Chapter 4: Regrets and Reconciliations

"It's...all so blue."

The lush, green hills stood out against the sky and sea, reflections of turquoise and clear water. Gio and Buck watched the shores of Milne Bay come into view--splendid palms on sandy shores, dotted with fishermen at work. Though chatter had been scarce to begin with, largely due to Buck's secrecy surrounding this sudden detour, any talk came to a standstill, as the GSA boys were silenced by the raw beauty of the Papua New Guinea landscape.

It also didn't help that the third man on this mission, Kengo, was bent over the rail and sea sick. "I should not have agreed to this," the sweaty, handsome sumo said, wiping his mouth and bracing himself against the side of the boat. He pated his brow with his blue, tropical patterned shirt.

Buck tore himself away from the island's spell. "Big guy, we said it was cool for you to go to Japan without us. White Tiger is gonna need help, even if he won't admit it."

Kengo answered with a groan. "I have a duty of care. As son of our big boss, Gio and I must escort you to your destination." His mouth twitched. "Even if you have not told us what the destination is."

Gio, so devoted to the Tamberly family as he was, hadn't question Buck's judgment. "You think the next Chalice is really here, eh?"

Buck said nothing. Besides, the boat had pulled up along the dock. Standing just off the ramp, parked in front of a roomy jeep, a dark skinned woman in practical clothing watched the passengers disembark. Buck locked eyes with her. She smiled and nodded at him.

This is a terrible idea, Buck thought. Every cell of his body told him this much. The boys knew by now how anxious he could get. He was open, and self-deprecating, about his intrusive thoughts and constant catastrophising. He looked down at the note in his hands, and the small baseball card attached to it.

"Dear Buck,

Daemian and I are going to Sydney. I hope I get to see koalas! I also hope I make it there alive. You know how Deadboy can be. The fact that I trust Brax, a literal demon from Hell, more than him, should tell you how I feel about things.

I'm not very good at writing words. But I know you have been through a lot, with Varla and your Dad, and I guess your sister (that's so weird to say!). I have been through a lot of changes though, myself, the past year. I never thought I'd work for one of the best spellbreaking feds. Or that I would get this so far so quickly. It almost doesn't feel weird. And honestly, it still scares me. None of these big, bad spellbreaker guys ever talk about how scary and intense the pressure is. 

And nobody ever gives thanks to the guys behind the scenes either. Even though your dad brought me on, honestly...and don't tell him this...I feel like you've done so much more for me. Because of you, I'm fed. I get to travel the world. You make me look very hot on the posters and fliers...not that it's hard. You do so much for all of us. You've been a great president, and people need to tell you that more.

I know you're going on this big journey and I know it's supposed to be a secret. You don't need magick to be great, but I have given you my lucky baseball card that I carry around. As a Brooklyn boy, I'm supposed to love the Dodgers, but mostly I just thought the guy on the card was hot. Consider it my lucky charm. Give it back to me when I see you again.

I hope to see you soon.

Love,

Spike"

What did he mean by love? Buck didn't want to read too much into it. He hadn't gotten the chance to respond either. Too much on his mind.

Buck, Kengo, and Gio followed the captains command and exited off the boat. The merchants and missionaries around them all gawked. They had gotten used to the stares by now. They stood out. Fortunately, they had magick on their side (Gio and Kengo did anyways) so Buck didn't feel threatened. Much as he hated to admit it, travelling with the two giant powerhouses of the GSA was probably for the best.

"And your father does not know you're here?" Gio said, adjusting his sunglasses.

"I'm still the president of the GSA," Buck said, curt. "I can do whatever I want. And you guys didn't need to come out this far with me."

"But why would we not?" Kengo asked. "You are leader. And..." Kenog blushed. "Oh I shouldn't say this...but, I think you treat us better than your father. Sometimes."

Buck stopped. "Yeah, I know." He looked over at the woman waiting by the jeep. "Are you...?"

"Bridgette," the cheerful woman said. She looked Kengo and Gio up and down, in awe "Uh...I hope you all can fit. You look like very healthy men. The villagers might be in for a shock."

Gio and Kengo tossed each other a glance. "Sorry," Buck said. "Guys, this is Bridgette Murua. She's a travelling nurse here."

"Studying for my doctorate," she quickly added. Buck thought she could be in her early forties. "The people of the village we're going to have thank your team for the food donation. I am not sure they understand your peculiar sport...I told them it's like wrestling...but they seem interested, and gratitude is not lost on these islands." She nodded to the truck. "Well, hopefully you muscle heads don't weigh this thing down."

Still confused and wary, Gio and Kengo followed a determined (yet evasive) Buck into the truck. After a few starts, the engine roared to life. It was slow travel, but Bridgette guided them down the dirt path into the shade of the green forest.

Birds of paradise sang their songs, and the calm light and humid air put him more at ease than he had been on the boat ride over from Port Moresby. "Sorry to be annoying about it, ma'am, but you've confirmed that doctor we're looking for is in this village?"

"What was her name again?"

Buck took a deep breath. "Joanna Martin."

Brigette's eyes lit up at the name. "Oh yes, Dr. Martin is very good. Everyone likes her. She lives with the missionaries, mostly, on the hill. She cured the villager elder when he was sick, and he is fiercely protective of her. He has told the men of the village that he will cut the hand off any man who approaches her without good reason."

Kengo gulped. "She sounds...powerful."

Buck said nothing. In his pocket, he slid this thumb over Spike's lucky baseball card. It had become an unofficial prayer totem for him.

"I heard they eat people here," Gio asked, matter-of-factly.

Buck winced, and Kengo turned a deep shade of red.

Brigette laughed, musically, taking it in stride.

"A few tribes did practice ceremonial cannibalism recently, mostly funeral in nature." "Don't worry, big one. You are not on the menu."

Gio nodded in approval. "If I was, I hope I would be well prepared though."

"Okay, Gio," Buck said, quickly, "thank you for your input."

The car came to a slow stop, and Buck saw the reason right away--a massive, downed tree right in the middle of the path.

Bridgette pursed her lips.  "Ah, there was a big storm last night. They must not have cleared this."

Buck tried not thinking of it as an ill omen, or worse, and excuse to turn around. 

Gio suddenly hurdled over the car door, landing gingerly on the solid ground. "Ah, but Gio can handle it."

"Don't be a show-off with your muscles," Buck warned.

"Don't need muscles for this," Gio smiled. He made a slow, graceful motion with his hands, as if he was picking up an invisible box. Instead, the tree moved upwards with his command, re-rooting itself back where it had been torn the night before.

The bearded Italian turned to his shocked audience, and smiled. "The tree is very thankful to be back where it belong." He returned to the car, which lurched and rocked as the giant man squeezed into the back seat. 

Buck was practically smooshed together between him and Kengo. Spike would be so jealous of me right now, he thought.

"A plant magi!" Brigette marvelled. "The elders of the village will consider you good luck." She restarted the engine (after several attempts). "Though, use caution. Some magick here is considered 'evil'. Shadow conjurers, or those who commune with spirits, are often called 'witch doctors', and regarded with suspicion...or worse."

Next to Buck, Kengo gulped, and shited uncomfortable in his seat. 

The remainder of the car ride was mercifully short, leading them to a clearing comprised of a few tin houses and more traditional huts. A set of women looked up from the fields they were tending, marvelling at the size of the unusual strangers. 

"People here rely mostly on subsistence farming here," Brigette explained. "Sago. Yams. Good foods with carbohydrates and sugar. Your donation will bring them some canned goods in from the Port, which are always welcome. If they offer you food--and they will do so out of respect--please decline it."

"Thank you," Buck said. Suddenly, all of his worries had shrunk with perspective. He hadn't ever considered the reality of even missing a meal, or having not enough to eat. This was, perhaps, the real world that his father had tried to hide from him for so long.

The jeep pulled up alongside one of the larger, more modern houses in the village. Men and children gathered around it, curious, but friendly.

"They're...so big!" the little ones said to each other.

"They have brought us good luck," the older men whispered.

Buck's shoulders eased up. A warm reception was a positive sign.

From somewhere inside the tin shack, Buck heard a pleasant woman exchanging words with another, in English. She spoke with an accent that Buck immediately picked up as familiar. "I put out some fresh towels on the line. Thank goodness that storm didn't cause any damage last night. And you know, I saw a rainbow this morning. I think it's going to be a good day."

Then, the woman appeared at the door to the makeshift clinic. Dark haired, with beautiful, long lashes, and watery eyes. She had come to see what the commotion was about.

"Brigette, what--" she looked up at Kengo and Gio with great confusion. But when he eyes landed on Buck, she almost gripped the door for stability.

She placed her hand over her mouth. "Oh, crap..." Her eyes shook.

Buck swallowed. Right away, Kengo and Gio knew something was up. The men and women of the village shooed the children away from the strangers, leaving the GSA crew and the woman to their privacy.

After a thousand different emotions crossed the doctor's face, she choked down a sob, holding her hands out to...

Buck embraced her, turning his head away from the others before they could see that he too had gone red face and teary.

"How...are you here?" the woman said, in disbelief. Then, she composed herself, her tone--and expression--changing. "Why are you here?"

It was enough to knock reality back into Buck, who turned to Gio and Kengo, who he knew deserved an explanation. "We...should talk inside."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "They spellbreakers?" she asked, making the word 'spellbreakers' sound like a curse word. Her accent sharpened with her pitch. "Well, you came all this way. I'm not going to turn you back. Get here and shut the door."

As Buck followed Dr. Joanna into the shack, he watched her body language shift from kindly and in-control, to annoyed and somewhat defensive. She gestured to a pitcher of water on the counter. "Well, hospitality ain't the same here as it is in Texas. The people here don't have much, but they sure as hell will offer you a lot if you let them. Maybe if you told me you were coming, I could have--"

"How the hell could I have told you when you're all the way out here," Buck stated, cutting her off.

The woman smiled. It wasn't exactly a welcoming smile. "Don't interrupt me. You-know-who always did that."

Gio's back stiffened, and Kengo made a small squeak,

Buck, however, was unbothered. "I'm sorry. I should have sent you a letter. It's just that...I'm on the way to Australia for this tournament thing, and I thought I'd--"

"So this is a spellbreaking thing," the woman said, folding her arms tightly to her (rather ample) chest. "I knew it. Sweet boy, that sport dann ruined my life, and it will ruin yours. Mark my words."

Finally, Kengo summoned the courage to breach the topic. "Umm...so does this lady know where the next Chalice is?"

Joanna looked at him, quizzically. "Chalice? What Chalice?" She shook her head. "Damn it, the boy took the air out of me and my manners must have gone with it." She shook Kengo and Gio's hand. "Joanna Martin," she said. Then, with great hesitation, she added, "But I reckon you know who I am."

Gio and Kengo smiled nervously, and backed away. 

"You haven't told them?" Joanna asked Buck incredulously.

"No! Well, I uh."

"Ugh!" The woman rolled her eyes and tossed up her hands. Irritated, she walked around the table and poured herself a glass of water. "Well, Martin is my maiden name. I never got around to changing my surname. Even though I should have." She took a long drink. "There's a lot of things I should have done, I suppose..."

Kengo bit. "And your last name...miss...would be...?"

The pretty woman glared at him. Then, laughing darkly, she poured herself a glass of water. "My full name is Dr. Joanna Martin-Tamberly."

Kengo blinked. "Huh, but that's Buck and Colt's last--UUUUWHHHHAAAA!!!?"

Buck slapped his own forehead. "I want to die." He acknowledge his companions, bodyguards, employees, whatever they were supposed to be. "Yep. This is my mamma."

"First your sister," Gio said, shocked, "and now you have a secret mother too?"

Joanna raised an eyebrow. "Secret?" Then, she looked sharply at her son. "SISTER?"

Buck grimace. "Yeah, that's well...look...we have a lot to catch up on."

After staring at her son a few cold seconds, Joanna broke into derisive, amused laughter. "Sister. Goddess damn. I'm gonna kill him..."

To say the least, the next hour or so was full of awkward tension thawing into something of a normal conversation. Gio and Kengo proved mostly a polite audience (and perhaps one that had taken on more than they were expecting), while Buck and his mother caught up.

At one point in the conversation, Joanna removed a peppermint stick from a small tin in her breast pocket, and put the confection between her lips. "I don't like to smoke around the villagers," she said. "And the missionaries always give me crap for it." She rolled the candy from one corner of her mouth to the other. "So, that showgirl, eh? You know, you won't believe me, but I actually like that Varla Montes. Lot of moxie." She sighed. "And...I'm not surprised."

"I don't think he slept with her when you and dad were--"

"It doesn't matter," Joanna said, shrugging. "At some point, I stopped caring about what your daddy did." She sighed. "And didn't do. So, he made you president, eh? No surprise there. You're smart. And you're good with people. But tell me this...what's the catch?"

"How...did you know?"

"With your father, there's always an ulterior motive. If he scratches your back, you best believe he'll expect you to scratch his on command."

Buck saw the road map of his mother's journey, from his childhood to the present. Stained with tears, it started with a blue of beauty pageants. Joanna had been blessed with a brain and cursed with good looks and a father that wanted her wedded off to a man of the gentry. Colt was the heir to a farm, and though he would make a name for himself in time, he had already earned himself a more unsavoury reputation around town. High school sweethearts became unexpected spouses when Joanna found herself pregnant with Buck and Colt found himself staring down the double barrel of a shotgun if he didn't do something to remedy the situation. 

Fortunately, the two were in love. Or had been. Joanna, without magick of her own, gave birth to a son who did not inherit his father's gifts. Buck had grown up knowing in his heart that this might have been the first 'crack'. By then, Colt had already made a name for himself. He was away for most of Buck's childhood.

After the divorce, Joanna had stuck around the area, just far enough, but Buck had seen his mother stay quiet, even when he knew she should have, for seventeen years. And so, when he turned 18, she ran as far as she could from the ranch...to world's end, it turned out. Buck not only understood, he encouraged her. Motherhood had been her prison. He would not see her confined on his own account.

In a sad way, perhaps, that is why the woman with the sad, pretty eyes, sitting across from an estranges son, truly loved him all the more.

But whereas Colt could spin a "I know I haven't been a great dad" speech to his son as easy as cutting a promo, Joanna didn't have to speak the equivalent out loud. "You can't expect me to be surprised, Buck."

He flinched. "At...what?"

"Your success." She smiled. "Your art. Becoming president of that damn GSA." She bit her peppermint stick in two. "Look, I just didn't want you to get hurt. Physically...or otherwise. 

This was all becoming way too intense for Buck, and the last thing he wanted was to come off as weak in front of his employees and friends. He politely excused himself from Kengo and Gio, and went out the back with Joanna, onward to a path that wrapped around the hill near the missionaries. Already bewildered at the day's turn of events, the two large men shyly slipped outside, mindful of the villagers and their innocent curiosity. At Brigette's recommendation, they stopped at a sago grove, shady with emerald leaves.

Neither of the two spellbreakers was very good at conversation, and it didn't help that the one language they both understood was not their native tongue. Kengo, wiping sweat from his brow, went first.

"The people are very friendly here," he said, regarding a fallen sago plant that had already been stripped of wood and pulp.

"People are friendly everywhere," Gio said. "It is just our traditions and customs that are different."

"Yes, this is true." Kengo had never pegged Gio as the philosophical type. "Families are different too. And somewhat the same. Poor Buck. I never knew how hard it was for him."

"He is boss," Gio said. "He cannot show his true self. Plus, he is Colt's son. You know what it's like for the whole family to have expectations and give you the big pressures."

Kengo blinked. "Yes. I am Japanese."

"And I am Italian," Gio said, with a wink. "See? You are right. Families are very similar."

Through the treeline, Kengo saw a free villagers working hard on crushing the sago piths into starch to be boiled and eaten. "It must be a hard life, having to grow and make food every day. Even though the people are nice and kind here, and they make beautiful carvings and things, it would be so much better if they did not need to worry about food so much."

"Yeah. It is hard. Travelling the world; you realize how lucky we are where we were born. It is so random. We do not choose this life we are born into. Glyph or no glyph. Rich or poor...."

"Gio, you have plant magick, yes? Why do plant magi not just grow food really quickly for everyone?"

Gio sighed. "It's not that simple, my big friend. Even the best plant magi who can grow a tree in seconds...that tree will die really quickly. Magick is...weird. It is not...how would you say this...always perfectly in tune with nature. Some plant magi can put their energy into the land, though, a little bit at a time. It's a long process. I would have to stay here with these people for awhile to be able to grow anything they could actually eat. And it would shorten my life span too." 

Kengo nodded, sadly. "The law of magick. Everything is an exchange. Even Spike had to get beat up and go through pain to use his powers."

Gio laughed. "Yes, but the difference is I think he likes it."

"Mmm. I wish magick could solve all the problems of the world."  

"Me tool, my large friend. Me too."

Beyond the fields, in the tranquil shadows of the hillside trees, Buck walked alongside his mother. Not much had changed between them, really--she had always taken him on hikes and little day trips out of the house. Though now, with the wisdom of age and experience, Buck wondered if that was all just to put distance between them and his father.

"I still have that picture you did when you were in pre-school," Joanna said merrily. "The sponge paint one with the apple."

Buck grimaced. "Ugh, the teacher did the outline. I just did the sponge paint part."

"Well, I think it's impressive!"

"...Most of it was outside the lines."

"Always color outside the lines, Buck," Joanna said, brushing back a palm frond. "That's one thing your daddy and I could always agree on." 

The birdsong filled in the gaps in the silence as they walked alongside the mission fenceline.

"If I can be honest," Joanna said, suddenly, "I'm so damn glad you were born without a glyph."

Buck couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What? Really?" It was like being told you were born with a slightly lower IQ than average.

"You know less than 30% of the population has glyphs," Joanna said. "And statistics are showing that number decrease. Why do you think the world has changed so much? We Bereft--and don't let me catch you repeating that word, Buck Tamberly--had so little power because the minority ruled us with magick. World has changed a great deal since the War. Now, don't let that make you think all magi in power are controlling and evil. That school of thought, on any side, is what leads people to war in the first place. But don't go thinking a lack of magick means you're not special. I mean, hell, look at ya!"

"I'm an artist who works out," Buck laughed. "Still...I feel like...I'm always compensating for something."

Joanna frowned. "Or...someone." She sighed. "When you were first born, I thought, 'Thank Goddess...he can't follow in his daddy's footsteps." She rolled her eyes, with a smile. "Of course, you did that thing where you do the exact opposite of what I want. But...truthfully speaking, I'm glad you did. I saw how those big men back there look at you. Natural born leader." She ruffled his hair. "That's my Buck."

"Aw, ma." This was embarrassing on multiple levels, mostly because Buck felt like breaking out into tears every five seconds. This reunion had been a long time coming.

"Can I ask...was dad really pissed when he found out I didn't have a glyph?"

Joanan looked away, into the dark of the forest. "Oh darlin', I don't want to talk ill of your dad. I washed my hands of him along time ago and I don't want--"

"It's okay," Buckl said. "Look, you can't say anything about him that will make my opinion of him worse, I promise you that."

She laughed, sardonically. "With Colton Tamberly, you'd be surprised." After a few seconds of deep thought, Joanna spoke, and carefully at that. "He...wasn't upset because you didn't have a glyph. Sure, he wanted to raise a spellbreaking dynasty...or whatever stupid, patriarchal legacy he had planned out for you. No, he was upset because he knew people would always try to compare you to him." She shrugged. "He wanted you to be your own man. Probably because your grandpa, Ox--piece of work he was--always had your dad under his thumb." 

Buck's father didn't speak of his father that much, and rarely with a kind word. Growing up, Buck thought it polite not to think much of it, and respect his father's feelings. Now? He was beginning to wonder how much his grandfather's sullied touch had trickled down the family tree. An ironic thought, too, for a man who could summon the rains...

Joanna continued. "Now, I reckon the downside to that is he wanted you to be spectacular in whatever it was you did, and he had his own exact overly-controlling mind on what they should like or how you should go about it."

"Wow, when you hit the nail on the head..."

Clear eyed, Joanna looked dead ahead. "Your father's sins are lay not in abuse or scorn, they lay in negligence and callousness." 

No spell could ever be as potent as a proclamation like that, Buck thought.

"I think he always assumed another kid--a brother--would inherit a glyph and take up his mantle." Joanna shook her head. "But I didn't want another kid, and one of the decent things about your dad is that he would have never pushed me to have another. I'm glad for that. That 'heir and spare' mentality would have done all of us a whole lot worse."

"Dad wouldn't think like that, would he?"

Joanna chose her words carefully. "I think...as with most of your father's vices...he doesn't do malice deliberately."

Buck had heard enough, and not wanting to indirectly follow in his dad's ways and center himself in these conversations, he directed his energy at his mother instead. Taking her hand, he asked, "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you happy?"

"Oh, Goddess yes."

"You said that quickly!"

"Because it's the Lady's truth!" She laughed. "Look at this place. I love this world. I love these people. What I do is fulfilling. It wasn't just your dad that got me down. It was your other grandpa--sorry kid, you didn't get good grandfathers--and the whole town. He wanted me to be a beauty queen. A trophy kept by a man who could provide for me. A bird in a gilded cage. Well, honey, beauty fades..."

Buck smiled. "On you it hasn't."

He hadn't seen his cool-headed mother blush in a long time. She put her arm around him. "My sweet Buck. Geez. I wish I could...spend more time or something. Look, I know I was never the best mom..."

"I mean, if you talk half the qualities of you and dad and put them together, that's at least one decent, functioning parent."

Joanna stared at him. Then, she burst out laughing. "You scamp. Look, I know you need to move on. I..." her voice caught in her throat. "Oh, Lady. I have a lot of things I'd still like to s--"

"It's okay," Buck said, trying his best not to lost it. He smiled at his mother. "Me too."

To Be Continued

Chapter 3: Diesel and Dust

"Wow...Sydney is a lot more...orange than I thought it would be."

The sea of red soil extended well onto the horizon, interrupted only by islands of spinifex grass and the occasional parched tree. There were no clouds in the sky to shield Spike and Daemian from the outback sun.

And yet, it was quite possibly the most beautiful place Spike had ever seen--and he'd been across the equator more than once. It was hot as hell (he had only just stepped out of the turbulent darkness of Daemian's shadow corridor, and already felt a sunburn starting to form). Yet, there was a peace here--and lurking beneath that tranquillity, an intense power. Since studying glyphs, Spike had learned a lot about magick, its vibrations, its harmonies, how it flowed through the body. This place had a very old magick indeed.

Daemian sighed and removed his sunnies, scratching his head. "Fuck me sideways; we teleported to the wrong bloody spotm Spikey."

Spike snapped out of his trance. "Are you serious?" He said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"About which thing I just said." Daemain looked around in either direction, but there was little point. It looked the same no matter where he turned. "Well, good on ya, Spike, at least you didn't blow chunks all over sacred land. You're a lot tougher than Tiger."

Spike looked out into the dust. "Oh...is this like...the outback?"

Placing his hand over his head, Daemian turned away. "What give it away, champ?"

"I guess...the deserty-ness of it all. I...uh...expected more kangaroos."

"They'll be hiding in the shade." Daemian nodded to the puddle of dark energy accumulating in his shadow. Brax (also wearing sunglasses, and a Sydney Swans jersey) handed Daemian two water bottles and a tub of sunscreen. Daemian took it and tossed it at his unwitting partner. 

"Speaking of which, you should put this on. Come on. Slip, slap, slop, Spike."

Spike glared at his new buddy, but otherwise did as he told. Truthfully, he hated the greasy sensation of sunscreen. "Why do I have to put this one? You're the one who's got the skin of a vampire."

"I'm regrettably human, Spike, and you're cruel to remind me. Pale as I am, my glyph gives me regenerative abilities, so my cells won't be affected by a bit of UV. You, however..."

"Okay, I haven't tanned in awhile, gee." Spike was glad for it though, even if it did make his skin feel oily. "What about you, Brax?"

"I am from Gehenna--we have far more harsh environments than your mere outback. My kind have no need for a meager SPF."

Spike nodded. "Then why the shirt?"

"I am a fan of sporting games. I wanted to show my support." The giant, bestial demon looked towards his mortal kindred. "You teleported us to the wrong part of Australia."

"I'm plenty aware, mate."

"But you can just teleport us on to Sydney, right?" Spike said cheerfully. 

Silence followed. Daemian looked away.

"...Right?"

"It's not the simple. Channelling a dark corridor takes a lot of magick, and we just jettisoned ourselves from the other hemisphere. I'm gonna need a recharge of like...a few hours."

"...Oh."

Daemian bit his lip. "I'm usually good at zeroing in on high population areas, but I guess there's too many cities here that I got confused."

Brax growled. "This country is 88% desert."

"Okay, well..." Daemian groaned. "Alright. Smoko." Kickin dirt with his steel toed boots, Daemian removed a cigarette and lit up. "Fuck me gently with a rusty spoon...this sucks."

"What's wrong?" Spike asked. Then, he smirked. "You missin' Joseph? Your miss your boyfriend."

Daemian whipped his head towards his friend and held up his fist. "I'll gut you like a trout and leave you to dingos."

"Yeah, yeah, zombie boy. Funny. I seem to remember a time when I was your boyfriend."

"It was just a bit, Spike!" Daemian turned away. He put his cigarette out on his own hand and didn't even flinch. He shoved the spent butt into his pocket. 

At least he respects the environment, Spike thought.

"You telling me you liked it?"

Blessed with fleeting insight, Spike lowered his stare. "I'm a love-starved orphan who sleeps with every hot man he comes across. You basically told me I was yours. So...you tell me, ya big putz."

"I hate that you've gotten smarter," Daemian sniffed. "Self aware Spike isn't fun like himbo Spike."

"I AM BOTH!" Spike roared. "And sorry for being a bit salty, but I'm not the one who stranded us in the middle of THE FUCKIN' OUTBACK." He breathed.

Brax, who did not like conflict, flattened his ears against his head. "Grrr...."

Unfortunately, Spike had no choice but to rely on the demoniac mage. "So..."

"Got it out of your system, did ya?" 

"Yes. But what do we do?"

Daemian pointed in a vague direction. "Start walkin'."

So, they did. Fortunately, Daemian was able to conjure shade to keep them somewhat cooled off.

Even so, as Brax helpfully pointed out, "You humans can lose a liter of moisture every thirty to sixty minutes out here."

Spike looked at the water bottle he just chugged. "Heh. Don't suppose you brought more of these?"

"Nope," Daemian said, casually. He looked around the flat expanse. "I reckon...we're somewhere between Alice Springs and Uluru." 

Spike couldn't visualize either, but sensed neither were close at hand. "In other words...middle of nowhere?"

"...Yes."

Well, nothing else to do now but walk and enjoy each other's company...as well as not to die of heat stroke under the harsh, desert sun. Three muscular figures, scrawny, gigantic, and short, traipsed through the heat shimmer.

Brax was the first one to breach the topic. "My mortal kindred...what went wrong?"

If Spike had pitched the question, he would have only gotten snark back. He sensed Brax had taken up speaking on his behalf.

Daemian eyed his companions warily, but otherwise relented. "I guess...I've just been thinking of home, lately, yeah?"

Spike screwed up his face. "You grew up here?" But before he could follow up, he noticed Brax had frozen still. "What's up, boy?"

The demon sniffed the air. "Someone is coming. There." He pointed a claw to a cloud of billowing dust coming towards them from the horizon.

Spike squinted, but it was no use. "What's that? A car."

Daemian shielded the sun from his eyes. "Yeah. Looks like a ute."

"...What the hell's a yoot?"

The utility vehicle pulled up alongside the three strangers and rolled down its window. A friendly faced, dark skinned man with a gray beard and wide-brimmed hat waved to them. "As I live and breathe. Lachlan Jago."

Daemian nervously glanced between and Brax and Spike. "Uncle...Daniel?"

"He's your uncle?" Spike asked, excited.

"We call him that. I'll explain later."

The man's smile was enough to tell Spike that they were out of the woods now (or the desert, rather). "Sight for sore eyes, yous." He threw the passenger door open. "Hop on in or crawl into the back. Just taking some supplies to the station."

Spike thought Daemian looked somehow even paler than normal. The dark magi caught his companion looking at him. "You can sit next to Uncle Daniel. Brax and I will take the bed." The demon lifted up his tag partner and placed him inside the back of the truck, before joining him (and causing the vehicle to creak).

Spike was always down to make friends--and was happy to be out of the swelter, besides. "Hi, I'm Spike."

"Welcome to Arrernte country, Spikey." Uncle Daniel began driving. Thankfully, the car had air conditioning. "You're a long way from home. That an American accent, is it?"

"Yeah. Brooklyn."

"Ah, New York!" Uncle Daniel's eyes lit up. "Always wanted to see New York. During the winter. Snowfall in Central Park."

Now proficient in picking up on the subtle energies of emotions, Spike felt drawn to Uncle Daniel's warmth. "It's amazing." It was only just that, however. Spike detected magick from him--and not a garden variety glyph either. In his time with the GSA, Spike had picked up the patterns and similarities in the signatures given off by each glyph...their 'flavors', if you will. Some, of course, were rare than others. Uncle Daniel's was new.

But Spike knew better than to pry.

"So, this one kidnap you or something?" Uncle Daniel said, avoiding a kangaroo carcass in the middle of the road. "You seem like a good bloke. What are you doing mixing with the devils, Spikey?"

Spike looked over his shoulder, through the back window. Daemian and Brax were on opposite sides of the flat bad; Daemian with his arms folded. "I'm more trouble than I look," Spike said absently. "Gee, I hope Daemian is okay."

"Oh, Lachie loves a sook, don't you worry about him Let me guess, he made a dog's breakfast of his dark corridors again and you ended up out here in the back of the beyond--yeah?"

"Yep."

"He's been trouble since he was a pup. But you can't fault the lad for it. His mom was no good. His dad, absent. We did what we could." Uncle Daniel shrugged. "I think he turned out right, don't you?"

Eventually, the ute pulled up to a compound that reminded Spike of the GSA--a humble ranch fenced in. Spike noted a few houses scattered on the compound. A group of women sat on a retaining wall, casually talking and tending to their babies. Spike noted flocks of sheep in the distance, as well as a pen full of giant, strange birds that made uneasy to look at.

"Those...are some big chickens." Spike gulped. I wouldn't want to wrestle them.

"Emus!" Uncle Daniel laughed. He parked the car outside a farmhouse. "Come on, yous." He noted the sign above the wooden archway. Brumby Station.

Spike hopped out of the truck, same time as Daemian and Brax. Spike's reluctant companion refused to make eye contact with him. Spike was fine to ignore him for now--caught up in the grandeur of the outback and the quaint little station. "It's...beautiful." 

"It's home," Uncle Daniel said, pointing a thumb towards the screen door of the farmhouse. "Spike, come on in and meet the misses." 

Daemain bristled. "Auntie Jacinda is here, yeah? If you think I'm scary..."

A strong, commanding voice came from the house. "That Lachie?"

Daemian flinched. "Yeah, it's me, Auntie."

A squat, curly haired woman with a serious face opened the door. Her complexion and affect was similar to Uncle Daniel's. "No card. No phone call." She frowned, and pointed to Spike. "And you've brought a bloody male model to the outback. You never change, you little shit." She cracked a smile. "Come and give your Auntie a hug before I slap the stupid out of you."

Daemian's self-pitying aura shattered. Spike had never seen his eyes light up like that before (well, in any other way than 'menacing'). "It's good to see you," he said, giving the woman a hug.

"And you too, big man!"

The giant demon's ears flattened against his head, and Spike thought he saw Brax's color change. "Auntie..." the demon said, bending down to embrace the small woman. It was more adorable than comical, Spike thought.

"I'll put the kettle on," the woman said, nodding to Spike. She turned to Daemian and gave him the look of death. "Make sure you take your shoes off. Oh, and let your blonde friend know the dunny's been out of sorts since...the snake incident."

Spike blinked. "The...snake incident?"

"At least it's not the spider incident," Daemian mumbled, slinking off indoors.

Spike tried very hard not to imagine the implications, and thankfully was distracted by the sudden squeal and laughter of a group of children--at least six or seven--gathering around the enormous demon.

"BRAX!" they said.

Spike bit his lip. He had never seen Brax deal with kids before. How were they not terrified.

Spike got his answer. "Hello, tiny human spawn"

"Can we ride on your shoulders?"

Brax nodded. "You may."

And soon, the enormous demon was dripping with children. He carried them off to wherever the bossy little girl on his shoulders commanded.

The interior of the Brumby's home was warm and welcoming, reminding Spike yet again of the Tamberly homestead (especially the gingham tablecloth). The New Yorker (far from home) eyed a series of beautiful canvases hanging on the walls, in an art style he had never seen before--instead of sweeping brush strokes, the painter had created the images with hundreds of individual dots and points of paint. 

Auntie Jacinda went about making tea. "How do you take your tea, Spike?"

"Uh....hot?"

The woman pursed her lips and gave Daemian a bemused glance. "Yanks. Don't tell me they microwave their water too?"

Daemian grimaced. "I'm the prince of darkness, and not even I would do something as wretched."

"Prince of Darkness!" Aunti laughed. "Not in my house you ain't. Anyways, I can't play hostess. I've got a patient, Mrs. Gregory, in the back. I'm treating her, so mind your manners, devil child."

"Mrs. Gregory from the general store?" Daemian looked over at the attractive cake on the counter, dusted with coconut. "I thought I smelled one of her lamingtons?"

"What's a lamington?" Spike asked.

"You can have a slice with the tea wen you're done," Jacinda said, ducking through an archway. "But NOT til we're done--understood, young sir?"

"Yes, Auntie."

A raspy voice came from around the corner. "That Lachlan?"

"He dropped in for a surprise," Auntie Jacinda said to the woman, just out of Spike's view. "Here. Take my arm."

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Not dead yet, Auntie." A chubby, bald woman with bright eyes and red cheeks shuffled slowly through the doorway, refusing Auntie's hand. Her face was sun-worn, but her smile was beautiful, Spike thought.

"Hello Lachlan," Mrs. Gregory said to the tall man. She took the kitchen chair. "You've gotten taller somehow."

Daemian shrugged. "Nice to see you."

"Don't look so shy. You know I've forgiven you from stealing those caramel koalas from the store." 

Spike smirked. "I've never seen you so roasted before. I love it."

"Wait til we get back," Daemian shot. "You have a snapmare in the future, Spikey!"

"No rough housing in this house!" Auntie warned him.

Despite Daemian's guilt, the middle aged woman seemed keen on catching up with him. "The cancer came back," she said casually. "Bloody useless doctors out here. Your Auntie was of a mind to do something about it with her glyph."

Spike looked to the (somewhat put upon) woman at the kitchen counter. "You're a healer, Auntie?"

The woman shrugged. "It's just an experiment. I used to work for the Royal Flying Doctors as a cultural interpreter. I picked up a thing or two."

"Life glyph?" Spike asked.

"No." She nodded to a coat rack in the corner of the room. "Lachie, you and Spike will want to put on one of the lead aprons the next half hour or so."

Spike was confused, but he did as told. "Like when I get my X-rays taken at the dentist," he said, draping the heavy apron.

"That why you have such handsome teeth?" Auntie Jacinda said. "No, love, my gift is radiation."

Spike had only come across someone with that glyph before--the sinister, post-apocalyptic brute, Fallout, who White Tiger had trounced back in Vegas. "Atomos!" he said, pleased with himself that he remembered. "I read about that. But isn't that a rare glyph."

"There's a lot of old power in this land, Spike. More than just little old me." Sighing, and somewhat wistful, Auntie looked to Mrs. Gregory. "We should give you some privacy, dear. Want to come to the office?"

The fair skinned, middle aged woman shook her head. "No, not on my account. Besides, you said you had good news for me. If you can say it to me, you can say it front of them. I waive my consent."

Spike could tell Auntie Jacinda, despite her direct way of speaking, was still a professional--and uncomfortable with the request. "Yes. Well.." She handed Mrs. Gregory what looked to Spike like an x-ray or ultrasound sheet. "Looks like the tumor has reduced by more than 75%"

Mrs. Gregory wasn't an emotional woman, Spike could tell. Still, her mouth twitched at the news, and her eyes welled up. "Oh Goddess be good," she said, dabbing a corner of her eye with a kerchief. "Best news I've heard all bloody week."

Auntie was relieved. "So, in other words, treatment is going well. We'll want to proscribe you some folate to balance it out, and monitor any other cellular changes, but I think our little experiment appears to be working. Let's dose you for the day and we'll have you come back in a week."

The woman did this out of view of the men, but Daemian explained to Spike how Auntie was so proficient at her magick that she could localize her radiation. "Most folks with that glyph are kept in bubbles or shunned from society," Daemian mumbled. "It's powerful stuff. Auntie's so damn good at controlling it though that she can control the dosage. Some big wigs in Sydney want her to come have her experiment at a clinic but...Auntie doesn't care for the city."

Spike was wowed. He also suddenly remembered the car ride with Uncle Daniel, and now he was starting to wonder whether the man had magick himself. "Does Uncle Daniel have the same glyph too?"

The color suddenly drained from Daemian's face. "Why would you ask that?"

Sensing he'd put his foot in it already, Spike tried to downplay. "I've started getting better at detecting people's magick."

Before Daemian could answer him (or not). The women emerged. Auntie announced, with great joy, that it was at last time for tea and lamington.

After the ritual of dispensing tea and slices of cake was through, Spike took Daemian's cue to dig in. He took a spoonful of cake into his mouth. It was like a decadent orgy of jam, chocolate, sponge cake, and coconut. 

"Lamington is my jamington," Spike said with glee.

Daemian glared at him. "I will hurt you."

Mrs. Gregory and Auntie Jacinda were eager to ask Spike all about New York and spellbreaking and baseball (Mrs. Gregory seemed to have a fascination with Babe Ruth). Spike was happy to indulge them, mostly because he liked attention, and also to take the heat off Daemian. After a pleasant discussion over tea and cake, Auntie Jacinda ushered Mrs. Gregory out the door, sending her off with a driver named Jack.

Uncle Daniel took her place at the table, but instead of engaging Spike, he struck up conversation with his adopted son. "So, still getting beaten up in your underwear, eh?"

"Doing the beating up, Uncle." 

"And are you still seeing that Tiger fella?"

Washing dishes at the kitchen sink, Auntie Jacinda smirked knowingly. "Great set of abs, that one." She placed a cup next to a series of pretty, clay-shaped drinking glasses on the shelf. Spike thought they reminded him of the stones and colors of the outback.

Unlce Daniel pouted. "And when are you going to blush like that around me?"

"When you get a set of abs like that."

Daemian was not at all ready to broach the subject. He looked over at Spike. "While we're here, I wanted to bring something up to you."

Spike took the hint (for once). "You'd rather talk about the Chalices than your love life?"

"That's how much I want to talk about my love life, yes." He addressed the couple. "See, the guys and I...we're kind of involved with--"

"Those Aradia drongos?" Auntie Jacinda asked with a sour expression.

Both Spike and Daemian were taken aback. "Nah...yeah?"

"They came calling here around a month or so ago asking about the Chalice of Vitality and the wellsprings." 

Uncle Daniel took the baton. "Those matters were entrusted to our people ages ago. These are sacred things woven into our stories."

Daemian shot Spike another dark look. Don't ask. "So then...I take it you won't be telling us?"

Uncle Daniel was sympathetic, if not cagey. "Your intentions are pure, Lachlan....for once. But the other elders and I have spoken about this, and we think it's best these things are kept safe with us. Way we see it...if you don't know about it, the bad team don't know about it either, yeah?" 

While Spike could see the logic in that, he knew how John Henry, Lily, and Salim would probably feel on the subject. 

"I'll let you know this much," Uncle Daniel continued. "The Chalice is not in Sydney. Whatever information you have? False. And it should stay that way."

This seemed abruptly satisfying for Daemian. He shrugged. "Well, if Firebird can't get its hands on it. Spike and I have a match in Sydney anyway. We can plant some rumors. Distract Firebird while the boys get their hands on the other Chalices. My..." he choked on the word, "boyfriend, Joseph, is currently in Japan sorting out the Wellspring of Wisdom."

Spike counted on his fingers. "Will...Compassion...Voice...Wisdom...and Vitality is kept safe somewhere here in Australia. Firebird has the Chalice of Power, so that leaves Spirit?"

"Sounds right to me," Daemian said. "Uncle. Auntie. Do you reckon what Firebird wants with these bloody things?"

Auntie Jacinda thought about it for a good while. "Magick predates colonisation, but it was still foreign to the land. We have stories and songs about it, but these are considered separate matters to our faith. The Chalice and the wellspring are the bridge between those two circles, and it's not something we readily talk about with outsiders. I cannot say what Firebird hopes to achieve with the other ones, but I can tell you...they sure as hell won't be laying a finger on ours." 

Spike believed it.

"You need to be careful now," Auntie said, placing a hand on Daemian's shoulder. "World's gone funny. Danger everywhere. We can't keep you safe anymore, Lachlan."

"I can keep myself safe, Auntie." He considered brushing her hand away, on instinct, but decided against it. "But thanks. Well, I think I'm recharged. I'll fetch Brax and we can open up a corridor." He looked at Spike. "I'll try not to get us stranded in Darwin next, or worse...Hobart." He shivered.

"Wait a minute," Uncle Daniel said getting up. "I can make this easier on you two. No use messing with those weird tunnels."

Auntie Jacinda looked gravely concerned. "Daniel Brumby, don't you dare." She looked at Spike. 

The man rolled up his sleeves. "Please. It's nothing." He nodded to Spike and Daemian. "Stand back."

Confused, Spike did as he was told, and watched Uncle Daniel place his hand in front of the space between the table and the kitchen wall. A crackling, like static electricity, cut through the air--and the next thing Spike saw, there was a doorway sized square of completely different scenery hanging in the air.

Spike's jaw dropped. He stepped warily towards the 'window', which was unlike Daemian's cold, chaotic, dark tunnel. From behind, it was just the kitchen. Head on--Spike looked onto an overcast harbor with a tremendous, iron bridge.

"Sydney," Daemian sputtered. "But...your magick."

What glyph is this? Spike wondered.

Uncle Daniel winked at Spike. "Go collect your demon. Then, you better get going. I'll close it up behind you, before anybody notices. And Lachlan?"

"Yeah?"

"You've grown up. A lot."

To Be Continued

Chapter 2: Yin and Yang - Part 2

When Western China broke away with the Eastern territories, the city state of Hong Kong was still administered by the Alban Empire, save for one military outpost, protected under treaty. During the Great War, this outpost--a walled fortress--was taken by the forces of Imperial Japan and then soon abandoned until the liberation of Hong Kong. Refugees poured into the unused settlement by the thousands, turning the disused fortress into a ramshackle slum. By then, the Alban and Western Chinese governments wanted nothing to do with the urban eyesore, and so left its citizens to their own devices.

The Kowloon Walled City grew into a concrete labyrinth of eternal night, with buildings and streets so packed together that daylight could not reach the lower surface. Some saw it as nothing more than fourteen stories of unregulated, cramped tenements stacked together amid a monstrous spider-web of wiring and dripping pipes. Some saw it as a haven for the oppressed and the criminal alike, where authorities feared to tread among shadows. Drug dealers, Triads, and the sinister Cult of the Red Jade, all took to the urban hive--and better yet, were wise enough to leave the citizens out of their affairs, winning trust and protection from the dwellers of darkness. Here, good co-existed with evil; light with dark. Many innocents went about their business, operating dentist offices, factories, schools, and restaurants.

Even so, a shadowy chi flowed through the Kowloon Walled City, attracting dark magi to its ranks. Those who practiced the art of 'the black dao' found employment in the criminal enterprises and religious cults, usually as demon summoners and spirit tamers, conjuring wicked entities for a price. Underground black markets sold antiquities, dark enchantments, artefacts, fetishes, and totems. In fact, it was through the back alley channels that the Chalice of Wisdom drifted, after vanishing under 'inauspicious circumstances' during the looting of the Alban garrison at the terminus of the war.

Everyone in Kowloon City knew money was its own kind of magick, trumping both light and shadow. The Hong Kong and Western Chinese agents of Aradia, through their vast intelligence networks and operatives, knew this rule. Unnamed for reasons of security, these brave men and women paid a handsome price for information...brokered by a certain boisterous, bodybuilding entrepreneur with a large heart, a large yacht, and even larger vaults. 

Here, under the flickering, slanted halogen beam, a portal of violet energy opened across graffiti scrawl.... 

Deadboy stepped out of the shadows, taking in the rank air of the city of eternal darkness. Behind him, White Tiger followed, immediately following to his knees and throwing up everywhere. 

Some hero. 

Deadboy's beautiful, cunning eyes adjusted to the shadows. "Oh man, get a whiff of that negative energy. Like coffee in the morning, yeah?" He turned around to the partner he'd reluctantly joined. "Get it together, champ. What, can't take a bit of dark magick?"

"It...does not exactly agree with me," Joseph said, rising to his feet. He wiped his mouth.

Deadboy rolled his eyes. Even puling his bloody guts out, he looks like a damn angel. "These lanes and alleys are too narrow for Brax, so we're gonna have to rely on my power and yours."

"It will be enough," Joseph said, eyeing rats and roaches skittering in and out of stacked garbage bags. "We're looking for a shop on the lower level with a sign of a golden rooster. I'm told we'll need to keep a sharp eye out for it. It's designed to look unassuming, and protected by both perception enchantments and...darker entities."

Deadboy shrugged. "Demons, yeah."

"Not just demons, I'm afraid. Asia is rich in its cultures...its gods, goddesses, and good spirits...as well as its malevolent entities."

"Lucky we're a few months shy of the seventh month," Daemian lowered his voice, as an old woman carrying a bag of rice slid past them, giving them no attention. He waited til she was out of earshot, remembering that this was still, mostly, a residential area. "You definitely know your shit, Haw. The demons of Gehenna are split into tribes and are mostly unified. But Gehenna's flipside don't reach this part of Asia. Here? We're dealing with the devil-knows-what. Hungry ghosts. Hell mercenaries. And if we got necromancers in the woodworks, jianshi, which are sort of like a--"

"I know what a jianshi is," Joseph said, shooting Deadboy a dark look.

"--Chinese vampire zombies that jump at ya like bloody 'roos." Deadboy sighed. "Yeah? I see that look you're giving. Got a wedgie that needs picking?"

"...Don't Asiasplain things to me, Aussie."

 "Whatever, mate. Just trying to help. Stay behind me and we'll look for this shop."

Joseph gently shouldered his way past Deadboy. "No, that's okay. I can lead. You watch my six."

"You can't ever let me do things my way, can you?" He mumbled. "'Watch my six', he says. What do you think this is..."

"Lachlan, this is not the time for bickering."

"You don't have the right to call me by my given name, Tiger. And don't you tell me off for defending myself. You want this job done? You're gonna need to trust me."

"Then you're going to need to prove yourself worthy of trust."

Daemian and Joseph stewed in silence, and meandered through the cramped, dripping alleyways of the dark city, passing discarded, rusting tubs, broken television sets, and stores glimmering with holiday lights and golden idols. 

It was Daemian who noticed the wavering in the corner of his eyes; shadows stirring where the light couldn't reach. "They already know we're here."

Joseph cocked his head to the side. "Should we act?"

"No. Pretend you don't notice. It'll give us the advantage."

White Tiger said nothing.

They almost missed the chipped and faded sign swinging off its hinges in front of the cracked window. The store looked abandoned. Nobody walking past them even acknowledged it.

Daemian licked his lips. "Now, there's the cock I'm looking for."

"Daemian. Some decorum, please? Even here?"

"Yeah, yeah." Daemian sighed and allowed his shadow, flat against the newspaper-soaked concrete, to slither beneath the crack in the door. He closed his eyes. "Dark. Nobody's home. Really weird shit on the walls too--everything from Kalashnikovs to diamond watches to things in jars I don't even recognize. Stinking with enchantment and treasure. Yep. This has gotta' be the joint."

Joseph kept his eye on the road. The few passers-by, swaying drunks and painted call girls, kept to the order of the city and gave them nothing but the briefest of glances.

Then, Joseph caught a flash of red--the hem of a robe vanishing behind a mesh of haphazard electrical wiring. "I think someone has eyes on this shop."

"Figures," Daemian sniffed. He made a face. On the other side of the door, his shadow undid the latch. It swung open, inviting them into the dusty dark. "Welp. Let's check it out. We can nab the Chalice and hop into a shadow corridor as soon as it's in our hot little hands." He sneered at his partner. "That is, if his royal highness's stomach isn't so sensitive."

Blanked faced, Joseph's responded by cuffing Deadboy in the arm before walking on inside.

"Ouch! That really hurt!"

"Good. This could be a trap, you know."

"A trap? What's the point. Firebird's probably looking for this Chalice, same as us. We gotta beat them to the punch, kitty."

"Don't call me kitty. Remember, they tried to kill me back in Vegas."

"Must be nice having so much attention on you. Nobody's tried to kill me before! Lucky bastard..."

The spellbreakers took to either side of the room, eying shelves of strange statuary, jewels, and magickal armaments. Daemian scanned the room for traps or curses. Much to his surprise, he found none. That there was so little security here...was somewhat concerning. 

Something about this was off.

With a finger to his lips, Joseph pointed to the back, far wall, comprised of a great bookcase filled with herbalist tomes and curse lifting guides. He reached out with his fingers and tugged on invisible threads. 

"There's a wind current passing through here," Joseph said, zeroing in on the book case. He closed his eyes and breathed. "Hold on. I can do this without making too much noise. Hopefully."

Annoyed, Daemian crossed his arms, watching Joseph will his wind magick into lifting the case delicately off the ground (minus the updraft of dust). Slowly, he moved it to the side and landed it gently with a cushioning of air, making only the slightest of thuds. Not even the pages fluttered, nor did the heavy shelf creak. Daemian pretended not to be impressed.

Behind the case, concrete steps lowered down into a secret room, flanked with calendars of scantily dressed women and littered with beer bottles. Joseph reeled back, gripping his nose.

"It stinks," he said, wincing.

Unbothered, Daemian sniffed the air. "Demon piss. Some like to mark their territory. Whoever runs this outfit is employing some heavies from the underworld, and I do not mean in the criminal sense, but the lit-"

"I sort of got that," Joseph mumbled. He looked around. "No sign of anything. Except for..."

He pointed to the glass countertop at the back of the room. It was full of expensive jewellery and strange, glowing stones not sp easily identified. Sitting on top of the crystal surface, not even behind a locked case, was an indigo colored drinking vessel. It was shaped like a pitcher, etched with fine lines, and held up by three stems, like a tripod. It reminded Joseph of ancient, dynastic wine vessels he had seen in the museums growing up. The object radiated power. Right away, Joseph and Daemian knew it could be nothing other than the Chalice of Wisdom.

The two polarized spellbreakers looked at each other. "What?" Daemian snorted. "Not gonna do anything stupid, if you're thinking it."

"I wasn't, actually, D. I'm more so thinking...this feels far too easy."

Daemian reluctantly concurred. "I hate it when you're right. Let me feel it out with me shadow," he said. He leaned forward slightly, chest rising and falling as he held his arm outward and guided his silhouette over towards the counter top.

At once, the room burst into light. Strange glyphs, concealed in the floors and walls, burst into jests of green light. A wall of dark, gnarled thorns rose from the doorway behind them, blocking their exit, as the magickal script coalesced into distinct pools of violent illumination. 

Back to back, Daemian and Joseph took defensive posturing.  

"Bloody knew it," Deadboy grunted.

Joseph rolled his eyes. "Did you though?"

"Ugh, no, but I'm not surprised." He screwed up his face. "It's fuckin' Aesterian ink. Invisible to the eye and to magical detection. Rare stuff. Only seen it used once before, and not like this. My shadow must have set it off."

"So, someone's spared no expense in trying to kills us." Joseph sneered, eyes focusing on the dark shape rising up from one of the pools. "I'm almost honored."

The ghouls poured forth from the tears between worlds--though, in truth, they had been laying in wait. They were distorted visions, nightmares. Deadboy, of course, beheld them as beautiful creatures of the forbidden. One of the largest carryied a meat cleaver, and was mostly human in shape, with long, matted hair and a body wrought with muscle. From the neck up, he had the bleeding head of an ox or bull, and eyes that burned red. Next to him, his companion, was a six breasted entity with the eyes and mandibles of a beetle, and great leathery wings. 

There were other horrors. A blindfolded, androgynous wraith with four long arms and a great sword in each hand, and a spidery creature with bladed, long legs, and the giant and swollen, bulbous head of a drowned child. Lesser, but no less deadly, were the 'drone' ghouls--hungry ghosts with sewn up mouths, distended stomachs, and milky eyes. Deadboy was unsure what harm, exactly, they could do to him and Joseph, but he didn't wish to find out.

The ghouls waited for their employer's command, and the puppet master made themselves known in a flash of green, sulphurous smoke. Joseph and Deadboy were outgunned, so they had no choice but to indulge them.

The Red Jade cultist was a gray-haired but otherwise 'normal' looking man, save for his cruel, cold smile. He opened his mouth to speak.

But no words came out.

Suddenly, he fell forward onto the floor, stone cold and dead.

The spellbreaker behind him, clad all in black, with a balaclava and body suit, massaged their bare hand, just as they slipped their leather glove back on. "Seems your demonic contract has changed hand, mate." He wiggled his fingers in Deadboy's direction.

Around him, the demons chittered and laughed.

"That wasn't even that funny," Deadboy grumbled. He nodded to Joseph. "That's how you can tell these c***s are under a human's thrall. Nobody would laugh at a joke that lame. Would they...Redback?" 

Redback, the spellbreaker in the mask, clicked his tongue. "Sight for sore eyes, you. Deadboy Daemian. You could have been Firebird's best champion, had you joined us."

"You left sXs to join those losers?" Daemian spat. Around him, the demons growled and drooled venom onto the firty floor.

"sXs is a sideshow, full of freaks."

"Yeah, freaks who know how to have fun!" 

"Deadboy, you disappoint me. You could have killed it in Firebird, you bloody legend. Maybe even better than that Rage c***t."

"What is it with you Aussies and your preoccupation with that word?" Joseph balked. "Also, this man just killed a guy."

Deadboy shrugged. Meanwhile, Redback leered at the GSA's champion. "White Tiger. You escaped by toxic touch back in Vegas. But now your luck's run out."

"Am I that much of a threat to you?" Joseph said, confidently. "If you come to take the Tiger's life, then you better get it right the first time. Now, you've become the hunted."

"That so?" Redback laughed. "Mr. Yun here did his duty just fine. A fine demonic trap indeed. And the Chalice? Perfect bait. You two prettyboys are outgunned. And now, I get the privilege of watching two champions of the GSA die."

He clicked his fingers. The demons charged forward.

White Tiger and Deadboy Daemian were ready.

"I've got the ugly one," Joseph said, conjuring a whirlwind.

"Which is the ugly one?" Chains of cold shadow shot out from Deadboy's wrists. "They're all kinda sexy to me." 

The chains wrapped around the four-armed swordswoman's wrists, binding her to the spot. She shrieked, splitting Deadboy's ears. He fell backwards.

Joseph vaulted over the spider baby, tangling it in a whirlwind and dodging its bladed feet. "Daemian!"

"I mean, just look at those muscles," Deadboy said from his landing spot. He looked up at the bull man's abs and drooled. "Hey badboy. Do you bite? Because I definitely do."

A chain of darkness pulled the bull man's right leg forward. Deadboy dodged the cleaver (which imbedded itself into the floorboards) and sunk his teeth into his aggressor's meaty thigh. The bull man roared. 

Joseph uppercut the insect woman with a fist augmented by the pressure of a geyser, splashing her in the face. He followed it up with a wind bullet, sending her into the glass, shattering it. Seizing the moment, Tiger improvised and directed the shards of glass with his wind, sending them towards redback and the demons behind him.

"Damn it," the venomous spellbreaker grunted, cartwheeling out of the way. He landed on the ground and looked down at his bleeding wound, extracting a small chunk of glass from his forearm. "Grrr."

"Oh, bloody show off!" Deadboy said, rolling his eyes. He jumped onto the bull man's head and used the moment to dropkick the four-armed demon in the gut. "See if I help you, now."

Tiger flipped back and landed in front of his ex rival and lover. He glared. "I just don't get your attitude, man."

"Well, join the club, mate."

"No, really. You're one of the greatest spellbreakers the GSA has ever seen. Why do you have such a chip on your shoulder?" Interrupted, briefly, by a hungry ghoul, Joseph punched it in the face and sent it flying into its cohorts. "Is it because I beat you? Well, tough luck. You fought well and you fought hard. But you lost. And when that happens, badasses like you are supposed to brush their shoulders off and get back into the fight. Not...sulk for a whole year and a half, plotting petty revenge! Hey, I'm having a moment here, dude." Tiger picked up the next ghoul, tortured racked it, and tossed it directly at the charging Redback, knocking him flat on his ass. 

"It's not that simple, Tiger."

Joseph, slick with sweat and demon gore, sighed. "Fine. I know. I shouldn't have taken your gear. I know; it's my thing. But..."

"Then why did you?" Deadboy snapped. He conjured up more chains of darkness from the ground. 

Tiger wondered if he intended to use them on him now, not the demons. "I guess..." Joseph trailed off. Of course, Daemian would take this opportunity to have a heart-to-heart. "I thought you were going to move on to another fed. You always said how you were too good for the GSA anyway. I believed it. Because you are good. But...I was kind of even hoping you might defend the title so you'd stick around a bit." 

Tiger sighed. "I just wanted...a piece of you. To hold onto. And I guess...to know I was able to beat a good one. To feel like the hero everyone expects and wants me to be. It felt right."

"Typical golden boy bullshit," Deadboy spat. His chain impaled the bull man, lifting him up into the air and flinging him into the spider baby. "You're the bloke who could trip, fall in shit, and come up smelling like roses. Everyone's favorite White Tiger, who jet-sets all over the world, kicks everyone's ass, and gets worshipped like a fuckin' god. Big damn hero who gets everything handed to him on a silver platter." 

Daemian heaved, spitting on the floor. If not for the glow in his eyes, Joseph might have seen the sublet welling up of tears. "Do you know what it was like to grow up with nothing? To get kicked and spit on and fucked over by just about everyone I was supposed to trust? You know why I grew up to be the villain?"

Tiger, annoyed, but listening, conjured a wall of water and sent it colliding into the insect creature and her ghouls. "Because you were afraid, right? And...you wanted people to know that fear. You're the nightmare prince. You didn't let fear conquer you; you usurped it and became its new master. But did that solve anything?"

Daemian stared. Even the death groan from the bleeding out bull creature at his feet couldn't tear him away from looking at Tiger. "I..." He shook his head. "Well, fuck you for taking the words out of my mouth for the hundredth time."

"I mean, it's kind of obvious, Daemian."

"Becoming the champion of the GSA was the best year of my life, Joe!"

"It's Joseph."

"People looked up to me, instead of just being afraid. Kids wanted to do my moves and poses and be little shits. Little shits who had similar upbringings to me! I could be someone for the, you know!" He laughed. "When you took away my gear and my title, you took what little remained of my dignity too. Of course I'd want revenge. And you know the worst part?"

Joseph looked up from the ghoul he was choking out with his giant biceps. "Well?"

"It turned me the hell on. To be put in my place. Because...and this is going to sound so fucked up...but I always felt like I could trust you. With limits and shit. You're...so shiny. I don't have a word for it. Just...shiny."

Joseph, shocked, broke the ghouls neck and dropped its lifeless mass to the floor. "I... honestly think you're so cool. Maybe even the coolest person I've ever fought." He blushed. He swallowed. "Or had a crush on."

"Fuck off, c**t." Daemian rolled his eyes. "Rubbing salt in my wounds now too? And they call you the babyface king..."

"No, I'm serious, D! I didn't mean to make you feel small. I never meant that. I really think that championship fight could have gone another way and I'm not just saying that. Most people I can steamroll. You? You're honestly the only real challenge I've ever faced." Laughing, Joseph scratched the back of his neck. "You're also a bit of a baby. But...I think you're a cool baby."

For a moment, Deadboy stared straight ahead at this beautiful, muscular man in front of him...with only the bleeding and severed bodies of abominations to bridge the gap between him and his rival.

"You're so fuckin' weird, Joseph. Does anybody know that? That White Tiger is a huge dork?" He smiled.

Joseph smiled back. "Those...who are closes to me do. I hope so, anyway."

"ENOUGH!" Redback roared (the two GSA spellbreakers had honestly forgotten he was still in the room). "Tormented souls....feast!"

The pale shades with the bulbous stomachs, thin necks, and white eyes reared their heads. A black vapor trailed into their mouths. Deadboy and Joseph found themselves abruptly ill and weak, and that they could no longer call upon their glyphs.

"They...they ate our magick!" Deadboy stammered.

Joseph sucked his teeth. "Technically, they devoured our chi, but same principal. A temporary loss, but not at all convenient considering the circumstances..." 

"I thought only jiang-shi could do that?"

"Your knowledge of the Chinese supernatural is a serious turn-on, Daemian, but now is not the time for discourse." Tiger took a fighting stance. "We'll do this without our powers."

"Right!" Deadboy said. "Don't need magick to kick arse! We survive this, we're plotting a rematch--got it? The GSA will love it. Buck will cream his dacks"

"Heh. You're on."

"You ready for a tag team, Tiger?"

"You...seem way too excited about this."

Deadboy and Tiger took to the offense, slamming ghouls around like it was a royal rumble. Deadboy yanked back one and had Tiger pummel it into a pulp.

"NO!" Redback groaned, yanking furiously at their own head covering. "You're not supposed to be having fun; you're supposed to be DYING!""

Daemian ignored him. "Ugh, submission doesn't work on things that can't feel pain. I'll just have to..." He picked up the nearest ghoul and broke it cleanly over his knee. "Well, that does that. So...Joseph...how's your mum?"

"Still playing cello," Tiger said casually, suplexing a ghoul into his downed buddy on the floor. 

"Nice. Nice. Haha. You know, it's kind of a laugh, yeah? You never scared me. But the idea of meeting her? Now that's bloody horrific."

"Oh man, I feel the same way."

"You...were embarrassed by me, yeah?"

"What!? That's not it."

"Please," Deadboy sighed. "A fuckhead like me, raised by a drunk in the middle of the outback. And you, all....dignified and going to yum cha and shit."

"Yum cha isn't that fancy actually. Your upbringing doesn't bother me. You think I care about any of that? "

"Your mum probably does."

"Well..." Joseph cracked two ghouls skulls together and let them drop to his feet. "I dunno, Lachlan--you're a free spirit." He winced. "Sorry, Daemian."

"I..." Deadboy swallowed, and stepped over the bloody, twitching corpses at his feet. "You can call me Lachlan." 

Standing in the middle of dead and dismembered demons, covered in green and purple ichor and viscera, Daemian grabbed Joseph and pulled him in for a tight kiss.

Without tearing himself away, Joseph pointed at Redback, in the process of sneakily taking the Chalice off the counter. A wind current hooked it and ripped it out of his grasp, putting the artefact gently in White Tiger's hands.

"Fuck this," Redback snarled. He picked up a small pendent, still clutched in the cold, dead hand of the fallen cult member, and held it to the light. A portal opened. "Disgusting. Making out in a fucking pile of dead monsters. Who are you freaks?"

Still kissing his partner, Deadboy flipped Redback off. "I'll deal with you later, c***."

"FUCK YOU TOO!" Redback yelled, before vanishing into the aether. 

Blood dripped from the ceiling onto Daemian's brow. He finally tore himself away from Joseph's face. "Ah, Joseph. I love date night."

"Same here, D. Same here."

---

The planes above the walled city's rooftops flew so low that one could see clear the passenger's faces through the windows. Daemian and Joseph, sitting among a forest of TV antennae, found their conversations interrupted every ten minutes or so by another low landing. They sat, crossed legged, drinking bubble tea (taro for Daemian, melon for Joseph), with the Chalice of Wisdom tucked safely between them. Hong Kong and its harbor, galaxies of neon lights, stretched out below them.

"To answer your question back there," Joseph started, "I don't want to end up with a stuffed shirt, or a prim and proper guy, like my mom wants. I just want someone fun, who lives by their own truths. She had to get over me liking men. She can get over me dating a bad boy. Who's strong, and powerful. And handsome." 

Daemian turned away so Joseph wouldn't see him blush.

"Besides, we know you aren't really evil."

Daemian nearly spit out his boba. "I AM EVIL."

"No you aren't," Joseph said, putting him in a headlock and kissing his head. "You're adorable."

"OH YOUUUU!" Daemian removed himself. "But Joseph, just take a bloody look at ya. You got your shit together. You're a great fighter. You know heaps about things. Art. Music. You're...suave."

"Thank you."

"What would you want with a gremlin like me anyway! Now you now that I'm not just defeatable but I'm bloody insecure as, too..." He sighed.

"And what would you want with a 'hero' like me?" Joseph, keen eyed, looked out into the harbor. "Insecure? You think this brave face is constant? No. I have the whole weight of the GSA and the world on my shoulders. It's why I couldn't stay in Hong Kong and play hero anymore. Because I knew eventually...I'd fail. Just like my father failed us." 

"I don't know, man. Fucked up boys, you and I."

"I don't know either, Lachlan. But I think fucked up boys should stick together. Yin and yang. Shadow and light. Opposites do attract, lame as it is to say."

"Mmmm. Too bad I'm already part of a tag team."

"I mean, I wouldn't want to break you and Brax up."

"Oh, we aren't dating."

"That's not what..." Joseph smiled. "So, what first? Rematch or...do you want to try and get back together?"

Daemian gave it considerable thought. He placed his hand over Joseph's. "Let's put Firebird in the dirt first. Then, we can see how we go."

"Huh. That's...oddly level-headed of you, Lachlan."

"Well, what can I say? I'm a changed man. And maybe you're just rubbin' off on me! And speaking of...rubbin' off?"

Joseph looked around. "Uh...\up here? On top of the Kowloon W--"

Daemian jumped on top of Joseph and pinned him to the roof. "Yeah. Why not?" He took off his shirt, his abs glowing in the glow of distant signage. "Did you miss this?"

"You...damn heel."

"That's right. Your worst, most beautiful nightmare."

"If that's the case? Then don't wake me up."

To Be Continued