St. Drausinus Church stood at the east end of Wagner Park, overlooking a cluster of small office buildings. Modern construction had built it in the perfect image of its gothic forbearers; high towers and stone walls topped with leering gargoyles, all framing an ornate painted door that was at least four times a man’s height.

Ian used one of the two smaller doors on either side of it to enter. Inside, the church rivaled any cathedral in overall opulence with its high domed ceiling, supported by arches carved into the semblance of saints. The dome itself was almost entirely made of stained glass depicting various biblical scenes in image and verse that left the balcony seating awash with color.

It was a quiet time of the day; morning mass was long past, choir practice had ended an hour before and preparations for evening mass and bible study were occurring elsewhere in the huge building. Only a few people remained, sitting in small clumps in pews or using the main hall as a shortcut to the other side of the building.

This suited Ian just fine as he went to the side altar, dropped some money in the donation box and lit a candle. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was even there. He wasn’t Catholic, hadn’t been raised with any particular slant toward religion at all, really. But the past three weeks had been hard and he needed someplace quiet to think. Someplace he wouldn’t constantly be hearing conversations or news broadcasts about the Mauler.

Flexing his stiff shoulders, he sat down in a pew to brood. Another week had gone by without bringing the Mauler to justice. The monster had, at least, become more cautious after the fight at the Archipelago Estates parking garage. Only two had died in that time, both victims this time had been taken alone, out of the public eye. The thing knew they were patrolling more heavily now.

As much as Ian hated to admit it, Occult was right; whatever the Mauler was, it wasn’t a psionic. Neither Kareem, nor Laurel’s astral monitoring software could detect him. Worse, he was seemingly invincible. They had thrown everything they had at him and he had made them look like amateurs.

He wished he could convince everyone else that Mauler wasn’t a psionic. The Reverend Douglas Stiles was making hay with the Mauler’s actions and though most news providers dismissed him as the hatemonger he was, he still managed to get sound bytes on the air. Ian was certain that he had heard Stile allege that the Mauler was the next Arjun Ravi at least a thousand times in the past two days. And almost as often, he heard him go on to say that the Mauler would be first in a wave of copycats as psionics did to America ‘what they did in Columbia’.

Stiles had been careful to omit that the regime change in that country was the inevitable result of an already splintered military government attempting to forcefully conscript psionics.

Ian closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Mauler had said that what he wanted was chaos. He was getting it. Stiles’ little group was holding a rally at city central that coming Sunday. Laurel had suggested they keep an eye on it in case some other psionic decided to prove the ‘good’ reverend right and touch off a powder keg.

“I’m surprised to see you here.” Ian looked up to see an elderly nun standing in the aisle beside his seat. “This does explain why I never see you at mass.”

Ian blinked, then remembered where he was. “Sister Ann Marie? I thought you were with Our Lady of Hope.”

The nun nodded. “I am. I was visiting a friend who works with the community outreach project here.”

“Oh.” Ian said dumbly. For some reason, he had it in his head the nuns weren’t allowed to leave their church. “Uh… we’ll, I’m not a member here.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m, uh, not even Catholic.”

If this fazed Sister Ann Marie, it didn’t show. “Ah, then are you just here to offer your volunteer services here? The kids were very happy with your help with the Easter egg hunt.”

“Actually, I just needed a place to sort my head out.” Ian said, then gestured to the side altar, “And light a candle.”

A sympathetic look came over the sister’s face. “What did you light a candle for?” The implication being ‘why was he lighting a candle if he didn’t believe?’

“Let’s just say that I see people do it in movies all the time and I figured I’d light a candle for someone and hope God looks after them.”

“Who for?”

“I don’t know.” He said honestly. “I don’t know them, I just… think there’s probably someone out there that needs watching out for.” He only hoped that he’d be able to stop the Mauler before God’s intervention was needed.

“You’re a very thoughtful man, Mr. Smythe.” The nun smiled. “And the Lord can always use more of those at his side.”

“Everyone does.” Ian nodded.

An hour and a change of costume later, Chaos found himself in a very different part of the city, the neighborhood called Prosperity Heights, which was just about as viscous and blatant a misnomer as could be found in an atlas.

The neighborhood was overrun with crime and even the organized underworld that operated out of Mayfield seemed to want no part of it. Even the gangsters and pushers of Prosperity Heights, however, had been shocked by the discovery of the body of one Gary Atkins, a user and banger who had tried to go straight

The Mauler had torn him apart in an alley next to the convenience store where he had purchased a six pack and some chips shortly before disappearing.

Most of the chips and the spilled puddle of beer were still there next to the bloody stained chalk outline. Chaos suppressed a gag at just the sight and was thankful to Laurel for fitting his cowl with a face mask. Ostensibly, the mask was to protect his face in flight, but now it kept back the stench of a grizzly murder scene.

With careful and deliberate concentration, he lifted himself up on a pillar of air, pulling it in slowly enough the he didn’t disturb the crime scene, and levitated himself over the police tape for a closer look.

It didn’t take him long to see why the police had been wary of linking Atkins’ murder to the Mauler. In paces, the brick wall and pavement were scorched by intense heat; hotter and definitely more precise than plasma lances.

The Mauler was never known to use weapons and Chaos knew he didn’t need them. Atkins, being a reformed gangster and by all counts good citizen, more than likely hadn’t been packing illegal arms—and moreover, none have been found with him.

A stray gust from his power caught a scrap of paper that had been lying nearby and made it dance in the air. There was something printed on it, a series of Japanese characters.

The wheels of memory turned. He’d seen something like that before—several times before, in fact. Juniper watched a lot of anime, Japanese animation. He knew of several characters just in passing that used slips of paper like that as weapons. Typically, they were quiet priest or priestess types that were the magical companion to a duo or ensemble’s muscle.

Using a small vortex to bring the slip to his hand, he frowned at it. “Very much not our boy’s style.” He said. Memory of Occult’s assertion that the Mauler was a magical being came back to him as he continued to scowl at it. Maybe someone else agreed with her. Right or wrong, if MPD’s fingerprint database could return and ID, it might help—

The slip of paper flared blue and sent electricity coursing through his body. Everything went black.

“Is this much security really necessary?” Vorpal asked as the second of a series of three blast doors ground closed behind her. “No one even knows these people are here… well, not ‘here’ here anyway.” As always, she was in her costume, completely anonymous save for her nom de guerre.

Vincent Liedecker stood beside her in the hallway between blast doors. “It isn’t about keeping people out, Vorpal. It’s about keeping them in.” It had been a weeks long battle to convince him to simply call her ‘Vorpal’ instead of ‘Ms. Vorpal’. “Despite their eccentricities, these people are some of the brightest minds on the planet and I’m ‘bout as sure that one or two of them will try and bow out of our agreement as I am that a hound dog has fleas.”

There was a tone from someplace hidden and the final blast door began to roll up.

“How are you certain that they’re really bright minds and not just off kilter ones?” Vorpal asked.

“That’s the beautiful thing about how people are wired, Vorpal—those two ain’t exactly mutually exclusive.” The blast door fully opened into a short, open corridor where two armed guards were posted. Vorpal noted that they wore flak jackets and bore low tech assault rifles instead of computer aided pulse weaponry or plasma lances. Liedecker really did think of everything.

The corridor opened up into a wide, cavernous room with a transparent floor that looked down into several work rooms where a handful of people in hospital gowns bearing the logo of the Solomon Center milled about, tending to one project or another. The space above was also filled with lab coated scientists working at transparent plastic tables on other projects.

“Welcome to the Think Tank, Vorpal.” Liedecker said, gesturing to the setup. He waved one of the scientists over.

While he came, Vorpal looked down at the goings on below. She didn’t have her so called ‘magitech’ goggles on, but she could clearly see some of the projects. In particular, one woman had procured two large workrooms and populated them largely with tiny spheroid machines with odd wings. Amid those, a half constructed humanoid design menaced from its workbench.

“They can’t see us, can they?” She asked.

“No.” Liedecker assured her. “The transparency is one way and no entrances from here lead down there from the inside. They’d have to break outta there to even start breaking in here.”

“Correct, sir.” The scientist said, nodding his welcome to Vorpal. She recognized him as Drew (she didn’t know if that was a first or last name), the scientist that had outfitted her with her goggles. “We observe their process and methodology from above and replicate it. The transparent floor is because we don’t want them finding cameras and realizing that we’re reverse engineering their processes and actively working to sabotage any escape attempts via their tech.. Nothing they make leaves the Tank.”

“Good man.” Liedecker said, slapping him on the shoulder. “Now, let’s show our girl what you’ve got for her.”

“Of course sir.” Drew nodded and led them across the lab. “Vorpal, as you know, we asked for your specifications on your costume when you first came on board. From that, we’ve been able to improve on your design.” He led them to a mannequin wearing its own version of Vorpal’s ‘Victorian ninja’ garb.

This version was dark green instead of black, though it was only distinguishable from black when the light hit it at the right angles. The chainmail seams were there, but now they were gold colored.

“We’ve reinforced key areas with carbon nanotube fibers backed by thin, ballistic tested ceramic plating. Now, the chainmail was a concern…”

“How so?” Vorpal asked.

“The prelate Alloy is a metal controller. He could us it against you.” Drew answered.

“I sincerely doubt that.” Vorpal said, running a finger over the seams. “This isn’t gold.” She stated.

“No, it’s a designer metal we’ve…” Drew looked at Liedecker for guidance.

“We had it reverse engineered here.” Liedecker took pity on him. “Drew and his science boys wanted to call it impervium, but as it turns out, it already had a brand name; orihalcite.”

“This is a refined version created by one of our guests.” Drew said, referring to the incarcerated scientists. We’re calling it orihalcon—it’s a reference to a classical—“

“I know what orihalcon is, Drew.” Vorpal said in a bored tone. “I don’t know about Mr. Liedecker’s other hired help, but I’m an educated woman. I did, after all name myself in honor of my affection for Lewis Carroll’s work.”

Drew shot Liedecker a nervous glance, but the well of pity was dry. “Yes…” He finally managed, changing the subject rather than continuing on as he had. “We’ve also completed the rig for Samael.” Again, he led them to another segment of the lab, to a large work table where the rig lay.

At its center was a flat, orihalcon assembly that looked not unlike a human spine. Each vertebra had a pair of clear ampoules filled with liquid in shades of blue and orange at right angles to one another. The top of the assembly was a collar that was obviously sized for a man’s neck. Ceramic needles passed through the back of the collar at three points. Attached to the spinal assembly were two expansive wings, made up feathers of thin hammered metal, each etched with strange symbols. Fully extended, the wings were over fifteen feet wide.

“I thought we couldn’t use metal?” Vorpal asked, running a finger over one of the feathers.

“Doctor Tennyson’s project team has warded the feathers against psionic assault.” Drew assured, speaking to Liedecker more than to her. “Their theory is that they can integrate this sort of protection into any metallic surface large enough to etch with conventional tools.”

“Why can’t they use lasers?” Liedecker asked.

“It, uh… doesn’t work that way, sir.” Drew shrank back from his employer, expecting reprisal.

It didn’t come. Liedecker simply nodded. “It’s a damn miracle they know how any of it works.” He admitted. “Keep me posted. I’m going to keeping looking around here; I’ll call you over If I need you.”

Drew was more than happy to leave them alone.

“By the way,” Vorpal said, “Will you be needing me this weekend?”

“I don’t see as I do.” Liedecker said, looking over the shoulder of a young scientist who was trying to assemble what looked like a digital wrist watch with lenses instead of a normal face. “This have anything to do with the rally?”

“Stiles and his bigots will be out front of City Hall. I want to keep an eye on them.” She gave him a warning look. “I won’t kill anyone.”

Liedecker smirked. “I was going to tell you I wasn’t going to pay for it if you do.” He moved on to where two women were making a copy of the small flying robots one of the incarcerated geniuses had built. “Douglas Stiles is a small fish. He’s just a bean counter that’s got the sudden fool idea that his opinion means something.”

“I take it that you don’t agree with the good reverend’s politics.” Vorpal said coyly.

“I have my own lack of love for prelates, Vorpal, but the difference between he and I is that I have a point.” He moved over to where a new mockup of the Sky Tyrant armor was being assembled. “Prelates can hurt my business; what’s his reason? I would be more surprised than anyone if it was actually God at all.”

-- • --

Laurel adjusted her glasses as she peered at the screen in front of her. “Now that’s interesting,” She said, touching the screen and dragging her finger across it to rearrange a few items for easier viewing. “Very interesting, but how does this help us?”

The door to her workshop opened and Alexis stuck her head in. “Hey L, have you seen Ian?”

It took Laurel a second to register what she’d been asked. “Huh? Oh, no, sorry. He went out around noon, said he was going to check out the scene of the Atkins murder. I figured he’d be with you.”

Alexis shrugged, stepping fully into the room. “We’re not joined at the hip, you know?”

“I should amend my statement.” Laurel said, moving a few more icons. “I meant I think he should have been with you. All this stress we’ve been under lately… the kids take it well, but you and Ian; you’re more… how do I put this delicately…”

“High strung?” Alexis offered. She was carrying an unpopped bag of microwavable popcorn and a flat format case...

“I was going to say ‘drama prone’, but I like your words better.” Laurel smiled at her friend. “My point is that you need each other. You both tend to assume responsibility for every little thing that happens and that’s not healthy.”

“Sort of what I had in mind.” Alexis said indicating the items in her hands. “I was going to suggest to him that we let the kids handle patrol tonight and we stay in and watch some movies.” She frowned. “I told him I’d be back from grocery shopping at four and he said he’d be waiting for me.”

“You know Ian; he’d call if he ran into trouble. More than likely, he’s nipped off somewhere to brood. You should give him a call.”

“I’ll give him a little more brooding time.” Alexis said, coming to stand beside Laurel’s chair in front of the touch screen. “What’s this?

Laurel was just moving the last few items into place. “I had Vimes search for anyone in the national news that matched the Mauler’s victims; you know, seeing if I could connect the dots?” She double tapped two icons and two full profiles expanded to fill one half of the screen each. “They don’t connect, but they definitely pair up.”

Alexis leaned over her friend’s shoulder and read aloud. “Celeste Watson, age twenty-nine, green eyes, blonde hair, 5’4, 135 pounds; teacher at Crystal Valley Elementary, Mayfield; mother of three.” Alexis read one profile, and then moved to the other. “Andrea Foster, age thirty-two, green eyes, blonde hair, 5’2, 140 pounds, teacher at Ludley Park Elementary, Cincinnati, mother of… three.” She blinked. “This is the same woman!”

Laurel nodded. “Not the same, but close; these are just basic profiles. Everything in Andrea Foster’s Confederated Press write up matches up with Celeste Watson. Mrs. Watson was killed by the Mauler and Mrs. Foster was hit by an out of control car. There was no way her death was by the Mauler. The only link there was that both deaths made national headlines.”

“That’s weird.” Alexis commented.

“Once is weird.” Laurel said, bringing up another pair of profiles. They were also almost identical. “Twice is coincidence.” She tapped her keyboard and the computer displayed all of the Mauler’s victims. “Seven is calculation.”

Alexis put her hand over her mouth. “He’s killing people to ape the headlines?”

“The top viewed headlines according to Newswatch.inc .” Laurel nodded. “Remember what he told you? That he wants to cause chaos? This is how. He’s looking for people whose otherwise routine deaths made national headlines and killing the closest approximation in very gruesome and public ways—because those people will make headlines.”

“That doesn’t make sense though,” Alexis said, shaking her head. “How does a press feeding frenzy cause the chaos he says he’s after?”

“That’s the part I don’t understand.” Laurel said. “But now that I see a method to his madness, I have something to work with.”

“I’m going to call Ian and fill him in.” Alexis said, phone already out. After a second, a grimace of confusion came over her face. “Node couldn’t be found? What does that mean”

Laurel snapped her head around to look at her. “Alexis, call the kids, then get suited up.”

Still making faces at her phone, Alexis blinked at her. “Why?”

“Because ‘node not found’ is the message you get when you try to call a phone that doesn’t exist.”

“Reverend,” asked Mike Carnes, host of News Provider 2, Mayfield’s weekly local debate program, Free Forum, “You seem to suggest that the government outlaw being psionic.”

Reverend Douglas Stiles, a clean cut man in his forties, looked more like a car salesman than a holy man as he leaned over his podium and responded. “Mike, that’s not what I’m saying at all. What the government should outlaw are prelates. They’re the ones taking the law into their own hands and making our world a more dangerous place to live. Psionics just need to be better regulated is all.”

“Regulated?” Carnes asked.

“Yes. Now, I’m no legislator; nor am I perfectly up on the ins and outs of things, but what we have now is chaos. Even under the Academy, we had many potentially dangerous people opting out of any kind of oversight at all and that’s what led to these rogues and prelates in the first place.”

“That’s preposterous.” W. Edgar Zorbaugh, professor of sociology at Dayspring College scoffed. “You talk about prelates and those that use their powers for illegal purposes like they’re one and the same. Prelates making our lives more dangerous? Please, Reverend, just look at any study done in the past year – Mayfield has become a much safer place to live since the Descendants appeared on the scene.”

He shuffled some papers and held up a few. “The same can be said for New York following the arrival of John Harding, also called Infinity; Chicago with the Shade—and let’s not forget Arizona. Zero Point and Machina X have dropped crime ninety-two percent there and within a month of their retirement, crime rose ten percent. The proof is right here, Reverend; prelates stop crime and make cities safer.”

“And how much have meta-crimes gone up, Professor?” Stiles shot back. “Mayfield had exactly three in the twenty odd years since psionics came into the public eye. After the Descendants… well, we’ve seen an art theft at the Westmoreland Hotel backed by a fire manipulator, a full scale assault on Capashen Arena, an explosion on the West Truman Bridge, and what the Scribe describes as a ‘battle royale’ that spanned from the third district all the way to City Central. And this isn’t even mentioning minor, but still destructive skirmishes.”

“In none of those situations were the prelates the aggressors.” The Professor countered. “And in light of your own anti-psionic stance, it should be noted that Nikolia Petrov is not a psionic and the aggressors in the incident in November were fully regulated government operatives that went rogue.”

“The fact of the matter, Mike.” Reverend Stiles addressed the host rather than his opponent, “Is that no matter what evidence Professor Zorbaugh brings to the table, psionics are inherently dangerous and prelates invite escalation—effectively a metahuman arms race—in the criminal element!”

“Ugh.” Chaos groaned. “turn that off. Listening to that gas bag again isn’t going to…” he stopped, realizing that he wasn’t at home. With his eyes still closed, he could tell he was in a relatively small room, laid out on a bed on top of the covers. His costume was intact; including his cowl, but his visor was gone.

Before he could act on this, the noise from the broadcast of Free Forum went mute. “Our guest is awake.” A calm, thoughtful male voice said.

“He’s a strong one.” A light female voice replied. “I’da thought one o’ my O-fuda woulda put a mortal man under for a week.”

O-fuda, Chaos recalled. That was the name of those paper talismans. Was that what had knocked him out? That wasn’t the important matter at hand though; he had been unconscious in a room full of people he didn’t know, one of whom had just admitted to weilding the thing that knocked him out.

Ignoring the tingling sensation running up his arm, probably from the electrical shock, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up as swiftly as possible.

He was in a modest, two bed hotel room. Two men, both in their forties or fifties; one bearded and dour looking, the other crew cut and looking very much like a classic marine were sitting at the table by the window, watching the now muted debate show and apparently disinterested in his actions.

Another man sat cross legged on the other bed. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, with straight, brown hair in a ridiculous bowl cut. He had a closed book on his lap and was keeping his place with a finger while watching Chaos’s outburst.

Sitting in a soft chair on the other side of his bed was a woman with long, curly red hair that she must have cultivated since she was a young child. She had been caught in the middle eating noodles out of a takeout carton; the chopsticks laden with lo mein, paused halfway to her mouth.

They were all dressed casually in t-shirts and trousers and didn’t look the part of kidnappers, especially people who would kidnap a prelate. But appearances could be deceiving. In fact, that’s all they seemed to be as of late.

“Tell me who you all are and what you did to me right now, or it’s going to be very hard to breathe.” He said coldly and let a pulse of air wash through the room to illustrate his point.

Mr. Crew Cut was on his feet the very next instant, reaching behind his back.

“Please!” the one on the bed said urgently. “There’s no need for threats.” He said it more to Crew Cut than to Chaos.

“Good idea.” Chaos said, backing up to the nightstand so he could keep an eye on everyone at once. “Let’s all keep our hands where we can see them.” Crew Cut sighed in frustration and held both hands out in front of him. “Now let’s try this again. Who are you people, why did you kidnap me, and where the hell is my visor?”

“We didn’t mean any harm.” The peacekeeper said. “It was an accident that the O-fuda discharged into you.”

“For true.” The woman backed him up, setting her lunch to the side. “I thought tha’ all o’ ‘em had gone off. It was a bit o’ a shock to me tha’ one even held a charge tha’ long.”

The man on the bed nodded. “Daria felt it go off and we went back to the scene of the battle. We found you there.” He gingerly reached into a duffel bag beside the bed and withdrew Chaos’s visor. “Forgive us, but Cristoff had to remove your visor to check your pupils.”

Chaos accepted the visor and replaced it. “Okay… we’ll say I believe that. Who are you?”

“Oh, I must have skipped right past that. We are the Sineaters, an organization dispatched to Mayfield by our superiors to investigate and contain the—er—Mauler. I’m Walter, the young lady is Daria, the quiet one at the table is Cristoff and the man who almost pulled his weapon on you is James Richter, our field commander.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not with the ROCIC?” Chaos asked.

“Because we aren’t.” Richter answered tersely.

“I’m not even going to go into how the correct answer would have been ‘what’s the ROCIC?’.” Chaos said, warily. “Now, you guys aren’t psionics and… Daria?”

“Yes.” Daria confirmed, starting into her noodles again.

“Daria here plays with weapons that aren’t exactly military hardware. What are you, militant magic users?”

The mere mention of magic use got him a cold glare from Richter. “He’s awake, he’s healed. We’ve done out part. Cut him loose. We have more important matters.”

“But sir…” Walter pleaded.

“He’s already gone toe ta’ toe wit’ tha’ thing.” Daria protested, “You’ve seen tha’ pictures. Couldna’ it be tha’ he knows somethin’ we don’?”

Cristoff said nothing, but gave Richter a disapproving look.

The room was silent as the other Sineaters awaited their leader’s judgment. A look of extreme frustration crossed his face as he threw up his hands in defeat. “Bringing this thing down’s more important than pride. We have authorization, fill him in, Walter.”

Walter nodded and motioned for Chaos to take a seat. When he remained standing, he began anyway. “First of all, about the entity you encountered last week, the Mauler, as the local media are calling it. It isn’t a rogue psionic, it isn’t an experimental mutation, it isn’t even of this world. It is a devil; an agent of Satan sent to do his work on Earth.”

Chaos cocked his head quizzically. “Okay, you’re not the first spellslinger to tell me this guy’s not human or any variations on that theme, but you’re definitely the first to get biblical about it.”

“The Sineaters are the only ones that keep records.” Walter said. “The only ones that monitor demonic activity and crossings.”

“Crossings.”

“They come from the Astral.” Richter clarified. “We’ve known about the astral plane since around nineteen hundreds. The demons enter the world through green astral breeches. They can take any form, from a glowing ball of benign light, to a huge, grey hulk, to anything in between. Some can possess a human and subvert his body. Those are the worst.”

Walter nodded and picked up where his leader left off. “That is the kind we believe to be responsible for the Mauler. While other varieties seem content either keeping to themselves or working minor mischief in a populace, this kind insinuates itself into human society, causes calamity and seems to draw strength on social strife.”

“I know for a fact the nothing lives in the Astral.” Chaos retorted. “And how exactly do you tell the difference between a demon and someone that’s nuts?” The gears in his head were turning. That sounded like Morganna’s MO, right down to the body snatching.

“The demon subverts the host’s own ambitions to its own purposes and to that end grants them power—magic as it were.” Walter explained.

“So…” Ian gave Daria a sidelong glance, “She’s got a demon in her?”

Daria almost choked on her food. “No!” she said emphatically, “Why would ye say somethin’ so mean spirited an’ hateful? I was under tha’ assumption tha’ you were one o’ tha’ good ones!”

Walter held up a hand to calm her down. “No, Chaos, that isn’t it at all.”

“Sorry,” Chaos said, “But you just told me that all magic users have a demon inside and to be quite frank, my experience says one for two. The new caster, Occult doesn’t seem to be all that demonic, just untrustworthy.”

“What we use,” Richter took over, “Isn’t vulgar magic, using demonic energies and paraphernalia. The Sineaters are trained to use their faith to bring out their own inner potential and channel it in a variety of ways. Daria, for example, can use it to inscribe symbols of power on paper talismans.”

“And where did you learn these special tricks?” Chaos asked.

“The original concept was developed in the far east by Shinto priests, but the Church—“Walter started.

“Wait, ‘the Church’ as in the Church, as in Catholic? You’re telling me that you guys are a sect of Catholics that are using Shinto chi to beat up on demons?” Chaos slapped the side of his head. “I could make millions selling this to a studio.”

“Jus’ because tha’ rest o’ their belief is incorrect, doesna’ mean other parts donna’ work.” Daria said.

“Right.” Chaos said, changing the too confusing subject. “So, if these critters are demons; and considering that I’ve fought an ape knight and an ancient sorceress, I’m just going to have to take your word for it (and have Codex schedule me some therapy later) and Mauler is a demon, how do we get Beelzebub out of his meat shield?”

“We don’t.” Richter said gravely. “Once a demon has possessed a person, they gain access to its power and are subject to its whims. That is irreversible. We’re only left to pray that their soul can be redeemed.”

“You kill them.” Chaos deadpanned.

“Better than to allow the demon’s influence to fester in the community. Especially ones like the Mauler. They won’t stop until the entire community they reside in has broken down into divisiveness and hatred.” Richter said.

“Then we have nothing more to discuss.” Chaos said, moving toward the window. “I’ve seen someone come unpossessed I’m not killing someone to get at this thing.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Richter assured him.

“Of course I do.” Ian said. “We find him first and when we do, we fight to contain.” He stepped into empty air and called up a gale to fling him from the hotel window. Fury at the idea of killing the victim to cure the disease welled inside him. He wanted to shout his distain, but before he could, he was interrupted by his phone ringing.

-- • --

Grimacing back at the hotel window where the Sineaters had set up their headquarters, Chaos flew out over downtown Mayfield at the highest speed he felt safe with. He was still angrily mulling over the events that had transpired there when his phone rang. It was the ringing tone he used for Alexis.

“Chaos.” He said after hitting the hands free toggle in his visor. Laurel had given them all a long, involved lecture in the logistics of using codenames and separate ringing tones while on ‘the job’ to keep potential eavesdroppers from learning their identities.

“Oh my god, where have you been? Where are you? We’re out looking for you! Your phone number was coming out node not found and…” the words spilled out in a torrent from Alexis’s side of the phone. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, hon.” Chaos said. “As for where I’ve been, it’s a long story.”

“I’ve got nothing but time.” She said firmly.

Slowing his flight into a steady glide, Chaos related how he had been knocked out and came to among the Sineaters, providing greater detail as Alexis asked for it. “So basically, we need to find Mauler even more urgently now.” He finished. “Even if they’re only half right, he may have a readymade hostage and this Richter guy is completely cool with killing him to get to the demon.”

“How are we going to do that?” Alexis asked. “It’s been almost a month and we only caught up to him when he came looking for someone we were with.”

“I’m not sure.” Chaos frowned, passing a huge billboard advertising Preoccupation, a new fragrance for men.

It depicted a man with an attractively exotic woman with mother-of-pearl skin and luminescent, green eyes draping herself over his shoulder. Sonja Remington, the model, was a major player in the modeling scene as of late; the most famous protomorph model and actress and a trailblazer for others like her. Seeing the billboard reminded Chaos of the upcoming hate rally and what that movement would do to people like Remington if it grew in power.

‘They won’t stop until the entire community they reside in has broken down into divisiveness and hatred.’ Walter’s words came to his mind. He stopped, hovering in front of the billboard. ‘The demon subverts the host’s own ambitions to its own purposes and to that end grants them power…’ Richter’s voice added.

“Son of a bitch.”

“What?” Alexis asked. “What happened, are you okay?”

“He’s been right there all the time. On TV, in the paper—and we couldn’t connect the dots.” He continued berating himself.

“What are you talking about, Chaos?” Alexis asked again.

“It’s Stiles. He’s the Mauler.”

“How? What made you think that?” Laurel’s voice came on over the phone.

“The Sineaters told me that this thing—the demon—it… I don’t know, feeds, on discord and social chaos. It told you as much itself. And what’s the biggest source of turmoil in Mayfield besides the Mauler showing up? Something that everyone thinks is a psionic killing people and an accountant turned overnight preacher using it as the cornerstone of his anti-psionic agenda.”

“You believe them?” Alexis asked.

“It makes sense.” Laurel replied, breaking in on another line. “That’s what the pattern was for. He found types of people whose deaths were guaranteed to generate media coverage and having a psionic doing it fits nicely with Stiles’ rhetoric.”

“Pattern?” Chaos asked.

“The Mauler’s victims were all people whose general life story matched as closely as possible with deaths that have been picked up by the national media in the past year; school teacher mothers of three, former bangers that turned their lives around, all American athletes…” Laurel explained.

“I was really hoping I was wrong on this.” Chaos admitted. “If Stiles and the Mauler are one in the same, this could get real complicated really fast. If we hit him in human form, we’re the big, bad prelates he’s been preaching about and we’ve already seen he’s a hard case in demon mode.”

“He didn’t fight the whole team last time.” Alexis reminded, “We know a young man who can target him from the astral side. If it really is a demonic parasite, maybe we can separate them.”

“If he can even sense the thing.” Chaos added. “Still, it’s our best bet. We can’t let the Sineaters cap him, that wouldn’t be right, even if Stiles himself is a prick.”

“We’ll talk about this back at home.” Laurel said. “The rally tomorrow will be our best chance at letting Ephemeral get a shot at him and if the Sineaters figure this out, they’ll no doubt take the opportunity as well. We need to plan this very carefully.”

“I’ll see you two at home then.” Chaos’s voice said and the call disconnected.

“Good work, Cristoff.” Richter said. Cristoff’s innovative idea of electronically jamming the room and then scanning for his phone to reconnect had worked perfectly in bypassing the heavily disguised signal the phone operated on. The bearded man nodded and closed his laptop. He turned to Walter, “I’m assuming he means that Reverend on television. What do we have on him, Walter?”

“Not much.” Walter admitted, consulting his own palm device. “He was basically a nobody until around November of last year. It seems that the Descendants and a group of rogue government meta-police participated in a running battle across Mayfield back then. A third party the media heard Darkness refer to as Sky Tyrant interceded and in the process destroyed a number of offices at City Hall.”

“This included Douglas Stile’s accounting office. It seems Mr. Stiles was a bit of a luddite and kept all of his backups on a tape drive instead of a distributed network. The destruction of his office pretty much wiped out everything he had for his clients and his city contracts. There are actually a dozen lawsuits still pending against him, but his declaration of bankruptcy has stalled the proceedings.”

Richter frowned. “So he loses everything because of his own faults and seeks vengeance on others using God’s name?” He shook his head. “And unfortunately for seven people, it made him the perfect vessel for demonic possession.”

Standing, he stretched. “A shame, perhaps in time, even his passing familiarity with the Lord would have turned him from the path of vengeance to the path of salvation. He’s already proven himself charismatic enough to have had a profound effect.

“But now, he is overcome by the fell affliction and only death stands a chance at saving his immortal soul from demonic torment.”

“Wha’ about wha’ Chaos said, sir?” Daria asked. “About a possession bein’ reversed?”

“She’s right, James.” Walter added. “If it is a possibility, should we not consider exploring it? As you said yourself, Stiles has the potential to become a great force of good in the community if not for the demon…”

Richter put a hand to his temple. “I’ve been at this since you and Daria were in grade school, Walter. I’ve seen this before. Not this extensive, with the full assumption of a new shape, but close. There is no going back. Douglas Stiles is dead and a creature from Hell is using him as a puppet. Listen to experience before getting starry eyed over what some prelate’s opinion is.”

“But if he’s seen it,” Daria pressed. “Doesna’ tha’ mean somethin’?”

“It means what he saw wasn’t a demon.” Richter snapped. “Psionics can do incredible things and it wouldn’t be the first time one was mistaken for a demon. Now get your gear together. The Descendants are right; the best chance we’ll have of dealing with him is at the rally tomorrow, which means tonight, I need to call Home and get permission and the rest of you need to focus your faith to ensure you’re up for the fight.” He nodded to Walter. “It’s time to put them on, Walter.”

With a resigned nod in return, Walter reached into his bag and extracted two piles of white bandages and a small jar with two tear-shaped rubies suspended in alcohol. Each gem was about the size of the end of his thumb.

“More accurately, it would be putting them in.” Walter held one of the gems up to the light. The Bloodlight Relics were two of the most secret and closely guarded objects of their kind and had been entrusted to Walter because he was the least likely to misuse them.

“I think I’m gon’ take a bit o’ a walk.” Daria said, getting up. “Maybe go back ta’ m’ room an’ change.” She didn’t like to watch or even be in the same room when Walter activated the Relics. The others knew this, even if she didn’t seem to notice they did.

Respectfully, Walter waited until she had vacated the room to open the jar. The stinging odor of alcohol quickly filled the room as he gingerly extracted the Relics. He had been entrusted with them for three years and even after that time; he couldn’t help but admire them. Cut to razor sharpness at the thin part of the tear drop shape, they boasted dozens of facets, each with bore a minute etching of an angelic symbol. More symbols were somehow impressed into the heart of the stones, yet as the light passed over them, the stones looked perfectly translucent.

Carefully, Walter placed one on the heel of his right palm and used the bandage to secure it there, then repeated the process with the other. The wrappings made him look as if he was preparing for a prize fight, which in a sense was exactly what he was doing.

Taking a sharp breath, he closed his fists and flexed. The gems bit deeply into his flesh, causing blood to well up and flow over the relics. Even beneath the bandages, a soft red glow was kindled from deep within the rubies.

Wincing form the pain, Walter looked to Richter. “Are you sure there isn’t another way?” He asked. “The bolts can burn the flesh of a mortal man to nothing.”

“It is what must be done.” Richter said solemnly. “Practice a bit before you go out. Take Daria with you, and try to explain to her that I’m right.”

“Shouldn’t you do that?” Walter asked.

“I would.” His field leader said, “But I need to put in a call to Dr. Tang before we do anything. This Occult person being involved may have changed his plans somewhat.”

“All I’m saying,” Lisa was saying to JC as the pair left the Cineplex, “Is that the trilogy stood up better by itself. Tacking on a fourth movie didn’t even feel like the same story anymore.”

JC shrugged. “Probably, but who cares when you’ve got John Shaffer fighting separatists room to room on a sinking battle ship? Did you see the part where he waited for the water to rise over the other guy’s boots, then switched on the circuits to fry him?”

“He did that in Tactical Discipline 2, too.” Lisa pointed out.

“Totally different thing.” JC argued. “In that one, he turned a fire hose on the guy while he was next to an electric fence.”

“Would that even really work?”

“Eh, when the main character can consistently shoot to kneecap with a nail gun, things like science and reality aren’t key to the whole thing.”

“I get to pick the movie next time.” Lisa shook her head and smiled. It had been a while since she and JC had managed to get through a whole date without Occult getting in the way. The Mauler was still out in force, but after the encounter the previous week, Codex had tracked her down on one of her excursions and given her the frequency to a special scanner band they would broadcast to if they needed her.

She was sure that it would give Chaos fits and that was perfectly fine with her; his costumed persona wasn’t exactly nice to her costumed persona.

“It’s going to be the one where the goofy teacher none of the other teachers likes comes to a new school and teaches all the problem kids to dance or blow glass or something, isn’t it?” JC shuddered in horror.

“Which one is that?” Lisa asked, eyes lighting up. Troubled teen features were, after all, her favorite.

“They’re all like that.” JC rolled his eyes. “At least the ones you pick. The guy in that last one looked eerily like Mr. DeCosta. I can’t even go to econ class without thinking he’s going to be waiting for me with tap shoes.”

“You know, if you just gave them a chance, you—“ Lisa let out a sharp hiss of pain as it suddenly felt like someone had passed a white hot needle into her temple. She caught herself from falling by putting a hand on the wall. The other went to her head.

“You okay?” JC asked, confused.

Lisa didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t answer, because she didn’t hear him. Her body was there in the mall with JC, but her senses, mostly, her hearing were elsewhere.

“She calls herself Occult.” A gruff, male voice said, “They say she’s a prelate. We have reason to believe she’s a witch, tapping demonic power.” The irony was lost amid Lisa’s confusion.

“Make sure she isn’t a psionic with an eclectic power.” Another voice, this one detached, but somewhat warm replied. “Once you’re sure, it is God’s own word that you cannot suffer a witch to live. Without malice, strike her down and pray for her immortal soul.”

“Thank you Dr. Tang.” The first speaker said. Lisa felt more than saw the image of a large, old fashioned handgun. There was power in it, magic bent and forged in ways she couldn’t begin to understand.

Then she was back in her own body, in the mall, with JC’s arm around her.

“…need to get you to a doctor?” JC was saying.

The pain gone, Lisa straightened. “No, I’m fine. Maybe it was like a delayed ice cream headache or something.” she was getting more proficient at lying to her boyfriend than she was strictly comfortable with.

“You looked like you were having a seizure or something.” JC said. “You know, my cousin had those. Not like all the time, or severe or anything. She was kind of out there anyway – said it was what happened when someone walked on her grave.”

“Cheery.” Lisa deadpanned, “But I’m fine. Let’s go get something at the food court, or hit the arcade.”

“After that?” JC asked, worried.

“I insist. Between Kay feeling extra needy and Snackrifice and school, we never do couple stuff anymore. Let’s fix that.” She said quickly. That was true, but at the moment, all she wanted to do was ignore the bizarre vision she’d just seen.

-- • --

Aaron Crawford watched the local news coverage for the rally on a small palm device. “It’s looking good, sir.” He said, indicating the screen. “Just out of hand, I’d say there’s two maybe four hundred out there already and you haven’t arrived.

Across from him, sitting back in the seat of the limousine his people had rented, Douglas Stiles smiled. “The ones that really believe don’t have much of an excuse, do they, Aaron? The Lord’s blessed us with a beautiful day today.”

“That he did.” Aaron nodded. “Though I really wish you would reconsider relying purely on MPD to protect you. There are private security firms that have very robust countermeasures for rogue psionics.”

Stiles smiled a knowing smile. “And what if one of their… species… does kill me?” he asked. “Like Abraham Lincoln or Martin Luther King, my death could only galvanize my point. If anything happens to me, it will just prove that psionics are a dangerous breed and need to be put under lock and key.”

“You believe strongly enough to martyr yourself?” Aaron asked.

The reverend nodded. “My friend, when my life came crashing down last year, I had a revelation. I always felt uncomfortable around them. Everyday, I had to ride the maglev into City Central with a woman with a prehensile tail and another that can levitate her briefcase. One of my former coworkers constantly surpassed those with twice his seniority because his brain was a perfect, high speed calculator. They’re dangerous—not just because some of them can level buildings, but on a socio-economic arena as well.”

He looked out the window at the buildings passing and the looming towers of City Central, his old place of employment. “And every day, I ignored it because my government told me they had a leash on them. The Academy was ‘here to help’. But then God let them show me how wrong that was. We must, as a species deal with this new threat and first and foremost, we need to deal with the ones that turn our city into their private battleground.”

“Excellent speech sir.” Aaron said, admiringly. “It’s sure to move everyone at the rally.”

“What a beautiful day in the neighborhood for casual discrimination.” Ian groused quietly over the com hidden in his sunglasses. From a hotdog stand near the housing commission building, he watched the crowd assembled to rally behind Stiles’ message of fear.

A few people with bullhorns were shouting at the crowd, mostly focusing on the anti-prelate propaganda Stiles was most famous for. None of it remotely resembled any religious context as one would expect from a group headed by a reverend. Crude poster boards bore such slogans as ‘powers don’t make you better’, ‘prelate = vigilante’ and ‘US Gov’t, Reclaim Your Property!’. The last one in particular raised Ian’s hackles until he reminded himself that no one in the crowd knew the truth, only conspiracy theories that happened to be right.

“On the bright side, turnout is lower than projected.” Laurel replied from her post in one of the Library’s private reading rooms overlooking City Hall. “And I’m pleased at the counter protest that’s forming, considering they only had a week of lead time to organize.”

“This would never happen in New York.” Warrick complained from the alley where he was stationed.

“Mostly because descendants are a big enough voting bloc there that no one wants to piss them off.” Ian said cynically.

“Pretty much.” Warrick confirmed. “The system works.”

“Yeah, if there’s enough of you.” Cyn said from her post high above on one of the ledges of City Hall.

“I really think that if someone just explained everything to these people, they’d understand how wrong this is.” Juniper was navigating among the attendees.

“Sometimes, that isn’t really enough.” Laurel said sadly.

“Well maybe they just haven’t heard it explained right…”

“You don’t explain away racism.” Melissa, who was also in the crowd countered, “You’ve got to kick and scream and make them stop and even then it’s a bitch.”

“Racism?” Warrick asked. “We’re not really a race… I mean we’re all like different races, aren’t we?”

“That’s a question no one has satisfactorily dealt with.” Alexis said, reciting from her old teaching guides. She was in a small café across the street from Ian.

“Limo alert.” Cyn interrupted, spying the black vehicle flying in from downtown. “It’s Stiles.”

“Everyone get ready.” Laurel said. “Keep an eye out for the Sineaters. Shutting the com link down so we don’t give each other away when things get quiet.”

It was a two story leap from the window she’d finally managed to reach unobserved to the ledge. Vorpal made it look easy as she dropped into a graceful crouch beside a gargoyle. Her goggles rendered everything on the ground with perfect clarity even ten stories up.

The limousine had just arrive and Stiles was approaching the platform.

Beneath her mask, her teeth ground. It was frustrating to watch him down there, condemning people he didn’t even know. It would be so easy to drop him from where she sat, ending his career of hatemongering. But it would just be the beginning of the anti-psionic movement. There were only a few hundred at best currently. If she followed her emotions, they would swell in ranks to thousands and kindle more violence and death. So all she could do was watch with morbid curiosity.

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder. “I don’t suggest you do what I’m pretty sure you’re here to do.”

A normal person would have flinched or given in to their fight or flight response. Vorpal just turned to see the gargoyle she had landed next to giving her a stern, angry look. The stony skin and horned head melted into golden flesh and feathered wings.

“You.” Vorpal spat. “So the mighty Descendants are doing security detail for the man that wants to destroy them?”

“It’s complicated, little Miss Corset.” Facsimile replied, tightening her grip on the other woman’s shoulder. “And even if he deserves a sound beating, very bad things could happen if some nut with powers offed him, get it?”

“Perfectly.” Vorpal nodded. “I’m not here to kill him. But really, would you miss him? If there wasn’t so much riding on him not being assassinated, would you really mind if I gave him a high speed lobotomy?”

“I won’t cry when the guy goes,” Facsimile admitted, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let someone kill someone else if I have a way of stopping it. And if they get away with it, I’ll do my best to bring them to justice.”

“Really? Your country still has capitol punishment and you don’t stop that.” Vorpal argued.

“That’s different.”

“Why? Because they’re all bad people? Fine. Then what about Brazil? Because of what you people did, people still die a death of torment every day there. What are you doing to avenge that?”

“I wasn’t even in grade school when that happened.” Facsimile said. The exchange was frustrating her and it showed in her ever tightening grip.

“Very young, aren’t you?” Vorpal asked, “You don’t have the answers. Hell, I don’t have the answers and I’ve seen the bodies piling up. But maybe you think you can change things as a prelate. Stop a mugging, maybe a banks job and make yourself feel better.”

“Who the hell are you?” Facsimile demanded, finally.

“I’m you without the blinders, hero. I’m going to find a more peaceful place to watch this macabre event.” Vorpal kicked her legs back and let herself fall off the ledge and out of Facsimile’s grip. “Think about that next time you’re trying to save someone that wishes you didn’t exist.”

Facsimile spread her wings and prepared to drop after the other woman, but when she looked over the side, there was no sign of a falling body or of Vorpal holding on to the wall.

She was about to call Laurel about it when the crowd below started screaming.

“This is positively depressing.” Walter said, standing next to Daria in the sea of people listening to Stiles speak. “All of these people held in thrall by a being of darkness speaking falsehoods in the Lord’s name.”

“Aye,” the redhead nodded. “a bunch o’ wee lambs followin’ a Judas goat ta’ tha’ slaughter they are. But tha’ is no’ as depressin’ as thinkin’ maybe we could save this one ‘stead o’ killin’ ‘im.”

“We can’t afford to think like that.” Walter admonished her, glancing ahead of him to where Richter and Cristoff were standing, watching the speech. “That’s what happens to most Sineaters, you know? They can’t forget the faces of the corrupted they had to destroy in the Lord’s name. Eventually, they can’t keep up the holy fight.”

“You ever worry it’ll happen ta’ you?” Daria asked.

“All the time.” Walter admitted. “But I try to think it through analytically. If there was a way to reverse possession, surely the Lord would provide it in some shape or form by now rather than allow the Devil to destroy so many of His people.”

“Maybe we arena’ lookin’ hard enough.” Daria said quietly. Both were silent for a long moment. They were shocked out of their funks by the crowd around them flying into frenzied panic.

“I’m thinking your role is about as marginalized as it could possibly be.” Kay complained. Her hair was a very conservative black so as not to stand out in the crowd.

“If Codex thinks it will help, I’ll do it.” Lisa said as they sat down on one of the planters out in front of the library. She dropped one hand down to the bag at her waist, subconsciously making sure her components were still in place through the material. “And trust me, you didn’t see the aftermath of that last fight, they need whatever little bit can help.”

“Couldn’t you just fishbowl this demon priest guy and be done with it? You said you’ve made the globe things stronger, right?”

“And if they don’t hold? No, Kay, this is a good plan. I’ll save the Force Globes for the demon hunters.” Lisa said. “Also… I want you to get inside the second anything starts happening.”

“Oh, come on!” Kay whined. “There’s like a hundred people here, what could he possibly do to me personally?”

“Kay, this is the Mauler; the guy whose MO is killing people in public? Not to mention crossfire from these Sineater guys…”

“I’ll be fine! Kay protested. “More than fine, the Scribe has a bounty on quality photos of our native prelates; with all of you here together, I’ll have the cash to get some recording sessions for the band…”

“Kay!” Lisa interrupted her. “You are my best friend and I don’t want you getting hurt, so will you please, please promise me that you won’t put yourself in harm’s way?” She looked the shorter girl in the eye to convey the gravity of her request.

“Is this about that weird vision thing that happened with you and JC yesterday?” Kay asked.

“I don’t… no, Kay. This is for your own good. Just get inside, okay?!”

“It could be nothing, you know.” Kay pressed, “like a hallucination from all the glammer practice, or maybe it’s something from the past… or like a decade in the future. You don’t know how these things work.”

“It doesn’t matter, Kay, we don’t know what this Mauler thing really is… maybe he really is a demon and all Hell’s about to break lo—“

“Holy shit!” Kay shouted, looking over Lisa’s shoulder at the platform. Lisa heard the screaming even before she turned around.

“I’m not saying that psionics aren’t all still God’s children.” Stiles said, his voice carrying out over the assembled crowd. “But like the gift of free will He also gave to us, the gifts these beings are born with are a double edged sword. They can be used to either create or destroy.”

“What we want to do is ensure that psionics in this great nation all put their powers to constructive purposes. But they can’t do with when their most visible role models solve their problems in destructive battles and in open acts of defiance against the government!”

“That is why the government needs to step in and deal with these people. Otherwise, Descendants today will lead to more Arjun Ravis and eventually Columbian style radicalism tomorrow!”

It was the same basic speech he gave at his community meetings; heavier on urging government regulation, but still hammering home the dangers of prelates. The difference was that he had the local and possibly national media focused on him. Being that kind of center of attention was intoxicating.

But every great showman knew his audience’s attention span and so, when he finished, he gladly abdicated the podium for another speaker.

Aaron met him as he walked back to his seat. “Good speech, sir, you really drove your message home…”

“But?” Stiles asked, sensing an unspoken addendum.

“It’s missing something, sir.” Aaron said in a whisper as the other speaker began. “Something that would cement your message in the world for decades…” his voice dropped to a low growl. “Something that would turn thousands against the psionics…”

Stiles quirked and eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Aaron’s open palm struck his chest, sending the reverend flying backward into the other speaker and almost sending both of them toppling off the platform.

Grinning, a too wide grin, Aaron laughed, a rough, barking laugh. His body contorted and changed shape, sprouting wide, sweeping wings and terrible horns.

The Mauler stretched to his full height where Aaron had once been. “You don’t know, Reverend?” He brayed with laughter. “You taught me after all. You need a martyr.”

-- • --

Before she had even turned around, Lisa had her hand in her bag, retrieving a double terminated piece of quartz. Bringing it up before her eyes, she focused on the sunlight reflecting within it and spoke her incantation. “Toda la luz que abarca.”

Both she and Kay shielded their eyes as a brilliant white ball of luminescence came into being between Stiles and the Mauler and rapidly expanded outward. Three full blocks in all directions, even vertically, were engulfed in the flare within seconds, plunging everyone and everything therein into a sea of white.

Lisa didn’t waste any time. She opened her bag, knowing that there was a handful of specially prepared crystal spheres set to obey her next command in series. “Seek!” she shouted. The bag jolted as five streaks of blue plunged into the whiteness. A sixth flew to her. She felt the glammer fall into place over her with her attuned senses. “Now it’s your turn.” She said aloud, knowing Codex could hear her.

Laurel opened the com frequencies to the other Descendants with a push of a button. “Okay guys; that was Occult. She’s just given you a wardrobe change. Use it to your advantage when she drops the flare.”

“This was not part of the plan!” Ian shouted angrily into the com.

“It was always part of my plan.” Laurel said calmly. “I just didn’t feel like fighting you on this.” Ian didn’t get the chance to respond as the light faded and the world flooded back into view.

Chaos reigned as protesters on both sides bolted away from the platform. Mauler clutched his eyes and roared, Stiles temporarily forgotten as he searched for the source of the attack on his senses.

Richter shouldered past protesters running past him to a clear spot fifty yards from the podium. A clear shot in sight, the reached behind his back and unholstered his weapon. It was an antique, almost a hundred years old, but hardly a relic; a Desert Eagle, reconstructed and reinforced for use with his faith power. On his best days, he could end a demon with a single shot.

Codex spoke over the com, “Center of the crowd, going toward the fight—the Sineaters.”

A woman near him screamed when she saw the gun and threw herself to the pavement. Most didn’t even notice him, so great was their fear of the demon. Richter didn’t notice them either. In that moment, it was just him, his faith and the monster it would destroy. “In God’s most Holy name, I return thee to Hell.” His breath came in puffs of mist in a sudden chill.

The ground shifted beneath his feet and he stumbled on frost rimed pavement, coming down hard on his side.

Zero shook her head, looking at him. “This isn’t the way to do this.” She said. “There has to be—“She stopped cold as an O-fuda flew through the air and attached itself to her forehead. She stood statue still in mid-plea.

“Excellent work, Daria.” Richter said, standing again.

Meanwhile, the Mauler gave up on his search for his attacker as Stiles tried to crawl away with the help of the female speaker he’d bowled over in being thrown against the podium. “I thought you wanted this, Reverend.” He hissed, stomping after the pair.

“I want nothing to do with your dealings, you psionic monster!” Stiles proclaimed.

Mauler threw back his horned head and laughed. “You still don’t get it, do you? Psionics are to me what a lizard is to you; an inferior form of life that isn’t even related. But like you, I think they make excellent scapegoats.”

“Thanks for the inspiration, fright night!” Facsimile plunged from ten stories up to collide with the monster. Her arms, held before her, were covered in horn like protrusions that bit deeply into his abdomen as they collided. Prelate and demon toppled with Facsimile coming out on top.

With an agile flip, she threw herself free and landed in a crouch with her back to Stiles. No gore stained her arm-horns as she reabsorbed them – as she had feared, the Mauler was strong enough to take that. She reabsorbed her wings as well, sending all the mass to her muscles. “Come on, gruesome, I’m ready for another round.”

Scarcely had the Mauler started to pull himself up than he was hammered back down by a fist of wind in conjunction with a column of black heat.

“Get Stiles and anyone else to cover!” Darkness ordered Facsimile. “Keep an eye on him!”

“Aw, man.” Facsimile groaned, but turned to Stiles anyway. “Let’s go jackass.”

“Jackass?!” Stiles demanded indignantly.

Facsimile lifted him by his lapel and put him in a fireman’s carry. “I’m not saving you because I like you, I’m saving you because I, unlike you, am not a monster.” She motioned for the other speaker to follow her.

“He’s down!” Richter growled, watching Darkness and Chaos hammer the Mauler with their powers. “I don’t have a clear shot. Walter, draw them off—“He was cut off by Isp grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him roughly around.

“We’ve got this.” Alloy said. “Back off.”

“Ye donna have tha’ right ta stop us.” Daria let fly with an O-fuda.

Osp bisected it with a bladed strike. For good measure, he whipped around and quartered it before it hit the ground.

“I’ve got all the right in the world.” Alloy said. “Because I’m not going to let you kill the man trapped in that thing.”

With the Sineaters all facing Alloy, Occult ran to Zero and pulled the O-fuda free.

“A better solution than… what just happened?” Juniper asked, noticing the shift in the battle.

“Stasis.” Occult said. “You might want to freeze the paper lady’s card carrier.”

“The witch!” Richter shouted, snapping his attention to Occult. “Walter!”

Hesitating only a moment, Walter brought up his bandaged fists. Occult felt the power surge wildly around him as he called up his focus. “Snap fire!” he intoned. Red serpents of light uncoiled from the ether before his hands and undulated forward in air only slightly slower than bullets. The very air around them burned and flared.

Zero pushed off Occult, throwing both women form the path of the oncoming attack. The snap fire bursts slithered past, into the facade of the café, leaving molten brick in their wake.

“You are impotent against me!” Mauler declared, leaping against the combined assault and grasping Darkness around the torso in one hand. Using momentum in his favor, he pinned her to the ground. Turning his gaze on Chaos, he rumbled “Bring me Stiles. Now!”

Going limp in the monster’s clutches, Darkness directed her focus on a nearby fire hydrant. A think beam of black heat bored a hole in it, allowing high pressure water to gush out and into her captor.

Knocked off balance, Mauler had no choice but to relinquish his hold on Darkness. “Zero!” She shouted, flying clear of the monster.

“I… can’t right now!” Zero shouted back, dodging more snap fire with Occult.

“I can.” Chaos said, pressing his will against the water at geysering across the street. The water congealed into a slick sheet before rising up to wrap the Mauler and immobilized his arms and wings.

Osp snapped out and wrapped Walter’s arms, pushing them downward just as he released another round of snap fire. “Go, Z!” Alloy called even as he struck at Richter’s gun with his power. It had no effect, similar to the way it had behaved when he’d used his powers on Morganna’s magically created dagger. “Shit, they’ve got magic.”

“It is not magic!” Cristoff rarely spoke, but he felt someone had to in defense of the Sineaters’ methods. He barged into the armored prelate, attempting to grapple him. Isp and Osp didn’t give him a chance, lifting the man overhead before he got within a yard.

“Did you really expect that to work?” Alloy asked, “What could that have possibly achieved?!”

“It go’ your extra arm outta m’ way.” Daria said, sending an O-fuda his way. It hit him in the forehead and paralyzed him as it had Zero. “We’ll be getting’ ye out, Cristoff, jus’ hold on—“

Before she could finish, the tentacle threw Cristoff into her, sending both sprawling. Isp tore the O-fuda from Alloy’s head with a swift flick.

With the Sineaters occupied, Zero turned her attention to the Mauler, freezing the water bonds solid around him.

“Wretched Mankinds!” Mauler screamed, batting his wings to get off the ground. “You’ve tried containing me before. It does not work. It cannot work!” Cars along the street suddenly sprouted snaking chains that whipped out to capture the demon’s legs, tethering him in flight.

“It’s going to work!” Alloy said, ignoring Walter’s bursts of snap fire as Isp and Osp easily deflected them. More quietly, he spoke into the com. “It’s not. The metal is strained past even me holding it together. This guy is strong.”

In her hastily assembled command room in the library, Codex watched the battle via the city’s security feeds as well as the window. “Just hold him there and hammer him a bit more. Ephemeral’s going to try something.” She looked at the monitor showing Ephemeral’s view from the Astral. “Anything yet?” She asked him.

“I can only see the man. He seems to be reacting to the creature’s actions… favorably. I do not think he is an entirely innocent victim here.” Ephemeral replied. “But I can’t see any sign of the creature itself, even though I know it is there.”

“It may not have an astral form as we know it.” Codex reasoned. “Try listening for thoughts like you were able to after the incident at the bridge.”

“I will try.” Ephemeral affirmed. “But it may make me visible. I hope it will not add to the panic.”

Codex looked out the window at Occult raising a wall to deflect Walter’s snap fire as screaming civilians tried to find cover. “I doubt that’s even possible.”

Amid the rigmarole, Richter saw his chance. The demon was restrained and struggling—a sitting duck. He once more raised his gun. The heavy pistol hummed with power as his opened his mind and channeled his faith—what the practitioners in the East called chi—into it. A .50mm AE round, specially constructed with a core of blessed, unworked iron was in the chamber, waiting. He squeezed the trigger.

“No! Levanto esta pared!” A wall of red pentagonal scales blossomed in the space between the bullet and the Mauler. The blessed bullet struck it with a resonating crack and then both bullet and wall were gone. Occult slammed into Richter from the side, staff in hand, but useless in such close quarters.

“Witch!” Richter howled. “You protected that unholy creature! I knew better than to have ignored you, agent of Satan!”

“I’m not the one hell bent on killing an innocent person because they’re infested with some mystic parasite.” Occult challenged.

Richter shouted wordlessly and clouted her in the head with the barrel of his gun, knocking her back. “Don’t try and speak to me about good and evil. You’ve made a pact with something just as fell and terrible as that creature for your powers.” He leveled his gun at her. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”

“You really should have spent more time studying and less time on the shooting range.” Chaos caught Richter off guard with a left cross and followed it up with a jab to the arm that knocked the gun from his hand. “Exodus 22:18 means a magic user that aggressively changes her environment.” He threw another punch that Richter blocked. “I know that for a fact. I’ve taken a certain interest in that passage as of late.”

“That’s what she is.” Richter spat.

“Have you seen her hurt anyone?” Chaos asked. “Hell, if anyone here is an aggressive spell caster, it’s the man with the magic gun. I told you before, Richter, we won’t let you kill that guy.” He faked with a right and landed an upper cut to Richter’s jaw that dropped him. Chaos shook his head over his fallen foe. “You’re just lucky these aren’t my regular gloves.”

“Thanks.” Occult said to him as he turned away from Richter.

“I don’t like what you do.” Chaos said, “But I’ll be damned if someone’s going to kill another prelate if I can stop it.”

“I’m really glad you two don’t hate each other anymore.” Zero interrupted, “But Mauler’s breaking free!”

Above them, though peppered by black heat bolts from Darkness, Mauler was breaking his way free of his restraints of ice and metal.

“I cannot reach him.” Ephemeral told Codex over the com. He is too high up on the astral side.”

“I hear you.” Codex said. “Someone, bring him down!” she relayed.

“Now we’re talking!” Facsimile darted up from behind. Her claws became diamond hard as she closed, raking Mauler’s wings. “This is for making me save that bag of hot air!” she crowed as her claws converted the thin membranes of Mauler’s wings to ribbons. The demon cursed in an alien tongue as he fell to earth.

Immediately, there was a flash of rose colored light before the Mauler. From it stepped a tall, handsome Arabic youth. A domino mask in gold rested on his eyes, a form fitting red shirt covered his chest and arms, emblazoned on the chest with the Arabic word for ‘dream’ in gold. His pants were in the loose fitting Punjabi style and done in gold like his mask. Ephemeral stood before the deadly Mauler.

“Wow, nice costume.” Alloy commented over the com.

“Astral…” Mauler growled, getting to his feet. “Impressive, Mankind, but it means nothing. You cannot harm me from there and your attempts to seek my mind are laughable. Perhaps you intend to kill me with your bare hands?”

On the ground, Richter watched the exchange. Mauler towered over Ephemeral the smaller being had no chance. The leader of the Sineaters raised a hand and his firearm flew to it. He had to do it in one shot—because the Descendants and their witch wouldn’t give him a second.

“I don’t intend to target you. And I have no intention of taking as single life” Ephemeral said. “But I can see your host still on the Astral side. I can make him useless to you.” Simultaneously, on the astral side, he formed a needle and willed it forward toward the possessed astral body of Aaron Crawford.

“And just how do you—aaaaarrrgh!” Mauler wailed in pain as the needle reached Crawford and sank into the top of his head. The demon contorted as its connection to its host hemorrhaged energy. With terrifying rapidity, the Mauler transformed back into the body of Aaron Crawford. A ball of green, crackling light emerged from the man’s head, trailing tentacles of similar energy as it lunged upward.

He couldn’t let it get away, Richter knew. It would corrupt another, end their life just the same. He fired. The bullet passed through Crawford’s head just as the demon left him completely. Life fled his eyes as he fell backward.

The air above split into a pinkish rift, which was then flooded with green. The demon’s true form surged upward toward it.

“Destroy it!” Richter screamed, but Walter and Daria just froze, looking at him in horror. The demon had fled Crawford before he fired. Chaos had been right.

Darkness landed next to Crawford’s body, carrying Hope. She unleashed a bar of black heat at the retreating demon, but it corkscrewed out of the way. “See if you can do anything for him, Hope.” She ordered.

“Oh god, oh god, the back of his head’s blown off…” Hope said franticly as she fumbled with her power. “Can you even heal that? Is he already dead?” Crawford shuddered as she poured her power into him. The rivulets of blood pouring from his head wound ceased and his face became more gaunt.

Above, the green jellyfish of energy threw itself into the rift, which slammed shut after it with a thunderclap.

“You son of a bitch!” Chaos roared, lifting Richter off the ground and knocking the gun out of his hand once more. “You son of a bitch, you killed him. We did all that, pushed that thing out of him and you killed him!”

“I did what was necessary.” Richter said coldly. I’m not happy about it, but his soul was lost with or without that demon.” He turned to his subordinates. “Daria, teleport us out.”

The Irish woman shook her head, watching Chaos shake her leader roughly.

“Daria!” Richter barked.

“No.” Walter said. “She won’t and I won’t ask her to. The demon was out of him, James. It was fleeing and you have no place to say if that man’s soul was lost or not. That is God’s domain.”

“Cristoff!” Richter ordered and the big healer started forward.

With a flick of her wrist, Daria threw an O-fuda into the back of his head. A bust of electricity knocked him down and sent him to the pavement. “No.” Daria shook her head. “Ye coulda’ aimed upward. Ye may've even killed tha’ cursed thing if ye’d done so. But ye shot tha’ man in cold blood, Richter. And made murderers o’ us all. We stay. We face justice for our sins.”

“Not a murderer.” Darkness said, coming up to the group. “But not for lack of trying.”

Chaos lowered Richter a fraction and stopped shaking him. “You mean he lived?”

She put a hand on Chaos’s shoulder. “Thanks to Hope and a little luck. The bullet went through clean instead of fragmenting in his brainpan.” She said.

“Yeah…” Chaos said, dropping Richter and picking up the gun to keep it out of reach of the Sineaters’ leader. He looked at the various angelic symbols engraved in patterns on it. “Luck.” He said.

From her perch on a higher ledge on City Hall, Vorpal stared at the sky in fascination. The rift had opened and her goggles had seen through it. Not into the green flotsam at the event horizon, but beyond it.

By touch alone, she dialed her phone and waited for line to connect. She didn’t address Liedecker by name in case of hackers. “We need to meet. Now. I just saw something you want to hear about.

End Issue #18