Chapter 1: Yin and Yang - Part 1

"The dead...don't...lose."

Panting and perspiring on the sweat-covered canvas, Deadboy Daemian looked up into the eyes of his conqueror. The light ringing turned him into a silhoutte of burning, white fury. Eyes flashing like diamonds, and a cunning sneer cutting across his handsome, White Tiger held up the red rope.

"You lost. You know what happens now..."

Somewhere in Sydney, in the loft of a repurposed theme park attraction, Deadboy Daemian (real name Lachlan Jago) snapped back into the waking world. Eyes opened onto a crack of light coming through the iron bars of his gothic, arched window. Groggy, groaning, and hung over, Daemian turned over onto his 'living pillow', the chest of a massive demon.

Brax always woke up the same time as he did. One of the quirks of a 'soul pact', Daemian had come to understand. His obsidian black eyes stared back at him, softly.

Daemian winced. "Brax. You ever have a nightmare that's more like a dream?"

The massive monster searched his eyes for a moment, before he tossed off the blankets and left the lopsided, sunken bed. "Demons do not dream."

Floorboards creaked. Somewhere outside, the whir of a roller coaster and the screams of excited patrons cut through the quiet. 

"Er...right. Well, never mind, yeah? Ugh. What time is it?" Perennially pale, Daemian clutched his sore, throbbing head. "I feel like death warmed over. And not in the good way."

Deadboy has neglected to join the rest of the GSA in their Yuletide festivities, choosing instead a drunken, Aussie summertime Yule, full of beer and bad behavior. He could barely recall a fugue of alcohol and flirty boys, and hitting the goon sack one too many times...clearly.

The living Deadboy scratched at his black briefs and wandered over to the kitchen nook, a cross between a witch's laboratory and the unwashed counter space of a hoarder. Cracking his back, rippling with muscle, Deadboy stretched--looking not unlike a vampire turned underwear model turned prize fighter. Daemian slathered Vegemite on a piece of burnt toast, then cracked two eggs into the frying pan, tossing the shells to Brax, who greedily snapped them up.

Toast in hand, and chewing with his mouth open, Daemian pried his fingers beneath the blinds and peered out into the theme park below. It was a bright, blue day in the capital of dark magick. Boxing Day. Families were frolicking in Horror Land, which had been turned into a dark, Yuletide fairytale (a terrible marketing decision, Daemian thought). Everyone looked happy, even the ghoulish theme park employees.

"Wow," Daemian sniffed. "Get a look at that, yeah? Sun's shining. The temperature is nice. Not a cloud in the sky." He growled. "How disgusting."

Annoyed with...well...everything, Daemian looked down into the courtyard near the closed off fence. Due to an arrangement between Southern Cross Spellbreaking (sXs) and the theme park, Deadboy has been given his own cut of real-estate in the closed off Gravesend Manor, a defunct haunted house attraction. Nobody really bothered him. Or got too close to the property. Just how he liked it.

That is, except for this curious little girl in overalls, carrying a balloon with a jack-o-lantern face.

 "Hmmm." Daemian's smile grew long and wicked. He pointed to the girl's shadow. A long, spiked tendril appeared from the two dimensional space, and shot out at her balloon, popping it and startling her. She burst into tears.

Music to my ears, Daemian thought. "That's much better."

Suddenly, the crying stopped. Daemian's ears perked up at a familiar, strong, and gentlemanly voice.

"Don't worry, little girl! I'll buy you two new ones."

This must still be a nightmare. It can't be....

But it was! Standing there in a tight fitting onesie (what the Yanks called a tank-top) with his arms bursting out of the fabric, White Tiger guided the little girl back to her concerned parents. 

Of course, the bloody idiot was wearing his own merchandise!

Wisps of dark energy sprouted from Daemian's head as he snapped the window shut. "Not...HIM."

The nerve! The cheek! Daemian knew White Tiger could only be here for one reason. Colt had sent every worker who had a remotely good relationship with Daemian after him (and there weren't many). Iggy had tried to sweet talk him. Then Spike. Even Buck almost convinced him (he could be strangely persuasive). Deadboy refused to play nice with those losers. They had humiliated him and kicked him to the curb. Why should he go back and help them?

And now they had sent in the big guns. And Joseph's guns were quite big...and delicious.

"Naur!" Deadboy screamed out loud, clutching his head. "I won't let him get to me this time. Brax!"

The demon, sitting in the overstuffed, red velvet arm chair, looked up from his copy of Australian Women's Weekly Cooking Magazing. "Yes, my mortal kindrid?" he said calmly. 

"We gotta' get the bloody hell out of here, mate! We need to get somewhere safer. Like..." Deadboy considered his options. "Hell."

Brax growled, non-plussed. "But the new episode of Housemates is on and we're going to find out of Bruce knows he's been sleeping with Jenny's evil twin."

"We can record it. We gotta--"

A knock at the door cut Daemian off.

The dark magi put his finger to his lips. Brax didn't seem to notice.

The muffled, enthusiastic voice of Joseph Haw seeped through the skull-shaped front door. "Hello, Lachlan? I can hear you in there!"

Daemian winced. He turned to Brax. "Okay, I'll just open a portal and-"

"By the way, I've placed a spell on your haunted house that prevents you from creating dark corridors. I hope you don't mind."

This was quite enough! Enraged, eyes glowing red and an aura of pure evil smoking off his body, Deadboy Daemian stomped over to the door. Shadows scattered fearfully, like cockroaches, in his path. "Oh, I do bloody mind!"

He swung open the door. Joseph stood there, heroically, smiling. "G'day, as you say in these parts."

Ugh, he was so handsome--Deadoy wanted to puke. "Well, you got some BLOODY nerve, showing up on my doorstep with your cute haircut, looking adorable--I mean, HIDEOUS."

"Thanks?"

"NOT HAPPY, JOSEPH!" Deadboy went to slam the door in his face, but White Tiger's reflexes were a hell of a lot quicker. "Well, what do you want. More gear of mine? Or...maybe you want to tie me up again?" Deadboy bit his lip. "And...hear me submit? Again. And again? You know, because I WOULD HATE THAT!"

What scared Daemian the most was that he was afraid he wouldn't hate it at all, actually.

"That sounds fun, but no time. I came here on a matter of business. John Henry needs you for an assignment."

"TELL HIM HE'S DREAMIN'!"

"Yeah, I figured you'd say something like that, Lachlan--er--Daemian. Much to my chagrin, I think we really do need your help getting this next Chalice..."

"OHHHHH REALLLLY? Wow, that sure is interesting, mate. Remember when I got the last Chalice and you all yelled at me?"

"Remember when you tried to turn us all into zombies?" Joseph blinked. "Twice?"

"Grrr...and I would have gotten away with it if it weren't for that meddling, himbo luchador!" Daemian crossed his arms and pouted like a punished child.

Swallowing, Joseph looked behind his formal rival and ex lover. "Oh, hiya Brax."

The demon nodded plitely. "Joseph."

"Hey, mate, don't look at me demon! And anyways, getting you a Chalice don't do me no favors now, does it?"

Joseph rolled his eyes. "Only you could wear out my patience like this. Look, oh shadowy one, Spike says he misses you." He quickly added: "I don't."

But Daemian had already zeroed in on Joseph's insecurity. "I think you do," he said, smiling with ill intent. Then, he remembered Spike's cheerful face and suddenly felt sick with sweetness. "Ugh, the damn twink's been askin' about me?."

"Were you...really his boyfriend?"

"What?" Daemian suddenly felt naked, and in front of Joseph, it wouldn't be the first time. "Ha! No way. I just said that to--"

"To what?" Joseph narrowed his eys. "Get...back at me?"

He was always so frustratingly in-the-know. Daemain laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. Suddenly hurling himself through the window looked a lot more appealing than continuing this conversation.

"Well, gee, I dunno...that would be dumb!"

"That...would be you, Deadboy."

"Well, I don't work for the GSA no more, anyway!" Deadboy sighed and nodded for Joseph to come in. He grabbed a cold can of beer from the fridge and craked it open. "Back to sXs. Good ol' Aussie spellbreaking. I gotta' match with Swooper comin' up ya know. Hey, you want a coldie?"

Ugh, I can't believe I'm doing...hospitality with the enemy. 

"No thank you." Joseph tried very hard not to turn his nose up at the odd...smell of the place. "Huh. The dude with the Magpie head? Well, that's...awesome, actually. I'm glad you're happy."

Daemian chugged back his beer (it was 11 AM) and then belched loudly. "I doubt it."

Joseph looked around the dark, dingy room briefly, before he decided he was better off standing. He forced himself to assume an open posture, even though every cell comprising his being told him he was here strictly for business. "Look, Lachy."

"DAEMIAN!" Deadboy snapped, crushing the beer can against his head and flattening it. "You don't GET to call me Lachy no more."

Goddess, he's cute when he's feisty, Joseph thought. "Ok, Deadboy. I know we've had our ups and downs. But when I defeated you--and you really did put up a great fight (kind of)--taking your gear is just...well...it's my thing."

Daemain smirked. He had him now. "You mean...your kink?"

"I mean..." Joseph blushed and looked away.

"Hahaha! You're terrrrible, Joseph. That's the problem with you babyfaces!" Daemian marched forward and circled his red-faced rival, playfully. "You can't even give in to your base desires without coming up with some bloody justification. I think you want to know what it's like to be bad, don't you?"

Joseph shrugged, brushing him away and putting distance between them. He travelled to the window and opened it...in sore need of fresher air. "Darkness and light exist within all of us."

"Oh, save it, fortune cookie."

"Was...that a racist joke?"

"WHAT!?" Daemian balked. "I may be demonic, but never racist, and certainly not towards you..."

From across the room, the two men stared at each other. No sound save the turning of the magazine page from Brax, and a half-muttered, "Oh, look at that pavlova..."

Joseph rolled his eyes. "So who admits it first?" He motioned for Daemian to come closer.

And much to his own irritation, Daemian did just that. His arms remained folded; fastened to his large chest. "Who admits WHAT first?" He looked into Joseph's eyes, reminded of their stare down before the fateful match when White Tiger dethroned Deadboy as GSA champion and kicked off this whole stupid mess.

Joseph sighed. "Oh for fucks sake."

Daemian flinched. "You...just swore--"

But that's all he got out before he found Joseph's mouth against his. Those soft kisses. Gentle. Addicting.

Deadboy's eyes went into the back of his head. This was better than any drug. And probably worse. He snapped to his senses and pushed away before he could let his tongue wander where it shouldn't.

"Ugh! Here? In front of my demon?"

Brax grunted. "Don't mind me."

"Damn it!" Daemian growled. He launched himself towards Joseph and kissed him in his own way, clumsy and rough, digging his fingers into his rippling back. "You got bigger, you arsehole."

Joseph pulled away, shaking his head. "No, this is..." He was embaressed. What a rare thing it was to see the champion of the GSA blush. "No, look, I can leave. I shouldn't have..."

Daemian smirked. "See? Isn't it more fun to give into your dark desires?" Biting his lip, Daemian tugged at the bulge in his underwear. "And we all know I'm your darkest."

Joseph pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Ugh, you...yes. Look. Maybe. Let's not go so fast. Besides, we know you're going to just distract me with sex to get our of a tough conversation."

Brax chuckled to himself. "Mortal kindred...the Tiger has, as you humans say, your number." 

"Enough of the peanut gallery," Daemian shouted. This was worse than losing to Joseph the first tine. Daemian grit his teeth, and forced his darkness down. "I am..."

"Yes?" 

"I am...willing to...ugh I'm gonna be sick."

"Go on...you can do it."

"OKAY! Ugh. I am willing to talk things through and maybe..."

"Yeah?"

"Stop doing that!" Despite himself, Daemian laughed. "Ugh, I love how much you piss me off."

"The feeling is mutual." He knew his former rival, lover, whatever this weird, sexy man was, had gone as far as he could go. "Okay. Daemian. Lachlan. Man with many names. I admit that...perhaps I let our spellbreaking rivalry get in the way of..." He tripped over his words.

Daemian cocked his head. "YEAH?"

"What...could have been." Joseph looked away, and then, blushing resumed eye contact. "Or...what...could be?"

This was more satisfying than kicking his ass, Deadboy though. He looked at Joseph, smugly. "I been on your mind, eh?"

"You...do have a tendency to...linger."

"Linger?" Daemian made a face. "Gross. Farts linger, Joseph."

"Well, you do smell bad sometimes." 

They laughed.

"I mean, when it's that light post-workout B.O....I kinda like it."

"Dirty boy," Daemian laughed. Fuck, am I...smiling? He looked over at Brax. Even though he was pretending not to listen, he could see the subtle, satisfied grin on his demon's face.

Joseph took a deep breath (which was very hard to do inside this garbage heap of an apartment). "Well. Will you help us?"

Daemian's shoulders slunk. This was worse than pulling teeth. Like a frog spalsh from the top rope, he threw himself into the void. "...Maybe I can be convinced. Where would we be going, anyway?"

Joseph forced himself not to look relieved, or otherwise make Daemian think he had the upper hand in this situation (he did). "A place of darkness and very bad feng-shui."

The dark magi's eyes lit up. "Sexy as! Okay. Tell me more."

The wind through the window rattled the shutters, and the shadows inside the grim apartment resumed their normal position. Joseph looked towards the light.

"Okay. What do you know about the Kowloon Walled City?"

To Be Continued

Bonus: Jingle-Brawl Rock!

Frosty breath visible in the cold air, Robbie Whitewolf crossed his giant arms and pouted. "Ugh, this is so gay."

Standing on top of the Tamberly Ranch's water tower (the highest point on the GSA campus) Joseph, wearing a snug, grey cardigan and expensive scarf, gave Robbie a sideways glance. "Robert...I thought you preferred men?"

Robbie the 'Icewolf', in his down jacket and ear muffs (as a Canadian, he was well prepared for winter weather) sniffed. "Yeah, but like, holdin' hands and shit...it's extra gay."

Standing between the two of them like an angry father, Colt (in 'winter cowboy' flannel mode) glared down at his student. "HEY! I ain't gay...mostly...so if I say it's not gay, it's not gay." He grunted and extended his bare hands to them both. "Now, hold my hands, cuties." He relaxed his shoulders and closed his eyes. A chill wind answered his silent command. "Besides, only way to do this if we want to combine forces. And you, young alpha wolf, owe us for all the crap we went through with your Eiffel Tower stunt. Now, hold my hand, cutie."

Robbie growled. "Ugh. You freeze Paris ONE TIME and suddenly everyone's on your case." He looked out across the water tower, at all the stalls and decorations being sent up by the spellbreakers and staff of the GSA. Gio had even used his powers to grow them a fairly decent Yuletide tree. Robbie supposed if a champ like him and Joseph were game for all these fruity festivities, then so was he.

"Okay, okay, fine." He closed his eyes and took Colt's hand. "I'm doing it for the team."

Joseph muttered to himself. "So...you'll sleep with men, but holding hands is--"

"Joseph!"

"Also you do figure skating as a hobby, so I don't really understand why--"

"HEY!" Robbie growled, til' he received a quick shock and glare from his head coach. "Okay, sooorry. Here we go. One amazing, ice fantasy...coming up!"

The cold wind picked up, but instead of running right through the trio's bones and chilling them to the core, it went around them, travelling towards the roped off staging area below. Around a series of reinforced scaffolding, streamers of minty blue energy threaded and interlaced around the beams and poles, spreading a diamond-frost pattern across every surface. Colt, Joseph, and Robbie's eyes glowed the respective colors of their powers, as the the geomancers and elemantalists combined their energy and shaped it into structure.

The other spellbreakers took notice. Blue Dragon and Sanjay, threading a banner across the main thoroughfare, craned their heads towards the pillars of ice sprouting from the ground. "Bro," Blue Dragon gasped.

Sanjay, a geomancer himself, was impressed. "Solid cryo-form, gentleman. I'd give it a 9/10."

Though it was fairly modest in size, no larger than Colt's humble farmhouse, the ice castle was the perfect little 'fun house' for which the GSA's Yuletide fair goers could take a romantic adventure. The castle glinted in the winter light, all spires shining majestically under the lightest of residual snowfalls brought on by Colt and Robbie's combined meteorological mystique. 

Robbie's jaw hung open in awe, while Colt and Joseph regarded him with smug amusement. "Woah. Bros...these vibes are...very chill."

Joseph let go of Colt's hand and wrapped his giant arm around Robbie's thick neck. "See what happens when you let go of your insecurities? Look at that, Robbie. You did that." He paused. "Well, it was mostly Colt and I syphoning your ice powers into our own glyphological wavestream, but...you definitely helped."

Looking out at his fine work, Colt clutched the side of the tower safety rail and let out a satisfied, long whistle. "Wooey. What a beaut she is. Gotta say, this might be the best Yuletide fair we've put on yet."

Joseph blinked. "Uh, sir, this would be our first Yuletide fair."

"Be a team player, Joe."

"Got it, boss." 

That said, Joseph turned towards the small soundstage not far from the ice castle. He held his hands to his face and allowed his wind enchantments to carry his voice to its intended target. "Hey, Inaci! You're up, cuz."

Iggy Astro sat on their amp and fine tuned his guitar. At hearing Joseph's command, they tossed back his ice blue hair (dyed fresh for Yuletide) and stood, stretching long arms knotted fine with muscle. "My curtain call. Now, the finishing touch." He pointed at the castle and blew a luminated kiss towards its great peaks.

The castle's icy walls exploded with color, lit from within. Coming out from the farmhouse with a tray of holiday cookies in hand, Varla and Laura marvelled at the beautifully, rainbow lit castle.

"Ooh," Buck said, reaching out to a snickerdoodle. "These look delicious."

Varla swatted his hand away. "They're for the guests, Buck."

"I didn't know you baked, Varla!" Buck had already decided he liked having her around, especially as a counterbalance to his father. He still hadn't quite adjusted to the knowledge that Laura, the girl standing in front of him, was actually his half-sister yet, and he hadn't said much to her yet.

"She doesn't!" Came a loud, masculine voice from the farmhouse. John Henry poked his bald head from out of the window, and showed off his dainty over mits. "But I do! How do do you think I got these muscles, boy? Never trust a skinny chef."

Back at the sound stage, Iggy eyed his lighting work. It had been awhile since he'd done rigging, and even if it was for a silly little thing, he still took great pride in his work. The luminosity, hues, and color cycles needed to be perfect. His magick was strong enough that they could let their unconscious mind run it without much thought.

"Should last a day or so," Iggy mumbled. He heard footsteps behind him. "What do you think, hunky?"

Victor gave them a kiss on the cheek, hugging them close. The masked stud sported a mauve sweater (a bit oversized). "Beautiful. Just like you. Are you off now?"

Iggy put their guitar away. They didn't bother to hide the instrument anywhere, because nobody was foolish enough to touch it without their consent. "Yep," they yawned, trailing off stage. "I need to go break some boys."

Ever supportive of his partner's hobbies, El Amante laughed heartily. "Hahaha! Have fun, mi amor. I need to go make sure my new trainee is settled in."

"Oh yeah," Iggy shrugged. "That...Pink Burrito guy?"

"Pink Bandito!"

"Yeah, yeah. Geez, I thought you were the man who hit on anything with a pulse and an age of consent, but that dude is something else. Anyways, I'll see you later."

Down from the water tower, Colt surveyed his employee's efforts to make the yultide festive (and most definitely gay). Already, some folks from town had begun to trickle into the fairground. "Howdy, folks! Enjoy your stay."

Joseph took great pride and joy in seeing everyone get together. The threat of Firebird was always omnipresent, of course, but for now it simmered beneath the veneer of festive cheer. Today, at least, they could relax.

"It's a rare occasion we open to the school to the public," the champion said, examining stuffed White Tiger souvenirs at the merch table for any flaws. "I hope after such a tumultuous year, the humble folks of outer San Antonio can sincerely enjoy this." His eyes fell on a stuffed mascot lion and bear handing out balloons to young kids. "Wow, what an adorable lion!"

As soon as the children had vacated, the lion and bear turned their enormous stuffed heads towards Joseph. The bear removed his head.

Kengo, sweaty and red faced, breathed. "Gaaaah. It's hot in there!"

Blank faced, Joseph turned to the lion. "So...that one would be."

"Ggrgrgrgrgrg." The lion struggled to pop his head off. When he did, Spike poked his matted, blonde head out. "Man, it's lucky these little runts are around or I'd curse up a storm. I can't believe Colt has us--"

"Has you doing WHAT NOW?"

Colt stepped forward. Spike hadn't seen him. The Sailorboy immediately changed his tune. "Oh...uh...has us bringing holiday cheer to all of these deserving people."

"Hmph. That's more like it. We gotta' show the folks in town that we're a reputable business. Besides, as entertainers first and foremost, bringing joy is our profession." He nodded to Buck, passing by with a cart full of spellbreaker posters he'd printed out. "Ain't that right, son?"

Beneath his black beanie, Buck glared at his dad, shoved one of John Henry's cookies into his mouth, and moved on.

Spike frowned. He thought he should say something to his friend and crush, but it was best to let him sort it out on his own. "Still not talking to each other, Boss?"

Colt crossed his arms. "He'll lighten up. Buck is a broody boy. Takes it from his mother. He loves Yule. Once we ply him with eggnog and give him his gifts, he'll be fine. Now boys, shall we get to wassailain or wrasslin'?"

"Ah, that reminds me!" Spike chirped up. He began to waddle away, having great difficulty walking in his lion outfit. "I'll see yous guys later."

Joseph frowned. "What? You were going to help set up the shaved ice machine with me."

"Er...later, Joey! I promise! Robbie can handle it til then. Ice is sorta his thing."

Colt tapped his finger against his chin, watching Spike vanish into the crowd. "What on Earth has gotten into that boy's head?"

"If I had to guess?" Joseph sighed. "Either sex or violence."

"Probably both."

"Yep. Probably both."

---

Spike's face lit up with pure excitement. "Oh boy, a royal rumble and Secret Santa! The perfect Yuletide gift." 

The four spellbreakers in the arena, situated at the four corners, all took turns either smirking or flexing at each other. The Yule fair was the perfect cover for a clandestine fight in the practice ring. 

Spike, wearing a red velvet robe (perfect for the season) revealed his studly physique and candy-cane striped briefs. "And I'm gonna win, boys! Hey, check out my festive gear."

"Cute briefs," Rexford said from his corner. He stretched his legs and tugged on his forest green trunks. "But fat chance." He strutted over to Spike and thumped his chest against his, daring him to fight back.

But Mr. Holt had other motives. He whispered to Spike. "But...let's team up til' it's just you and me, eh?"

Spike winked at him. "Deal."

Iggy fixed his blue hair into a ponytail, using a hair tie with a fitting, star accessory. "Ho ho ho..." he said, striking a most muscular pose to intimidate his little jobber opponents. "Or should I say, ho ho hoes. With an 'e'."

Cian slapped his knees, finding Iggy's insult to be the pinnacle of hilarity. A Scrooge to the core, Cian had refused to wear any festive wear, choosing his standard, black singlet instead. "Ha! Good one, Iggy."

Spike glowered at his rivals. "Ugh. What happened to England, Cian? I thought we had something goin' on now?"

"I might be slightly more cool with you now, Boyo, but I still love kicking your arse!"

Iggy patted Cian affectionately on the head. "But look at him! He is adorable, muscular, and sadistic. Just how I like it." He cracked his knuckles. Cian and Iggy turned to their opponents, staring them down hungrily. "Let's show these boys who's on the naughty list, eh?"

Spike and Rex sprung on Iggy before he could react. "Get their hot, Brazilian butt!" Spike said, grabbing one of his chiselled arms, while Rex grabbed the other. They picked them up and slammed them on the mat, putting Iggy into a double arm bar. 

"What!" Iggy bellowed. "You...little. Your arm bars suck, number one! And number two, when I get out of here..." He cringed. "Ugggh."

"What's wrong, teach?" Spike laughed, digging his boots into his mentor's ribs. "Sad you're about to tap to a bunch of twunks."

"Revenge is sweet!" Rex said. 

Iggy's eyes flashed neon green with rage. "CIAN! Get over here and wallop these sluts!"

"You got it!" Cian said, kicking Rex in the back of the head.

"Ohhh...sugar plums," Rex squeeked as his eyes rolled up into the back of his head.

"I forgot how hard Cian's legs hit," Spike growled. He watched the Faeblood Brawler dig into his prey, picking up Rex and shoving him into his pits for a choke.

"Robbie showed me how to do this one," Cian laughed. "Bet you miss Wolf Daddy's scent, eh?"

"Mmmm. Smells like Irish Spring..."

"Awww," Iggy said, fake-pouting. "Looks like your little friend's in trouble." With his other arm free, Iggy reached over and grabbed Spike by the throat. "And so are you, sexy."

"Oh...fuck..." Spike gasped. 

Iggy glared, and blew a loose strand of hair out of his face. "On your feet. Now."

Spike had no choice. Iggy's grip on his trachea was iron hard. "Wow...teach...your hair looks really good...tied back."

Iggy smiled. "Aw, thanks." Then, still smiling, he picked Spike up into the air and choked slammed him into the canvas.

Candy canes danced before dizzy Spike's eyes. "Unnngg..."

"Get 'em, Astro," Cian laughed. "Aww...this one's all tapped out!" He let Rex fall to the mat, drooling. "Too bad for you, lad, I worked up a sweat earlier building all the scaffolding for the neato ice castle. Heh. What a jobber. Also, you really need to change your name." He scratched his head. "Rexford sounds like T. Rex, and Holt sounds like Colt."

"That's why he's a guest character," Spike said off-handedly.

Iggy had already scrambled up gracefully to the top rope. From his perch, he looked down at Spike, trying to peel himself off the mat.

"I think I'll defeat you with your own move," Iggy said, getting ready to Moonsault Spike into sweet oblivion. And then I'll put that little pup Robbie down and secure the win! 

Iggy Astro flipped into the air with gymnastic excellence. He sailed to his target, relishing the blow he was going to deal his favorite punching bag.

Something stopped him before he landed.

Or rather, someone.

"Huh?"

Finding himself in a princess carry, Iggy looked up into the soft, hazel eyes of...

"S-Santa Claus!"

Bearded Gio, in a Santa hat and inspired singlet, reared his head back. "Ho ho ho! It is me! Santa Titan."

Enough recovery time had passed that Spike was able to peel himself off the mat. He cradled his sore head and throat. "W--what? G-man!?"

Smiling warmly, Gio tossed Iggy aside and into the ropes like he was an unwanted present. "A royal rumble without Colt's approval! Tsk tsk. You're ALL on the naughty list now." 

Rexford came to, long enough to join Iggy and Spike in their mutual confusion at this late entry.

Still grinning, Gio cracked his knuckles. "And now...Santa is going to dish out his just rewards."

Spike bit his lip. "Oh, you know what, maybe I don't want to..."

"Not so fast, cutie!" Gio laughed, grabbing Spike by the back of his briefs, exposing his peachy butt. He tugged his opponent towards him and forced him to face him head on.

"Hehehe" Spike laughed nervously, readjusting his briefs (now half up his ass). "Santa! Oh boy." He gave the big, muscle man a flirty look. "Do you want me to sit on your lap?"

"Spike Waterford! You are on the naughty list for sitting on Kengo's face when you got drunk together that one night. You get...a bear hug!"

The giant gripped Spike and hugged him tight, compressing his lower back and driving it into his naval.

Spike choked. "GAAAH....MY SPINE! I GIVE!"

Gio turned around and tossed Spike cleanly out of the ring. "Very good! Now...who's next?"

Rex, still catching his breath from Cian's usky punishment, crawled on hands and knees to get away from the Titan. Gio easily reached out and plucked both of his legs, dragging him towards certain doom.

"And as for you, Mr. Holt! You snuck a kiss with El Amante when Iggy wasn't looking."

Iggy shook the dizziness out of their head. "He did...WHAT?"

Rex tried to feign innocent. "Awww...that wasn't anything!"

Gio nodded. "For being such a naughty boy. NECK BREAKER IN YOUR STOCKING!"

The big man abruptly turned around, grabbing Rex by his neck, and drove him down into his shoulder. It was an instant KO. Gio sat on the ground and folded his arms, smiling at his two standing opponents, looking on in horror.

Cian wasn't so easily defeated. "Come on, Iggy, we got this in the bag!" He charged forward. "You may be my mentor, Gio, so sorry about this. Let's send Santa back up the chimney!"

Gio reached out and grabbed Cian around the neck, easily. "Oh, you are going IN the bag, Cian. You have been especially naughty this year. Beating up on Spike and making him smell your used jockstraps!"

Cian struggled to breathe. "Hey let me out!"

With ease, Gio scooped Cian up and held him in the air. "Okay!" he said, power bombing him into the canvas.

The ring shook.

"Unngggg..." His own finisher. How humiliating! 

Gio dragged Cian on top of Rex, t hen gingerly stepped out of the ring to drag Spike back in and add him to the pile.

Watching all of this with a mix of concern and amusement, Iggy tossed back his ponytail, letting his self-made stardust fall from his luscious locks. "Oh, so I win, right?"

Gio crossed his arms in front of his massive, hairy chest. "Hmm. Inaci Vara. Which boys did you make cry this year?"

From the pile behind Gio, everyone weakly held up their hand. "Uuggh."

Iggy played innocent, batting their eyelashes at their formidable opponent. "Oh, Santa, Santa. You jolly stud. Do you think you could punish the Prince/ess of Punishment?" As soon as he drops his guard, I'm gonna choke him out with my thighs. And then, I'll be the star atop this Yuletide tree! 

Gio nodded. "I suppose I can be lenient this one time." He turned away. 

"Of course! Thanks, Santa." Iggy leered and ran forward. "You're a real, jolly ol'-"

Gio whipped around and punched Iggy right in the chest, sending them bouncing into the ropes and then down right into Gio's legs.

He grabbed Iggy by the ponytail. "That...was naughty."

 "AGH, NOT THE HAIR! NOT THE HAIR!"

"Hahaha!" Gio yanked Iggy off the ground and held them inverted. "Oh my, looks like your stocking is already stuffed full," Gio said, blushing, as he caught sight of Iggy's bulge in front of his face. "For you, Astro, a piledriver under the tree!"

"NO! NOT THE FACE! NOT MY PRETTY F-"

WHAM!

Gio had no problem dragging Iggy's twitching body by the ponytail and adding it to his pile of conquests. Dusting off his hands, Gio the Titan sat on top of his victories as the moaned or otherwise remained motionless beneath his might.

"Ah, Santa's naughty list is complete. I am the winner! Hahahaha!"

In the breakroom, a fully clothed Spike placed the bag of ice on his head and winced. "Ohhh my head."

He felt something drop into his lap. He looked down at the small, wrapped box, and then up into Iggy's grumpy (and bruised) face. "Huh?"

Iggy sighed. "Gift swap, stupid. Secret Santa, remember?"

Spike glared over at Gio, pouring one of his rare wines for Cian and Rex. "Better than suplex santa," he grumbled. Gio saw him and toasted him. No hard feelings. Spike smiled. 

The fighters gathered around the table, each of them exchanging packages (all very poorly wrapped).

Cian beamed with gratitude. "Look at that! A pack of new jock straps! Mmm." He pressed them to his face. "Smells fresh." Then, he gave Spike a knowing glance. "Hehehe but not for long. Thanks, Rexford!"

Rex, massaging his sore neck, grinned back and unwrapped his gift. "No problem! Hey, the strategy guide for Warriors of the Marsh! Now I can unlock the secret, all male hotsprings scene." He drooled at the thought of all those Warring States studs getting soapy with each other in his digital fantasy.

Spike nodded. "See, I listen to you!" He opened the small box, probably the most elegantly wrapped of all of them. "Oh, what's this?"

Iggy looked away. "Don't...don't get too excited."

Inside the delicate tissue paper sat a new pair of wrestling trunks. Spike's heart melted. "OMG is this...new gear! Pink? AND A NEON GREEN ANCHOR WITH A STAR IN THE MIDDLE?" He held them up in front of his face. "Now I'll match you, teach?"

Everyone in the room gushed. "Awwww."

Iggy looked like he was either going to be sick or faint. His face turned bright red. "Well, I was so tired of all the navy and blue. Let your mentor give you some colo--"

Spike threw himself into Iggy, wrapping his arms around his muscular build.

Iggy couldn't fight back the smile. "Oh...so we are doing the hugging now."

"Thanks, teach!" He kissed them on the cheek.

Politely, Iggy pushed his mentee off of him and turned to his own gift, in a slap-dash gift bag. "And from Cian." He unfolded the hockey jersey for everyone to see. "Err...Icewolf's hockey jersey."

Sweating, Cian gave Iggy a pained smile. "I got invited to this last minute..." he threw Spike a dark look. "So all I had was Robbie's shirt that he gave me. Well, one of them. Look, he gave me several. I don't understand him."

Iggy shrugged, "Meh. I can turn it into a crop top. It will be very cute. Thank you, stud."

With all gifts exchanged, and wine doing the work for all of them, Spike looked towards Gio. "Oh, crap, G-man. We didn't know you were coming. We should have gotten something for you. Especially since you won, after all."

"Cheater," Iggy coughed. "Oooh, sorry. Cold coming out."

Gio ignored the diss, instead standing and pulling Spike into another big squeeze. "I do not need anything! Your friendship is the present. Come here, guys."

Whether or not they wanted to, the other boys found themselves in a tight group hug, muscle against muscle.

Spike squeeked. "Awww...oowww...my spine."

"Happy Yuletide," Santa Gio said. "To much fighting and hugging this year!"

To Be Continued

Epilogue: Reunion

"The Alchemists have been knocked off the chessboard." 

The two men stood on the shores of the tranquil lake, beneath an overcast gray. The stillness of the forest was interrupted only by the low roar and accompanying black smoke from the volcano in the distance. The eruption, beyond the horizon of Crater Lake, cast the horizon in a red tinge, same as the bubbling spring from which Semyon Grigorivich dipped the Divine Chalice of Power.

The water within solidified into a crystalline, ruby red. The gaunt, tall sorcerer held it up to the figure in the black body suit and mask to observe. The red, hour-glass symbol imprinted across the length of the muscular man's spine underscored his name: Redback. Former spellbreaker, current assassin.

Grigorivich observed the eruption in the distance with a gleam in his eye, and a matching crooked grin. "The Chalice of Spirit rests in the sealed vault in the Agni Temple. Fate being what it is, the holy vaults therein have been watched over by Vahni's family since before the Mughal."

Redback turned his head, slightly. "Well, ain't that a fucking coincidence. You know this when you hired the c***?"

Grigorivich kept his secrets concealed behind a thin smile. "Do you know where the other two Chalices are yet?"

Redback grunted. He hated how bloody cold it was in this part of the US. "Guy I know on the black market traced one to Hong Kong. I'm working on that scene now. The other one..." He trailed off, laughing to himself. "'Straya. My intel says it's at the Museum of Enchanted Art in Sydney Harbour, where's it's been passed off as just another item in their collection. Under heaps of tight security, but shouldn't be a problem."

"I should think not," the tall man said. He traced a symbol in the air with his long fingers. A circle of violet energy appeared, hollow, and from the gap in reality, an object fell into the cruel magi's hands. It looked like a skull in profile, and was similarly detailed as such, but the yellow sheets beneath the covering betrayed it as a book.

Grigorivich handed it to him. "The Codex of R'Leah. Do what needs to be done."

Though sceptical, the dark spellbreaker took the cursed tome. "I take it you aren't entrusting this operation to Firebird anymore?"

Normally, Grigorivich would be annoyed by these questions. However, he knew Redback's ledger, soaked in blood and money. He could afford to indulge him in a few answers. "Redback, my gentleman killer, I am afraid you will find that loyalty is in short supply, these days."

Though he spoke brusquely, Redback was sharp. "Ragey can't be trusted, eh? Want me to...handle him?"

The dark magi was admittedly curious about the potential outcome of that fight. But it would be unwise and unnecessary. "No, not yet. He is still important. Til we acquire the final Chalice, anyway. Besides, much to my chagrin, the brute makes me a fortune." Grigorivich nodded for them to walk down towards their boat by the shore, stepping over the cold body of the Klamath shaman who had fought them valiantly in defense of the sacred spring. "I will speak to the Tsar and try to get them under control. It used to be so easy, when their mind wasn't porridge."

"And what of The Jackal?"

"Ah, now that is an interesting case."

"Pit him against the Alchemists, did ya, you old dog?"

Grigorivich smirked, despite himself. "I do not think even I can control that man. He is...something different." 

He stopped. A cold wind cut through.

"Hmmm. An idea has occurred to me, Redback. I think, perhaps, I will kill two birds with one stone. But not until the last Chalice is in our possession."

"And what about the ones with those Aradia drongos?"

A valid point. "In time," Grigorivich said. "The false sense of security they are under...it will make our job easier. They've done the work for us."

In the distance, the volcano sent out a low, thunderous rumble across the crimson sky.

"The Obsidian Tablet."

Dr. Reyes threw down the photocopy onto Buck's desk.

Spike eyed the black and white printout of the ominous, dark slab. He looked at Buck, and his bright, serious eyes. His friend, manager, (and crush) nodded. "Yeah," Spike said. "That's the shit that turned El Amante into an asshole."

Tiago scratched his red beard, a contrast against his copper skin. He adjusted his dinosaur printed tie and placed another photocopy onto the desk.

A music score--the fact it was written in blood, concealed by the monochrome printing.

"The Waltz of the Mad."

Next, a booked bound in human flesh.

"The Bible of the Damned. Our favorite, psycho heel can tell you about that one." 

Spike looked up at the scientist and spellbreaker. "Iggy?"

Tiago snorted. "Be serious, my tasty, little chicken nugget. Deadboy." The tall, muscular researcher--and Aradia employee--showed Spike and Buck another print out.

Spike recognized it immediately. "Ugh. Slayer had that one." He bit his lip. He wasn't even sure that Welsh stud was even alive after Cian and him had no choice but to abandoned him in the Faewild. "What spooky shit does that one do?"

T. Rex was happy to oblige him an answer. "We recovered it in the abbey in Glastonbury. It's an excerpt of the Dee Cypher's. Do you know John Dee?"

Spike bit his lip and scratched his head. "Uh...I think he used to sell my looseys behind Schwarz Deli on Halsey and Bedford."

Buck sighed. "Court magi to Queen Elizabeth. Weird fuck. Said he could talk to angels. Unfortuantely, he wasn't just crazy, but he was good at magick too. Dual glyphs, yeah."

Dr. Reyes appraised the president of the GSA with clever, serpentine eyes. "Very good, young Buck. Dee was said to have written his cyphers in a trance, dictated to him by angels. We know he had the Spirit glyph--same as our big sumo friend--but the man was also a charlatan, so who is to say? We do know, however, that these transcriptions worked. The Cyphers allows passage into the Unseen realms. Faewild. Gehenna. The Veil of Tears. The Indigo. Anywhere mortal souls are meant not to tread. In this instance, Slayer St. John used it to access the Faewild. And, not to make anybody nervous here, caballeros, but the Dee Cyphers are probably the least dangerous tome in the Black Library collection."

Buck and Spike shot each other a look. This revelation was not helped by the vintage radio on the shelf blaring a news item about Russia having just crossed the Romanian border. Next to it, Zeus, the Tamberly family's cat, slept lazily, unaware of all the ills of the human world.

Buck straightened his back and folded his hands on the desk. In the late noon light, Spike thought he resembled his father more, with glasses. Buck had neglected his personal upkeep in exchange for managing the business, and so his hair was shaggier, below his ears, and the same texture as his dad's.

"Thank you, Dr. Reyes," Buck said, serious. "I assume Lily knows about all this?"

"Of course," Tiago said. He collected the photocopies and shuffled them back into his folder. "We know now from Mr. Netjee's intel that Jackal, Di Sangro, and Semyon Grigorivich were acting as a Gray Triad to the Tsar." He smiled, toothy and sharp. "Consider myself, Salim Netjeer, and Lily, your Golden Triad, then...my liege."

Buck snorted, but he nodded all the same. "Thanks, Big T, but my Dad's the king. I'm just the prince keeping the throne warm."

Spike blushed. I wish he'd warm my throne... 

"Well, if that's all..." Dr. Reyes, said, half-turned towards the door. He suddenly cleared his throat, his face tinging red. "Oh...and I was wondering if I might be booked for a show in the next month or so? THIS DINO DADDY NEEDS TO FEED!"

Spike flinched, but Buck laughed, amused. "Of course, big guy! With the World Championships as they are, we could put you on a local show. I mean, not saying you're local level, but--"

"LOCAL SCHMOCAL--T. REX JUST LOVES SPELLBREAKING!" The dual-persona'd magi said, punching his fist in the air. He cleared his throat, resuming his more temperate demeanor. "Your generosity is seriously appreciated." With that, Dr. Reyes left Buck and Spike alone.

Spike let out a sigh of relief. "Phew. I thought he was gonna try to eat me again, and NOT in the fun way."

Suddenly, Buck shot out of his desk and pulled Spike into a--surprisingly--tight embrace. "OKAY NOW THAT HE'S GONE..."

Spike gulped. "Buck! When did you get so beefy!? That bearhug was strong!" Compared to Spike's iron frame, it really wasn't, but for a non-glyph user, he was still impressed.

Buck let him down. "What I was going to tell you before Reyes showed up. Spike! I just booked the rest of the championships! I mean, I had some help from V, but--"

Spike beamed. "What! Really!? I mean, don't sell yourself short, Buck! We should celebrate. I can get us a bottle or somethin'"

Normally cool and composed, Buck--for reason or another--demured. "Spike. I...don't know what to say."

Shit, all I gotta' do is buy a guy a drink around here? But that was old habits Spike. The days of the playboy sailor belonged in the past. What did Victor say about wooin' guys? Oh yeah. Find something authentic about them and tell them. Wow, why haven't I tried that before?

So, Spike did his best. "Hey, I wouldn't be able to figure out my own schedule or get to where I'm going without you. You're kinda like my guardian angel."

"More of a demon." Buck smirked at him.

"A handsome demon." Spike met his eyes, and, suddenly shy, looked away. Why does he always make me feel so...goose-bumpy? "So I've been thinkin' a lot about how I've changed in over a year, y'know..."

"Oh?"

"I used to think I was useless and dumb and bad at shit. But considering what we've gone through, with the Chalices and stuff--"

"That you've majorly helped out in getting almost all of them?" Buck laughed, in his awkwardly high-pitched way, causing Zeus to wake up and glare at him. "You wanted to be a hero, Spike. Like my dad. But my dad? He's no hero." 

The shadows played across the light coming through the window. Buck took a deep breath. "But I think you are."

In that moment, Spike felt older. Or, rather, his head was less clouded. "Buck..." He smiled. "Well, I was gonna say...I may not be the most observant, usually, but I've been better, and I've noticed that of all the guys who hangs out around your office....I think I'm the one who's here the most."

"I think that may be true," Buck said. He leaned in and met Spike's eyes. "What...are you really trying to say?"

Wow, his face is...close to mine. Spike swallowed. "I...am not sure." But I know for a fact that this would be a really shitty and kinda corny time for us to be suddenly and inconveniently interrupted--

RIIING

Buck snapped out of his romantic haze. "Shit," he said, straightening his collar. "My 10 o'clock. You gotta' go."

Spike sighed. "Who..."

"Come on in," Buck said, in his 'business' voice. He looked at Spike again and mouthed, "Go!"

Spike crossed his thick arms, annoyed. "I ain't goin' nowhere, buster!"

The door opened, releasing a waft of gentle perfumed.

"Hello, blondie," a familiar voice purred.

Spike narrowed his eyes. "Who..." He turned his head. "OH MY GODDESS?"

The dark haired woman removed her sunglasses and tossed back her expensive scarf. Varla Montez, glamorous as always, still dressed like she was walking Fifth Avenue and not the River Walk. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, handsome."

"WHAT!? VARLA!?" Spike stood and sputtered, even as Buck winced and slapped his hand against his forehead. "What are you doin' here?" He looked over at the little girl in overalls, bounding towards him. "And Laura?!"

"Spike!" Laura squeaked, jumping into his arms.

Even though Spike was easily the strongest man in that room, he always knew the perfect pressure for hugs. He held Laura close to him, like a memory, suddenly overwhelmed with the gentle sweetness of the past "Wow, kid, you got tall!"

The little girl immediately abandoned Spike like one of her toy doys (that she liked to mutilate) going for Buck instead. On the shelf, Zeus, eyes suddenly filled with interest, mewed and hopped off to greet the girl.

"Buck!" 

Spike had never seen Buck act so...gently before. "Hey, squirt," he said, ruffling her hair. "Spike is right. You did get taller. Must be drinking your milk or something."

Again, Laura immediately lost interested, zeroing in on the cat instead. Zeus came right up to her and rubbed himself against Laura's face, before rattling off a series of meows. "Zeus!" Laura listened intently. "Yeah? Really? Oh wow!"

Spike cocked his head to the side. Oh right, she has a Nature glyph. "What's he saying?"

Laura smiled. "He says you and Buck need to finally--"

"Honey!" Varla laughed, clamping her hand over her daughter's mouth. "Remember what I said about talking to animals in front of other people." Varla maneuvered her daughter behind her. "Buck, Spike can stay for a bit. I'm happy to fill him in, mostly because I hate that expression he gets when he's trying to think too hard."

In a few minutes, Buck had brought out the (good) brandy, some glasses, and a strawberry milk for Laura.

"The freshest milk in Texas," Buck said, handing it to her. She seemed content to play with Zeus. "Varla, as you were saying?"

The former showgirl leaned back in the leather chair.  "Well, where the heck to begin? So, I sold the fed back home and we're focusing on turning the gym into a spellbreaking training school instead. Better money and less stress." The dark haired woman nodded to her daughter. "More time to focus on this little gremlin here."

Buck tipped his glass to Spike, who--to his credit--appeared to be following along. "When I found out, I reached out to Varla to see if she wanted to co-chair the GSA."

Varla laughed. "Snatched me up is more like it. This one here has his Pa's business acumen, but without the annoying bits."

Buck nodded. "And now that we're expanding so quickly, Spike, I think dad and I could use the help."

"And a woman's touch," Varla winked. She lowered her glass, contemplatively. "Besides," she said, quietly, "You know about John Henry, don't you, Spike?"

"Yeah, he's gonna have a kid!" Spike smiled. "Oh, that means Sandra..."

Everyone in the room knew the Irons and their relationship. Sandra's pregnancy had only come to light as of recent.

"Neither of those two lovebirds were going to budge," Varla said. "I had a long talk with them. We want to pull John Henry back from the Chalice gigs. He'll keep providing intel, of course, but..." She threw back her glass, brushing back her hair. "Well, in my time, I've seen too many good men die. And once you become a parent, your world sort of changes..."

Buck and Spike stayed quiet, the sound of a cat purring in Laura's lap the only noise in the room.

Until...

"And when in blue blazes were you going to tell me about it?"

Buck flinched and looked up at the giant in the doorway. "Dad."

Varla froze. Spike saw a thousand emotions dance across her face (same as Colt's) before she put on a smug expression and stood up, folding her arms across her (ample) chest. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Colt, his hair pulled back in a ponytail, gave the whole of the room a withering stare. He fixed kindness onto his face and address his former lover. "Varla," he said, with a respectful nod. He had far more warmth for Laura. "Little One!"

"Uncle Colt!" Laura said, happiest of all to see him. She ran into his arms at full force. Naturally, Colt caught and lifted her up.

Varla threw him a look. "...Uncle?"

Spike was sure he was the only one who caught the flash of fear in Colt's eyes, and the barely perciptible shake of his head. No.

"Hm." Varla looked down on her daughter, set onto the ground. "Hey, kiddo, why don't you run along and get ice cream with Gio? The adults need to talk." 

Laura rolled her eyes. "The adults always need to talk." Still, she obeyed, dashing out of the room.

Back rigid, and looking both annoyed and nervous at once, Colt gave Spike a firm stare. "That means you too, varmint."

"No," Buck said, curtly cutting him off. "Spike can stay."

Spike pressed himself into the chair. Oh, boy. Here we go... He felt the tension between Colt and Buck.

"This is a business and family matter, son."

Buck shrugged. "Spike's as much family as any of us."

The rolling thunder outside precipitated Colt's abrupt snap. "Ok, boy, you want to act cute in front of employees and business partners? Be my guest and make an ass out of yourself. Wouldn't be the first time I've hashed it out in mixed company."

Spike froze, overcome with fear. He had never heard Colt sound like this. Buck, however, remained impassive. So did Varla. There weren't many who could stand up to the cowboy king, and Spike suspected the only two people on Earth who could, were presently seated next to him in this office.

Colt's emotions turned from hot anger to colder disappointment. Outside, it began to rain. "You two never told me about a potential partnership." He sighed. "Not that I think it's a bad idea, necessarily, but..."

Instead of cooling down with his father, however, Buck took the opportunity to land a blow. Hell behavior, Spike thought. "Well, I was going to get around to it. But remember, I'm technically the president of the GSA right now. Which means I can make decisions without consulting you."

Spike bit his lip. Next to him, Varla did the same.

Shit.

Colt's mouth twitched. He smiled. Not a nice smile. Spike had seen Colt smile like that before landing a lariat on a mouthy menace some years back. "Interim president, son. Think you're forgetting something." He placed his hands on the desk and gave his boy a dark look. "I still rule the roost around here."

Buck didn't break his stare. He said nothing.

Goddess, this is like when Colt stared down Cyclops Jones in BreakBrawl 7, Spike thought, both terrified and excited. Only, between father and son.

Finally, an olive branch. Or twig, as it were. "You're doing fine enough, kiddo," Colt siad, "but then there's other stuff I take exception with..."

Buck raised an eyebrow. "Such as?" His voice was cold as ice. Unlike his dad, all thunder and lightning, Buck's wrath was a chill that froze you to the bone.

Colt stood back and shrugged. "Gee. I dunno. Mental health provider on site?"

"It's something Victor and I have been talking about awhile, dad. I crunched the numbers. We can afford a therepist."

"Son, back in my day, we kept that stuff between us and the Goddess. We don't need a shrink telling our boys and girls to talk about their feelings while finger-painting or whatever the hell. Need I remind you it's our job to beat this ever loving crap out of each other?"

"Dad, with all that's gone on this last year I think it's more than needed. Hell, most of us are damn near traumatized at this point! Half of us have anxiety issues, the other half, depression."

"Which one am I?" Spike interjected.

"Anxiety," Buck, Varla, and Colt said at the same time.

"Cool, got it."

Buck continued without missing a beat. "Also, don't get grouchy with me, dad. You said you would spend your birthday with me, for once. What happened to that?"

"I was busy." Colt said, rolling his eyes. "Fighting to earn us funding. Same old, as always! Dang it, kid, if you only knew the things I did to put food in your mouth, maybe you wouldn't be so difficult. So maybe take that into mind when you're paying for your head shrinkers or whatnot."

Finally, Varla sprung to action. "Colton, you're being cruel." She pursed her lips. "You're too damn nice to be this mean."

He shot her a look. "I'd say 'who gave you the damn right to turn up at my doorstep, take over my business, and tell me how to talk to my boy' but I already know who you are, Varla Montez. What happened to you never wanting to to see my face again? Huh?"

She laughed. "Hells bells, Colton. If you really think that, then you're a bigger idiot than I thought." She steeled herself. "No. You're no idiot. That's me being cruel. But I was hoping we could make something amazing here; honest!" She gestured toh Buck. "Your son, Buck, is following in his father's footsteps. All he wants to do is make you proud. Everyone can see it."

Without thinking, Spike spoke out. "I can. Colt, you know Buck is still training in wrestling while running the business, right?

Buck turned towards Spike, not exactly in a friendly way, but Colt got to him first. "That...true? Shit. When do you sleep, kid?"

"Hardly ever," Buck snorted. "So, yes, I kind of do know what sacrifices you made for me. I'm living it now." He sighed. "And...it makes me appreciate what you did a hell of a lot more. Even though I think you made me president just to get me out of the Firebird business, it's done me a lot of good. So..." He trailed off, his voice shaking.

Varla tagged in. "I don't believe in nepotism, Colt. You think I'd be putting money on this pony if I didn't think he was a damn good manager?"

"With you, I don't know what to think." Colt glared at the others in the room, as if he was standing on the other side of the ring in a royal rumble. "Fine. Y'all leave me no choice. I'm withdrawing from the championships. Buck, you're relieved of your duties. I take the reigns on this wagon now, boy."

Everyone in the room was quiet. Outside, thunder tumbled across the Texas sky.

"No, you don't."

Spike and Varla looked at Buck. He stood now, leaning over the desk. Zeus suddenly shot up onto the desk, in front of Colt, arching his back. He hissed.

Whether cat or boy's defiance, Colt took a noticeable step back. The anger in his voice remained. "What did you say?"

"You heard me, dad. You can force yourself back into the role, sure. But legally, you can't force me out. I've read that contract, back to front." He sneered. "You were never much good at writing or reading them, old man, So, I'm not surprised you failed to assess the clauses."

Outside, the thunder went from low rumble to a full on, concussive blast. Lightning split the sky.

"Boy..." Colt growled. "If you don't want a twister to come along and blow us all to high heaven, I suggest you change your tune..."

"That's what I mean, dad!" Buck yelled back, in time with Zeus' screeching snarl. "I'm not gonna sit here and be talked out of getting some mental support for the crew when every time you get cheesed off, we have to worry about you summoning the storm of the century! I've stood in your shadow long enough, old man. It's time I stepped out."

Spike hadn't seen Colt look like this before. That is, he had never seen him look so...hurt. His face fell.

Then, the thunder. "You rotten..."

Varla, her shadow quivering, held out a firm hand to both men. "Buck, enough. I can cool off his jets."

She was panicking too, Spike thought. He felt deeply uncomfortable now.

"I can handle my dad," Buck snapped at the woman. "I saw him and ma' fight plenty of times before they split up. This ain't nothin'"

She nodded to him, unfazed. "Be that as it may, right now I..." She sighed. "Look, why don't you and Spike join Gio and your sister while I work my magick."

Buck went to bark something back at her, but stopped short. "What?" He blinked. "I don't have a sister."

"He's an only child," Spike said, nervously, just to try to help things. "Er, right?"

Varla shook her head. "Of course, I..."

Then, Varla's shadow against the wall grew taller.

 Her eyes turned deep violet, aglow. "Colton," she said, icily, turning towards the tall man. "No. You...you never told him!?"

Colt's face drained of all color. Spike opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a loud, percussive rhythm on the rood. "What the hell is that?"

Varla, deeply unsettled, looked outside the window. Her eyes resumed their velvet lucidity. "Hail? Hot damn, I've never seen him do hail before." She laughed, nervously.

But the truth stuck fast to Buck's heart like a dagger. He fell back into his seat and looked at his father.

Colt did not return the challenge. Defeated, he stared at the ground. "I'm...a damn failure."

It hit Spike before Buck spoke it aloud, but it didn't change the mood in the room. Or end the hail. "You mean Laura is...my sister?" He looked to Varla.

The dark haired woman tilted her head away, sadly. "No, kid, your momma is your mom. But it's true. Laura is your half-sister."

"The Tamberly dynasty has two heirs," Colt mumbled to himself. He looked up at his son. "And at least my daughter has a damn glyph."

To Be Continued