke up, smiling at the archer, who, coincidentally, thought Graham was a carrot doing an Elvis impersonation.
"Where is Friday?" Greystoke asked.
"Still in real-time....." Z explained. "Turk ordered 'em put, in case this thing gets by us...."
The man in black leaned down, cupping his mouth against Rowena's left ear. She nodded.
"Wun says.....nothing gets by us...." she repeated for her dark companion. "Ever."
"Bloody right...." Greystoke nodded.
Down near the shoreline, in what could be considered the middle of the assembly, a lone, frail old man, crouched against his simple, rough-wooden cane, stood with dominating eyes, staring at the wall. Behind him, Turkish stood with a similar stance, as both men pushed against the wall using their infallible 'faith'.
"This is unprecedented." Turkish spoke calmly and quietly to the back of the man in front of him. "For a millennia-infinite we have shared the shores of the Never-Ocean with him in perfect harmony. Why would he attack us now?"
"What can we know, given our stalemated stance, young Stringfellow?" the Scion replied with an equally calm voice. "All answers lie beyond that light."
"Then, I shall lead the agents to investigate. If Z can 'boom' us across---"
"No."
"Lord Scion....we must find out---"
"The Earth-Child comes, Turkish." he continued. "Since the founding of The Order, we have known that chaos would come in its wake. This changes nothing."
Turkish dropped to one knee, bowing his head.
"Lord Scion, what is your command?" he asked with reverence.
"Go to the world of real-time.....go to Earth....." he began. "....greet the birth of the Earth-Child, as it should be...."
"My lord...." he nodded, rising to go.
"Turkish...."
"Sir?" he spun back around, halting in place.
"....chaos comes to Haven.....it will most certainly come to Earth, as well...." he spoke cautiously, his eyes never leaving the wave. "Be prepared."
Turkish bowed a bit.
"I am the Prophet of One." he announced with formality. "The words of the Scion are edict."
With that, he turned, heading up the shoreline. At his approach, the other agents began to collect themselves off the rocks, gathering to meet him.
"Whot's the word, Turk?" Z asked, hands on her hips.
Turkish never slowed down, as they parted with his brisk stride.
"The word...is go...." he replied with an air of purpose, never breaking pace, "....we leave for La Perdita at once...."