Operation: Pacifica, Nemesis
by DarkSide (darkside@seanet.com)

 DarkSide crept silently through the darkened corridors of the Lyran
  fortress.  Something about the place kept an icy chill up his spine.  The
  shadows seemed to move of their own accord, disembodied from whatever source
  they should have been attached to, projected by the strange, dim lavender
  light cast by the odd torch here and there.

 The whole place was eerily silent, save for the faint sound of his
  own breath and footsteps, and a soft whistling of a breeze wafting through
  the halls.  It unnerved him greatly that his progress seemed to be going
  unimpeded.  The Lyrans should have been able to detect that he was in the
  fortress as soon as he crawled into that drainage tunnel, and set a couple
  squads of Saethrians or thanatins upon him.

 He kinda wished he woulda found another way in.  Boy, did he stink.
  Heh, maybe his attackers were avoiding him.  Lord knows he'd be avoiding
  himself if he could.

 He crept along the hall, back to the wall, sword held relaxed yet
  ready. The pounding in his skull continued to grow steadily worse, yet he
  managed to ignore the pain and the gruesome imagery being projected into his
  subconscious.  This was a good sign though-- as long as it got worse, he
  could tell he was headed in the right direction. What puzzled him was why
  the Lyran assaulting him didn't also sense the same thing.

...

Vahr'uul floated two feet above the floor, his crimson robes
  billowing slightly around him in a sourceless breeze.  A smile curled his
  lips beneath his eldritch mask.  The confusion of the Jihaddi known as
  DarkSide amused him.  Even though he was trying to resist, Vahr'uul sensed
  it... The Jihaddi's resolve was wearing thin.  And now he wandered deeper
  into the bowels of the fortress, slowly working his way upwards, seemingly
  unimpeded, and wondering why it was so.

 Still, something puzzled Vahr'uul as well... ever since theScotsman
  was resurrected in battle, something was different about him.  He had to
  step up the strength of his attacks on the Jihaddi's mind-- the resistance
  had suddenly become boosted.  Was it because the resurrection had made him
  stronger?  No, his power level had remained the same.  Was it the anger,
  resentment?  No, those were weaknesses, tools to use in his manipulation.
  It was something else... Something hidden.  Vahr'uul probed deeper into
  DarkSide's subconscious.  His eyes snapped open at what he found there.  A
  shiver crawled its icy way up his spine.  It wasn't what he saw that
  frightened him... It was knowing that what he saw was coming for _him_.

 He struggled to break the spell, but somehow it held fast. Somehow
  the Jihaddi, in his own subconscious, was holding the mindlink--to use it to
  home in on his prey.  Vahr'uul was no longer in control.

 [Don't panic,] he told himself.  [He doesn't know yet.  Take care
  of him while he doesn't know...]  He turned to a magenta-robed Lyran behind
  him.  "Take a squad of thanatins and Saethrians.  Dispatch the black-clad
  Jihaddi roaming the central levels at once!  Go!"  The 5th level scampered
  from the chambers.  Vahr'uul shivered and closed his eyes, preparing a full
  assault on the mental front.

...

 DarkSide slumped against the wall as a wave of nausea overtook him.
  Darkness slipped from his grip and clattered heavily to the floor as he
  tried to steady himself, the hall seeming to swirl and undulate like a ship
  in a heavy storm.  Slowly the realization cut through the fog clouding his
  thoughts-- the hall _was_ moving!  The floor bucked and rolled beneath his
  feet, the walls and ceiling pulsed in and out, as if breathing.  He slid
  slowly to the floor, his back to the wall, trying to clear his mind.

 He gasped for breath as he felt a sudden choking sensation, rolling
  his eyes back in their sockets at the crunching sound of his own windpipe
  being crushed by the fleshy tendril that had extended from the wall and
  wrapped around his neck.  Two similar tentacles extended from the wall and
  ensnared his wrists and forearms, and two more from the far wall wrapped
  themselves about his ankles and calves.  The tentacle around his neck
  loosened as the ones around his ankles began to pull, resisted by his arm
  restraints.  They intended to draw-and-quarter him.  DarkSide groaned in
  agony as his joints screamed, his body pulled taut.

 "Been there, done that, slimebag," he choked out, droplets of blood
  forming on his lips.  His eyes glowed bright red and the Claidheamomhor de
  a' Dorche glowed a brilliant blue in response, vibrating in a deep
  resonance.  Slowly it began to lose shape, swirling and flowing like a mass
  of obsidian mercury, yet maintaining the hardness of the steel.  Its mass
  halved, pooling in a circle, a puddle of iridescent liquid black,
  surrounding a glowing stone of onyx.  Six tendrils of metal extended in a
  star pattern, the four longest curving to a length of a foot and a half
  each.  The blades congealed and solidified, forming intricate barbed edges
  and jagged serrations.

 The large star-blade quivered on the ground, pulsing with its blue
  glow, and stood up on edge, suddenly hurling itself through the air,
  slashing through the tendrils binding DS' legs in a blue streak, embedding
  itself in the wall.  DS fell to the floor, arms still bound to the wall
  behind him, and groaned as he pulled with all his strength.  His biceps
  bulged, and his skin rippled briefly with a reptilian skin as the tentacles
  holding him captive tore with a satisfying wet sound.  He sat for a moment,
  and suddenly rolled on instinct.

 The huge head of the Saethrian barrelled into the wall, missing
  DarkSide by scant inches.  DS kept rolling until he was far enough away to
  hop to his feet, quickly sizing up the situation-- five or six armed
  thanatins flanked by two Saethrians, led by a Lyran mage clad in magenta...
  5th Circle, he assumed.  He quickly focused his attention back to the
  nearest worm as it spread its wings and coiled back, springing forward with
  a push like a snake.  DS' eyes bugged out and he dove forward, skidding
  precariously beneath the airborne hulk.  He rolled as the scorpion-tail came
  down a mere foot from his side.  He could see the droplets of venom
  glistening on the foot-long barb.  Of all the things he could survive,
  neurotoxins were not one of them.

 He reached up and pried free the star-blade, swiftly blocking with
  it as a thanatin's sword came down, then drawing one of the jagged blades
  across its abdomen, spilling its digestive organs before driving the hook up
  through its chin.  The taloned tentacle of a Saethrian shot towards him and
  he deflected, hooking it between the blades and severing the limb with a
  jerk.  In a flash the blade blazed through the air, passing messily through
  the worm's tubular body.  He turned and quickly let loose a jet of flame
  from his arm at a charging thanatin, kicking the charring corpse backwards
  as he leapt over the lifeless hulk of the fallen Saethrian.

 He snatched the blade from the wall it had pierced and spun around
  to face his foes.  The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he
  glared around wildly, a huge fanged grin on his face.  The thanatins
  hesitated just briefly at the look on his face, and continued their charge.
  For the first time in his life he was experiencing something that he had
  never experienced before without losing total control to his dark side...
  bloodlust.

 And he was loving it.

 Darkness metaformed into two straight blades, each somewhat
  resembling an intricate ninja-to style sword, and he charged headlong with a
  laugh, meeting his enemy halfway.  He met the blows of two thanatins with
  sweeping parries, drawing his blades across their guts as he passed between
  them, completing with a spin that removed their heads in a shower of
  crimson.

 The skull-pommel on one blade met the face of the fifth thanatin
  with a satisfying crunch as its mate torn the twisted creature's chest wide
  open.  DS hefted the half-living corpse of the thanatin and hurled it into
  the open maw of the remaining Saethrian as it readied to strike.  He used
  the brief distraction to charge the worm, blades held in a stabbing gesture,
  and climbed up around to its "back", sinking the blades into the body and
  hauling himself up on them.  The beast roared in pain and began to thrash,
  and DS drove the blades through the upper sensing organs, pinning the left
  and right quarters of the head closed.

 DS withdrew one of the blades and parried quickly as the black
  stinger whistled just inches from his head.  In a swift motion the blade
  whistled as well, sending the bulbous tail flying through the air.  Soon the
  taloned tentacles of the beast arced through the air as well, and it began
  to roll in hopes to crush the parasite clinging to it.   DS shimmied over
  the creature as it rolled, eyes glowing brightly, palms held flat to the
  chitinous armor.  Heat rippled the air around his hands and the beast began
  to convulse, blackish smoke rolling from its jaws. With a final belch of
  flame the beast shuddered and lay still, overcome by the inferno formed
  within it.

 DS retrieved his blades and stood over the corpse of the Saethrian,
  panting with the same gleeful grin on his lips.  A small chuckle escaped his
  throat, followed by a more solid laugh.  He wiped his sweat-laden forehead,
  streaking it with lavender blood.  He laughed some more.  A sudden odor made
  him stop.  A small tinge to the air.  He felt his hair begin to stand on
  end.  Ozone.  Like during a lightning storm.

 A brilliant bolt of lavender energy crackled through the air and
  sent him sprawling.  His nervous system jittered at the jolt, and he rolled
  over and glanced slowly behind him, seeing the Lyran surrounded by a halo of
  the same energy.

 "Ow," muttered DS, slowly getting to his feet.  "5Th Circle,
  right?" The Lyran said nothing.  "My, aren't me talkative." He caught sight
  of the beads of sweat running down the mages neck.  "Why so nervous?  Oh, I
  know... Inexperienced, right?" DS quipped with a wink and a smirk.  "No
  worries... Ye should be able t'fry th'arse o' a wee bastard like me pretty
  easily... No magic, y'see."

 "And fry you, I will," muttered the Lyran, cutting loose with
  another wave of electricity that kicked DS on his ass again.  He writhed as
  a few hundred megawatts surged through his body.

 "ZzZZpppBBBBBtttt...ThthThTHthTHat'll wake you up in the morning!"
  he shouted.  [Well, this for sucks,] he thought to himself.

 [Fight fire with fire,] came the voice of Darkness in his head.

 "BbBBbBbBbeggin' y-yer pardon?" questioned DS, still under the
  Lyran's assault.

 [Fight fire with fire.]

 [Metallica... Master of Puppets, right?]

 [Fight Fire with Fire.]

 [So you want me to jolt him back... With what, might I ask?]

 [Use your power.]

 [You gotta be shittin' me.]

 [DO it.]

 [*sigh* If you say so.]

 DarkSide slowly hauled himself to his feet after the Lyran let up.
  [Concentrate.]

 "Yeah, yeah.  Concentrate on doing what?"

 [Focus your aura.]

 "Yadda, yadda. I'm focusing."

 DarkSide squeezed his eyes tight, arms straight at his sides, palms
  out.  He began to glow a deep blue as the Lyran struck again, this time the
  energies deflecting off of DS.  The mage stepped up the spell, increasing
  the power, yet stll too no avail.

 The blue haze surrounding DS began to swirl about him,
  concentrating about his hands and forearms.  Arcs of electricity began to
  between his fingers, and he brought his hands around in front of him, arcing
  the blue light between his palms.  DarkSide's eyes flared open, burning
  bright, and the Lyran began chanting, realizing what was going on.  Too
  little, too late.

 The lightning arced from DS' outstretched hands, tearing through
  the Lyran's fledgling shield and impacting his torso.  The fingers of light
  played about the Lyran's body, searing flesh and muscle.  The robe smoldered
  and burned as the Lyran fell to the floor, writhing under the attack.

 DS approached the Lyran slowly, jolting it heavily.  "Think that
  this *zap* is a by-product *zap* of too much caffiene intake? *zapzapzap*"

 DS bent down to the Lyran, touching it with electrified hands.  He
  curled his fingers under the lip of the mask.

 "Please..." choked the Lyran. "...not my mask."

 DS gripped tight and tore the living ornament away from mages face,
  exposing it for the world to see.  The mask squealed and convulsed in DS'
  hand, dying slowly and melting into goo.  DS placed his palm over the
  Lyran's face and delivered the coup de grace, forming a ball of flame within
  the mage's skull, exploding his head.

 DS rose and staggered backward as the light around him faded.  He
  fell on his ass.

 "What a buzz," he muttered as his hair flattened back down.  "I
  feel like shit."

 [Don't expect to do that again any time soon.] spoke Darkness.

 "Joy... Is it supposed to feel like I have a hangover?"

 [Yes.]

 "Goodie."  DS hunted around, finding Darkness in the pile of
  bodies.  "That wasn't him.  We still got a job to do."

 DarkSide looked upwards from the base of a nearby spiral staircase.
  A gut feeling told him that he didn't have much farther to go.

...

 Vahr'uul drifted anxiously around his chamber, scattering his troop
  of thanatin guards.  A Saethrian chattered in the shadows.  He could sense
  the demon halfbreed getting closer.  [He killed my apprentice,] he thought
  to himself.  [Perhaps he is more powerful than I though... Perhaps his
  change is starting already..]

 "Bah!" he spoke aloud, startling his guard.  "J'arr'el was an
  inexperienced fool!  When the Halfbreed arrives, I will be ready for him!"

 "Will ye now?" came a voice from the shadows.  Vahr'uul's heart
  skipped a beat as he slowly turned.  Two red orbs glowed brilliantly in the
  darkness.

 "You! How-?"

 "Me! Easily, it seems.  Ye ought t' be concentratin' a wee bit more
  on keepin' track o' me, ye rotten rat bastard." DS stepped from the shadows.
  "As fer yer apprentice- aye, he was a fool... But th' question is, ow big o'
  one are _you_?!?"

 The thanatins were on him almost immediately.  He charged into
  their mass, delighted in joining them in the death-dance.  Blood mingled
  with blood.  Blade kissed blade with a song sweet to his ears.  No longer
  was a fight to him just a fight, but an elegant ritual, a dance
  choreographed ages ago... A dance to which he was the lead.  Movement after
  movement in this concerto of doom passed, and the life-blood pooled about
  their feet.  Those that could not keep up fell to the fury of his blade.

 Darkness cleft through the skull of his final dance partner, and he
  kicked the lifeless corpse of the thanatin to the floor.  Glancing out the
  window he noted that rest of the Jihad's invasion force had arrived, and was
  surrounding the fortress to take the main gate.

 DS turned to the crimson-clad Lyran with a glare in his eyes.  The
  Lyran eyed him nervously and mystical energies began to crackle around him.
  DS raised Darkness to point at the Lyran in emphasis.  "No more," he said.
  "It's just you and I."

 "You and I," spoke Vahr'uul.

 Slowly, the world around DS began to change.  The surroundings
  warped, becoming an entirely different place.  He was being teleported!

 "No no no no no no no no," said DS. "Not now! Not n-"  He stopped
  mid sentence at what he saw.  Before him was the Holy Albino, savior of the
  Maenads, with DeadLock and BlackBlood kneeling at his feet.  DS glanced
  around, taking notice of the rest of the Ferals.  He couldn't help but
  wonder just what the hell he was doing here.

 His attention was snapped back into focus by a sudden burning
  sensation in his chest.  A hole spontaneously opened in his chest, spilling
  his blood.  He clutched at the wound, grunting in pain.  "Ye've had worse,
  ye baby," he mumbled to himself.

 Gregor Lamont had thought he had experienced pain before.  But this
  was an entirely new form of agony.  Every pain sensor in his body was
  raging.  Every synapse in his brain was firing.  He felt as if his very soul
  and been tossed into a skillet and fried to a golden brown.  If this was
  what hell was like, he was gonna become a saint.  But he couldn't imagine
  hell being quite as bad.  And as suddenly as it hit, it faded.

 "That really hurt," whimpered J.  DS looked around and saw that
  each of the Maenads had a similar wound.  DarkSide looked puzzled.  He
  looked up at the Holy Albino, who held the Barney Slayer in his Claws[tm],
  its blade dripping with the blood of DeadLock.  He looked closer... The tip
  of the blade was missing.

  DS collapsed to his knees, torrents of sweat running down his
  face.  "Owwie," he groaned.  He looked slowly around, noting that
  peculiarly, none of the Maenads bore the famous Big-Ass Claws[tm] any
  longer.  He watched a bit groggily as the blades grew spontaneously from the
  fingertips of each of the Ferals.

 What struck him even more was the faint tingling he felt in his
  fingertips.  He watched in awe as his nails transformed into talons...Which
  then took on the silvery sheen of metal, growing in length to his own set of
  11 inch Big-Ass Claws[tm].  A broad grin crossed his lips as the meaning
  finally struck him.

 "What's the Punching Bag[tm] doing here?" spoke DeadLock.

 "Nemesis," came the voice of Windigo.  DS looked up and saw her
  Claw[tm] pointing directly at him.

 Nemesis rose to his feet and joined his brethren as the gathered
  around the Holy Albino.  The Maenad battle cry echoed throughout the halls
  of the Lyran fortress.

...

 Vahr'uul shivered and wondered if now was a good time to put his
  affairs in order.

Copyright  1997 DarkSide Studios