Chapter 9: We Could Be Heroes

What have I ever wanted? To be a hero. Duh!

No. That's not it... That's not the truth. I'll tell you what my real wish is.

It's to be loved.

Kind of lame sounding, I know.

But by who? 

Like the others, I want a world where everyone can be happy. Where I can walk down the street holding my boyfriend or husband's hand, without anybody saying anything that would make me want to pop them in the damn mouth!

I wonder, if the world was a nicer place, would I have turned out so scrappy? Would I be more peaceful? Ugh, would that mean I would never become a fighter? 

I want a world where John Henry and Sandra and their kid can move to whatever damn neighborhood they want and not only be safe, but welcomed with open arms. 

I want a world where Lily doesn't have to explain her body and mind to people just to be accepted for the person she is. 

I want a world where kids who grew up like 'me' can see me kick butt on TV and know there's someone out there fighting for them. 

But aside from all that stuff...I want love the most.

I've never known it. I keep looking for it. I keep f***ing it up. Nobody knows how empty I am inside. How I'm always afraid I am to lose, because it might people won't think I'm strong, or worth their attention. 

I push people away for stupid reasons too. Cian. Buck. Vahni. I look at these men like gods, and put them on a damn pedestal...before I realize how they're just handsome schmucks like me. Flawed. 

I wish I could be okay with flawed.  

There are no gods here. Not even King Anubis. Sure, I could wish for a world where's he king of all--I could be his consort. I know he'd give me a whole harem of hunks, and nights full of endless pleasure. But it wouldn't be worth it. It wouldn't be 'real'.

I guess this means I'm gonna' have to keep searching. And I sure as hell am gonna' keep on fighting. 

I may not be World Champion...yet...

Spike forced out the words, even as his oxygen began to fade. "But...I can be champion of people's hearts!" 

King Anubis gripped harder, clenching his teeth. "You're a black hole, Spike. Energy. Love. You just keep taking. Where does it end?"

Spike closed one eye, and opened the other. "Did you just call me...a bottom?" I think I'm gonna pass out. So much for being choked out by muscle daddies and liking it...

"TCH!" Maybe King Anubis was imagining things, but the little punk was heavier than he'd thought. Still, King Anubis held him higher. He wanted everyone to see the great Sailorboy's downfall. 

Take away the hero. Take away the hope. Maybe there wouldn't be a champion after all. King Anubis was starting to settle in with the idea. At this point, it was impossible for the giant magi to see any futures. Too much was in flux. Made things hell of a lot more interesting.  

Maybe there wouldn't be a world to come after all. What would that mean?

King of the Ashes? On an empty planet? A void? The very thing I set out to prevent...NO. NO! NOOOO! I'LL DESTROY EVERY SPELLBREAKER TO PREVENT IT. EVEN YOU, SPIKE.

"You claim to want love, but you're a slave to lust," King Anubis spat out. Behind his mask, his bloodshot eyes burned brighter than Spike had ever seen. He really did look like the god of death. "You wouldn't know what love was if it walked up to you and slapped that cute ass of yours. Also...have you been eating more pizza than usual, kid? You're kinda heavy..."

Spike, trying to keep his eyes opened, looked down, and grinned. "What's...wrong, wuss? Not as strong as you thought?"

The truth was, Spike's glyph aura was only increasing in intensity. King Anubis trusted his own might well enough that he knew even Spike going into his silly little 'Overdrive' mode wouldn't be enough to defy his strength. 

Still, the little pinup boy was giving him one hell of a run around. 

"I'm proud of you, Spike," King Anubis said. "You almost had me there! You showed more grit than your little friends, actually. But now...now your dreans end with me. YOUR NEW GOD."

Spike looked up. Actually looked up. King Anubis hadn't even realized that he'd let his feet tough the ground. 

"What was that?" Spike smurked. "Hey, King. You're looking kind of tired, my guy. Almost like...someone sapped all the energy outta' ya?"

!!!!

"Tee hee." Spike smiled. "Did I do that?" But his cute façade quickly shattered, giving way to a white-eyed fiend. "Let. Go. Of. My. Arm."

Asking, of course, was but a formality. Spike used his other hand and grabbed down on King Anubis' arm, which might as well have been carved out of solid obsidian. 

The giant winced. "That's...some grip you got there, kiddo."

"DON'T CALL ME KIDDO." Spike roared. His blue aura suddenly became white hot, as King Anubis fell to his knees in pain.

"Dios mio," El Amante gasped.

Next to her cousin. Rosa covered her mouth. She held Gio's hand tighter. 

The entire audience was on its feet now. Cian and John Henry had to cover their eyes and step away. With all attention focused on the ring, nobody noticed the glyph embedded inside King Anubis conjured throne starting to wobble...and crack. 

Rainbow particles of light flowed freely from King Anubis into Spike. He wasn't just absorbing his energy any longer...but his glyph too.

"Took me a damn while," Spike said, breathing heavily, feeling the energy course through his nervous system. "But I finally mastered my magick. I'm not just a damn good fighter, King. I'm a pretty badass magi too!" Sweat dripped from his hair (had it gotten longer recently?). "You say I'm a black hole? Nah, that ain't it. All that love, all that energy that comes my way...I take it and and I give it back, double strength!"

"I'll put an end to this..." King Anubis said. "Heel tactics be damned." He snapped his fingers, willing time to stop.

It didn't.

Spike's hair, which had suddenly, truly grown in length over the last minute or so, flowed down over his shoulder like a gilded, regal lion's mane. He appeared taller. His muscles, certainly, had enlarged.

"LOOKING FOR THIS?" Spike said, snapping his fingers.

King Anubis froze.

The audience gasped. Floating gently over Spike's palm, like a butterfly, was a small facsimile of a glyph, a pyramid and an inverted pyramid, like a crude apprixmation of an hour glass. Keen eyes recognize it as the glyph Temporis. The Glyph of Time.  

King Anubis' glyph.

Mr. Iron stepped back. The student had indeed surpassed the teacher. "He...absorbed his glyph." He could barely believe the words. He feared the implications even more.

"I AM NO LONGER BABY..." Spike said, roaring, and taking a warrior's stance. Now, it was him who appeared divine--a shining, gilded, warrior god. "I WANT POWER."

King Anubis growled. "ENOUGH ANIME BULLS***. I'LL DESTROY YOU, YOU MISERABLE TWINK."

"I'M A TWUNK!" Spike charged forward and punched King Anubis right in the face. The man's mask shattered. Half of it, anyway.

King Anubis, unfrozen, fell to the ground. Stunned, but far from unconscious, the giant man touched his face and pulled back blood. Spike had made him bleed.

The other half of his jackal mask hung over King Anubis face, making his mad eyes look that more deranged. "You...you went Super Saiyan." King Anubis spat blood on to the canvas, and rose off the ground to face his hyper-enhanced foe, now on the same footing. "NOBODY MAKES ME BLEED."

"'CEPT ME!" Spike shouted, thundering forward like a runaway train. "AND I'M SICK OF YOUR STRUPID REFERENCES."

"Your cute new power is temporary," King Anubis shot back. He reached out and grabbed Spike's hands, matching him, muscle for muscle, in a test of strength. "I don't care if you go full power or not. You CANNOT win this! I've seen all possible timelines now."

"F*** THE TIMELINES!"

Spike braced against King Anubis. King Anubis braced against Spike. To the crowd, it looked like either men's muscles might actually tear open and burst any second. Thankfully, this was not the case.

King Anubis pressed his head against Spike, eye to eye. "You're good, Spike. You almost beat me. But...you still have a long journey ahead of you." 

He smiled. His voice softened. "In my new world...I hope to see you continue it."

Spike's jaw clenched. He felt the power slip away. Drain from him. At the last second, Spike let King Anubis push forward, and then slammed his knee right into his hard gut.

"GAH!" King Anubis grunted.

"That's not going to stop me," Spike said through his teeth. "I may make mistakes. I may accidentally break a few hearts on the way. Heavens knows, I've broken mine more than once. But one day...I'm gonna get it right with someone. Dude, I'm only twenty-three! Do you know how long I had to hide myself from the world to get this far? There's nothing wrong with messing up. That's me. Fall down. Get back up. My tag partner is out there somewhere! I'm gonna find him. And....I'M NOT GONNA LET YOU TAKE OVER THE WORLD BEFORE I GET ME A BOYFRIEND, YOU ROIDED UP, CIRCUIT QUEEN BITCH!"

King Anubis was like solid bronze. But even bronze could crack. King Anubis fell back, and Spike didn't let the moment pass. He attacked King Anubis with a flurry of punches, pouring all of his power into the final volley. The light around Sailorboy Spike began fading, his hair receding back into its shortly cropped length. Sighing, bruised, bloodied, and exhausted, Spike fell before King Anubis.

Only the wind intruded on the silent city of Kitezh.

Purpls bruises, splotches of blood, and red welts danced across the surface of King Anubis' skin. Spike's attack had left his golden mask, hanging from his face, soaked crimson red, giving the already fearsome man an even more demonic appearance. Streaked with blood, across face and chest, King Anubis reached out and grabbed Spike's shoulders. Instead of bearing down in a nerve trap, or a clutch, however, King Anubis merely held his hands there. He sighed.

Whatever silent words Spike and King Anubis exchanged, they were spoken through their eyes only.

Spike nodded. He smiled.

As did King Anubis. 

"For this effort," King Anubis began softly, pulling Spike up onto his shoulders, still easily manging to invert the boy on his back, "Your life will remain entirely intact. You have shown me that you can live it to the fullest. But, your quest for my championship belt ends here. You will not be champion, Spike Waterford." 

"Not today..."

King Anubis jumped into the air and performed his Lifeshaver muscle buster. In an instant, Spike--already drained of stamina--knocked out, falling to the floor, limp. In sleep, he looked like a fallen hero. His face was not the pained grimace of Vahni Rage, but a slumbering angel. King Anubis gently pulled Spike off the ground, threw him across the shoulder, and placed him outside the ring.

The spellbreakers watching, all fell silent. Cian, on the verge of tears, looked to Mr. Iron. "Is this it? Is...this how the world ends?"

Mr. Iron turned his head, and sighed. Then, he thought of Sandra. His child. His eyes met King Anubis, the wild, bloody god standing in the center of the ring. Waiting.

Wordlessly, Mr. Iron pulled himself through the ropes...and cracked his neck, ready for a fight.

Nervous whispers erupted from the bleachers. Cian, falling to Spike's side, attended to his friend, but kept his eyes on the action.

Mr. Iron walked forward, towards his opponent. He stopped, placing his hand on his hips, staring King Anubis down.

King Anubis gladly met his challenge. "Oh? You're approaching me?" He flexed sweat and blood of his body, like a beast shaking off a fresh kill. "Instead of running away, you're coming right to me?"

Mr. Iron grunted. Then, he grinned. He motioned for King Anubis. Bring it on.

King Anubis looked down at his massive hand. The Glyph of Temporis flashed briefly, a phantom, before dissipating into the magi's skin. Spike's new ability seemed to be tempory, which more of a relief to Mr. Iron than anyone else.

"Well, Johnny cakes...looks like I have my glyph back now. Which is too bad for you." King Anubis, dripping blood, but otherwise no worse for wear, took his time meeting Mr. Iron in the center of the ring. "Your time's run out." 

He snapped his fingers.

Per usual, King Anubis had breached the gap between him and his opponent in the blink of an eye. He shot out his fist.

It collided with solid gold, breaking it instantly.

King Anubis' howl cut through the audience, whose blood nearly froze on the spot. Nobody knew what had happened. It took several seconds before it dawned on them...

King Anubis clutched his shattered hand, looking up as Mr. Iron's golden body resumed its normal composition of man and matter. 

The handsome, bald-headed bull in the silver singlet was, as always, amiable and cordial. "Didn't expect that, did you big man?"

"You...you..." King Anubis clutched his hand. He couldn't use his powers now. Maybe Mr. Iron knew that. He always knew more than he let on, after all.

"What is a god?" Mr. Iron started, walking forward, "to a legend?"

King Anubis glared. "You need to work on your trash talk," he sniped. Then, he sighed.

"Yeah. Probably. Iron can rust when it doesn't get much wear."

"Not Iron," King Anubis said. "But gold, it seems." Shaking, trying not to show the raw anguish and pain from his broken hand show, King Anubis looked over at Spike. "I said you couldn't win this, Spike, and I mean it. It's not your time."

Then, the god--the first spellbreaker and World Champion--looked up at Mr. Iorn. "It's his."

With all eyes on what happened next, nobody noticed the Genesis Glyph starting to wobble, continuing to fracture. Nobody, that is, except for Spike--who, as he came to consciousness--was in perfect sight-line of the Forbidden Glyph.

Back in the ring, Mr. Iron charged at King Anubis, lifting him up into the air, and higher still. 

To this day, nobody can quite explain what happened, how Mr. Iron pulled off this technique, or what magicks were at work. The most Mr. Iron would ever allude to is a vague suggestion of magnetic force, but even this--as they say--is but legend.

Whatever happened in that moment, Mr. Iron reached the apex, touching the sky. With King Anubis, a bloody mess, tucked between his legs, he took that moment to look out across the clouds. Mr. Iron would tell you he'd managed to breach the red thunderhead, summoned as a by-product of the Genesis Glyph. There, he looked out over a clear blue sky, at the world below.

It was a beautiful thing.

Congrats, Iron. It looks like you won this thing after all. So, what'll it be? What kind of world would you like your good friend Salim to whip up for you? Claim your wish.

My wish? Hell...I know what my wish would be of course. I don't want my kid to grow up in a world that hates them as much as it hated their old man. I want a world that, when my wife kisses them goodbye for school, she doesn't hold her breath and pray as she watches them go, wondering if they'll come back home at all... 

I wish we could wave a wand and get rid of this poison on Earth called 'hatred'. But tell me, King Anubis, what does that look like to you? 

Even the Glyph of Genesis can't just 'erase' things like racism and prejudice. How do you quantify that, John? What it can do, however, is get rid of anybody you want. That politician on TV, foaming at the mouth over a bill that will strip someone's rights away just so he can feel better about himself at night? The preacher in the pulpit spouting fire and brimstone over whichever group he doesn't like? That cop who decides to give himself the power of the law, life, and death just to feel in control? All of them, erased, with the snap of a finger. A world without hate looks like a world without those who are compelled to hatred. 

I can grant you that power. In fact, call me biased...but that's the world I wanted anyway. I can support you, John Henry Iron, with that world. I trust the future, my future, to you. 

I know. And I should take it...

So why the hesitancy, large friend?

Wait, aren't I in the middle of pile driving you? How is this conversation even happening?

Narrative construct? Metaphor? Gives this whole thing a bit of gravitas, no?

Er...I guess? 

Take it. Take my power. Realize your wish. I need only your consent. What will it be?

I should take it. I shouldn't...hesitate. What have been fighting for, marching for all my life? But I gotta' ask you...where does it end? Will these people you speak of, the forces I've fought against since the day I was born, even be allowed to change their hearts?

What makes you think they will?

I know.... 

I may be a champion, Salim. But I'm no hero. If I was really brave, if I really could walk the walk, I'd take you up on your offer without hesitation. It's tempting. Too tempting. I feel like if I don't, I'm going to throw all my brothers and sisters, and people like Spike, Lily, and anybody who deserves a world without cruelty, under the bus...

But I just...if people's hearts can still be changed. If people can be shown the light. At least given a chance...

Yeah, but who often does that actually happen?

But it does. I've seen it.

Tell that to the tyrant who can end millions of lives with a single word. You really think enough movements and marches and songs can change a heart like that?

I'm not saying violence isn't sometimes necessary. It is, regrettably. But with a wish like the one you are offering...it would turn any saint into a tyrant. And I ain't no saint, no matter what my friends and family think of me. 

No man, even well intentioned, should be in control of so many lives. Nobody is perfect like that. What you'd be asking me to do is repeat the cycle.

Only...who would defy us, John? With a glyph of ultimate control?

Five minutes ago, you thought nobody could defy 'you'. And yet, here we are.

...

Right. No. I won't do it. Call me a coward. A traitor to my ideals. I won't. Instead, I'm choosing the longer, harder path. I don't need a glyph to change the world. 

Yeah, but it would certainly make it a hell of a lot easier.

That may be. But...I want to give my kid a world where they can seek their own path. What kind of man will I become if I become an arbiter of morality, who lives and dies by my judgment? Nobody should have a power like that. Even if they're well intended. So, I choose the coward's path.

I, John Henry Iron, refuse your offer.

I do this 'my' way.

Mr. Iron brought the sky down...and King Anubis with it. 

Some say that on impact, the ring itself split in two. 

More zealous types, real "Iron-Heads" of course, well tell you that Mr. Iron's Piledriver split even the earth in two, leaving behind a fissure that can still be seen in the ruins of Kitezh to this day. 

Still, other say this driver technique, the 'God-Breaker', has never been replicated, leaving Mr. Iron the only spellbreaker alive to pull off the feat. 

All lament the fact that second world championship finals were never record or televised, making all stories about their mysterious conclusion nothing more than rumor and speculation. 

Maybe it's all for the best. After all, it's moments like these that give spellbreaking, and pro wrestling, a sense of mystique.

Nevertheless, when Mr. Iron emerged from the crater, to roaring applause--to spellbeaking cohorts throwing each other out of the way just so they could be the one to embrace him first (Titan Gio, the biggest of the spectators, got to him ahead of everyone else). Nobody could scarcely form a coherent sentence. All was shock and awe and revelry. 

In the steaming wreckage left over from Mr. Iron's definitive finisher, a crooked hand--the one still intact--struggled to make a motion with its fingers. A flash of multi-hued light poured forth towards the crowd of celebrants, lifting Mr. Iron onto their shoulders (a great feat, in its own respects). 

A massive, golden, championship belt--studded with diamonds--materialized over Mr. Iron's shoulders, ex nihilo. The veteran spellbreaker, who still couldn't quite believe what had happened, couldn't find the words to make sense of it. Regardless, he couldn't get the chance. As he held the belt up in the air, for all to see, the spellbreakers roared anew. 

Even Deadboy Daemian, sullen as he was, couldn't contain his excitement. Brax, right alongside him, howled.

"THAT'S MY COACH, BRO!" Icewolf cried out, face full of emotional tears.

Groaning, and near death, King Anubis--decades of borrowed years erased by Mr. Iron's devastating finisher, pulled himself out of the wreckage. He looked over at the victorious. He looked over at the unconscious Rage, Colt, and Tiger, who he'd bested. Sighing, but unable to summon up any energy for anger, or loss, or joy, he simply waved his hands towards the injured.

And then, they were all uninjured. And awoken. Rage. Tiger...

And Colt 'The Bolt', coming to on a cot next to the bleachers, just happened to crane his head in time to see the festivities--and make sense of it. He was glad nobody noticed his timely recovery. 

"He damn did it," Colt said, finding himself losing his composure. "My...hero."

Hence, the sudden downpour. 

Cian, briefly distracted by the crowning of the world champ, looked down at Spike...and the ground beneath and around him. "Huh...?"

Spike was awaken now (barely). But that wasn't what Cian noticed. The earth, broken cobblestone, dirt, and dead grass, was...shimmery. Shiny. Glowing with rainbow light. Cian looked up to the sky and saw a rainfall in all colors. It was strange. Beautiful. 

It still bothered him.

Cian cupped his hands over his mouth. "Hey, guys." He looked over his shoulder, sensing a strong energy radiating from King Anubis' throne. The glyph atop was glowing, vibrating, pulsating with energy. Fissures of black light had begun forming across its luminous surface.

Not good.

"Oy, boyos!" Cian called back, getting to his feet. He pointed in the direction of the ominous light. "And lasses, and none of the above. I think we might have bigger things demanding our attention right now."

The short-lived celebration cut off. Mr. Iron, lowered safely to the ground, slunk his championship belt over his shoulder. He and the others moved slowly, but cautiously, in the direction of the light. Rage and Tiger, re-joining the world of the awoken, joined them in their growing concern.

Meanwhile, King Anubis had managed to lift himself--painfully--into a sitting position. Annoyed, defeated, but fair, the Time Magi used his newly acquired gifts to heal himself. The shattered bones re-joined themselves, cracking back into place (as painful as it sounds). The blood on his body receded, skin healing itself in rapid time. Even King Anubis mask rethreaded itself...though curiously, its style and shape was changed.

Lastly, King Anubis looked down at his completely shattered hand. He grunted...finding the Genesis Glyph...resistant to his demands. His hand mended itself, slowly. And then, it kept going. His fingers grew longer, turning first into the claw of some strange beast, then a bird talon, and then into a scaled version of a human hand.

King Anubis grunted. He seethed. "DAMN IT. Why is it ALWAYS the hand!?"

There was no rumbling in the ground nor sky, just a sudden, loud CRACK as the earth around the throne opened up, the construct sinking sideways into the fissure. 

The spellbrekaers gasped. Gio and Rosa, acting on instinct, combined forces and conjured up a blanket of roots to try and needle-and-thread the broken ground back into stability. The rainbow light from the throne reacted, transforming these roots into solid crystal beams. The air around it became snow, and then a shower of gold, before even the city around them--towers and all--began rapidly transforming. The scenery went from lost antiquity, to modern spires, to strange, futuristic buildings--night and day rapidly shifting between the other. An aurora appeared overhead, drowning out the blood red sky. Stars, in the thousands, began falling.

Spike, with shallow breaths, lifted himself off the ground and looked into the starry cascade. "It's...the end of the world."

Elsewhere, reacting to the sudden shift in reality, the world powers did as expected: began to queue up the launch codes for their missiles. 

As King Anubis had foreseen, this timeline had ran its course. 

Were the priests and priestesses of the church present, were the Great Hierophant of the Mother himself available to lay eyes on the misuse of the Genesis Glyph, he would have called it the ultimate penance for the ultimate transgression. 

Either way, King Anubis had truly passed his judgment--and this world was at its end.

"I...can't control it," the giant said, approaching the bewildered and exhausted spellbreakers. He held up his hand, staving off their reaction. He was no longer a threat. "There was...one timeline where this might happen." He clutched his hand, which had now become a long, slimy tentacle. "Some luck of the coin toss, eh?"

Spike, recovered--but limping--looked down at King Anubis' tranfigured arms. "Serves you right," he said.

King Anubis looked at him with tired eyes. "You're gonna' be a little s*** to the bitter end, aren't you, habibi?"

"You bet." Spike looked over at the throne. Tears welled up in his eyes, and his heart began to beat faster. "Mr. Iron. Coach. Congrats. You deserved to be world champion."

Mr. Iron swallowed, already concerned where this might be heading. "Hey, thanks, kid. Your time will come."

Spike's lip quivered. "I think...it already has."

Colt clutched his chest, and looked around at the ones he loved His family. Spike's family. "This isn't the end. I've pulled jack rabbits out of hats before. We gotta' do something."

Spike would, anyway. He looked down at his hand. He'd been granted a new gift. He could syphon energy. 

"Oh well, nothing to lose." He stepped forward. toward the radiant object pulling in light and sound. 

El Amante, of all people, rushed to restrain him. "Hey, chico, what are you doing?"

"Please, let go of me," Spike said, choking back a sob. His whole body trembled with adrenaline, brought on by fear. Every cell in his body resisted him.

El Amante did as told. But it hurt his heart to do so. He felt Spike's emotions. 

He knew what he was about to do.

Spike approached the throne, finding himself awash in rainbow light. It was warm. Pleasant. But it was wrong. Spike held out his hand, and felt the pulse of energy. Just like before, just like with King Anubis, he could now reach out and grab hold of the threads making up the energy and particles defined only by the physics of magick. With King Anubis, the power had been finite, but strong. Spike had seized it and brought it into his being, with only a bit of exertion.

These threads of energy, however, were endless. They made Spike tired. They made him want to lay down and sleep, for a very long time.

"I wish I could have said so much more to Buck," Spike mumbled. 

He had seen this movie before. This is where the hero would normally turn to his friends, take sight of their tear-streaked faces, and tell them 'thanks'. But Spike knew if he did that, if he lingered on a thought or a feeling for much longer, he might not be able to do what he had to do next.

Guess I'm a pretty crap hero, Spike thought, as he opened the floodgates to his glyph. The power that came forward, syphoned from the glyph, was overwhelming and endless. It was like being electrocuted by sunshine, or maybe even what it might be like to throw oneself into lava, and feel it all, before it burned oneself alive. 

Nevertheless, the power came, in abundance. Endless. Unrelenting. Overwhelming.

Within seconds, Spike blacked out. All he saw, was pure, white light.

And then...

To Be Continued

Chapter 7: The Forbidden Glyph

Centuries of erosion and layers of lakebed algae had turned the once pristine steeples and towers of Kitezh into a decayed city. Broken cobblestone pathways, caked with snow and ice, trailed off between empty foundations and ruined stucco buildings. Only the the stone towers, belfries and steeples of tarnished bronze, stood watchful. 

As the audience members took their seats in the stands located in the central plaza (brought in and built special for the occasion) the once-excited spectators grew uneasy with the eerie surroundings. It was a lot like watching a spellbreaking match in a cemetery. The lost city, which had sat at the bottom of the lake since Koschei's failed ritual several hundred years ago, carried a lonesome, funerary atmosphere that was nevertheless brimming with old magick.

Colt--wearing his best suit and bolo tie--took his skybox seat and looked up from the ring in the center the plaza. The church steeples around the city resembled upwards daggers, or the fingers of a dead, skeletal hand clawing at the sky. Something about this configuration bothered him deeply. 

Hell of a lot of church towers, Colt thought. Guess they were really religious back then. He remembered the legends speaking of how the faith f the citizens of Kitezh saved them, preserving their souls and their city at the bottom of the lake--but Colt knew better now. Nobody had survived the massacre, and if anything, Kitezh's vanishing was the result of divine punishment, not salvation.

"Ladies and gentleman and everyone in-between," Boomer Harlow howled from his spectator table. If anybody was most excited about the world championships, it was him. "Get ready for the first match of the night! And it's a doozy. These two big boys are ready to show you what spellbreaking is really about."

Titan and Bear Mischa. Colt watched the two enter the ring from separate sides. Boomer was right--they were big. Titan, dressed in just his gladiator-inspired, leopard print gear, stared down Bear Mischa, Firebird's biggest bruiser--clad in a solid, red 'strong man' singlet. It was like looking at the good and 'bad' versions of the same warrior, Colt thought (though he heard Bear Mischa was actually a huge mama's boy and an incredibly softie). 

With a roaring grunt, the two beasts locked up, commencing the world championships in earnest. The crowd hollered. Colt, scanning the excitable audience, wondered how many of these spectators were secretly Aradia peace keepers in disguise. He faked scratching his ear, tucked beneath his white cowboy hat. Really, he triggered his ear-piece, sending out a 'ping' to the other magi positioned strategically around the ring.

Sitting in the same position on the stands on the other side of the ring, Lily Suarez, dressed in an blush-coloured pantsuit, pressed her hand to her sunflower pendant, sending back a signal to both Colt and Slayer. "Are we in position?"

The later agent, positioned high atop the bell tower, with a trained sniper at his side, tucked his ponytail beneath the collar of his skin-tight body suit, and adjusted his sunglasses. The enhanced lenses zeroed in on the ring, scanning the audience for threats.

"Confirmed. No sign of Semyon," the former soldier, and current (non-participating) Firebird spellbreaker huffed. Down below, Titan picked up Bear Mischa and slammed him into the mat, setting off the audience.

Slayer, a trained soldier, looked out and over the crowd. He detected movement, somewhere beyond the bell tower. Just as he did, his eyes glossed over the faded symbol--worn away by years of water erosion--on the side of the belfry. Slayer recognized it as a glyph--specifically, the Glyph of Shadow, Tenebreus.

"Tornasol," Slayer said into his headpiece, calling for Lily's codename, "mayhaps you've noticed the symbology on the city steeples."

"Glyphs. Yes. I'm looking into it..." 

Down beneath the Tower of Shadow, Deadboy Daemian (dressed in a black pea coat for the wintery weather) ran alongside his demonic companion, Brax (who needed no additional protection from the elements). The two stopped at an intersection, a promenade flanked by the broken statues of cherubs, and tilted, rusted lamps that hadn't been lit in centuries. The demon huffed, his breath a visible vapor in the cold air. He pointed in the right direction, and Deadboy followed.

The twenty-one belfries of Kitezh were somewhat anomalous, to the untrained eye that is. Aside from the belles they house, they all housed nothing but a small antechamber, open on all four sides, and a winding staircase leading to the the belfry beneath their steepled roofs. It was in one such chamber that Daemian, breathing heavily, came upon his Auntie Jacinda.

However Semyon had moved her and Uncle Daniel, he hadn't given them proper clothing for the weather. She was still in her nightgown. Cradled and manacled in the arms of an enormous, largely featureless statue --an anthropomorphic lump of clay, with the vaguest suggestion of eyes and mouth--the unconscious woman's head drooped to the side, her curly, white hair tumbling over the statue's arm. 

Rage and loss shot through Daemian's heart. He held his hand up to his foster mother and activated his glyph, immediately relieved to feel her pulse of life. She was alive. But why was she here? What the hell was the point of any of this?

"Daemian!"

Deadboy had been so lost in thought that he failed to pick up on the sound of heavy stone against the earth coming up from behind him. He turned his head, just in time to see the stone against the chapel at his back come to life--take shape--and entangled itself around Brax. The demon roared, summoning chains of living shadow to try and pry him loose, but it was all in vain. The liquid stone took the form of the same type of statue-entity gripping Auntie Jacinda. Daemian marched forward to try and do something about it--nobody messed with his found family, after all--but found his leg suddenly caught. 

The earth, the concrete beneath his boots, had grabbed hold of him. A shape rose around him; a prison of stone. He blinked, and found himself embraced by the tight arms of the golem, being dragged off to an uncertain end...

He was not on the only one. While all attention focused on the action in the ring, spellbreakers and magi alike, watching from the wings, found themselves in similars predicament. 

This city was alive, and it was moving against them.

---   

Colt, and the audience too, for that matter, wince and groaned as Bear Mischa dropped all 400 pounds of himself from the top rope, onto Gio, flattening the muscle man out. The three count was crisp. The bell rang. 

The Titan had fallen.

"This ain't good..." Colt muttered under his breath. Of course, Gio would be fine, physically. He could brush anything off, and had a solid-ego to boot, so one loss wouldn't chip away at his self-esteem. Mischa, despite his bombastic roaring, was gracious, and even helped his defeated opponent limp away from the ring.

"Colt."

The cowboy pressed his finger to his earpiece. "We not doing the fun name thing for me? Come on. You know how much I love that."

He could barely identify Lily in the crowd across the way. "I was just down by the changing area. We can't find Deadboy or Brax anywhere."

As Colt processed this, he looked over to where Gio and Mischa had been standing, seconds before. They were gone. He swallowed, uncomfortable. "Little lady, I got a bad feeling. I know when a storms' comin' on. This is a big one. Somethin' ain't right."

"Stay there," Lily said, sharply. "Don't move. Pretend like nothing is wrong. Leave this to Aradia."

Colt sighed and said nothing more. Down by the ring, Boomer Harlow set the stage for the next match. Mr. Iron vs Ivan the Wolf, Firebird's baby face champ. The handsome, smiling Russian with the intimidating muscles shook John Henry's hand. Colt almost didn't notice Mr. Iron was sporting some non-traditional gear--a silver, body-clinging singlet that showed off his massive physique quite nicely. The big man easily won himself a few wolf-whistles from the crowd. 

Sandra would be so jealous, Colt thought to himself, enjoying this brief moment of levity. The bell rang, and the bruisers went at it, channelling both magic and muscle into their craft. Ivan had the athleticism, Mr. Iron had the brawn and momentum. It was anybody's guess who would come out on top.

Meanwhile, atop his perch, Slayer St. George adjusted his binocular sunshades, this time zeroing in on Icewolf and Iggy Astro, who had volunteered to monitor the adjoining street outside the plaza, in search of Koschei or any of his underlings. As they conversed, Slayer caught a glimpse of two of those oversized, walking statues barrelling towards them from opposite ends of the ancient street.

"Tch." Slayer made a motion with his fist and pointed in the direction of the enemy. The Aradia sniper locked his rifle and aimed his crosshairs at the golems. Just as he did, the gargoyle atop the steeple above them reached down and grabbed the sniper by the collar, hoisting him into the air. 

"GAAAH!" He didn't even have time to pull the trigger. His magick bullet casings clinked to the ground, and he was lifted off into the sky.

"They have flight capabilities?" Slayer grunted. Gritting his teeth, he looked down at the ground and unzipped the back of his skin-tight suit. "Someone must be controlling them." He pressed his ear piece. "Tornesol--"

"I know," the woman said, already excusing herself from the excited audience, watching as Ivan dodged Mr. Iron's haymaker. The light magi pushed her way down the stairs. "They're golems. Invention of Czech alchemists. Sev, do you see any sygils or engravings atop their heads? Any markings?"

Slayer leaned forward and tossed his shades aside, hands gripping the edge of his perch. The skin on his muscular back rippled, and then split open, two leathery wings--like a dragon's--sprouting from his back. The burst of pain caused him to break out into a sweat. It had been awhile since he'd used his glyph for flight. 

"Not that I can see," Slayer wheezed. He took a deep breath. "I'm going after one of our men. I--"

He was cut off by a sudden blow from the right. An unseen gargoyle knocked him clean off the roof. Slayer recovered mid air and fought back, kicking off the steeple and accelerating into the cold, Russian sky. He watched in dismay as his earpiece fell faster and faster towards the Earth. All around him, a swarm of stone golems, winged gargoyles, centered in on his target.

"Wyvern?" Lily whisper-shouted into her earpiece. No response. She pressed her back to the bleachers and winced, just as the crowd reacted to another move. She ran past the barricade towards an archway, hoping to stop the golems from grabbing her companions. 

By the time she reached the snowy street, Iggy had collapsed. The pink-haired spellbreaker in the fuchsia leather jacket, looked up at the three golems who had kicked him to the ground, and smiled.

"I've been shot before," they said, conjuring up a javelin of light and shooting it at the golem who had raised its foot to try and kick him. "You think I'm afraid of a bunch of tacky statuary?" The spellbreaker whipped their head towards Lily. "Oh good, another Light user. What we gonna' do, bicha, dazzle them with a laser show like we're at the damn planetarium?"

Lily ignored the sass and extended her threads of golden light around the golem's legs, binding them together fast and knocking him down. "Where's Icewolf?" she shouted.

Iggy's eyes bugged out from their attractive face. "Did you just pull off a double-leg takedown with light magick?" 

Lily smirked. "Feel free to steal it for your next match."

Of course, Iggy's own brand of luminous enchantment didn't work the same way--such was the spectrum of glyphology. Still, this wouldn't stop them. The golem to Iggy's left went to try and grab the rock star stud, pull them in for a tight embrace--but the spellbreaker was quicker. Trained in capoeira, Iggy pivoted on their boot heel and pirouetted around the golem, keeping out from its sight.

"They got Robbie," Iggy said, joining Lily's side. "Nearly crushed my guitar too," they said, pointing to a pink case, covered in star stickers, laying up against a wall.

Lily brushed her hair back, confused. "You...brought your guitar?" Her focused was on the golem she felled, who had snapped free of her luminous threads, and was presently rising back onto his feet.

"I'm a musician, of course I did. Oh...hello, sexy."

Lily was taken aback, thinking Iggy was talking about her, when she noticed the large, muscular man (inappropriately dressed in snake-skin, hot pants and a half buttoned, purple shirt) bounding towards them like a luchador about to take a dive off the ropes.

Which was an apt comparison, as the man was, in fact, a luchador about to take a dive into the golem. El Amante Intoxico had stormed into the frey!

"He's not going to try to hurricanrana a ten-ton statue," Iggy started. "Is he? Oh, of course he is..."

"TAKE THIS, RUDO!" El Amante shouted, missing the golem's attempt at grappling him, and flipping into the air. El Amante's legs caught the golems bulbous neck. He hung there, inverted, his long hair tumbling down into his face. "Err...I thought that would work."

The non-plussed, masked man flipped down and landed gracefully, standing upright and blowing a kiss towards Lily, who, despite her professional decorum, swooned right into Iggy's arms.

"Mi amor," El Amante said, facing the two golem looming above him, "where is the excitable Canadian?"

"He got got," Iggy replied as he helped Lily back onto her feet. "These things are damn tough."

El Amante's response was to remove his his shirt, showing off his eight-pack abs and heaving pectorals.

"Tougher than...the power of seduction?" He said, bounding his pecs hypnotically.

Lily fell back into Iggy's arms. The pink-haired heel frowned. "Babe, they're made out of rocks. Also, stop doing that to Lily. She doesn't have the same immunity towards your powers that I do."

El Amante pointed to his partner ad winked. "You ain't seen nothing yet, chico." He turned to face his stoney opponents. "Now, my love....musica!"

Iggy glanced between their guitar and his himbo, hunky boyfriend. "...Viki, are you serious?"

El Amante snapped his fingers. "Musica, ahora!"

Lily shook the stars out of her eyes. "He said 'music, now'."

"I UNDERSTAND SPANISH." Gnashing their teeth, Iggy kicked open their guitar case, sending forth a plum of star dust. They slung their hot pink guitar over their chest. "Okay. You may want to avert your eyes, Lily. This is about to get...spicy."

The three golems corralled the handsome luchador, who waited for the first few strums of his lover's melody before he broke out into a slow, seductive, hip gyrating dance. The golems stopped, confused, and looked at each other. El Amante placed his hands behind his head (deliberately showing of his bi's and tri's) and swivelled his pelvis with erotic aplomb. The golems stopped in their tracks.

And then, blowing them a kiss, El Amante tore off his snake-skin pants, revealing tight, purple, silky briefs (any further description thereof would require this chapter to be moved to the After Dark section). The golem's followed his hips with their eyes, unable to tear themselves away.

And then, El Amante thrusted.

All three golem's heads split open with a burst of light, before they crumbled into massive piles of dust.

Lily and Iggy were left dumbstruck. "Are all...of your pants tear-away?" Iggy asked.

"All pants can be tear-away," El Amante said, flipping his gorgeous hair back, "if you're brave enough." He winked.

Snapping out her distraction, Lily shuffled around the pile of ash, examining it for signs of enchantment. "Most golems have a carving or seal on their head that's used to control them," she explained. "But not these. Which means there must be some object, or charm, that their controller is using." She sighed. "I should have paid better attention in my 'Intro to Alchemy' course."

As Lily continued to speculate, a shadow fell over Iggy and El Amante, who looked up just up in time to see two enormous, winged statues descend. The gargoyles extended their concrete talons and grabbed Iggy and his partner, painfully, by the shoulder.

As the took off, El Amante called back. "RUN!"

In shock, Lily nevertheless did as told, just barely managing to avoid another gargoyle as it went to strike her. In that split moment, an idea came to her--and knew she would have to commit to it. It can take me to the one controlling it.

"If these hunks can be brave," Lily said, throwing a lasso around the foot of the soaring gargoyle, and tying the other end around her waist and underarms, like a harness, "I can be brave too."

The harness of golden light jerked Lily back, and then she was flying upwards, her legs flailing beneath her as the ground fell further and further away. 

"Never mind--this was a mistaaaaaaaaaaaaake!"

---

"Aaaaand...three!"

Mr. Iron, covered in sweat and bruises, held his arms to the air in triumph. "YEAH!"

Poor Ivan, despite his best, had to be dragged out of the ring. It was knock out! The crowd went wild. As did Boomer Harlow. "Folks, this is a story nearly two decades in the making! Mr. Iron is now positioned to go up against the world champ!"

But Colt was nowhere near celebratory. Lily was nowhere to be found, nor Slayer. As the next match--between Reina Ros and Yaya Baba--set itself up, the president of the GSA slunk out from his skybox (protected by Aradia security) and travelled down to the other side of the VIP section, where Cian and Spike waited, watching the fight in uncharacteristic silence.

They looked up at their boos. "You look like you're gonna ralph," Spike said dumbly, to which Cian cuffed him in the arm. "OW! Whaddya' do that for, ya putz!"

Cian stood. "Sir?"

"Something's up," Colt said, eye on the ring, where Rosa had just gracefully dodged one of Yaya's massive chicken feet kicks, moving to wrap up the other leg with her rose thorn vines. "We need to get down there."

Cian looked toward the ring. "Respectfully, sir, this feels like a trap. I think we're...being gathered."

Spike thought back to his vision of the past. "There's a big church-like place where Semyon's probably hiding," he said. "If we find that, we can take him out." He pounded his fist inside his other hand for emphasis.

Colt tipped his hat. "Quick thinkin', son, but Cian has a point. Why throw ourselves into the spider's nest when we can lure the spider out?" He pointed to Cian. "Sorry to do this to you, sport, but I'm gonna hafta ask you to get very ugly."  

---

"You came here, willingly? Of your own accord?"

Salim tugged on his golden robe, his jackal mask tucked inside his giant hands. He stared down Semyon, or what was left of him, sitting on the throne. Recida, standing at his side, scowled at the massive spellbreaker.

"One of you looks like beef jerkey left out in the sun too long," Salim sniped. "And the other looks like they've been irradiated pretty badly by a lovely Aboriginal woman."

Recida glared, going for her snake pendant--curiously to Salim, she wore a new medallion alongside it. He hadn't seen that one before.

"Please," Salim said. "I can freeze Goddess-damn time. I could snap both your necks in less than a split-second. Instead, I am here to offer my magick." He looked up at Semyon and bowed his head. "Well played, Koschei. You knew there was no way I would pass up the tournament, or even better, a chance to kill you."

"This throne is made of material that siphons magick," Koschei carefully explained. "If you so much as come close to it, you will end up in far worse shape than even my present appearance. That said, there's nothing you can do. You presence alone provides me the power I need. Unlike the others, I don't need to situate you in one of the belfries in order to channel your glyph."

Salim shrugged. "So I thought. I just wanted to ask you what you intended to do with the Glyph of the Goddess. A simple ques--"

"Ugh!" Recida suddenly bent forward, clutching at her neck.

"You okay there, sis?" Salim asked.

She shot the giant a venomous look, but addressed Koschei. "Someone's destroyed my golems. I'm afraid I'll need to investigate." The woman tugged at her oroboros charm, tearing it from her neck and slicing her hand open without so much as blinking. A spray of blood solidified in t he air, becoming a scythe of crimson light.

"Blegh," Salim said, making a face. "Alchemy is so gross."

"Exercise caution," Koschei said, as Recida marched out of the room. "Do not underestimate these fools."

When she was gone, and the two immortals could speak at last, Salim placed his mask over his head, taking on the form of King Anubis. "Well? I know what you're doing. Why?"

Koschei glanced over at the stone basin, reconstructed and reinforced. Around it sat the Seven Divine Chalices, in a ring, all of them having their crystalline liquid poured into the pool. The basin cycled through the colors, radiating the blessings of the Goddess.

"Simply to take back what's mine by divine right alone," Koschei said. "It's so amusing, and ironic, my dear Sarapis. The night that scheming prince disfigured my sex--"

"You mean tore your d*** off? Like, it's an a jar somewhere. I've seen it." He winked. "Not bad at all. I can see why you got so much a** back in the day, you dirty old man!"

"Be...that as it may, my predilections and desires blinded me to my true calling. Removed of carnal need, I could see far more clearly as Semyon Grigorivich. This world is full of pettiness, weakness, discord. My father put lesser men to the sword for stepping out of line. But the problem, as any Tsar or ruler can tell you, is that...the will of the many outweighs even the strongest ruler. Even you, with your power, were thwarted by a select few, I am told."

"News flash, weirdo, the War began because one man--one Emperor--tried to make the world his. What makes you think you'll fare any better?"

Koschei smiled. "Because the Alban King did not have the magick I am about to make mine."

King Anubis didn't say anything for a moment. "So, you mean to tip the scales at last? Become...what, king of the world? Shape everything to your whim? God King Koschei, is that it?"

On the throne, Koschei narrowed his eyes and smiled.

"That's really it!?" the world champion said, bursting out laughing and slapping his knee. "Six arcs of content and the best you can do is pull of this...early 90's JRPG villain schtick?" 

"Even you will bow to me," the baled, scabbed Koschei said, raising their head.

"Nah! You know what this game needs, my friend? A much more interesting final boss..."  

Pressed up against a pillar just outside the audience chamber, Spike--who had heard everything--bit his lip. I really, really miss when the worst thing that could happen to me was getting a friggin' steel chair up the side of the head.

----

Recida smiled, satisfied, as she turned away from Kuma Kengo, caught in the stone giant's embrace beneath the belfry. "All in their place," she said to herself. With blood scythe in hand, she walked among the golems, who each bowed to her as she passed.

 Situated at the tallest tower, overlooking the city below, Recida had a perfect vantage point of the ring. White Tiger and Vahni Rage were about to come to blows, deciding who would go on next to face the world championship.

These little boys and their stupid games, Recida thought. Suddenly, the golems guarding the staircase leading downwards pulled back. She glared and pressed her hand to the medallion around her neck. "I didn't say you could..."

She stopped. There, coming up the staircase, was Semyon, the only other soul she'd given command over her stone sentry. Lily Suarez, Aradia's brat, struggled as he tugged her along towards the top of the tower like a father pulling along a misbehaving child.

Recida narrowed her eyes. Something was off...

The golems stepped aside. Semyon threw Lily to the ground in front of Recida. She collapsed, pathetically, with her long hair draping her face. 

"I thought I'd give you her to you as a gift," Semyon said, with a wide grin. "After everything she's done to us. It seemed fitting."

Recida looked up from Lily at the gaunt figure. "Quite right," she said, slowly. "And...I would have almost been fooled, Cian Enbarr."

She threw her scythe forward, nearly slicing into Semyon's neck. 

Fortunately, Cian was quicker. He 'threw' the illusion forward, like tearing off clothes, and stepped back, looking over his shoulder at the sheer drop below.

With a devilish, mad look in her eyes, the wily Alchemist chased him down, slicing and slashing. "I'LL KILL YOU FOR WHAT YOU DID TO MY FAMILY'S HOME!"

"Damn, she's good," Cian snarled, projecting illusory clones of himself to try and throw the woman off balance. "Gee, you burn down a lass' castle and suddenly she think has a right to cut your feckin' head off!"

"AAAAAAGGGH!" 

The crazed alchemist jumped into the air, just as Cian tripped and landed on his butt. Behind him, a golem came up the stairs, blocking his way. He was trapped. 

Just as Recida fell forward, ready to bury her scythe in Cian's chest, she found herself abruptly yanked backwards. He neck pulled back. "Whaa...what!" she snarled.

Cian looked over her shoulder. "Holy crap."

Hair still half in front of her face, Lily tugged her golden string, pulling Recida back. The Alchemist cracked her head to the side, trying to see who dared to impede her progress.

"YOU TREACHEROUS SKANK!" she roared. "I'LL CUT YOUR DAMN HEAD OFF."

Lily looked into her eyes. "Nope."

Cian watched in awe. Recida's body went sailing behind her, as Lily whipped the woman over her shoulder--almost, Cian thought, like a suplex. The woman landed with a sickening crack, somewhere behind Lily. Her scythe melted into a pool of blood. She didn't move. 

Lily acted quickly. She tugged back her thread, Recida's medallion coming with it. Safe in Lily's hands, she opened the locket open and found the piece of ancient parchment. She ripped in two.

As she did, the golem behind Cian--ready to crush him with its fist--split down the middle with a fissure of light...as did the golem sentry surrounding the belfry. In seconds, they'd crumbled into dust, leaving Lily and Cian safe.

The Faeblood Brawler wobbled onto his feet, trying to catch his threat. "Lady and Mother, Lily Suarez--you sure you don't want to try your hand at spellbreaking yerself, lass?"

Lily nearly fell onto her knees in exhaustion. "Buck would think I was so cool but...no. Never." She caught her breath, and tried to think of what to do next. Just as she opened her mouth, however, the bell behind her rang with a thunderous toll--making her and Cian jump. They looked up at the swaying bell, then at the steeple. The engraving of its glyph, same as Kengo's, glowed an eerie blue. Cian and Lily looked out over the fog-shrouded city, at the other towers. All of them, all of their bells ringing in tandem, glowed the respective color of the glyph carved into their side.

Lily was so entranced by this thunderous uproar of bells, and the shimmering towers, that she failed to notice that Recida's body was longer laying in a heap behind her. All that was left was the stain from her scythe...and her ouroboros necklace, broken in two.

---

White Tiger flipped backwards as Rage tried to hook him with a fiery jab. Landing on his feet, Joseph spun around and launched a round-house kick--not to hit Rage in the head directly--but launch a might gust of icy wind. The energy shaped itself into the head of a roaring tiger, its jaws wide open.

Rage reacted. He threw his hands out, creating a wall of fire to incinerate Tiger's attempt. "Very good," Rage sneered. "I would expect nothing less of the GSA's...huh?"

His ears had picked up a low, rumbling chime. It was most definitely not the crowd. When his flames died down, and he could see his opponent clearly again, he found the sweat-glistening White Tiger just as perplexed as him. 

The audience looked around at each other, joining in the fighter's confusion. The earth beneath their feet seemed to glow, and particles of light had appeared in the air like fireflies. The disguised Aradia soldiers--those that hadn't been dispatched by Recida's golems, anyway--placed their hands on their guns and dampeners, ready for the attack.

"Uh...folks," Boomer Harlow said from his seat ringside. "There seems to be some sort of disturbance. The ref is calling off the fight. Looks like we're gonna..."

But even spellbreaking's loudest mouth was cut off by the sharp sound of bells. Though incredibly loud, they caused no percussive pain on the audience's ears, or even the two fighters standing in the ring. 

The twenty one towers around the city lit up, fountains of light, in a spectrum of colors. All magi among the audience felt a tingling in their chests, as if their glyphs were reacting.

Then, as quick as it came on the light subsided. The bells stopped. In the twenty one towers surrounding Kitezh's central chapel, the spellbreakers and magi captured by Koschei and his accomplices suddenly came to, with a swell of magick. 

Joseph and Vahni looked to each other, silently acknowledging a truce. There were greater matters that needed their attention. As the two men moved to exit the ring on their respective sides, their eyes were drawn to the familiar face running towards the ring.

The two men said the name at the same time. "...Spike?"

The blonde man in the navy jacket politely excused himself past the bewildered ref, and stumbled into the ring. "Guys," he wheezed. "Koschei's done it. He's completed the ritual. Ryan Hartley is in one of those towers, with the symbol of my glyph. Do you...do you remember him?" He collapsed, breathlessly, at Joseph's feet.

Vahni Rage immediately stepped forward and picked Spike off the ring. "My lion, what do you mean?"

Before Spike could explain further, the audience gasped. Walking slowly towards the ring, the tall man in gold and black robes shimmered with the rainbow's spectrum, his aura all colors and hues.

"My old friends," Koschei, grinning wildly, said. His eyes were hollow white, like white fire.

Spike, Joseph, and Rage stood back and watched Firebird's president heal his skin in rapid time, hair re-growing, singed beard returning to his face, well-trimmed. His gray skin became a more lively luster, and he even appeared to de-age, in rapid time, as he stepped to the ring's edge.

"Turn your gaze upon me!" he commanded, just as loud as Boomer Harlow. The audience fell silent. They waited. Koschei heled up his hands in the air, and in the space between them, an explosion of rainbow-colored light radiated outwards.

Spike had to put his hand up. It was like the sun. But, as the light faded and the symbol in the air remained, the young spellbreaker's jaw slowly drooped. "That's..."

Almost everyone in the audience recognize the symbol, naturally. It was the shape worn around the necks of the Goddess' believers, the symbol that adorned almost every Central Church steeple throughout the world. It was the glyph of the Goddess herself: Genesis, the Glyph of Creation that only the Prophetess' Leithe, daughter of Mother Aethrin herself, had ever wielded.

And now, that self-same glyph was in the possession of Koschei, the Deathless.

"It worked," he said, laughing with glee. "The ritual worked! For centuries, I've waited. Now, the mistakes of my youth are amended. The Chalices were indeed the key! 21 glyphs of might, to unlock the gift of the Goddess Herself!"

Nobody dared move. They were all in far too much shock. Koschei extended his hand, and a tree--in miniature--sprouted from his palm, cycling through its season before wilting into dust. The tall magi pointed to the ground, and the stones beneath his feet turned to solid gold. He stepped back, and the golden bricks became goldfinches, taking flight, then breaking apart into a swarm of monarch butterflies. 

Smiling, Semyon held his hand to the air as the bullet from Slayer's rifle turned to water. Atop the tower, some distance away, Slayer sucked his teeth and pulled back, just as a bolt of crimson lightning ripped the steeple off its hinges and sent it, and the bell beneath it, towards the audience stands.

The crowd screamed. Tiger jumped forward, sending out a spiral of wind and water, and manging to cushion the bell as it fell, knocking it of course and sending it safely to the ground with a resonate thud.

This transgression was all that Aradia's disguised soldiers needed. The security force stood up in the audience, the crowd around them panicking and making for the exit.

Rage growled. "It's going to turn into a stampede," he said. He nodded to Spike. "You. Go help Colt."

"What about you?" Spike asked, suddenly terrified. He moved closer to Joseph, who placed his hand on his shoulder, assuring.

Rage shook his head. "Do not worry about me, my lion." He looked at Joseph. "Or my Tiger. Go be good little boys and play hero. Let the villain do what he does best."

Joseph's eyes softened, a flash of empathy, before they narrowed into resolute focus. "Go, Spike," he said. "Control the crowd. I'll stay and fight."

The soldiers stormed over the side of the barricade. Koschei, enraptured with his own power, was ready for them. He flicked his hand at one broad-shoulder man, whose scream was cut off by his sudden transformation into a cube of solid gelatine. Next to him, his companion became a pile of salt. The hail of gunfire converging on Koschei transformed itself into confetti. 

"I have...waited...so long," Koschei said, in rapture. He watched, with mad joy, as his arm transformed into a sharp blade, like a spear or pole, and shot out at the battalion of soldiers racing towards him, skewering them all through the chest.  

Only the sound of mocking applause, from a single source, cut through the screams of the audience. Koschei, metal hand still embedded in his would-be usurpers, turned around and glared at the tall figure in the golden mask currently applauding his efforts.

"Bravo!" King Anubis called out, standing atop the turnbuckle. Rage looked up at him in confusion. "I love your new look. You've really gone full anime now!"

Koschei sneered. "You're finished, Sarapis. I am Creation!" He tried to pull his hand back, retract the blade, and release the twitching corpses from their misery.

He found himself unable to do so.

"True, true." King Anubis shrugged. He crossed his arms over his massive chest. "But...can you control it? Life and Death are your glyphs, right? Seems like a pretty unstable combination, if you ask me. I bet all of that power is gonna' absolutely rewrite your DNA in rapid time. Oh wow, look at your hand! You should probably get that checked out, K-man!"

Koschei thought of barking back, but his attention was on his hand. The metal had fused with the array of corpses, integrating flesh and viscera into a mass. He screamed in terror and looked down at this other arm. It has split in two, becoming two distinct appendages, which in turn, sprouted--root-like--into another sent of arms. He tried to shake them away, control his glyph, but this only exacerbated the surge of energy within him.

From the stands, Spike, helping to coordinate the audience into a safe, controlled exit, looked over his shoulder. "Oh my Goddess..."

Koschei's bearded face elongated, his skull distending and becoming double size. "AhhhhgnnnGGHAAAAAAHAHHHH!!!!" Even Rage, normally unbothered, reeled back in disgust. A pile of flesh, and half-formed appendages, organs, eyeballs, spilled out from beneath Koschei's robes, and doubled in size. Tentacles of flesh arouse from the blob and threw themselves outwards, grabbing screaming Aradia guards and pulling them into its visceral mass, which absorbed bullets and lobs of fire and lightning shot out by Aradia's trained elemantalists. 

King Anubis, watching with amusement from his perch, continued to commentate--Boomer Harlow now having (wisely) fled the arena. "Oof. Typical Akira-style downfall. Nasty stuff. Real Cronenberg shit, Koschei."

It was when the Koschei blob's tentacles began plucking screaming audience members out of the crowd that White Tiger jumped forward, ignoring Rage's protest. He jumped onto the tope rope and balanced, throwing out his arms and calling forth a torrent of water and a jet-stream of arctic wind. He converged the two streams on the hideous mass, freezing it to the spot.

"GAAAHAHHHHHAAAA!" the monster gurgled, Koschei's enormous head sinking into its amoeba form, pulsating with nerves and veins.

Joseph sealed the mass with his ice, but it only seemed to prevent it from spreading outwards, anchoring it at best. "There's no way to stop it," Joseph said to Rage.

King Anubis looked down at the GSA's champion. "Pretty defeated talk from the babyface. Here, pussy cat. Let uncle 'Nuby give you a hand."

The massive spellbreaker in the golden gear snapped his finger. The tumescent mass suddenly stilled, unmoving.

"Hurry up, hot-stuff," the giant in gold said to Rage, "You've got less than a few second."

The hot-headed heel answered the call. "I have some feedback for you, boss..." Rage seethed, eyes glowing like embers. "For years, I was your cash cow. A fight dog content for his master to keep throwing up fresh meat." 

Rage charged forward, over sheets of ice and membrane. King's spell faded, releasing its temporal hold. A massive eye-ball, blood shot and hideous, erupted from the pulpy mass and glared at Rage. The monster shot a tentacle towards its aggressor. 

"In less than a day," Rage said, catching the squirming tendril in the air, "those oversexed and overpaid idiots at the GSA showed me more kindness than you ever had. I thought them weak for it."

Rage brought the tentacle down across his knee, igniting it as he did. A burst of flame severed it into two, causing the amorphous blob to writhe in torment. Rage grinned. "Then, their cutest, shortest star kicked my ass--and told me that one can be kind and strong. Well, I still think that's all bullsh**. But...I've learned to hold a small amount of respect for the men who can be both strong and kind. And real, vicious bastards like me have a place to support them....GETTING OUR HANDS BLOODY WHEN THEY WON'T."

Rage threw his burning punch forward, into the bulbous mass of living gore. It burnt away flesh, creating a hole. Rage reached into to Koschei--Joseph looking on in horror--and pulled back.

Koschei's still-beating heart pulsed in Vahni Rage's blood-soaked hand, for but a moment, before it burst into flames and became nothing but cinders.

The blob creature that was Koschei began loosing form, melting into puss, blood, and fluid. The Aradia soldiers and audience members, all miraculously still alive (and covered in gore) sprung from from the amoeba, gasping and clawing their way towards safety.

All that remained, a beautiful contrast to the melting aberration below, was the Glyph of Creation, a construct of radiance and energy, pulsing in the air above. Both Rage and Tiger watched, frozen in shock, as King Anubis stepped forward and touched the shining glyph, hesitating only slightly. It fractured into particles of light, merging into his hand.

The giant, masked spellbreaker sighed, contented. His muscular body radiated with the same shimmering aura as Koschei. Unlike his predecessor, however, he was not transformed.

Wreathed in rainbow light, King Anubis turned around and faced White Tiger and Vahni Rage. But it was Spike, standing ringside, on whom he trained his gaze.

"Oh, you boys didn't know?" The massive man, the First Spellbreaker, laughed hollowly. "I'm the final boss."

To Be Continued....

Chapter 6: Don't You Know, It's the End of the World

Back when he was living in New York, whenever Spike was feeling down, he'd go to the diner, pop a coin in the juke, and order a burger and milkshake (with fries) of course. 

The eve before the big flight out to Russia, to face Firebird at the World Championships in Kitezh, Spike felt that everyone could use a diner visit now.

Of course, diners in Texas weren't the same as the ones back home. Still, anywhere with black and white linoleum, chipped, booths, coffee stains on the counter tops, chrome, and tired looks, would do. 

As the team gathered around booths, drawing attention from locals (what were so many big, handsome men doing in one place) he popped a quarter into the chrome-faced jukebox and watched as the needle hit the vinyl.

Honkey-tonk guitars, spicy snares, and Gene Vincent crooning about 'Racing the Devil'. Seemed appropriate enough to set the stage, across a black-and-white tiled floor and glow of neon signage on the wall.

To walk into the downtown diner, one could easily spot the locals from the strange, beefy fighters on the outskirts of town. The spellbreakers always received mixed company, wherever they travelled. Spike watched an elderly couple eying Akanemaru, the GSA's newest recruit, as he stared intently at his cup of coffee. 

The giant, white-haired, red-skinned, and half-horned oni looked up. "What you starin' at, huh?" That sent his gawkers scrambling for the exit. 

It also distracted the scant few patrons and diners from the crowd of spellbreakers gathered around Colt's table. Seated next to him, Lily and Slayer were the guests of honor. Spike thought Lily lacked her usual knowing smile and charm tonight. She was shaken. Tired. He'd heard only whispers of what had happened in Athens, but it didn't sound pleasant. Spike admired her guts. Of all the gang, she was the only one who had squared off against Semyon Grigorivich personally.

Spike wasn't entirely sure how Slayer of all people had made a resurgence, but if Lily trusted him, then Spike decided he was probably alright. Even so, the prettyboy 'knight' kept throwing him and Cian dirty looks.

Lily spoke, her voice horse and tired. "As it stands," she said, looking at John Henry, who nodded to her with encouragement, "Semyon currently has possession of all seven Chalices, including the one he acquired from Australia."

Her briefing was cut off by the sound of Deadboy slamming his fist on the table, knocking plates and silver wear. Tiger, sitting next to him, immediately placed his hand on his knee for comfort.

"I'm gonna rip his head off his neck," Daemian seethed. "And that's watering down what I'm really gonna' do to him."

Lily tried offering assurance. "I strongly believe he won't harm your Auntie and Uncle," she said. "Not until he's used them for this ritual of his, and intel suggests that won't be until we're all gathere."

Deadboy tensed. "Suggests? That's as helpful as tits on a bull."

"Hey," Tiger started. "I understand you're stressed. I care for your family too. Aradia's intelligence is already looking into the matter. We'll get your Auntie and Uncle back."

If that placated Deadboy or not, he didn't show it on his face.

Spike, standing (and blocked out by the taller, larger frames of his peers) interjected. "Salim said Koschei was gonna' try and use the Chalices in a failed ritual he tried to pull off a few hundred years ago."

Mr. Iron frowned. "Ko...shay?"

"Semyon's real name," Spike clarified. "He's uh...older than he looks. His glyph has kept him alive for a long time."

Mr. Iron raised his eyebrows. "How long is long?"

"Several hundred years," Spike said. "Deadass."

Colt frowned. "This crap just gets weirder and weirder."

Tiger gave him a quizzical look. "Boss, you know my magick teacher is a literal dragon that lives at the bottom of Singapore harbor, right? That our nemesis should be a few centuries old--"

"--And also Rasputin," Spike quickly added.

"And also Rasputin, should hardly come as a shock. Wait, what?"

Cian, standing with his back against the booth, shook his head and crossed his arms. "Just as how much it's feckin nuts that Salim is a...time mummy, you said?" He narrowed his eyes at Spike.

The New Yorker threw his hands up. "Look, all I know is Salim said that Koschei might be planning to unleash the equivalent of a friggin' magickal atomic bomb."

Sobering words on their own, but no more sobering than the news broadcast on the TV set above the diner counter. Concerned waitresses and harried truck drivers had their eyes trained to the chyron, mentioning 'Potential nuclear escalations between the USA and the new provisional Russian government.'

"Great," Iggy Astro snorted, tossing back their pink mane of hair, "We might get ourselves blown into little bits of himbo chunks before we even see who becomes world champion. By either a literal bomb or the weirder option."

El Amante, still cuddling his romantic partner, placed his masked head into his hands. "Not even my magick can sway the hearts of men like that. There's something....evil sweeping the world right now. A bad energy. Whatever Semyon has unleashed, all hearts on Earth can feel it."

Nobody could deny that.

"Salim kept mentioning a...timeline," Spike said, scratching his head. "How it was corrupt or 'wrong' or somethin'. I wonder if this has anything to do with it."

"It's a known thing that magick can shape reality," Joseph said. "My Master has spoken of great, sealed magick before. Forbidden powers. It's entirely possible this is something Semyon is attempting to unleash." He smiled gently at Lily. "Though I would defer to our woman on the inside, for that."

That woman, Lily, grimaced. "Right." Summoning her strength, she placed her hands on the table and did her best to sound authoritative. "I had hoped to consult with Dr. Reyes before all of this went down, but he's currently in the Congo searching for a prehistoric organism that may still exist there."

"He's searching for what?" Icewolf blinked.

Kengo answered him. "Looking for dinosaurs."

"Oh. Huh."

Lily continued. "I digress. In tandem with the U.N.'s peacekeepers, Aradia special task force have been cleared to assist in the arrest of Semyon Grigorivich, who is now an internationally wanted man."

John Henry digested this information. "On Russian soil? While they're nuke happy?"

Lily shrugged. "The new provisional government is factionalized and unstable. One half might be eager to irradiate the US, but the other half fears any vestigial powers from the royal family even more than enemies abroad. In his own time, Rasputin was greatly despised and nearly led to a revolt. Now that Firebird has thrown him to the proverbial wolves and handed over all of their information--"

Colt interrupted. "Sorry, miss, Firebird did that to their own guy?"

This time, Slayer spoke up. "Vahni Rage is their president now, it would seem." 

The diner fell silent. Eyes darted. Jaws dropped. Spike tried to hide a somewhat satisfied smile, however. Look at you go, handsome bastard.

"Hell really has frozen over," Iggy smirked.

"Anyways," Lily continued, "Aradia has now been formally tasked with apprehending the man known as Semyon Grigorivich, under S-Level Clearance." She paused. "Which means extraordinary force, if necessary."

Deadboy shrugged. "F*** it; I'll do it myself if I have to. Saves all your blokes a bullet."

Lily continued. "Operation Hermes. Aradia will have its task force members disguised as spectators, hiding among the audience. Apparently, many high profile persons will be in attendance, so security will already be high. We'll use it to our advantage. According to the program, both Semyon and Colt are scheduled to appear at the close of the night and present the world championship belt to the new or defending champion. At this point, Aradia will act."

"And I'll stand the hell back," Colt added, hands up.

"But isn't Mr. Salim the world champion?" Kengo, standing around the table, asked.

Lily sighed. "And conspicuously absent. Based on my findings, and Spike's...unusual experience with him, I'm going to go out on a limb and say...we can no longer trust Salim Netjeer."

The tables fell silent again. Only the jukebox and the clinking of china cups against saucers intruded on this sobering moment.

Lily took a deep breath. "Salim is...more powerful than I realized. He was also a friend and mentor, so this isn't exactly easy for me. Mr. Netjeer had multiple chances to stop Koschei. Why hasn't he yet? It's safe to presume he has his own agenda. Assume him to be very dangerous. Aradia hopes to apprehend him as well, as one of their former founders, and take him in for questioning."

Joseph held up his hand. "Sorry, Lily, but since when does Aradia have enforcement powers?"

The girl looked sick. "Since last week when a special emergency session by the U.N. Security Council, International Criminal Court, and INTERPOL met and granted them to us."

Spike could tell that didn't set well with White Tiger, but he himself knew little of international affairs. 

"Not even INTERPOL can make arrests," Joseph pointed out. "But Aradia now can?"

Needless to say, the atmosphere in the diner was bleak. Colt, deciding on shifting the mood, brought everyone's attention back to the championships at hand. "It's a packed card, folks, so here's where we stand. Titan..."

Gio, who looked very distracted and disheartened by everything (and nobody loved seeing him sad) looked up. "Hmm?"

"Congrats, big guy, you made it this far. You'll be going up against Bear Misha."

Gio answered by flexing his biceps and causing one of the waitresses behind him to swoon into a booth. Rosa, seated next to her (new) boyfriend, Gio, rolled her eyes. "He's always doing that."

"John," Colt continued, placing the round robin sheet over the diner menu so everyone could take a look, "you'll be up against Firebird's current champ, Ivan the Wolf. Joseph? You're going against Vahni Rage, fresh off his match with Spike."

White Tiger bowed his head in respect.

"Good luck!" Spike said, through his teeth. "Hey, I only beat him by interference..."

The other spellbreakers grumbled. Colt, in particular, gave Spike a dark look. "About that..."

Spike didn't wish to press his luck. "Right," he said, hands buried in pockets. "You all have fun in Russia. I'll be cheering from the side-lines."

"The hell you will, boy," Colt said. "After dinner, come around the hotel and I'll have you sign a new contract. Don't make a big deal of it, or I may change my mind."

Spike's eyes lit up. The other guys and gals all exchanged satisfied smiles. "Really?"

"AH!" Colt said, holding up a firm finger. "What did I say? You're on thin ice, boy. Consider this a probationary period. Then again, we're all probably gonna die anyway..." He shrugged. Nobody could tell if he was joking or not. "With that out of the way, I say we stuff our faces and forget our troubles for the night. We'll worry about the end of the world tomorrow." He sighed. "If there's a tomorrow."

The spellbreakers broke off into separate conversations. Though the harried waitstaff had initially eyed them with concern, their charm (and massive food bill) soon turned the restaurant in their favor. The mood lightened. 

"Are you okay?" John Henry said, taking a seat beside Lily and Slayer. Compared to the young woman, the man was a skyscraper.

The light magi stared into a plate of half-finished French fries. "I haven't had much time to process it all." She looked up at Slayer. "The night...of the break-in to Aradia HQ, Slayer staid with me and talked it over."

John Henry lowered his stare at the somewhat evasive Firebird member. "And you trust him?"

"I do," Lily said.

"But," Slayer himself began, "trust must be earned. I may have crossed swords with you in the past..." He looked at Spike and Cian, engaged in some verbal altercation over milkshakes. "But Semyon filled my brain with honeyed words, and I acted imprudently. The carnage that man wreaked is...unforgivable. As I told Lady Suarez here..."

"You can just call me Lily."

"As I told Lily here, she has my sword. And since she is your esteemed patron, you have my sword too, Sir Iron." The knight stood and dropped to his knees, bowing his head in front of a bewildered John Henry.

"Uh...you don't need to do that," Mr. Iron said, awkwardly. "But if Lily trusts you, I trust you." He placed a hand on the young woman's shoulder. "You're a tough cookie, Lil. But even the tough need rest. If you want to talk about what happened, you can count on us."

"Thank you," Lily said, with complete sincerity. She sighed. "I must see this through to the end, which means I'll need to partition my feelings for a little while. And then." She popped a French fry into her mouth. "Bring on the therapy."

"I'll pay for it!" Colt said, perhaps a bit too cheerily, coming up behind the others (a beer in his hand). "Err...Buck mentioned trying to get a counsellor on site. Lady knows we'll need it after this. Should have probably listened and got one in sooner, but...I was too damn proud."

"He'll come around," Lily assured him. "I know my best friend. He's a moody boy, but he comes to reason eventually."

Colt and her both hoped as much, but there was a silent understanding between father and childhood friend that this time might be different. In any case, Colt politely invited Mr. Iron to come sit with him by the counter, with the promise of a cold beer.

John Henry was happy to oblige. "I talked to Sandra," he said.

"And?"

"We came to an understanding. She knows the dangers of what I'm about to do. I do too. Goddess knows we all do."

Across the way, the same couple that had given Akanemaru a dirty look, did the same to Mr. Iron.

"Sometimes," he went on, "I don't think this world is worth fighting for at all." He acknowledged the sullen oni, still sitting by his lonesome. "I've come to appreciate many of us are in similar struggles. But, with a kid on the way...something's changed. I need to fight to make this place better for them. Even if it costs me. I've already made arrangements, should I--"

"Don't say it," Colt said. "No. Nothing will happen. Other than you kicking all kinds of ass, that is. I'll lay down my life for you, John. And...er...since we're being so candid. If I may...I really should have pushed harder for you, back when we still young studs."

"Speak for yourself, cowboy," John said, with a smirk. "I'm still a young stud!"

"Ahahah! That's my tag partner, alright! But I'm serious. If someone deserved to be the champ back then, it was you. I was too prideful, worrying about my own status, to show you the support you needed. I know words don't mean squat, but..."

Mr. Iron clinked his beer bottle with Colt's. "Our blood runs thick, cowboy. You don't need to say anything. I feel the love. And, you're right, I am gonna' kick ass. I mean, someone has to show these little boys who's really in charge, right?"

Elsewhere in the diner, other intimate conversations were held over food and drink. In a twist of fate, the 'couples' of the GSA found themselves seated at the same both. Iggy (hair done up in a ponytail and wearing a cute, gingham button up) and Victor (T-shirt and signature mask) sat across from Daemian and Joseph, watching the two in the same manner as spectators viewing wild animals at a zoo.

"I don't even want a milkshake."

"Bloody hell, Joey," Daemian pouted, staring at Joseph's untouched vanilla milkshake (Daemian, naturally, got chocolate). "A few kilojoules won't hurt you, champ!" He coughed him, gently, on the arm.

Joseph frowned. "I need to be in top condition for the match."

"Ugh, your stress is contagious." Daemian sipped his milkshake and eyed his companions across the table, as if suddenly aware of their presence. "And what the hell are you looking at, mask face?" He looked towards Iggy with considerable more patience. "Bestie?"

"You two are so damn cute," Iggy cooed. "You'll give me diabetes before either of those milkshakes do."

El Amante cushioned his hands against his cheek in rapturous admiration. "Ah, young love. It's one of my favorite kinds of love. And I love all kinds of love."

Daemian stuck out his tongue. "Blech! What are you talkin' about it, you dogs?"

But Joseph was, if anything, amused by Daemian's irritation. "I think they have a point, Lachlan. I can call you that in public now, right?"

The dark magi turned bright red, but nodded shyly.

"Where is your big, sexy buddy?" Iggy asked. Over at the counter, Akanemaru suddenly cocked his head, interested.

"It's Brax's hot yoga night down at the rec center," Daemian explained. "It's how he destresses. Mad lad knows his asanas. What...what are you looking at me like that for, you weirdo?"

Joseph, ever cool-headed and charming, smiled and sipped his milkshake. "Just reminded how cute you are."

"Grrr! I'm not cute, I'm scary!"

"Two things can be true," Iggy added with a smirk. 

Next to them, El Amante gave them a kiss on the cheek. "Ah, but it is the nature of love to attract the opposite. Dark and light. Hero and villain."

"You know I just play a bad 'they'," Iggy huffed. "I'm actually a very nice person. What? Don't give me that smug look, Daemian, I'll arm bar you!"

Thankfully, Victor was there to keep the peace. "Daemian, my dark amor...why don't you tell Joseph what you've been brainstorming with me?"

The dark magi's instinct was to grab and brandish his fork. "Don't you use your pelvic magics on ME, love witch."

"Hahaha! My handsome, I weave no sorcery. This is all you."

"Ugh, fine." Daemian stabbed his fork into his overcooked steak, making everyone at the table flinch. "I'm not very good with my emotions," he began.

Iggy smiled. "We've noticed.

"But...Joseph...I've been thinking." The punkish Australian scratched his neck and bit his lip. "Do...do you wanna go 'round with me?"

Joseph stared at him incredulously. "I...beg your pardon?"

"If I can translate Australian," Iggy said, clearing their throat, "I believe he said..."

"Boyfriennnnnndssss." Daemian elongated the word, pointing to himself and Joseph. "Youuuuu....mee....boyfriends?"

Joseph glared. "I will hit you. Actually, I won't. Because I do not hit my boyfriends."

He punctuated the statement by giving Daemian a quick, but potent, kiss on the lips. "Unless...they ask me to?"

Daemian, practically swooning, tried very hard not to turn red. "I...would let you hit me. Ugh. Fine. Okay, Cards on the table, mate, you're the coolest cat I've ever tussled with, and you make me CRAZY. Crazier than normal! Which is pretty damn crazy. Let's try this stupid thing. See how it goes."

Though everyone could tell Joseph was overjoyed, the Tiger kept his cool. If anything, it was El Amante, whose eyes had practically turned into two beating hearts (while next to him, Iggy pretended not to be happy) who was marking out. 

"It just so happens I brought a gift to commemorate this occasion," Joseph said, putting a small, black, gift box on the table.

Daemian eyed it suspiciously. "What if I hadn't asked you out?"

"Oh, I knew you would." 

"Grrr." Regardless, Daemian picked up the box, turned it over, inspected it, sniffed it, bit into it once for good measure, before yanking off the box and tossing it over his shoulder. 

Behind him, a gruff, oni voice growled. "WHAT PUNK JUST THREW THAT AT ME!?"

Inside the box, cleaned and pressed, was Daemian's old, green, black, and gold wrestling trunks--the gear he'd worn to his epic, championship belt defending fight with White Tiger (and lost). Per White Tiger's gimmick, he'd claimed the villain's gear. Daemian had always chalked it up to him having a weird underwear fetish.

But in this moment, he could not contain his happiness. "You jerk..." 

"It's no longer my trophy. After seeing you fight like hell, and be a good guy for once, I think you deserve it back."

"I am not a good guy." Deadboy sighed, and pulled his man in for a hug. "But...I appreciate this."

"Well, this is all very adorable," Iggy said, eying their overly enamoured (and overly invested) luchador, partner. "When all of this nonsense with the world championships is over, I'm going to pack the biggest bowl, lock myself in a room with this hunk here, and not come out for a whole two days. This saving the world stuff is terrible for my skin."

"Two days?" Victor, snapping out of his adoration, asked. "That'd be a new record. Are you sure you could survive it?"

"I'd rather die in the throws of passion with you," Iggy pursed, stroking their boyfriend's chin, "than to some smelly, immortal warlock."

Victor lost his composure. "Oh, mi amorrr." He went for Iggy, ready to tackle him and kiss him up in that booth.

Fortunately, being Victor's main lover, they'd built up some immunity by now, and was able to squeeze past El Amante's love takedown and make their way to the counter. "But first, coffee."

The pink haired rock star noticed Akanemaru, still sitting glumly by themselves, looking absolutely miserable. Being the new blood, and being a bit different on top of that, the red oni hadn't exactly gelled with the rest of the boys yet.

Frustratingly, it tugged on Iggy's heart strings. Maybe Spike's infectious consideration for other people's wellbeing had rubbed off on them.

Minha deusa, I'm gonna' have to start charging by the hour. "Mind if I sit here?" Iggy said, taking the stool next to the hulking oni, who had still not figured out human clothing yet, and was wearing nothing but a leather jacket and daisy duke shorts on their massive, bulking frame. "I f***ing love your hair."

"Eh?" The muscle monster looked Iggy up and down, as if they were an entirely different creature themselves. Though Aka considered punching them and walking away, the spirit of comradery took hold, and they instead shrugged. "Er...sure, knock yourself out, I guess. Warnin' you though, pinkie, I do bite."

Iggy smiled. "Same."

While the other spellbreakers feasted and and revelled, psyching themselves up for the tournament to come, Spike--still rattled and weary--slunk back over to the juke, seeking the comfort of music. He was surprised to fine Cian there, lazily flipping through the selections, but clearly just finding an excuse not to to talk to anybody else. 

Spike thought, at the very least, Robbie would take this 'we might never get a chance to say it again' turn of events to confess his feelings for Cian, but either the Canadian jock had moved on, or his competitive French fry eating contest with Kengo (that had already begun drawing a crowd) was more important to him now.

Cian looked up at Spike. "I..."

At this point, Cian could tell Spike he was his long lost cousin and the New Yorker would merely blink. "Yeah?" 

The Irish stud flinched, not used to such a deflated version of his old rival. "I'm...sorry about what happened with Buck." 

This is too nice of you, Cian. Do I really look that depressed? "Yeah, man, me too."

Cian looked somewhere between straining to find the right words to say, or throwing up. Spike was curious which would come first. "I wanted to say that I'm glad to know someone like you." He sighed. "Even if you're sometimes really annoying."

That did put a smile on Spike's face. "Yeah, same." He looked at the red head. "Is this...where we hug?"

"Yeah, sure, why not."

Though an awkward approach, Spike was glad to find his torso wrapped up in Cian's beefy arms.

"WOW, you give good hugs," Spike sputtered, genuinely surprised. "I've been missing out."

Cian blushed and let go. "Well..."

"I mean I always thought you were cute, but..." Spike coughed. "You're uh...beefy. Very hot."

If Spike meant to kill Cian by way of making all the blood rush to his face, it was working. "I...wow. Uh." He tried to clear his throat. "Well, I dunno what's going on with you and Buck but maybe...after we're done saving the world...we can uh...do something about that?"

Spike's woes were superseded by his libido. And suddenly, getting his butt kicked by Cian seemed a lot more fun than how it used to. 

"I'm still gonna break your face someday," Cian quickly added, as to not completely show Spike his hand.

"Heh. I look forward to it."

Apparently that was all Cian needed to say. He slunk back towards the others, leaving Spike to his lonesome. Spike didn't mind the solitude, for once. Flipping through the records on tap, he found one that instantly brought back a favorite memory. "I Walk the Line". A Johnny Cash croon.

"Buck liked this song..." Spike said, putting a quarter in the juke. It was a slower, thoughtful song with a country twang and a touch of the lonesome, not one of the rockabilly or big band numbers Spike preferred. Very Buck.

As Spike nodded his head along, wondering where his erstwhile crush was now, the diner bells announced the entrance of a new patron. Spike, half-sunken into a day dream, smiled and thought how perfect it would be if he looked up to see Buck, soaked from the pouring rain (it wasn't raining) smiling at him in his usual sarcastic way.

"I knew you would..." Spike, forgetting himself, said as he looked up. "Oh."

The tall man in the burgundy peacoat was, with his hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, almost barely recognizable., After all, Spike had only ever seen Vahni Rage in the most revealing trunks, with all of his muscles on display. Turned out, the man knew how to dress himself.

Spike had also never seen Vahni Rage, the man with the permanent scowl, look...somewhat awkward before. "Oh."

Out of shock, Spike fell back onto the juke's control panel, sending the mechanism off kilter and making the record scratch and stop.

Everyone else in the room looked up. And held their breath. "Ohhhhhhh."

Dead silent in the diner. Rage turned his head and surveyed all the wide-eyed gawkers staring at his illustrious form. "Is...there something on my face?"

Before anybody in the room could decide whether this dramatic entrance called for blows, Slayer St. George sat up from his chair next to Lily, and gave a deep bow.

"Sire!"

The knight-themed spellbreaker approached his old comrade and got to his knee.

"N-no," Rage said, looking askance. "Not here. Not necessary. Please, for the love of gods, stand up, Sev."

"Right!" The long haired, pretty boy knight did as told.

"Slayer. I am happy to see you are not dead. I...owe you an apology. I should have usurped Semyon sooner and came to find you. I was blinded...by ambition." He glared at the others, his head suddenly ablaze. "AGAIN, WHAT ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT?"

All the other spellbreakers broke their stare and returned to their separate conversations.

By now, Spike had decided that his old-time rival was no longer a threat. He approached Rage, though cautiously. "Vahni..."

"Spike."

"Rage."

"Sailorboy."

Well, this was getting nowhere fast. Firebird's big, bad champion--outside of a ring context---struck Spike as the strong, silent type. Perhaps, even a little awkward. Maybe he was more comfortable talking with his fists. 

Spike looked at Colt, who gave him a confident nod. If things turned south, Spike was pretty sure the entire GSA could take him down, if needed. After all, he had done it (almost) single-handedly.

This wasn't a ring. And there was no reason to keep up the anomosity anymore, not when there were greater stakes at hand. "Is it true," Spike began, "that you're Firebird's president now? Also, did you...just apologise to someone?"

Spike anticipated a punch to the face, but instead, Rage gave him a sly smirk...and not a completely malevolent one either. "That smack to the head you gave me must have done funny things. I hadn't gotten a chance to speak to you after the incident in the hospital. I would like a word. Alone."

"Are...you going to kill me?"

"If I killed you here it would be boring, and honestly don't flatter yourself."

"Okay. Because if you had to kill me, I'd like some say in the matter."

"I have a feeling it involves my massive biceps around your neck, but I digress." His eyes darted to the door. "Outside. Now."

Thinking he was about to get himself into a street fighter, Spike turned and gave his crew an assuring 'thumbs up', letting them know he could handle this on his own. Colt and Mr. Iron, however, were wary.

In the back alley, Spike expected himself to get jumped by Rage and the rest of Firebird, but was so 'over it' that he welcomed a scrap, just to distract himself. There were no looming shadows, no Redbacks or King Anubises lurking behind the dumpsters or garbage bags.

Spike began. "Are..."

It was only for Rage's gentle, firm approach--a hand behind Spike's neck--that Spike allowed him to kiss him on the lips. The heat was still there, but less intense. Spike felt...congratulated. Shy, at first, he returned the gesture, letting Rage (several inches taller than himself) hold him and kiss him passionately, but with the welcome suggestion of deeper respect.

"A kiss, for my conqueror," Rage said, breaking away. "And the man I will destroy in battle someda...oh...no?" He looked at Spike and quickly (unexpectedly) stepped back, hands up, as if he was concerned (concerned!) that he'd offended him.

"No, I am VERY into it. I have a history with fire magi."

"What?"

"Never mind. It's just..." Spike's head spun. What was going on? Why was he letting Rage kiss him? And why did he...suddenly feel very safe around him? The man was the worst heel of the lot, after all.

As if admitting to a deep embarrassment, Rage slunk his shoulders back and sighed. "Right. So...if you want undeniable proof that I am here on good terms, then know this, Sailorboy--I have erased my mark of humility, my brand, from every worthless little jobber who ever dare--"

Spike lowered his stare. "No....what do we call them?"

Now it was Rage who looked like he might be ill. "Worthless....little opponent?"

"Try again."

"Ugh. Opponent who deserves dignity and respect. I have...stuck to our terms. No more branding." He thought about it. "Unless consensually. I still think my mark on your--"

"I think we should start over," Spike cut in. He was happy to ride the awkwardness; power through. "After the fight? Clean slate."

He may as well offered Rage a hundred dollar bill covered in snot. It was welcome, in a way, but undignified. "I...suppose."

I'm an adult. I beat this man before. I can have a conversation, man-to-man. "First, I wanted to thank you. The orphanage..."

"Don't make a big deal of it, lion."

"Yeah, well you sort of did the OPPOSITE thing of burning dow--"

"...What did I just say?"

"Geez, you're scary."

"Not so, when you get to know me. You saved my life, Spike. I think we're more than even. Plus, Amrita likes you, which is probably even more miraculous than besting me in combat. I have to hand it to you, my lion, you surpassed my expectations. But...from the moment we first met, I sensed you would."

What was going on here? Spike had no idea if Rage was trying to confess his love for him, make a business deal, or make peace before he slaughtered him in a back alley. Admittedly, all the prospects sounds exciting. "Is this where you burn me alive?" Spike asked.

"Perhaps I only wish to set your heart on fire." 

It was the first time Spike had ever seen Rage smile. Really smile. He was...handsome. Charming. Classical. A man with a capital M.

Spike's heart sunk for Buck, just as it rose for this new, unexpected contender in the ring of romance. Spike had promised Cian, as well as himself, that he might change his ways and not instantly fall head over heels for...well...another heel. Rage was making that quite difficult. 

"A truce," Rage said, extending his hand. "And this is me breaking kayfabe, so you can count on it." 

Spike looked down. Rage's hand was on fire. No, literally, it was burning. Spike frowned. "Okay, what--"

"It won't burn you," Rage said, sincerely. "My fire only burns when I want it to. This is how you know I'm being honest. Whether you wish to take it, is entirely up to you."

"I've seen you break twink's wrists when they take your hand at the start of a match."

"As I said, Spike. I cannot foist respect or trust upon you."

"You...cannot...'first' respect?"

"What? No, Foist. FOIST!"

"FIRST? YOU KEEP SAYING 'FIRST'!"

"Oh gods, your accent..."

Damn, if he's using words like 'foist'. Spike took his hand. True to his word, it didn't burn. It was warm. Pleasant.

  
"Kahnu."

"Hm?"

Raage blinked. "It's...my name. Vahni is a synomym for 'agni', the personification of fire. I admit, I went for the low hanging fruit. But..." He smirked again, and eyed Spike up and down. "I suppose I do love low hanging fruit."

"WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN!?"

"It means your silly attempts at anger amuse me greatly." With that said, Rage reached out and flicked Spike's nose playfully. "Perhaps you need someone who can give you lessons in intimidation."

"Bully me."

"What?"

"Nothing." Spike coughed. "My real name is Sammy. Or Samuel."

"Now that is cute. Well, it seems we find ourselves at the end of the world. How fitting. Are your prepared for what lies ahead in Kitezh."

"No." 

"Your honesty is refreshing, if not slightly disappointing." Rage paused, and gave his words some deeper thought. "I will kill Semyon myself. I should think the gods will understand. You and your band of men need not stain their hands with blood."

Spike was nonplussed. "I just assumed you'd already..."

"Taken a life before? Hmm. Perhaps I will keep you guessing. It's...more fun that way. Spike, when this is over, I would very much like to speak to you again. Either to bash your head in during a rematch, or, perhaps...lighter conversation over over tea."

"I prefer the option with food." Spike smiled.

And, miracle of miracles, Rage smiled back. "What a tremendous power you have, my lion. Not your magick. Nor your strength. But your charm. Something so many others lack."

Spike watched as Rage turned around and walked towards the alley's entrance. "It may have even worked on me."

---

Lonely and dark sat the ruined throne room of the hollow castle, buffeted by snowy winds, trailing white across broken mosaics and stone floors. Even during its brief reign Kitezh had not been a particularly large citadel, though its bell towers and steeples were indeed grand. At the border of the steppes, situated between the bloodthirsty empires of Rus and Khanate, the sunken city had integrated the characteristics of cultures both East and West--half Arabian night, half Slavic fantasy.

When Koschei had first presided over Kitezh, he was no king. In truth, the mad monk--a shadow across the candlelit corridors (why bother with electricity?) had never sought to rule. Leadership made one an easy target. To be the person pulling the strings of king or queen, however? That was always the best position.

Which is why, seated upon the throne now--half of his body burned beyond recognition by that woman's potent magick--Semyon/Koschei found himself at odds with his new status. To rule, at last, would be a strange thing. But in the world to come, perhaps it would suit him.

Still, for all his many years, for all the centuries spent manipulating and coercing the rich and powerful, the mad monk expected more allies so close to the end. He'd been too precious with Vahni Rage. He could see that now. He had hoped to control Rage's power, but he'd proved a sword with a double edge. Nevertheless, seven Chalices of Divine might glittered beautifully in the firelight, situated at the mad magi's feet. When the time came, he would put them to use.

Castrated. Burnt. Aged, despite his magick, this body of his was wearing thin. It would all be worth it. Since there were no reasons to keep up appearances any longer, the former president of Firebird, and the former advisors to the Tsar, decided to drop all pretences. 

He was Koschei, the Deathless, the king of Kitezh from eras past. His double glyphs of death and life--supposedly an impossible combination--had kept him alive through countless wars and fallen empires. He could survive another day or two, until the ritual was complete.

Lonely were the halls of Kitezh, and so when Koschei's ears perked up at intrusion, he sat back on his cold throne and smiled, waiting

"Here. At the end. I expected a few familiar faces might show up." The magi had no eyebrows to raise--they had been burned off in the attempt to wrangle the Chalice of Vitality and the magi of Space and Radiation. Instead, the monk lowered his stare at the shadow at the edge of the audience room. "I cannot say, by an stretch of the imagination, did I expects yours."

Recida Di Sangro, in black furs, appeared the fusion of widow and winter witch. The beautiful Italian Alchemist stepped forward, into the firelight. 

"How fitting that we should both rule among ruins, Semyon Grigorivich." 

"I go by my true name, now. Koschei. The serpent has shed its skin. So too do I shed all guises."

"By rights, I should kill you."

The man laughed. "My dear, I am sure you could try." 

Both of them knew she wasn't here to attempt an assassination. 

Koschei spoke. "That referee at Rage and Spike's match," the scabbed over and burnt man began, "he had a curious tattoo on his chest. It bore an uncanny resemblance to your necklace."

The Alchemist pressed her gloved fingers to her ouroboros pendant. This was not the moment for deception. It was time for the naked truth. "The Alchemists seek power, yes. We align ourselves with the forces that most favor our agenda. To that extent, we  know what you're doing here, with the ritual. We Alchemists have attempted it ourselves, before."

Kosehi tilted his head to the side, and waited.

Good. She had his attention. "Though not without The Chalices. The fact that you managed to round them up, and under Aradia's thumb no less..."

"And what makes you think I'll share any of my glory with your kind?"

"Because your new world will need an army," Redica stated plainly. "And if we cannot be at the top, then we'll settle for the next best position. Also, because Aradia is at your front door, and we would be more than happy to help let them in. We could tell them exactly what you're doing and how to disrupt it." 

"And what will you do when they turn around and arrest you and your band of slithering snakes?"

"Spiting you will be as joyous as working with you. We see either option as a win. But...would it not be easier to work together?"

"...Go on."

"The Alchemists wish to hedge their bets with you, Koschei. While I, personally, was against it, I did quickly realize that we share a common foe." The woman carefully approached the throne. "One whom, I daresay, has played you and I against each other quite successfully up until this point. I am speaking of Sarapis, the Eternal. Otherwise known as Salim Netjeer, our jackal-headed double agent."

Semyon's hands, gripping the arm rests of his throne, tightened. "He remains my final obstacle. It's a stalemate. He cannot kill me, nor I, him. In truth, nobody knows what he's planning. I sense his desires go beyond mere revenge, however."

"Which is why the Alchemists are prepared to rise above such pettiness and extend an olive branch. To defeat a common foe." The woman snapped her fingers. In the darkness behind her, several sets of lights--eyes--burned in the darkness. The light from their orbitals illuminated large, bulky shapes. Living statues.

"And so, Koschei, we offer a gift of truce." She smirked. "Which is all to say...no hard feelings burning down my ancestral abode."

Semyon's eyes turned upwards, to the enchanted armors lurking in the dark. "Golems?" he said, deeply intrigued.

"When the alchemists of Prague and Rome were divided by schism, we managed to steal a few of their ancient secrets. As you can understand, Koschei, we are fully aware that now is the time to use every weapon in our arsenal. We lend them to you, willingly."

"Aren't they beautiful indeed. And such craftsmanship." Koscehi, clad in robes of gold and black, head balld and scabbed from the Eldress and her scalding magick, placed his hands on his lap. "Lady Di Sangro, I do think there may be a role for you in the world to come..."

To Be Continued...