EHYEH-ASHER-EHYEH (I AM THAT I AM): An Elena Duran/Corazon Negro
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@directvinternet.com)
Sun, 22 Sep 2002 01:24:06 -0400
Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh (I am that I am) 17/34
Julio Cesar divad72@prodigy.net.mx
Vi Moreau vmoreau@directvinternet.com
The masked men opened fire simultaneously, lighting up the smoke like a
welders' arc. Thunder and lightning filled the chamber again. "Let's get the
fuck out of here!" a voice said.
"Watch it ... behind you. Fucking move, will you!" another man shouted in a
language Dr. Ford recognized as Greek. She was ashen, confused. Gulping for
air like a grouper. They'd just been talking a moment before. How could the
situation have unraveled so fast? Who had attacked them? And who was
attacking the attackers?
One terrorist strayed too close, and the Arab's scimitar-my God, it was a
'scimitar!'-bit into him, cutting him in two. The comrades of the fallen man
were so terrified that for an instant they hesitated before they charged
upon their prey, rifles blazing.
But the bullets never made contact. Unbelievably, around the huge Arab, the
projectiles changed their trajectory. A second huge man appeared in scene,
and Dr. Ford saw the defining moment of this bond when the Arab locked his
gaze with a shaven-head man and whipped a second sword from his back and
extended it, pommel first, toward the new arrival.
Shattering windows sounded above the cacophony of terror. Then, as if the
panic and disorientation were not enough, hell truly broke loose when
grenades burst and spread across the assembly.
"Get the presidents out!" yelled a young blond-haired man, taking Dr. Ford's
arm and helping her to stand. For a moment, she stared into his amazing
two-colored eyes. "Take them all out of here!"
Then the attackers pounced upon them. The doctor screamed. Suddenly, a sword
flashed in front her and lopped off one of the terrorist's arms. Its keening
wail was so high-pitched that it sounded above the other ruckus. Shattered
glass panes dropped near her.
"Get out of here!" the blond young man ordered at her as he threw her toward
what she hoped was a clear exit, invisible in the smoke.
"Get out while you still can! Run for your lives!" a tall, thin,
black-haired man screamed. He had a sword too and his face was painted in
blue. He was already fighting against the shadows.
Running in the direction he'd suggested, Dr. Ford spared a glance to see
what had become of her rescuer. A tenebrous tendril as thick as his leg was
knotted about the blond-haired man's waist and it spun about like a bucking
stallion, smashing the man time after time onto the tiled floor of the
chamber.
Dr. Ford felt a fleeting sense of pity, but she was too scared and felt too
helpless to assist, but as she tried to run a bullet hit her leg and she
immediately fell back to the floor, awash in pain. Desperate, she stood
again and bolted, limping slowly, surveying the battlefield, which was a
blur, a body-strewn wasteland she had to navigate. She nearly stumbled over
a man's shattered body. It could have been Perez for all she knew-or cared.
"Hunters!" someone yelled.
"I'm Death! I'm the last Horseman!" the man painted in blue yelled. "Come
and get me!"
Who the hell were the Hunters and the Last Horseman? Unable to find a way
out, she found herself, in the space of a few heartbeats, safely ensconced
in the cubicle of wood, which had made up the lectern for her speech and was
still, miraculously, whole. There was a single moment of clarity amidst the
chaos of darkness, blood and ruin. It was refreshed in her mind during each
split-second interval of the thunderous pounding her body sustained. A
million thoughts raced through her mind. She guessed herself not so much in
shock as completely and utterly baffled. She heard the screams and threats
and war cries all around her, and discovered, to her horror, that she was
kneeling in a puddle of blood. She forced herself to remain calm. Panicking
now would only bring the attackers upon her quickly. But when a pair of red
eyes seemed to flash from the darkness directly toward the spot where she
crouched, she lost her resolve. She tried to stand and to run for her life
again, in spite of her injury and her terror.
"Get out of my way!" a man shouted behind Dr. Ford. She turned and saw that
the new arrival was a man with long gray hair and beard, dressed in a white
robe, like a Druid from the history books?
The man raised a huge golden sword at the shadows in front of him, and as
Dr. Ford ducked again, the man commanded. "Burn!"
Tendrils of fire seemed to explode out of the blade, searching for victims
in the terrorists ahead. An explosion rocked the top of the building. Gouts
of flame burst from the upper windows and fled into the night with the
shriek of tormented spirits. Dozens of bodies, mostly dead but some still
alive and now shrieking, began to burn.
========
Feeling the darkness around him, Methos' senses instantly grew hyper-alert,
compensating for the sudden loss of sight. Someone nearby screamed-a
primeval instinct in any crowd plunged into darkness and live ammunition,
and one that didn't die with the mortal soul-but Methos had not survived so
many centuries by panicking.
Instead, a long forgotten memory possessed him at once: he was no longer
just the Immortal Methos. He was much more than that. He was now more than
the calculating son of a bitch Joe Dawson used to call him. His entire body
felt it. His primordial soul changed. In the midst of battle, he became
Death once more.
He noticed everything at once: the crowd being attacked, trying to escape
the fusillade of bullets. Zarach and Aylon taking advantage of the darkness
to move closer toward the terrorists, killing enemies at their path,
charging like lions through a herd of herbivores.
The screams continued, a pregnant sound that fell over the room. Methos knew
this assembly had not expected a sudden attack, but he also knew this was no
accident. Where are the fucking emergency lights? Even evil creatures need
to see! He wondered, as he shifted his weight, and saw that there was some
light from emergency units, that it was flickering- No, he corrected
himself, the light wasn't moving; the shadows were.
Moving forward, Methos discerned swirling in the shadows. Patterns formed as
the unnatural blackness maneuvered to surround the mortals present. The
gunshots, red and yellow, enhanced the effect. Then the darkness caught up
with him, closed around him, and blotted out again what little light there
was. Alerted to the unnatural quality of the enveloping blackness, Methos
now perceived that there was weight and substance to the shadow, and it
pressed against him with increasing determination. Tentacles of blackness
took form, grabbed at his arms, his legs, and his sword.
The rumble continued as, one after another, the emergency lights exploded.
Sparks streamed through the gallery like rockets, and as they died, the true
darkness of the night descended to add its influence to the preternatural
shadow.
Methos struck at the tentacles. He couldn't afford to be immobilized. It was
a strange sensation, his sword slicing through palpable darkness. The
severed tentacles dissipated into nothingness, and the shadows drew back
from him momentarily, only to renew their assault from different directions.
Chaos took hold all around Methos. The shadows advanced and retreated
menacingly; tentacles struck forceful blows that knocked mortals to the
ground. Other strands of black, proving only to be diversions, passed
harmlessly through fist or sword set against him. But always, in the midst
of all, were the swirling shadows, sweeping through the large chamber like
churning storm clouds, so that one moment Methos was standing side-by-side
with Myrddin, and the next, after the darkness closed in, he felt alone
among the placeless expanse of black.
Methos tried to be sure of his blows. He caught a glimpse of Zarach striking
at a shadow but instead smashing his blade into the face of a terrorist. The
man went down in a heap.
Aylon too, seemed to be holding his own against Lilitu's attack-for what
else could it be? No other creature could wield such power. Beyond keeping
the tentacles at bay, however, Methos was unsure how to deal with the
problem. A dozen yards away, a mass of black writhed and jerked violently on
the floor. Something like an arm emerged; clothed in a formal jacket that
Methos seen on a bodyguard moments ago. Now the arm, and the man to whom it
was attached, struggled against the relentless shadow that pressed him to
the floor.
Methos' wild thoughts of what to do next-how to find Lilitu controlling the
darkness, how to stop the attack at the source-were interrupted by the
discovery that his problems had just multiplied many times over.
More remaining emergency lights produced a strobe effect through the dancing
shadows, and advancing through the disorienting scene were many larger,
monstrous shapes.
"Get out while you still can! Run for your lives!" Methos shouted, hoping to
get the attention of Zarach or one of his brothers-in-arms who might make a
difference.
Methos found himself staring at the terrorists that seemed to be coming from
every direction. One pressed ahead of the others, and Methos saw eyes,
blazing red with hatred and hunger.
"Hunters!" Myrddin yelled.
Pleased to have an opponent more tangible than the elusive shadows, Methos
stepped forward to meet the challenge. His sword whistled through the air,
and one of the Hunter's arms fell to the floor in a spray of bloody ichors.
The man shrieked and staggered back toward his mates, which were still
advancing deliberately. Methos licked his lips and tasted some of the mess
that had splattered across his face.
"I'm Death! I'm the last Horseman!" Methos roared. "Come and get me!"
The Hunters hesitated for a moment, having seen what he did to their more
impatient comrade. Throughout the chamber, most of the bodyguards of the
presidents were going down, and quickly.
Then Methos clearly heard Myrddin shouting. "Burn!"
Glass shattered. Shards of the outer windows exploded inward, dug into
clothing and flesh alike. Methos shielded his eyes but ignored the other
dozens of glass splinters and the heat that tore into him. Some Hunters
started to burn. At the same time, the Hunters in front of him renewed their
attack.
Methos struck hard and true. His razor-sharp sword cut through two bodies at
the same time. The Hunters stumbled backward and collapsed for good. And
Methos-no, Death-again waded into the fray.
========
Heru-sa-aset ignored the pounding of the darkness against his back. He
slashed with his sword, and three Hunters dropped to their knees. The
simultaneous roar of what he had noted were Smart-Pulse-Rifles was
deafening. Heru-sa-aset's blade ripped through the Hunters again, tearing
away limbs, shattering bones. Another roaring filled the environment.
The darkness behind Heru-sa-aset trembled as a hail of bullets tore at it.
The Egyptian just frowned and the gunfire never touched him. The lead seemed
to bend around the ancient Immortal. He stood untouched in a torrent of
gunfire.
"Surprised?" he asked the Hunters, and then he attacked with all his force.
Blood splashed against his arms and face as he decapitated two more Hunters.
Then Myrddin yelled, "Burn!"
Tendrils of fire passed next to the Egyptian Prince, as if the tongues of
flames had a life of their own, burning the Hunters next to Heru-sa-aset.
The ancient Immortal heard the explosion above him as shattered glass felt
upon him like rain.
Heru-sa-aset adapted well in any kind of battle. After all, his powers
predated logic, and certainly went far beyond it. He ran like a wolf toward
his enemies. The scent of battle filled his nostrils. It was a delicious
aroma of fear and courage at the same time. In front of him, five more
Hunters were reloading their firearms. And more important, beyond the
terrorists, the Egyptian Prince saw one of the primary forces of the attack,
the bastard Rasputin.
Behind him, Myrddin attacked with his long sword, Excalibur, one more time.
Then the Druid rolled to one side and then somersaulted to his feet.
Heru-sa-aset nodded approvingly that Myrddin was wily enough to keep the
Hunters between himself and Rasputin.
Even so, one Hunter open fire. Heru-sa-aset flicked his eyes along the path
of the bullets, keeping it constantly and instantly in focus. He might
protect himself from it, but there was nothing he could do for Myrddin other
than charge.
Heru-sa-aset began his bolt down the slope as bullets struck Myrddin in the
leg. He winced, but did little more than stagger. Heru-sa-aset snarled a
smile.
"Just fire, damn you!" shouted Rasputin to the Hunters. "Shoot them! Shoot
them all!"
Six more shots were fired, and this time Heru-sa-aset made them pass through
the air around him. Then he briefly met the gaze of Rasputin, who had by now
spotted him.
Rasputin shouted at the Hunters. "To your left!"
The Hunters turned to face Heru-sa-aset, but he was already on top of them.
The Egyptian Prince went right for their necks. He attacked hard to right,
then left, and back again. Heads rolled on the ground.
"Over here!" Rasputin ordered his men one more time.
Bullets screeched past Heru-sa-aset and two found their marks as he charged
another Hunter. One bullet merely scathed him, but the other pounded fully
into his chest, and he felt it rattle through his rib cage.
Heru-sa-aset leaped again, but he was snatched from the air by a tendril of
darkness. It looped around his back and knotted onto him. The jerk was
sudden and unexpected, stunning Heru-sa-aset for a second. But only for a
second. The Egyptian Prince wanted to save some surprise for later in the
battle, but the situation had turned ugly too quickly, so he called his
inner power. The darkness around him melted and continued to disintegrate.
Heru-sa-aset's consciousness drifted in the air. Now he could see the entire
battlefield at once, and he did so in an instant. He noted that Myrddin and
Methos seemed to have their situation under control.
But Rasputin was a different matter. His dread gaze bore upon the rising
Immortal as well. "What are you waiting for? This one is dangerous!"
Spinning quickly, Heru-sa-aset formed a funnel cloud that elongated toward
the ground, and touched down like a dancing tornado. Within the center of
the vortex, the shape of his body could be seeing appearing, until at last
the final wisps of haze evaporated and Heru-sa-aset was left standing before
his opponent.
Heru-sa-aset grimaced at Rasputin and mocked at his words. "Dangerous? I
think, bastard, I have seen your best trick, but you have no idea what I
might yet reveal to you."
There was gunfire behind Heru-sa-aset, but it was not directed at him. Even
so, he risked a glance backwards and saw that the Hunters were firing at
Methos and Myrddin, who were charging hell-bent toward them.
With a roar more animal than human, Rasputin charged at Heru-sa-aset. The
Prince faked a dodge to the other direction before rolling back to his own
left. Rasputin reacted quickly, but his ankle gave way slightly and the
advantage of his reach was negated.
Heru-sa-aset completed his maneuver and struck at the rear of Rasputin's
leg. The monk began fighting a slow retreat, concentrating on defense.
Rasputin was anxiously looking around, but Heru-sa-aset forced him to delay
a moment longer. The Prince focused his senses searching for a weak point he
might exploit. Every chain had its weak link, and the Egyptian was adept at
pinpointing such.
Then he struck. His sudden motion revealed the Prince's intentions to
Rasputin, but he was already inside the monk's guard. He slapped hard at
Rasputin with one hand, and flesh and gore instantly spread from the point
of impact. The follow-up came immediately. Heru-sa-aset's blade crashed
through the fractured chest, and with a spray of blood, splashed into the
flesh.
Rasputin bucked like a raging stallion and howled a high, piercing squeal
that shattered the room. But Heru-sa-aset held on. With a quick movement,
the Egyptian Prince divided Rasputin's body in two. As long as the head
remained attached to its neck, there would be no Quickening. Nevertheless,
Rasputin was out of the fight, forever. And his beheading could always come
later.
Methos looked at this. His clothes were shredded in many places, and his
skin bore the marks of burns from the tentacles that lashed him, but he was
parrying the thrusts of the living darkness. The tentacles stretched from
the shadows beneath one corpse, and yet another tendril began to blossom
forth. It wriggled through the air and joined the assault against Methos.
Heru-sa-aset's face spilt with a grin of admiration, for Methos' movements
were breathtakingly fast. Four tenebrous arms sought to smite him now, but
the sword in his hands was an even faster blurs that knocked aside virtually
every lunge against him. Some few glancing blows penetrated his wall of
defense, but even these Methos fended off before they could grip him.
Myrddin was yelling loudly. " We can't hold out much longer."
Heru-sa-aset knew Myrddin was correct. Fortunately, he had more tricks up
his sleeves-tactics that would never be expected from the Ancient Gathering.
========
Myrddin thanked Avalloc-the main God of Avalon-or whatever deity might be
listening for this strength in his time of need. The last time he'd seen
Heru-sa-aset, the Prince was fighting against Rasputin. He knew the Egyptian
would defeat the monk, and that he could hold the attack long enough.
Fortunately, the foolish Hunters had made an error only too typical of those
Myrddin found himself battling-underestimating their enemy. The Druid was
far more powerful than he looked. He could remember at least seven previous
times when this mistake had saved his life and caused his opponent's defeat.
He hoped this would be the eighth. While he was unable to watch the progress
of Heru-sa-aset against Rasputin, he assumed that the Egyptian would not
enter into such a fray unless he thought his own chances of survival were at
least reasonable.
Myrddin battled against the Hunters in front of him, but at that instant he
felt the bullet hitting his leg as the approaching presence of another
Immortal, a Headless Child, no doubt. Dark tendrils faded away. Darkness
vaporized into a void.
Behind him, Methos' gaze narrowed. "What the fuck?"
With that, Vlad stepped toward them. "I don't need to hide in the shadows.
Behold the strength of Dracula!"
Methos raised his sword, mocking, "Bella Lugosi was more believable,
motherfucker."
Myrddin yelled. "Move!"
Vlad cackled. "The last resort of a badly beaten Ancient Gathering!" his
angry eyes seethed with fire and danced with shadows as he charged toward
Methos and Myrddin.
They moved aside, avoiding Vlad's furious charge. Then Myrddin realized as
he moved, the Voivode was favoring his left foot. He'd been sure it had been
Dracula's right foot that had been struck by a bullet.
Myrddin gasped and tightened his jaw. He was a master of the unspoken. He
could read epics from the body language of others, and in a flash he also
realized that Methos had come to the same conclusion.
"Now then, Voivode," Methos said calmly into the void of darkness and pain.
"Let's finish what we started five hundred years ago!" He spun this time to
face Vlad and pressed a flurry of attacks that drove the Voivode back, then
back again as Dracula struggled to defend himself against the powerhouse
blows.
Methos feinted at his opponent's legs, drawing the Voivode's long Toledo
sword down, then came up with an overhead slice at the head. He lured Vlad's
blade into a defensive position perpendicular to his body. Quickly, he
slipped into the Dracula's guard, catching the broadsword with his own.
Vlad jumped back quickly and swung before Methos could raise his weapon back
into proper position to defend. The Voivode caught Methos across his chest,
a wicked slash that flayed the first layer of muscle. Methos hissed and spun
away, bleeding.
At that moment Myrddin attacked Vlad from the other side. The Voivode had
just enough time to turn and parry the killing blow, his eyes shining with
fury. They battled in darkness, the Druid on the attack. Again and again,
Vlad found himself forced to retreat to what he hoped was a better position.
But then Methos rejoined the fight.
With a roar and mighty slash of his sword, Methos locked blades with Vlad
once more and pressed his back against the blackness.
Grimly, both members of the Ancient Gathering came at Vlad, striking blow
after furious blow. Even the Voivode's speed was not enough, and he took a
painful slice from Methos across the ribcage. Vlad roared and tried to dart
away, but Myrddin was right on him. As Myrddin swung again, Vlad ducked
assuming a crouching position and came up again. But then he felt the
unmistakable pain of Methos blade entering his abdomen. Myrddin pulled his
feet from under the Voivode with a sweep of his leg.
And then everything went dark again. Blackness, living shadows. A cloud of
it enveloped Methos and Myrddin, blocked out their vision, muffled sound.
The gunfire sounded again, but the inky blackness coated them like a second
skin. Chills shot through their bodies, and their muscles started to spasm.
The sensation was repulsive, unnatural, evil.
"Move!" Methos shouted. "Move aside!"
Myrddin was disoriented by the shadows, but he dove hard, hoping it was away
from Vlad. He felt the drag of the darkness clinging to him like a greedy
lover, but the force of his lunge tore him free. He landed on the floor,
rolled and jumped to his feet. The gunfire was louder now.
"Use the fire again, Myrddin!" Methos' voice sounded far away. "We need to
find Vlad!"
========