Operation: Pacifica, Zephania by CyberPyro, aka DeadLock the Feral (NYAR!) Lord Tilden Owsen held the Barney Slayer above his head, pointing his left hand towards his enemy's chest as they circled each other. In contrast to his style, his enemy simply held a large Claymoor at waist level, silently circling him. A wind whistled through the canyon, driven into motion by the brilliant sun in the fresh, clear spring sky. The opponents locked eyes, their blades' edges glinting from the bright sun. As Owsen took a small step forward, his opponent inched backwards to maintain the distance. "Well, me boy, you ever going to ..." taunted Owsen as he brought the Barney Slayer down to block a lightning fast blow from his opponent. *CLANG!* "I have to admit," he though to himself, his sword hissing in a counter attack arc, "this guy handles a Claymoor unlike any Highlander I've met in my centuries." "Well," said CyberPyro, his sword slicing at a level that would cut Owsen's abdomen open if the Grand Admiral's sword wasn't there to block it, "had to make sure you really wanted to spar like this." Owsen advanced, his opponent turning to face him, and sliced viciously in a diagonal motion. CP blocked the blow, a low pitched ringing echoed between the canyon walls as the two warrior locked their blades together in a test of strength. ... The sun burned a path from directly overhead towards the horizon, intently watching the warriors beneath it who sparred without a pause. Their swords flashed, whistled, and rang out repeatedly in a high speed sparring match. The hours wore by, clouds occasionally hiding them, as the sun tired of being in the sky and began his descent. ... The two Jihaddi pushed each other away at the same time, ending the umpteenth test of strength, their feet sending up small dust clouds with each step as they backed away from each other. In a mutual gesture, swords slid into sheathes, their uniforms sweat-soaked as they sat down in comfortable spots. "So," asked Owsen, "now that we've had the light workout, want to try the real one?" "I went easy on you," smirked CP. "If I'd been serious, you'd have begged for mercy." "Oh, really?" said Owsen, leaning from his comfy position towards CP, "And you'd a been without any of your weapons in a few moments' time." "And you'd have..." started CP, continuing the post-sparring bragging session. ... "I'm going back to HQ. I'm sure the vulpine has been a tissy all day because he couldn't find me," sighed CP, picking up his sword and heading towards the trails out of the canyon. "Go ahead," said Owsen, "I'll be along in a bit. Got some things to take care of first." ... CP emerged from the canyon after a long climb, stripped off his shirt, and threw it over his shoulder. His Claymoor swung freely from its belt as he looked at the departing sun and emerging full moon. Another forty five minutes, perhaps, and it would be dark. He felt his strength starting to slip away a bit. Contrary to his friend Samhain, CP weakened in the darkness, out of his element, and became more vulnerable. "Well, at least the days are getting longer," he mused aloud. His walk stopped mid-step. The faint, inaudible to humans, noise of metal sliding against metal, the unnatural dying scream of some creature, and the clash of metal against metal made CP turn around. "Owsen?" breathed his 2nd in Command, "don't tell me..." a faint 'NYAR!' came to his ears. "Oh, shit..." The dry, authoritative crack of a Colt 45 pistol echoed throughout the canyon, followed by several more rapid shots. "OWSEN!" yelled the cyborg as his short run ended with a leap from ledge down into the canyon. Free fall ended with a solid landing on a boulder and began again a split second later as the Jihaddi performed a controlled plummet to the canyon floor. A brief handful of seconds later, the first pebbles from his descent bouncing to the canyon floor, CP took off at a dead run, intent on finding his CO before anything could happen. ... Lord Tilden Owsen looked around, unsure of what to do with his enemies. All around him, things that resembled dark purple smudges closed in on him. They cast no shadows, made no noise beyond the movement of their weapons. It was almost like some artist had forgotten to erase a smudge from the eternal cartoon that was the Jihad universe. One rushed forwards, proving they were hostile, and met the loud, authoritative crack of Owsen's Alpha-Omega Colt 45 pistol. The bullet tore through the smudge, causing it convulse and then collapse to the Earth in a congealing mass of purple ooze. "Well, at least ye can die," mused Owsen, his pistols blowing large holes in four more purple smudges. The remaining two smudges fell back, a howl of panic coming from them before bullets ended their noise. A sickly sweet laugh echoed from rock to rock, surrounding Owsen in floods of hatred and rage. The Hell Wyrm was here. The Indigo Infant Ingester's laughter boomed around Tilden as he looked in all directions, seeking his ancient foe. It grew in intensity, taking on an ever-increasing tone of mockery, as the eldest Jihaddi failed to locate the Magenta Mind Sucker. "Well, my special friend," cooed the wyrm, "it's disappointing to see you still won't accept the luv of my minions. I'd hoped my new servants could luv you, but you're still too angry." "C'mere ya murderin' bastard!" swore Owsen as he drew the Barney Slayer. "We've a lot of score to settle, you and I." "If you'd accepted my luv on my terms," snapped the wyrm, "none of your pain and suffering would have happened." Dark lavender Smudges appeared in growing circles about Owsen, completely surrounding him, Across the canyon, and safely out of pistol range, the Great Satan of Backstage Fondling waddled and shambled to the top of a very large boulder. In clear view of the entire battlefield, the Magenta Miscarriage drew his b'harniium blade and pointed it at Owsen. "Kill the Jihaddi," It of The One Tooth commanded. The Smudges slid forwards, weapons emerging from their bodies. "NYAR!!" screamed Owsen, morphing in to Jace the Feral, as he charged his enemies. Lavender Smudges howled in pain, the Maenad's Big Ass Claws[tm] ripping wide gashes in their smoky flesh. ... CP could hear the battle now. He cleared a boulder with an easy jump, his stride unbroken, and landed with cat-like grace. Behind him, the setting sun shown into the canyon. The last rays from the fleeing sun glinted from his Claymoor as it slid free of its scabbard. The cyborg stopped short, snarling at what danced and capered across the battlefield. The Magenta Monstrosity sang its Dark Hymn as a Warp Spasming feral shredded its minions. As though smelling the new Jihaddi, squads of Smudges broke away from the main group and rushed towards their target. ... "Dammit, me boy," snarled Jace the Feral, "you needn't be here." A teleport spell, intended to move CP from the battlefield, fizzled as he refused to me moved. Behind the capering plush demon, in a dark recess of the rocks, an oily blackness seeped from the cracks. The Jihaddi felt the pressure of its thoughts on their minds as they fought an internal sinking feeling. "Destroy them," intoned the darkness, its voice making the Hell Wyrm yelp in shock. Throughout the canyon, squads of Smudges wavered into existence, their additional numbers dwarfing the original force. ... "Get outta here, damn ye! That's an order!" bellowed Owsen across the canyon at CP who seemed to have developed complete deafness (and insanity) as he sheathed his sword in the face of charging enemies. His rhythmic chant echoed around his enemies as every stride brought them closer. CP raised his hands to sky, the sun behind him, as fire surrounded him in a brilliant corona. His finger closed around spheres of extreme heat/light that paled the fire wreathing his body. The chant ended and his hands arced sharply downwards until the heels slapped together. Walls of roiling flame streaked away from the cyborg, scorching the air as they enveloped the advancing Smudges. Without a noise, their instantly carbonized bodies scattered in the roiling flames that relentlessly spread across the battlefield. Cries of terror rose from the b'harnate forces as waves of flame and molten debris engulfed their ranks, erasing their presence from the universe. Smudges tried to flee, leaping across boulders, only to have their forms blacken in mid-air, shadows in the fire, and join the tide of refuse an instant later. "NNNNOOOOO!!!!" yelled a terrified Wyrm as the flames roiled across the battlefield. It of The One Tooth attempted to dismount its impromptu podium, stumbled, and landed snout-down in the rocky terrain. "Idiot," thought the oily darkness as it threw a counter spell across the canyon. The flames made a 90 degree turn skywards, harmlessly dissipating in a fiery geyser. Molten debris rained down on the survivors. Stones which glowed a sizzling white landed among the Smudges and caused moderate damages. CP charged across the smoldering landscape, a battle cry Owsen hadn't heard in centuries in his throat. The bright yellow boulders, freshly fused obsidian, and half-melted stones failed to effect or slow the charging Jihaddi. ... "Well, at least he has style," quipped Owsen as Smudge after disoriented Smudge fell to the Barney Slayer. The cyborg's Claymoor rose and fell relentless as he hewed a gory path to his CO. ... "We have to kill the them!" bubbled a concerned Hell Wyrm to the darkness in the rock. "I thought we'd just let them destroy some of our troops and go home for tea," bit back the darkness, its sarcasm visibly annoying the wyrm. "Everything is going according to plan..." ... "You ... are ... demoted ..." panted Owsen as he and CP stood back to back, facing the thinned circle of Smudges, "... to Recruit ... for this." "Whatever..." replied CP, winded from near an hour of non- stop combat, "... we'll worry ... about it ... if we get out .... alive." Around them, the Smudges stood motionless, as though awaiting a command to move. "Now you both die," thought the oily blackness, its thoughts chilling both TRES Corps leaders. Around them, innumerable Smudges materialized in night. The full moon's light shone on the horde as it advanced in unison, their sheer numbers squashing any hope of escape of survival. "CP, turn around," ordered Owsen. "Wha..." started CP before the back of Owsen's fist slammed into jaw, spinning him around as he lost balance and started to fall to the Earth. The shock of the unprovoked attack broke as thick grass cushioned CP's fall. "Dammit! You sonofa..." swore CP into the moist grass. [TRES Corps is in your hands.] thought Owsen through the ethers, [Fight well. I'll ... *blackness*] [Damn you,] swore CP as he rolled over and rubbed his jaw, "What did the ... " Beside him, gleaming the moonlight, lay the Barney Slayer -- the Holy artifact foretold by the High Prophet (pbuh) to be involved in the ultimate death of the Wyrm and something Owsen was never without -- and both of the Grand Admiral's dual Alpha Omega pistols. Something was wrong, very wrong. - CP Copyright, Pyrokinetic Productions, Inc. (1996)