SFU's Fan Fic Archive

Or dead.

Either way, it didn't matter. As the sun was ascending, the pair had arisen to incredulous pain, the same agony they experienced every new day.

Unwillingly, the two found themselves sitting up against each other's backs with a shoulder against a cold cave wall, groggily realizing that they must have slept like that the entire night.

For some reason, their enigmatic "guides-through-space-and-time" had stranded them in a locale which neither of them recognized, nor cared to. Their heads still ached from their descent the night before, and it wasn't anything a simple aspirin could fix. Throughout the years, the two had been linked spiritually, but in this circumstance, they were physically bonded as well. A pair of golden wrist-cuffs was the culprit, with only a foot long chain to distance them. The bands, around one of each persons' wrist, featured no keyholes for their potential release. Matter of fact it, seemed as if the two had been crafted around the wrists, yet there were no weld marks to be found...

Despite their newfound "closeness," the two were not the best of friends, although they had once been. In all truth, the pair were the worse of enemies, destined to live eternal unless one persuaded themselves to kill the other. At least one of them wasn't about to let that happen.

She was an astonishing vision of beauty, yet had the prominent look of a warrior. The woman had donned a grayish-white top made of what look to be furred animal skins, much like the scantily loin cloth that revealed all of her long shapely legs. Well, except for what was important.

With her "partner," she stood, loosening some of her wild scarlet hair, which dangled down her back to her slender waist. Her height was 5'-9", three inches junior to her "chain-mate".

He was a silver, short-bearded man with fairly long silver hair to match, giving her a nasty look as they both arose facing each other. She returned it.

In contrast to the twenty-something youthful appearance of the woman, he appeared to be well in his fifties, yet still built as if he was her age, only much more muscular. He was dressed in a tight black jumpsuit, wearing over it, a dark gray trench coat. Also, unlike his counterpart, he wore boots. She didn't wear shoes at all.

They found themselves at the mouth of the cave, but when it came to knowing it's (or their) exact location, they didn't have a clue. Stepping towards the opening, they soon received an unappreciated surprise.

It happened to be a mountain cave, and they found it, and themselves a hundred feet above ground level.

"Where have these witches stranded us?!" the man gnashed his teeth, glaring downward.

"Quit your complaining, old man!" the woman barked. They both had noticeable accents, her's sounding English and his' Scottish, "It's giving me a far worse headache than the one I have already," she said pointing towards a structure in the far distance, "you haven't even noticed that..."

A mansion. And a massive one at that, built reminiscent of a regal oriental castle of dynasty times; it's walls, stone white and an onyx and red roof atop it. The homestead and it's widespread acres were partly surrounded by a lush oddly colored forest where the majority of the trees' and their foliage donned a dark blue tint. Behind the estate, laid a range of mountains, and flowing from them were hundreds of waterfalls, spawning from the center and largest mountain.

Actually, it was an inactive volcano, so long "out of action" a pool of flowing water now resided with it's crater. It appeared to be an endless supply of water, for multitudes of water falls poured from it into rivers and lakes below. At ground level, at the foot of the "wet mountains" laid an immense lake, which also networked rivers into the "dark" forest and the "fortress" itself.

"Wherever we are, I'm sure we'll find the answers to our questions there," she added.

"What are you waiting for lass," he said, "the sooner we climb down, the sooner we reach," the woman only rolled her eyes and they both began to scale down the mountainside they were upon. It would be a near day's walk to the waterfalls and mansion they spotted from the cave opening, and between the two of them, they knew this particular trek would be a rough one.

He awoke screaming.

Suddenly, though, he realized he was all right, at least he figured it was. 'Was it a dream?' he wondered as he felt the cool wind flowing from the open balcony, sunlight had filled it and the bedroom as the luminous pearl sun had arisen from the behind the western mountain range. As he sat up and off to the side of the bed, he found himself wearing the T-shirt and boxers he fell asleep in the night before.

But the whole experience was all too vivid, he could remember the pain, his body being drained of life itself. What about the memory reallocation afterwards? Every experience that occurred in his life was fresh in his mind as if he had gone through them all again seconds beforehand. And as usual his mind paid the price, leaving him a sharp, yet brief migraine. At least, his body felt better, superb even; he felt he could take on the "world," if only he could get past the damn headache.

Maximillian Ramnarine could have sworn the "midnight" battle he lost was real.

The "braid-locked" one threw on a dark robe and tiredly ambled down the main stairway of his home into the decorative lobby, where one could gain access to many of the service rooms the mansion had to offer; the den, study, bathrooms, dining room, and so on. But it was the kitchen he was headed, traveling through the dining room to get there. On entry, a person would find themselves in state of the art kitchen, at least by late twentieth century standards. If he wanted, he could have utilized far more advanced appliances, created farther in his "Earth's" history, but he hadn't "Chrono-Jumped" in quite a long time and he didn't have any plans to do so in the "future". Carelessly, he yanked open the refrigerator, about to remove a jug of orange juice from one of it's door shelves, when he had noticed he was grabbing no more than thin air.

"Wha-...?" curiosity had him peer inside, he could have slapped himself for not noticing earlier, "Empty?!" he nearly performed a double-take, "But I just 'repli-restored' it yester-" his stomach's growling cut his exclamation short. Ramnarine was about to mutter a parade of curses when a pleasant scent found his nose. He warily followed the aroma, leading him back into the dining room, where it's long (around 10 feet), yet short (a foot and a half tall) formal table (styled similar to one of Japanese style) was host to all sorts of platters, entrees, and dishes of delectable foods from all over planet Earth. How the hell they arrived there was a mystery to him, since moments before, the table was bare.

"Is this for real?" Ramnarine stepped closer towards the feast, at the head of the table was a "Thanksgiving-like" Turkey, glazed in the most incredible juices. Well, at least to the young man, having not tasted that delicacy for quite some time. Not since the last time he had shared Thanksgiving with his family.

1797 years ago.

"Why do you hesitate?" he heard a voice to his left; a familiar, dreaded one. He whirled around quickly in the direction to find two smiling women who could have passed for identical twins if it weren't for their different hair colors; one a blonde and the other sporting a "snow-white" mane.

Without the blue skin, extra eye and arms, the two looked reminiscent to the "sword-wielding monster" from his "experience" last night, although the women before him were much better looking.

It was the blonde the had questioned him. Their tall, slender, and attractive bodies were dressed in replicas of Ramnarine's own fighting outfit, who's, in turn, resembled somewhat the design of a significant other they knew. The blonde's, however sported a navy blue coloring with a pearl white rimming, while her "sisters'" displayed a scarlet hue with onyx borders. If there was any similarity between the two women, it was the pigment of their skin, which was a rosy pink.

"Yes, we figured you would be quite famished by now," spoke "snow-white," her voice exactly the same as the blonde's.

"And who wouldn't be after that display of strength and power you performed for us..." a third spoke, her voice emanating from his right. A little more collected and calm, Ramnarine gazed over his shoulder to find the source of the third voice. She, of course, was the final one, possibly the leader of the trio. She resembled the other two almost perfectly except for the fact that her hair was jet-black, and her uniform being yellow and onyx-rimmed.

"So...it wasn't a dream, huh?" he sighed and shrugged, closing his eyes in thought, "You people are still here, and I suppose I really did die last night."

"You truly did fight well," the blonde sister was the first to approach him, "and we realize that we took the wrong approach in asking you for assistance."

"We are the mistresses of Avalon," spoke the brunette, "I introduce you to my sisters; Clotho..." she motioned towards the blonde, "and Lachesis," and then "snow-white", "I, however, am called-"

"Atropos..." Max was astonished, "Birth, Life, and Death...You mean, you three are from the Arthurian Legends?"

"You know of us..."

"When you said 'Avalon', I had my suspicions, but after you told me your names, I knew you had to be them."

"We hope to make amends and start over on...the 'right foot'," said Lachesis, gesturing towards the table, "think of this as a 'peace offering'."

"All depends on your definition of what's 'right'," he said. Although he was much more hospitable towards them this time around, he didn't trust them in the least, especially after what had happened last night, "if you don't mind me asking, I sort of curious about how you found your way here. As far as I have known, I'm the only person with the means to enter and leave this world, and they've been deactivated. Your being here is a near impossibility."

"It is true; this 'sub-dimensional, temporal pocket' you live within was difficult to find, but we too are time-travelers and immortals," Atropos explained, somewhat, "we have our ways."

"So I see...there haven't been any visitors here for nearly a century. You can understand why I was a little uptight when you all jumped me in bed," the three nodded simultaneously and faintly smiled in unison. Ramnarine found the whole thing eerie, but assumed that their synchronous action was due to their minds being telepathically linked, if not something more bizarre, "I take it that the three of you already know an awful lot about me, but I'm wondering how you even pulled that off. No one alive should know of my existence, let alone my true identity or code name."

"Let's just say we've had our eyes on you for quite a while, 'Nightrunner'," the raven-hared female spoke again,"and because we know a great deal about you-"

"We've chosen to ask you for your assistance," the blue-uniformed Clotho finished for her "sister".

"You mean that 'favor' you mentioned before," Ramnarine made sure to point that out, "now that you've got my ear, what exactly is this 'favor'?"

"Many years ago, in Medieval Scotland, we three were responsible for the destruction of two lives," Lachesis began.

"You killed these two people?"

"No...," she sighed mournfully, "we made them immortal."

"I wouldn't call that destruction, after all it's working out fine for you. I've experienced the ups and downs of it, but I don't know what I do without it."

"But with everyone, it is not the same. In their cases, they can only die if one kills the other. We're afraid if nothing is done soon, that will eventually happen."

"I assume they don't get along too well," Max smirked.

"At one time, they were inseparable allies, but time has turned them into bitter enemies," Clotho continued, "a millennia of time."

"And that's where you fit in, Maximillian," the "gamine" beauty, Atropos, added, "they've come to resist every attempt and spell we conjure in order to get them to cooperate, but soon we realized we had been taking the wrong approach all together. Since they are both warriors, they might benefit spending some time in an environment they could appreciate. One, where they could release tensions, and anger through martial arts and other exercises. Your realm is the paradise' for which we have been looking, and with you being the expert martial artist you are, you could be their teacher."

"It seems last night, I wasn't expert enough. The curse of immortality in youth is that after all the long years of my own life, I still don't utilize enough of the wisdom I've gained. Like last night, I still find myself taking foolish chances without thinking far enough ahead on the situation.

"Besides..." he stepped around the table and exited the room into the lobby, "teaching has never been my forte and I'm not that good of a martial artist at all, when compared to so many others," he had noticed that the women chose not to pursue him, at least not for the moment. Ramnarine only shrugged and headed for the stairs, taking a seat on the lowermost steps and losing himself in thought.

"You miss her don't you?" he didn't even notice that Atropos had materialized at his right side, seated next to him.

"So you know about her too..." he muttered, releasing a mournful sigh, "she was the last person to live here, with the exception of myself. The only person that ever...well, I'm sure you know all about it."

"It was 98 years ago, you lost her, correct?" said Clotho, after she had materialized before him, sitting Indian-style before him. Lachesis was the last to appear, making herself at home on the space to his left, "Like us, you are a time-traveler. Why not travel back and change events in order to save her."

"You must not know how she was destroyed, do you?" he was amazed that they didn't, shaking at once, "She was disintegrated into a region of 'anti-time flux'. I'm sure you know the effects of that already."

"Actually, you are more of an experienced traveler then we are," Lachesis admitted, "we have yet to encounter this phenomenon you call 'anti-time flux'."

"I guess your observance of me can't reach into areas outside of the time-continuum," he leaned unto the step behind him, his eyes gazing unto the high, sky-lighted ceiling above them, "once you're pulled in a time stream in which the flow is reversed, every moment of your life phases out from existence. It's a bit complicated, but if I were to travel back in time, it wouldn't make a difference.

"My physiology won't allow me to alter my own past, thanks to the same device that makes me immortal-"

"Would that be your Artificial Chrono Trigger?" Atropos asked, surprising Max yet again.

"You women are something else; you're right, it is my A.C.T. Being that she and I spent most of our married life together and alone on this world, it's nearly impossible for me to change what happened."

"But why not warn her?" Lachesis suggested.

"I can't. She's been phased out of this existence. When I back-track through time, I'm still an element outside that time-frame, which means she wouldn't be able see, hear, or touch me, although my past-self wouldn't be hindered at all."

"I still don't understand..." Clotho interjected, "You're saying you wouldn't be able to interact with either her or yourself before the incident happened. She doesn't have an A.C.T.-"

"After being disintegrated into anti-time, it sends a shockwave through every second of you're previous existence. In a nutshell, you become a temporal shadow to people outside that frame of time. Chrono-Tripping back, would put me in her frame of time, but because I actually come from the future, I don't exist to her. My past-self, who belongs in that frame of time, however, is very real to her. He'll never know that she's been absorbed by the void until it happens...

"I tried warning my former a million times, but no matter how much I try, none of my attempts ever pull through. Because of my pollution of the time-line, if I travel back to my own past any more, the effects may become much more disastrous then they already are..." Max sighed, but then realizing he was once again wallowing in self-pity; something he didn't enjoy but found himself doing a lot lately, "damn..." he stood abruptly, smiling faintly at the trio, "It's nice that you thought of me and all, but I don't think I'm what you and your 'friends' would really want right now," he said before turning to scale the stairs, "in the end, I'll only fail them.

"Just like Xia..."

"Wait..." he felt that hand on his shoulder again, discovering that it belonged to Clotho, "if you help us with our dilemma, I'm sure we can assist you in some way. We may be able to bring her back somehow."

"I'm sorry, but as I remember, you three had no idea what "anti-time" was-"

"Don't underestimate us; as I recall, we bested you in battle," Atropos countered, "we may have the means to retrieve her. An ability you lack..."

"Magic? As unstable a means as that, I'm not certain you could."

"You have two options, Maximillian; they are on their way here right now. You can either take them in or send them away," she continued as the three arose, "it's your choice."

"And if I do the latter?..."

"We will have no other choice but to place them into eternal slumber," admitted Atropos, sadly, "our final, regrettable option."

It was truly a long day for the wrist-linked pair; scaling down mountains, crossing rivers, skulking through forests. But as the sun was entering it's evening descent, they reached the near edge of the 'shadow' forest, where it met the clearing that the estate laid. With the structure only minutes away, they would have continued to press on if it weren't for a particular sound.

"Do you hear that?" the older man stopped dead in his tracks.

"Unfortunately, yes," reluctantly agreed the woman, perturbed.

The noise sounded again.

"A moan..." he deciphered, "it might be an injured creature."

"Yes, a creature of the worst kind," she sneered, "a human."

"Are you sure?"

"Trust me, I've tortured enough of your kind to-" she began to say when cut off by the passive wail, "this way..." she picked up on the sound this time, and with no choice, the man followed her.

It took only seconds to find the source. A young woman laid slumped on her back against a tree, shivering and dressed in rags that were once a beautiful cyan sun dress. Despite her wounds, she was a beauty of middle-eastern descent. Her caramel-colored pigment. Her dark-Indian-like hair. Her soft, brown eyes.

But it was clear to see that she had been severely abused. All over her body were cuts and bruises that could only be left by a whip, one she had been beaten with often. Such a vibrant young lady reduced to a quivering mouse of a woman, clinging desperately to life. The man figured her to be no older than 17, kneeling down at her side as his companion crouched next to him, looking upon the whelp with cold, uncaring eyes. The tear filled, brown eyes of the fatally injured woman, however, weakly fluttered open, warmly gazing up at them both.

"Who...are...you?" she asked slowly and quietly, almost too weak to ask the question.

"Friends, lassie," he returned in as soft a voice as he could muster, fearing even the barest sound might snatch her into the afterlife, "we're friends, come to help."

"Thank you...but I'm afraid I don't have long. My injuries are too severe for any doctor to heal..."

"What happened? Who did this to you?"

"The man who lives in...Ramnarine Manor...six months ago, he kidnapped me and...made me...his slave," she calmly explained, "the disgusting things he made me do...eventually, I couldn't take it any longer. That's when I began my escape attempts...and when the beatings began as well...

"He would purposely leave escape routes...open for me...and I would...unintentionally 'entertain' him by as...I tried to flee. But he would always...capture me in the end...and punish me severely for it.

"Two nights ago, I finally...did manage to escape...but barely with my life...," she released a sigh of despair, her voice beginning to choke on her tears, "now I have nothing to show...of my freedom...but a dying body. He destroyed...all that I ever was...I'll never see my family again...Al and I will never marry..."

"There must be something I can do," the Scotsman offered, wanting do what ever he could to comfort her tortured body and soul, "I won't allow you to-"

"Please, allow me..." she gritted hard on her teeth and squeezed shut her eyes in hopes that it would help her fight the sharp pains that within her body. Ironically, she slowly began to succumb into a relaxed state life began to drain away from her mortal coil, "to die...sir...but I do have a...last request..."

"Anything, lass..."

"Avenge me...and before you slay...that monster...tell him Jasmine said...for him to...

"Go...to...hell..." and on those sharp, yet softly spoken words, the life in her body faded from the Scotsman's arms.

Jasmine had passed.

"You will be avenged, Jasmine," he took her petite, limp, cold hand and kissed softly, much like a gentleman would.

"Will you please!" the amazon snapped, "We have no time for you to waste playing hero to a dead girl!"

"A dying woman's request will not be denied, especially since her death was beyond wrongful and untimely," he said as they both stood, the girl cradled in his arms.

"Humans are nothing more than wild dogs, turning on each other when there is nothing else to hunt. Just because she was murdered by her own kind means I should feel sorry for her?" she scoffed, "Sorry, but for the human I have no pity."

"Ever the open-hearted one, eh?" he sarcastically bit back, "Frankly, I don't give a damn how you feel, like it or not, I will do as promised, even if it means I have drag you there to do it," he challenged.

"We'll see..." smirked the young woman, not taking him the least bit seriously, "what do you plan to do with her?"

"Give her a proper burial, of course," he returned, scanning the area for a place to "place" the body.

"What?!" she exclaimed, "If you think I'm going to-"

"It's either that or we carry her the rest of our 'precious' time together."

"Damn you, old man," she cursed, then tiredly sighed, "Given the choices...point me to the nearest shovel," she said defeated.

"What shovel, lass?" he asked, "Your lovely hands and mine will have to dig a plot for this unfortunate woman..." he said, looking upon what once was Jasmine and silently whispering, "sleep well, my dear..."

Finding a location in the forest aside a lazily flowing river, the two commenced the excavation of a burial pit for Jasmine, which by hand took two long hours. They did end up with a 3 1/2 deep hole, and after wrapping her the best he could in his trenchcoat, the Scotsman laid her to rest and covered with the un-rooted earth. Giving Jasmine her final respects and throwing atop her grave a wild red rose he had found nearby, he solemnly departed for the mansion with his impatient partner. He now had a just reason for traveling to Ramnarine Manor.

As the sun was near setting, they had crossed the plains of the forest clearing and reached the marble crafted gates of the estates surrounding perimeter wall.

"I have to admit, the bastard's quite the historian," said the bearded one as they strolled through the courtyard, "and admirer of Japanese Architecture per-"

"Will you please shut up?!" she snapped at him, "First, you're furious at this human, and the next minute you're complementing on the design of his home?! I have no interest in your conflicting words, so don't waste them on me!"

"Why you wench!" he yanked her aside with one good swing of his arm, she nearly lost her footing and stumbled towards the fountain at courtyard center. The second she regained some balance, she crouched low and delivered a kick to rear of knee joints, toppling him over. Immediately, she leapt upon him, cocking her right fist back as her as eyes strangely flashed red, albeit momentarily. If eyes were the window to one's soul, her soul was an inferno, possessed by a demon that was ready to tear him apart without redemption.

Before the punch-to-jaw collision could commence, the man managed to flip her off. Like a cat, he sprung to his feet and the next thing she knew, her body was suspended a foot off the ground by hand around her neck, "Don't make me do something we'll both regret," he seethed as she choked, fighting his crushing grip. From the redness in his own face and the erratic way he spoke and breathed at that moment, it appeared he might have been suffocating right along with her. A moment later, he dropped her abruptly, but was smart enough to lower his arm far (and fast) enough so her descent didn't bring him down with her.

"Mark my words, old man," she slowly stood, comforting her neck with her massaging hand, "if this 'curse' is ever lifted, your life is mine," her eyes flashed fire red again, but only for a moment.

"Keep talking like that and it never will," he smirked, starting towards the house again, "let's go," he commanded solemnly and again without choice she followed.

Not even bothering to knock, the two pushed open the unlocked, double-doored entrance. As soon as they entered the gargantuan, elaborate lobby of the estate, their ears picked up on the distinct, and fairly distant sound of jazz music, sounding as if someone was playing nearby. It was, again, the female's keen ears which lead them to it's point of origin; another dual-door passageway northeast of the mansion's foyer.

Maximillian Ramnarine was a man of many things, and even despite his modesty, he knew he was a damn good musician. At the center of the dimly-lighted music room, he seated himself at his onyx, polished grand piano, hammering his way through the middle of a Thelonius Monk tune. He, of course, was playing piano accompaniment to an incredibly realistic recording of the song as it filled in all the necessary instruments. The slow opening of the music room door didn't bother him, continuing to play as if he hadn't noticed his company at all.

"A boy?!" the woman was surprised and smiled demonically at the finding.

"Monsters come in all shapes and sizes. You of all people should know that," he said in bittersweet humor, "but in all truth, he may not be the one were looking for. And if not, don't think I'll let you take advantage of him, you can rest assured of that."

"You are just full of yourself today aren't you?" she quipped, "But what will you do when the night falls? You know I'll be strong enough to break this chain, and believe me, I will. Now you come on," she said with pseudo-authority, "I'd like to meet this...'young man' we've traveled so far to see."

"I believe you can wait a few minutes," he caught her shoulder, "let him finish, after all he wasn't expecting us."

"You don't know that for sure, do you?"

Around the time she had questioned him, Ramnarine's session came to a finale and he quietly arose from the piano bench, calmly advancing his guests. He was dressed once more in his battle uniform, and that decision was based on advice the "Enchanted Trio" had given him. Actions might speak louder to his guests than actual words, if events moved in that direction.

"Welcome," he greeted them, complete with an 'Oriental" honor bow towards the two, "I see that you two are in a little bind," he said after rising, referring to the "love-chain" linking their wrists, "you don't mind if I break this?"

"It's a generous offer lad, but this is Gold, enchanted with the magic of Oberon," spoke the Scotsman, "a bullet wouldn't faze it, let alone your bare hand."

"Never underestimate a stranger, my friend," Ramnarine smiled, although faintly, "I need you both to tighten this, so pull hard as you can on both your ends," he instructed. The man and woman stared at him as if he was insane, "I'm serious, trust me. If I end up injuring myself, well, I guess you can rub it in afterwards."

"(Hmph) This will be entertaining," the female snidely remarked, locking her legs and pulling her end of the chain. The man had done the same already.

With his hands behind his back, it appeared that Ramnarine was scanning the enchanted chain with his bare eyes, although, through the lenses of the humbling glasses he wore; possibly searching for a weak spot - if one could ever be found.

"Well...what do we have - HERE!" his eyes lit up with delight and in less than a second there was a blinding flash of light and a sudden brief wind. The sudden separation and impact from the minor, contained explosion had both guests sprawling to the floor and Ramnarine standing where the chain had once been, having shattering it with a "karate" chop of incredible power, "I hope that was entertaining enough for you," he said to the now stunned woman. Ramnarine's smirk might have spited her, but the "connection" between his hand and the molten shards of metal had her intrigued.

"You are unlike any human I've met," she admitted, Ramnarine found it strange that she would call him human when she was one herself, "who are you?"

"'Nightrunner...'" he said, although without much eagerness, "at least that's what I used to be called..." as they stood again, the troubled look on his face faded back into a false smile, "so what did they 'tag' you two?"

"What?" the silver-bearded fellow asked.

"Your names. What are your-"

"Oh. The name's 'Macbeth'. Lennox Macbeth. My companion here-"

"I am no more your 'companion' than I am your 'wife'!!" she seemed to have a very short fuse, and the fall she took did seem to help matters any. She did take a moment to calm down, though, before her own introduction, "They call me 'Demona' - and anything else about me is none of your business," she sharply added.

"Your's really suits you," Max remarked, sarcastically.

"I know, I gave it to her," Macbeth teased, leaving both men laughing. At least Ramnarine was on good terms with one of them.

"Humans.." Demona muttered, "will I ever be rid of them?"

"Huh?" her quote caught Ramnarine off guard, "Exactly what does that mean? Aren't you one?"

"Looks can be deceiving, laddie, especially when it comes to her," Macbeth said, his words full of mystery.

"When the sun sets, you'll know," Demona shadily remarked.

"Whatever you say," the "young man" shrugged, "I'm sure you two have traveled a long way and would like something to eat. If you would follow-"

"How would you have known how long our trip was, boy?" she asked, a deadly serious look upon her face. Macbeth's had also turned solemn.

"Calling me 'boy' has been many an man's mistake, 'Miss'," he returned, slowly becoming agitated, "don't make the same. Besides, if you're going to barge into my house, you should, at least, treat it's owner with some line of dignity."

"So you are the 'overlord' of Ramnarine Manor!" Macbeth exclaimed, anger seeping into his words and expression.

"Overlord? What are you-"

"You remember Jasmine, don't you?" the Scotsman questioned, "The young woman you enslaved and tortured to death!"

"What the hell are you talking about?! Who's Jasmine!"

"Are you going to deny it?" Demona asked, "As she was dying she told us all about her 'stay' here with you."

"You've dishonorably murdered a young woman in disgrace and we've come to avenge her, Nightrunner," Macbeth explained, "your time has come."

"Wait a damn minute!" Ramnarine snapped, "I don't know what or who you are referring to. All I know is that I made a deal with your 'mistresses' to teach you-"

"The 'Weird Sisters'?!" the pair chorused.

"Talk about the shoe fittin'..." Max smiled as they reached a crossroads, "so you do know them."

"He's in league with those witches!" Demona glared at Max, who was nothing more than enigmatic at their behavior. Suddenly, she dove at him, and although the move was clear out of the blue, Max barely jumped over her head as she flew by underneath him. While Demona slid to a stop in the lobby, Max landed unfazed, yet appalled by her actions as he observed her from the doorway.

"Have you gone insane, woman?!" he questioned agitated.

"Not only are you a murderer, but you have sided with the creatures that have cursed us," the old man was furious, "you already deserved to die before we arrived now killing you doesn't seem punishment enough!"

"Yes, matter of fact, I think we should make him our slave, just like he did 'poor Jasmine'," Demona interjected, referring to the deceased without the least bit of sincerity in her voice, "and my personal scratching post."

"Sorry, but I'm not going into servitude just yet," Max casually scoffed.

"Guess were going to have to break you-" Lennox started to say when suddenly, both travelers instantly released screams and moans of agony, falling to their knees and writhing in pain.

"What the hell..." Max cut himself off as he noticed the color of Demona's skin darken from a fair pink to a weird pigment of grayish-blue. From the shoulder blades of her nearly bare back, bat-like wings with the span of 8 feet were growing. Her bare feet were transforming from five-toed peds to larger, higher arched and tri-toed nightmares, the bottom of her heel becoming a fixed claw itself. Her hands went from sporting fingers of flesh to claws of scale and the irises of her eyes faded from crystal blue to blood red. On Macbeth, though, nothing had physically changed, but he felt every ounce of torture Demona experienced during her transformation.

Stunned, Maximillian Ramnarine could do nothing but watch Demona's metamorphosis, from human to gargoyle. But finally it did end, leaving both her and Macbeth exhausted for a moment, even though she still found the reserve to stand.

"Demona?" Max asked, he was amazed how stunning she remained in her monstrous form of the night, "Are you al-"

"Save the sentiment, Nightrunner..." she spoke; her voice remained the same, albeit faintly hoarse and out of breath from screaming. Again her eyes flashed scarlet like unholy flashlights, but this time they stayed that way as she grinned, maliciously, "the time of reckoning has come!"