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He felt it coming, but his battles were over. He'd been the hero already, centuries ago, he and his comrades. They had stopped the darkness then, under the guidance of another hero turned sage. Since he was the last one alive of the first generation it was his duty to choose the new one. He had his choices, and he sat to watch how they would respond to the first wave of the invasion.


"Excuse me, what are you doing here," Saeko turned around irritated. Whoever just asked her that question had come from downwind, and had managed to get up those stairs without a noise. She turned to face them and only saw a shadow-cloaked figure. She pulled a long irritated drag on her cigarette and exhaled the smoke at the figure. Standing in the church belfry she crinkled her forehead in annoyance, causing the blue tattoo framing her face like a helmet to seem to narrow and widen variously.

"I suppose that I'm waiting for you," she jabbed her cigarette at the man, her earrings jingling against each other. In the moonlight her prematurely greying hair appeared to be streaked with silver. "Or is there someone else that likes to hang around this old church?"

"What are you talking about?" he grumbled. She growled irritably and handed over a slip of newsprint. A dark purple skinned hand reached into a stream of moonlight and grasped it. He seemed to appraise the young japanese woman before going on to read. "'Lonely gothic male desperately looking for female friend, interest in the occult and extreme tolerance recommended, those interested wait at the abandoned church at 2714 Gate st. any Thursday at midnight.' You actually answered this?"

"I was curious, especially considering I was the only one to get that particular edition," Saeko answered.

"Do you know my half-sister, perchance?"

"Nosy little witch named Megan?"

"That's her," Saeko exhaled another cloud of smoke into the night as the other half of her conversation stepped into the light. She took in the dark-purple skin, brilliant red hair and black-feathered wings. He smelled mostly human, whatever the outward appearance. "What are you anyway?"

"A tiefling," he answered, taken aback by her lack of shock. "You?"

"Garou," she said simply. "Megan interfere in your love life before?"

"Yes, she thinks I brood too much. I assume that you've known her long enough for this not to be your first time as well." They both turned to look out into the courtyard, putting their Megan war stories on hold.

"A lot of new scents just appeared out of nowhere, maybe twenty."

"A gate was opened," the tiefling informed her, she nodded. "My name is Dunwich by the way, and you."

"Bannen Saeko," she told him. "Shall we see what this is about and then pay a visit to your sister?" The half-demon stepped to the lip of the bell-tower's window and unfurled his wings.

"Gladly." He dropped out and fell a few feet before his wings managed to lift him into the air. Saeko shifted into her battle form and took the simple route of just dropping to the ground.


The first thing one noticed about the bike rider was the rather large sword strapped to her back. The next thing was the way the rider's black riding leathers gave the impression of a knight errant from one of those old fairy tales. The relatively small size of the rider and the paired holstered pistols would be among the last things people noticed given the oddity of the other two. If one was incredibly perceptive they could tell that the rider was a woman under the thick, armor-like leathers and knightly helmet.

At the moment she was racing over the Montana highways where she didn't have to worry about speed limits. To her left was another biker in more traditional leathers pushing his own machine to the limits. Nearly five minutes ago they had encountered each other at a roadside bar, she called it a pub, and quickly entered into an argument over who was the better rider.

"That's quite a bike you have lady," he had said. "Can you handle it."

"Better than any fool such as you," she snapped back as she slung her sword off her back. She was surprised that the man didn't seem at all concerned about her blade or guns.

"I'm the best rider that's burned the highways in a generation," he returned. "God's gift to the bike, almost."

"I find it highly doubtful that you are the Almighty's gift to anything," she spat at his feet.

"And what makes you think you're so good?"

"My family have been riders as far back as the Roman empire," she rocked forward on the balls of her feet, getting as much as she could out of her five and a half feet.

"That gives you credit with horses," he shouted in Latin. She blinked and then growled.

"An uncouth blaspheme like you speaks the holy tongue!"

"It was praising Jupiter long before Christ started a new age." The rest of the bikers watched in nervous confusion at the developing argument.

"It seems that we shall have to settle this issue," she hmmphed. "A race to the next town perhaps?"

"You're on, girl."

"GIRL!" She fumed. "I'm Lady Menolly Ashbranche, scion of the house Celestial."

"Yeah and they call me Sidearm," he answered, they were still speaking Latin as if they were born to it. They glared and started back for their bikes.

That was how the race started.

"Are you ready to give up yet, milady!" her arrogant opponent shattered over the wind and engines. Milady had a sarcastic laughing quality that was grating on her nerves.

"I am not going to lose to a faithless thug such as yourself," she spat with a thick British accent. She leaned forward revved her engines willing herself to pull ahead, she had the advantage in weight and faith, even if their bikes and skill levels were approximately equal. There was no way she was going to lose.

"Stubborn lady," her opponent muttered, pushing his bike close to the red line and keeping even with her. He was quite a bit more willing to push the envelope than anybody he'd met, and there was no way he was going to let a bible thumping anachronism beat him in a race.

They both looked behind them at about the same time, and pulled to a nearly identical stop, facing back.

"You felt that?" he asked.

"Yes, I felt the touch of evil on our world, it is gone now." He glanced at her and shook his head.

"But whatever it left behind is still here, there's a small power behind us, getting closer." He extended one hand and a large pistol materialized.

"I'm afraid that our race will have to wait," the woman said from under her helmet. She reached up behind her back and drew that monster sword of hers. Both engaged their engines again and headed back the way they came.


"You are quite a bit out of place," he said as she walked toward the counter. The green haired girl looked at him a little confused.

"What are you talking about?" she set her soda on the counter and started drawing her money.

"Out of time, you were born a long time in the past," he answered, yawning. He grabbed the soda and started to ring it up. "Before there were humans actually."

"How do you know this?" she asked, he groaned as she started counting out pennies. "Tomorrow's payday, deal with it."

"Know how that goes," if there had been anybody else around them, the uninflected nature of the conversation would have made the listeners doubt the content of what they were hearing. "Your aura, time travelers have this thing about them, I can always tell when I look at one."

"You've seen others?" she asked, opening the Dr. Pepper and taking a sip.

"Three including you," he answered. "The time travel has something to do with why you look like a homo sapien, doesn't it?"

"I apparently hatched out of an egg like this, rolled out of a gate." She shrugged, and started counting more pennies, "Don't know what caused it, and I don't care. I think I'm going to get another of these." The cooler door opened and a bottle floated over towards them and landed on the counter.

"Very good, not many people have that much control."

"Thanks, but I can't lift much yet, I'm better at just fighting. What do you do, besides look at auras?" He smiled and waved his hands around a little trailing a string of red and green energy.

"I know some sorcery," he admitted.

"Cool," she nodded enthusiastically at his display. "Part time job while going to school?"

"Yeah, what do you do?"

"Waitress."

"Really, do you make good money at that?" She nodded taking another sip, and then wiping some stray soda off her mouth.

"Yeah, I get pretty big tips. I think it's the hair." He looked over her doubtfully.

"I think its more than the hair. By the way, have you ever coincidentally run into another supernatural type without there being some sort of trouble?"

"Nope, never. Something else always happens."

"That's what I thought, I'm Garrison by the way," he held out his hand. She took it and pumped his hand politely, nearly crushing his hand doing so.

"Tinuviel," he gave her a pained look, which she misread. "My parents are Tolkien fans."

"I caught the reference," he stretched his hand once or twice. "There's the trouble by the way, any preferred method of handling it?"

"Let's just beat them to a pulp and figure things out later."


Across the world mystics were being targeted, the standard strategy of most invading dimensional powers. Find all the target world's magic, recruit or destroy them and then move in to destroy their mundane defenses. The dark power felt a presence in this battle, one more powerful than he. That other presence, however, had rules to follow where he did not. This would be a chess match between him and the other, with their champions as the pieces.


Original@Fan.Fic