Chapter 0: I Bet You're Wondering How I Got Here?

Twenty five years ago...

Egypt. Valley of the Kings.

The sound of heavy stone grinding against sand sent a very satisfied chill up Captain Harrison's spine...though it was the man in the turban, panting in front of him, who did the heavy lifting. 

At gunpoint, of course.

The other three, Thatchford, Mays, and Johnstone, were all clad in full uniform (per protocol). The Empire's Albion Squadron patches, emblazoned on their shirtsleeves, shimmered in the desert sun. They were dressed honourably, yes, but Harrison thought little of his grunt. They stood around, wiping their brows in the Egyptian swelter.

Harrison frowned. They looked, for all the world, that this was some great, onerous chore for them--and here, on the edge of victory. Of course, the powers-that-be had assigned the captain such lesser men. To the Imperators at the top, Harrison's grand searches for artefacts of renown were still fanciful notions that had born little fruit. He knew what the men in London whispered about him, behind his back. 

The once-celebrated captain, gone mad, rummaging around the annals, chasing fairy tales. To them, it was as if he'd decided, on a whim, to send him and his men out into the sand swept, Valley of the King as some sort of glorified field trip, when there was a war to be one and tides to turn.

Lesser men, always getting in the way. ..

How things hadn't changed. "Quickly, now," Harrison barked at their guide. Bribery wasn't enough for these savages in the local village, apparently. Harrison, impatient, had decided to go the old fashioned way and round up the man's family instead, locking them in the village grainery. If they weren't back by sunset, the troops stationed there had orders to set the whole damn place ablaze. 

Harrison was sure to remind the good man, trembling with perspiration, of this fact.

Now, at last, the rush of old, stale air. Harrison forced the villager to go in first, lest any lingering toxic gasses, or obsidian dust (a common graverobbing deterrent), await. Harrison's assignment had been excavating this tomb for the greater month or so, though others had tried to find it before. Thankfully, the Alban conquest had granted the University at Oxford all sorts of plundered manuscripts and tomes near and far. It was no Black Library (that, frustratingly, yet eluded Harrison and the Division of Antiquity). However, the research efforts had led them as far as here, within the already looted Valley of the Kings, still offering secrets and treasures of the past.

Now, with the tomb opened, and breath held, Harrison was sure of it. The ankh over the staircase, its paint still vibrant despite the centuries, and the symbol of the inverted and upright pyramids meeting at the tips. There was no mistaking it, this was the tomb of Sarapis, the Eternal Jackal, he who had brought the Ptolemaic Dynasty to its grim collapse.

Out of spite, the legends say. Or love.

"Torch," Harrison sniffed, ordering Johnstone to light the oil-tipped stick with his own fire magick. Harrison had no magick of his own, and it didn't matter. He had risen to the ranks without it, and though jealous rumors painted his quest for enchanted artefacts as being driven purely by envy. It was all just vitriol. Those lesser men always talked.

Firelight danced along the walls of the tomb, covered in faded hieroglyphs, as Harrison ordered his men inside. When he laid eyes on the sarcophagus, studded with lapis and glass, Harrison nearly gave into weakness. He almost teared up.

Stiff upper lip, of course. Harrison pointed to their manservant, who, upon setting eyes on the sarcophagus, began to pray and back away out of fear. "Is this it?"

The trembling man, after gathering himself, nodded in the affirmative.

"Very well." Harrison snapped his fingers.

Thatchford, ever reliable, didn't hesitate to lift up the rifle and shoot the man in the back of the head. He collapsed to the ground, dead.

"Are you mad!?" Mayes piped up, balking at the dead man and the spilled blood, travelling in a river to the base of the sarcophagus (as if by design). "The Department of Antiquities will have our hides if they find out we've bloodied a tomb!" 

Harrison grabbed the young soldier by the scruff of his collar, before he could even muster his next breath. "Mad? I'll show you mad! The scrolls are abundantly clear about the means in which to awake this ancient weapon. Do not question my authority again, or you'll end up like this poor chap here. And once we have what we want, the Department of Antiquities is going to kiss my bloody arse. You UNDERSTAND!" Sick of the grunt, Harrison tossed the young man into the wall and approached the sarcophagus with a blood-lust.

Disregarding protocol, Captain Harrison slid his hands across the luxuriant sarcophagus lid. "I would kill a whole lot more if I had to for this, men." He looked at the pool of blood gathering around the tomb's base. The gemstones embedded in the lid emitted a soft glow. "Yes. Now, rise champion."

The men stood back as the light from the gap between lid and sarcophagus intensified. It was like a horror movie. But any of them leaving would invite far worse, especially from Harrison. They trained their guns at the tomb, ready. 

The lid dropped, but the small room stifled the echo. Harrison waited.

A bandaged hand gripped the side of the case. Guns cocked, ready to shoot whatever ancient fiend crawled from that tomb...but Harrison barely blinked. He waited. 

"Unnnggggghhhh..." Came a low, hollow moan from within the coffin. A shape rose, wrapped in ceremonial cloth. Slowly, it turned towards the waiting man.

Harrison stepped back, distinguishing the faded pigment across the burial shroud--the head of a jackal and the symbol of the long-dead magi who bent time to suit the whims of their kings. "Oh mighty Jackal, last of the Time Magi. We beseech you."

The bandaged, wrapped mummy--massive, larger than most men--turned slowly towards the cowering soldiers in the back of the tomb. 

It spoke to them, in perfect English. "Tell...me..." it began, slowly, its voice weary and horse with the sleep of ages. 

Harrison swallowed. He glanced at his men, nodding to them to remain calm. "Yes, O Lord."

"Tell me...in my slumber, my mind has travelled all timelines. I have seen cities of glass, glittering with light. I have seen these towers of the gods, rise and fall, consumed by flame. I have seen chariots shoot across the sky, carrying lords and ladies with knowledge in a glass in the palms of their hands. I have seen monuments and paintings and songs and tragedies. Pictures, moving on screens. Music, from out of boxes. And therefore, I must know one thing...."

Harrison, barely able to contain himself, leaned forward. "Yes, old one. Whatever you seek. Whatever knowledge or wisdom you wish to attain, my Empire can bestow it. I swear it."

The massive figure in the cloth waited. Then, ripping it off in one swift motion, the giant, dark skinned man balanced his elbows on the lid of the coffin and placed his chin in his hands. "Okay, so did they ever release a third part to Paparazzi and Telephone...or nah?"

Harrison and the other soldiers stared blankly at the handsome giant, dripping in gold jewels and bangles.

The man in the sarcophagus frowned. "Come on...You know? Lady GaGa? Beyonce? Oh, don't tell me I woke up in the wrong timeline? AGAIN..."

The Alban Captain stood back, confused and aghast. "I...I know not of which you speak."

The giant in the box sighed. "Riiiight. You're like Nazis, or something, aren't you?"

"I...beg pardon?" Harrison cleared his throat. "We are the vanguard for the most holy Alban Empire, who seek to rid the world of impurities and spread our virtuous--"

"Yep, Nazis. Different timeline, same smell. I mean, pleeeease," the giant flicked his hand towards Harrison and the lot. "The Indiana Jones schtick? You thought you'd find some magical artefact that could turn the tide of war and blah blah blah. You know what happens when you try to do that right? You get a lava facial. Your faces? Tomato soup, habibis." The giant blinked. "Oooh, Arabic. Does Egypt speak Arabic now? The Pharaohs would get a mighty kick out of that!"

The massive, muscular man suddenly pointed to the man on the floor. "Woah, look at that dead guy! Probably some schmuck from the local village you bullied into gunpoint. What, did you threaten his family or something? Hahahaha. Oh, typical." He smiled. "Yeahhhhhh, I'm gonna have to kill all your asses now."

Before Harrison could find the words to speak, he found his throat in the giant man's hands. Gasping, choking, he forced out the words. "Sh...shoot him! What are you fools waiting for!"

"Oh, those guys?" The giant man twisted Harrison's head, painfully, forcing him to look over his shoulder at all but two of his men, laying on the ground, necks broken, now resembling aged mummies themselves. "As you blinked just now, I took the liberty of draining them of their ages. Except that jobber."

Mayes, white as a ghost, sat with his knees tucked against his chest, rocking back and forth. His gun, in front of him, was bent at an odd angle. Useless. 

"Mostly because, well, for one...he's kinda cute. Second, I need a witness. But I should thank you, Harrison. That is your name, right? Harrison? Not my favorite Beetle. More of Lennon guy myself, really, cliche as it is. Well, more of a Yoko fan. She gets a bad rap. ANYWAY. As for the gratitude, yeah...thanks for waking me up. I can see the world is still shit. Soldiers. No matter the era. Soldiers. War. I hate it. But you woke me up! You won the special prize." The giant, frightening man with the long braid grinned. "Can you guess what that is?"

For Harrison, this was a somewhat novel encounter. At last, he experienced a new emotion. Fear. "P...please, sir."

Salim poked him on the nose with his other hand, punctuating each word with a nudge. "I. Get. To. Drain. Your. Time. BYE, BITCH!"

Mayes watched, jaw on the floor, as Harrison aged in rapid time, all the moisture and youth sucked out of him. When he was done, the giant man discarded Harrison's shrivelled corpse as if it was used peanut shell, and slowly walked to Mayes.

Mayes, in shock, placed his hands over his eyes. "Please...don't...I was just..."

"Listening to orders," Sarapis frowned. "Yeah, heard that old line before. You can lower your hands now. I'm not gonna kill ya'."

Shivering with adrenaline, Mayes did as told. His mouth gaped as he sized up the enormity of the man who stood in front of him. The tip of his head even touched the ceiling.

The naked giant shrugged. "Yeah, grower not a shower. You can tuck that pretty jaw back inside your head now. Already said, I'm not going to kill ya. And I don't lie. Well, I'm not lying right now anyway. Promise. And hey, you're probably wondering why I can speak your language. Well, aside from the fact that it's narratively convenient, I don't just sap the time out of people..." The giant made a rude, exaggerated slurping sound. "I DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE! I can also travel the timelines, in my head. For all that dreaming, I was experiencing other worlds, other realities. English is frustratingly prevalent in a lot of them. So, I picked it up. Along with Japanese, Esperanto, and High Fodongo. Don't worry about that last one, you don't have it here."  

The giant man sat down next to Mayes, like he was a classmate chum at recess. Mayes swallowed as the man wrapped his giant arm around him. He could easily crush his windpipe if he flexed.

"But that idea kinda turns on you on, doesn't it, Maysy boy? Oh yeah--I can smell the stink of repression on you. Well, keep it in your pants. Already said I'm not gonna kill ya. I'm sure as hell not gonna' sleep with ya either. I just want to have a little exchange, is that okay? I'll tell you about me, if you can tell me the..." He gestured broadly to the dim room, full of the dead. "Current state of affairs. Do that, I'll spare your life." He held out his pinky to him and smiled. "Pinky promise! And that's even more powerful than old Egyptian magick."

Nauseous, and on the verge of collapse, Mayes completed the gest

...

Okay, enough of that third person nonsense. I'm telling this story now. Yea, me. Salim. Sarapis. Jackal. Gold Mask. The Millionaire Manager. Daddy.

Damn, I go by many names; pick one. 

Freeze frame on the big-ass mumy. Yep, that's me. I bet you're wondering how I got here, and what my whole 'deal' is. It's pretty standard stuff, actually. I got sick of life and took a nap for a very long time, and then woke up to all you a**holes. Well before I met Spike (seriously, who picks the little white twink as a protagonist these days--what is this, Roland Emmerich's Stonewall?) I was working for Aradia. 

That's all true. I helped found the damn organization after all. And me playing manager for the GSA isn't just to keep up appearances either, you know. I love spellbreaking! I was once a spellbreaker, myself. But of course, I wasn't just any spellbreaker. I was THE spellbreaker. The first, and original, you might say.

Let's rewind...

---

I'd have made this part a musical number, but you know, save that for the audio book.

Okay, so, some 2000+ years ago, Egypt was kind of the coolest place on Earth. It was already old. By the time the Greeks rocked up and colonized my people, the pyramids were already ANCIENT. Still, we kept our gods. The Greeks were actually pretty chill about that whole thing, having tons of gods themselves.

But to tell my story in whole would take another damn blog, and I'm sure you just want to get to the world tournament part and see if Spike becomes the big world champ (spoilers: he doesn't. HA!). So let me take you on the slideshow version of my past. The very distant past, that is.

Sand. Nile. Palm trees. Muted, delicious, deserty pallets. Real Prince of Egypt setting. You can picture it, right?

I remember the day my powers activated. I was a Time Magi, a tribe already rare and few in numbers at that point. I didn't know my mother, but I heard she was pretty and very kind. I was already considered unusually large as a kid, and so most people avoided me. Good riddance. I knew I didn't like or trust most people when I caught my old mate, Zahir, by the riverside one day. He was sitting there, being a dick, taking a big rock and smashing all these beautiful golden scarabs.

Now, I'm not exactly what you'd call a softie. But I saw Zahir doing this to these beautiful, innocent creatures--that literally exist just to be pretty--and I sort snapped. I smacked Zahir, wrestled him to the ground, and took that selfsame stone and brought it down on his head, thinking he deserved the same punishment. Fit the crime, right? This was justice.

But, at the last second...I got weak. I thought, 'No, I take it back'. I knew it would crush his skull, cave it in. How was I to explain that to the pharaoh's magistrate? I was his own vizier's kid, after all. But, at that last second, I got my second chance. My time magick kicked in. Reality froze. Inched away from Zahir's skull, the rock stopped. I realized what I was doing and stopped. I threw the rock aside. I cried myself to sleep later that night. 

The next day, Zahir was imprisoned for pushing a slave's kid into the river, drowning him.

I promised myself then and there, that would be the last time I ever showed weakness.

So yeah, a dash of toxic masculinity. What can I say? I grew up big, bad, and strong (you've seen the character art, I'm sure). I learned how to wrestle from the Greeks, thanks-be-to-Plato. Fun fact:Plato's real name is lost to time--all we have his wrestler name, which quite literally means 'Huge Pecs'. Look it up if you don't believe me. Made a name for myself on the battlefield too. Believe me, back then, everyone had it out for the Egyptians and the Greeks. 

But, since yours truly can freeze time, I'd just stand by, probably on some overlooking hilltop--cape blowing dramatically behind me in the winds of war--before strolling down and snapping necks left and right. The opposing side never even comprehended what was happening to them. Sounds pretty gnarly, right?

Truth be told, after awhile, you start getting numb to it.

Now, try living like that for two thousand years...

WHOOPS! Didn't mean to get all Silvia Plath on you, fine folks. So, here's the thing about wars. Eventually, they stop (thank the gods). It was a time of peace, I had met my first wife (bisexual and proud here) and things were going real swell. The Pharaoh, Ptolemy II (or was it III?) was a decent enough guy, and seeing as Egypt and Greece had conquered almost all the lands around, they came to me to try and figure out a way to keep all these beefed up, angry soldiers tame, and the population happy.

So, here's where it turns into a bit of a bummer. While my wife was pregnant with my first kid, she got sick. All the magick in the world couldn't save her, and believe me, I tried. She died before she gave birth. I lost them both. It was then, that I myself realized I wasn't even getting any older. All those warriors I'd killed in battle...I had absorbed their excess years. I was keeping myself alive, quite literally, on borrowed time.

That...that messed me up.

Thankfully, the gods are good (sometimes). That's when I met Callius. To paint a picture of him, imagine Spike, but taller, and with darker hair. Greek features. Gods, Callius was a BABE. You realize then why men go to war for love. Callius knew plenty about war himself. He was Greek soldier and a gladiator. He also, quickly, became my best friend. Man, you should have seen his pretty smile (and his biceps). We got to know each other (intimately, I should add) and formulated a solution to the Pharaoh's mercenary problem. 

You see, back then, there were Twelve Guilds of martial combat. I think each one corresponded to a different zodiac sign (or maybe I'm getting that mixed up with Final Fantasy XII's job class system). Regardless, one such guild was called the Spellbreakers. These were magi who used both magick and physical combat to incapacitate other magi on the battlefield. Callius and I thought we could apply their principles to gladiatorial combat and old school wrestling, offering up a highly entertaining spectacle. To address the problem of, well, our best fighters being completely obliterated in combat, we suggested the fighters imbibe the same soma elixirs that our warriors drank before going to war. It would keep them alive to keep on fighting and raking in the cash--I mean, keeping the peace!

This absolutely brilliant idea, as you can imagine, proved highly successful. Spellbreaking took the ancient world by storm. Every colosseum. Every amphitheatre. Every arena. And I, surprising exactly nobody, was one of the best. I was the champion, in fact. I mean, it makes sense. I practically invented the sport! Callius, who was sadly bereft of magick, never participated. 

I think that may have been the first dark mark on our relationship. There was always a quiet resentment with that one. Boiling just under the surface. As powerful as I was, I was still young. I didn't see the ambition in his eyes. His lust for power...

Unfortunately, as we were drowning ourselves in gold, wine, and ancient world a**, we failed to realize the pharaohs and senators and emperors at the top were using spellbreaking as a distraction. Bread and circuses, as they say. It did the job, as intended--kept warriors placated, and the masses sedate. Slowly, all around those gilded colosseums, the hungry begged in crumbling streets, senators filled their coffers with the people's purse, the foreign were enslaved, the women beaten, and the infirm tossed into mass graves of the dead. Oh yes, many of them while still alive, in fact.

And you came here just to read stories about hunks in underwear beating each other up... ;)

At this point, the Pharaoh was and old man and I was still (visibly, anyway) young. My father had passed away some years before. Now, Ptolemy wasn't the nicest man in history, but there were much bigger a**holes. He genuinely cared about me. And he worried for me too. Yes, me, the giant man who can bend time to his will! He knew his successor well enough, and he feared what he might try to do to a powerful stud like me who didn't seem to age. He warned me to flee while I still could, and take my tribe with me. I didn't listen. I was too proud. 

Around that time, the Time Magi were dwindling--and, to this day, I can offer no explanation as to why. Maybe we incurred the wrath of the Goddess Herself, who knows? I was protective of my tiny tribe, especially my younger sister, who had become visibly older than myself by then. We used to joke about it. She was without judgment. A pure soul.

My life is like the tides. Tragedy washes in, then recedes, leaving pearls and pretty shells behind. Egypt was thriving, expanding its borders, but the one group we still maintained good terms with was the kingdom of Kus to the North. Now the Kus? Brilliant, them. Artisans, scholars, healers, warriors--and damn easy on the eyes.

And the easiest on the eyes was Taharqa, their King. Muscles carved from volcanic glass, and with a smile brighter than the moon. I was smitten with him the moment we crossed paths. He loved to watch spellbreaking, and thought of battling himself--though his advisors had decided against it. Surprising nobody, we fell in love. A forbidden romance! Who doesn't love that in anti-hero?

I admit, I wasn't the best lover. Back then, relations between men were tolerated, but never codified in anything resembling a marriage (as you moderns would recognize it, anyway). Not even Alexander the Great could work that out, and if there was one twink who could, it would have been him. Callius, you see, had gotten older. I staid the same. He was like winter. Taharqa, spring. I fumbled those two hearts, fragile things. Callius and I had a falling out. I left Egypt, bound for Kus, with my new king. I was ready to serve him for eternity.

The Pharaoh that followed his predecessor was not a kind man. When he set his sights on Kus, my beloved's kingdom, I refused to return and aid him. Not only that, but when he tried to call my bluff, I turned my blade and my magick open the men I once found alongside. Love makes you do funny things...

The Pharaoh responded by rounding up my kindred time magi, my sister included, and put them to the sword. He feared rebellion. He was paranoid. He was also foolish. 

He got his war. I gave it to him.

Tell me, how does one kill a kingdom? 

I took from them, first, their knowledge. By then, the Library of Alexandria had already amassed many scrolls and tomes among its shelves. It was their policy to take all books and scrolls from incoming ships, make copies of them, and send the originals back with their hosts. The Library had also accumulated one too many objects of power, for my liking. While the Grecian scholars who guarded it were prudent men indeed, I knew the Pharaoh would kill their families as well if they refused his requests.

I took from them next, their power.

I went about whispering in the right ears, flattering the right senators, and slowly turned the Greeks against the Egyptians. I didn't need to do much. Hardly any magick at all. Manipulating powerful men has always been my forte. In time, the Greeks marched into Alexandria, and burnt what little was left of the underfunded Library to the ground. 

You know, of course, what happened to those forbidden tomes that ended up in the Black Library of Ivan the Terrible. I may be good, but even I'm not always thorough.

I took from the next, their soldiers. Those have always been easy to kill. Kus had a strong army (I'd trained them, after all). The sands of Egypt turned red, by my power.

In the end, it didn't matter, Taharqa, my true king, was slain on the battlefield before I could arrive. I may be able to control time, but the past is something I've never been able to change. Frustrating, isn't it? If only...

If only...

Last of all, I took the Egyptians hope. In time, the new empire of Rome had risen--throwing Egypt into a civil war, with brother against brother. Who do you think helped fan the flames of that war? Egypt fell--the last of the Hellenic dynasties. 

All by my hand.

Which is to say, I'd pretty much had enough. I'd considered wandering into Rome and taking them over, maybe raising an Empire of my own. Why not? 

I'd caught wind of grand designs from the land of the Rus at that point. Heard plenty about the Divine Chalices. But do you want to know the truth of it? I was tired. Dog tired. I had taken on more lovers, over time, than those few mentioned above. Do you know the problem about being nigh-immortal? It's not living through all the pain and despair, but seeing everyone around you grow and old and die. Time moves faster when you don't age. In a day, the young become old. 

I couldn't live like that anymore. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to...well...you know. Just not my style. I am, if anything, ever the optimist. So, as the last of the time magi, I used what powers I had, took the only artefact that hadn't been plundered over the years (the Eye of Osiris) and used it to seal myself within a tomb in the Valley of the Kings.

Which brings us to...now. Well, not know. 1945 or whatever year the Albans woke me.

"And that's where I slept, travelling the timelines, learning about other worlds, other 'whens' and 'if's', until you woke me up, Maysey boy." I yawn, tugging the scared, little man closer to me. Just so he knows how quickly I could end him, if I wanted to.

"Now, I said I wouldn't kill you, habibi. I am an honest man. When I want to be, of course. So, as part of the deal...tell me about this Alban Empire of yours. What's your angle?"

I'll spare you the lad's response. You already know it. World War and World II in your timeline weren't so different. Imagine both, combined into one, and with magick on top of that. You get the gist.

I listened to the scared man, just shy of wetting his pants. Reader, I did let him live. Mostly because I had use of him. After a moment's pause, I looked into his baby-blue eyes. I smiled. 

I saw my reflection, staring back at me. I hadn't aged.

"Well, Maysey, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship." I held my hands out the soldier, as if asking to be cuffed. "Take me to your leader! I think I'd like to have a word with the Emperor.."

You already know what I can do to Empires and Emperors, dear reader. Do I have to explain the rest? :)

To Be Continued

...

OH WAIT! Silly goose that I am, I forgot to mention... 

Shortly after founding Aradia, I did in fact return to the world of spellbreaking. In fact, it was one of the few reasons I decided not to just end the damn planet then and there, seeing what the Alban Empire had done to most of Europe. Granted, there was more theatricality involved in today's version of the sport (and camp!) but I dabbled. As you can expect, I was damn good. I rose to the ranks. I challenged Colt 'The Bolt' to the title, and won...not that you smart marks would remember.

Because, as soon as I got a whiff of ambitions from Russia, I knew the peace I'd engineered couldn't last. The Eye of Osiris didn't work on Semyon, which was the first sign he wasn't just some schmuck, but had access to very bad things...likely, the Eye's twin, the Eye of Set (look, us time magi weren't too creative with naming conventions back then). My Eye allowed me to see all possible outcomes and intentions. The Eye of Set? Obscured them. If someone was using it, it meant they'd done their research. Furthermore, they likely knew I was out there, somewhere, awake and waiting..

Two can play at that game of course, ol' Spike. I used my Eye, and my magick, to rewrite 'King Anubis' out of existence. You better believe that took a lot of effort. Fortunately, I had lives to spare... 

Having already played the role of Salim Netjeer, pretty-boy playboy and Millionaire Manager (we love an abundance of alliteration don't we?) I knew I had the perfect cover story. I decided to go undercover. As always, I do my best work from the shadows. 

I knew, right away, that I would need soldiers. More importantly? 

I needed himbos. 

The GSA were the antidote to Firebird's poison. All I had to do was team up with the most brilliant woman in the world (Lily, bless her socks) and grease my old (friendly) rival Colt's hands with silver. Cowboy didn't even remember who I was! I took the Jackal moniker--mostly for the drama of it all--and went around thwarting Firebird's designs when my little, muscle headed henchman couldn't. 

"But of all the pretty little idiots who could stand up to Firebird, I needed a champion." 

I set my drink down on the bar, looking directly at Spike. Oh, Spike. Your eyes could melt even my cold heart. "To be real with you, habibi, it was either you or Cian. That's why I tested you both. There's just something about you, kiddo. Though, I admit, the Eye seems to show flashes of Mr. Iron for some reason. That's why I saved him in Italy. Well, that and he's just a sweet guy. I couldn't let him die!"

Spike, you cutie. Breathing rapidly, Spike downs his third scotch of the night and gasps. "Holy...s***".

I shrug. "Yeah, that's how you react to this in most timelines." I stand, looking over my little hero. "So, whaddya say, champ. I need you. You need me. Whaddya' say, habibi...let's work together!"

For a sailor, Spike looks sea-sick. "Uh...what do I have to do?"

I smile. "Simple. Just take a little trip with me."

"A trip? To where?" He blinks. "Egypt? You wanna' go back to Egypt?"

"No. To the strangest country of all," I say, wrapping my arm around his little, blonde head. "The past!"

NOW, PLAY THE MUSIC!

To Be Continued (but for real, this time)