Calvin sat on the floor of the game room, looking at his meager pile of peanuts, then back at his cards. He and Brian had long since switched to Poker, playing for the edible bets, and he just simply could not figure out how the big man knew when he was bluffing. “I’ll see your two, and raise you two more.”

	Brian, meanwhile, kept his eyes on the young metahuman’s whiskers. They didn’t twitch, so he knew the young man must have at least a decent hand. However, he had a pretty good hand himself. “I’m calling,” he rumbled.

	Before either individual could show his hand, however, Calvin suddenly looked out towards the door, his ears pricking up. “Waitaminute... that’s the phone in the office, next to John’s room. Why would someone be calling this late?”

	“Early, you mean,” corrected Brian. “It’s nearly three o’clock in the morning.” As if to accentuate this, he yawned immensely.

	“Whatever. Come on, let’s go find out. If it’s important, we’ll need to wake him.” The two stood, and the younger man sprinted down the hall, while the larger squeezed through the doorway, then lumbered as softly as his one ton bulk would allow.

	By the time Brian had reached the office, Calvin had already answered the phone, and was rushing back out of the office. “Yep, it’s important. It’s the police, and they want to talk to the boss.” He led the big man further down the hall, to a large door, and knocked hard.

	“G’way... sleep...” muttered the voice inside.

	“No can do, boss, the Police need to talk to ya on the phone,” called back the feline metahuman. Less than thirty seconds later, the albino proprietor of the Mendolsson Memorial Hostel for Displaced metahumans appeared at the door, wearing a pair of brown trousers and black boots. 

	Brian and Calvin waited patiently outside the office, while John spoke to the police. A few minutes later, the pale man stepped out, pullling on a baggy white shirt. “I’ve gotta go. Something happened at the museum, some kind of explosion, and now both my brother and a security guard are missing.”

	Calvin stepped into place beside the older man. “Hey, if that’s the case, I’m coming with you. I liked Matt, and maybe my sniffer can pick up something you guy’s can’t.”

	Brian, meanwhile, seemed momentarily lost in thought, then nodded to himself. “I’m coming too. That museum was made of granite, and you may need me to move some of the larger debris.”

	For half a second, John seemed about to protest, but simply nodded, and the three left, moving as rapidly down the street as they could towards the museum.

************************************************************

	Shadows fill a realm beyond our conception. One of these shadows, darker than all the rest, watches with interest. Soon, these mortals would come into conflict with its pawn... and then the game would surely then be afoot.

************************************************************

	The museum was surrounded by dozens of police cars, as well as many local citizens crowding around to find out what exactly it was that had woken them up. John, Calvin, and Brian prepared to push their way through the crowd, only to see it part before their unusual visages. Whether it was the flashing red eyes and albino skin of john, the felinoid mutations of Calvin, or just the sheer bulk of Brian, no one seemed inclined to bar their way. Approaching one of the officers, John introduced himself. “I’m John Mendolsson. My brother was the janitor here, is there anything I can do to help?”

	The policeman was taken aback momentarily by this small, motley group, but quickly regained his senses. “Eh, actually, yeah. We got some reports that two men were spotted leaving the scene shortly after we called you, an’ we’d like to run them past you to see if one of them could have been your brother.”

	While the older man was busy talking to the police, Calvin crouched down, and began sniffing the pavement. He rapidly moved forward, sniffing as he went, so Brian shrugged, and followed. One cop seemed ready to ask them to stop, but thought better of it when the lumbering metahuman passed three feet away. Soon, Calvin reached the center of the rubble, and began moving numerous heavy stones, though with some effort. One proved particularly troublesome, but he soon found it almost magically rising into the air. Looking behind him, he realized it was Brian, lifting it easily in one hand. “I do the heavy lifting, you do the heavy sniffing.”

	Back at the police car, John listened with interest as the policeman described the two men. “The first was a man of average height and slightly portly build, but his clothing was impossible to determine - the guy was completely bound from knees to chest by thick iron chains. He was being carried by what was described as a tall, muscular man, wearing black medeival armor, and carrying a long black broadsword, with glowing red runes. The kicked is, the eye witnesses said the durn thing sounded like it was murmuring, and was twitching in hishand.”

	Confused and somewhat deflated, John shook his head. “No officer. My brother is tall, but not muscular. He doesn’t fit the description of either man. He also doesn’t run around in medeival armor with a black sword, eiher.”

	“Hey, boss, think we found something!” called out Calvin, as he and Brian crouched near the epicenter of the explosion. John rushed over there, glad he no longer had the constant weakness that had been his curse for so long. He was followed by two policemen and an older gentleman he assumed was the museum curator.

	On arrival, he found the two looking at the remains of a display case. It had been shattered in the explosion, but what was more interesting was the fact that it was partially melted. “Well, what have you got there?”

	Brian looked up. “Mr. Mendolsson...”

	The albino interrupted. “Please, call me John.”

	“Okay. John, this display was melted, and cooled slightly, before the explosion.”

	“How do you know?”

	Brian pointed to the edges of the glass. “The areas that were melted had time to cool before shattering in the explosion. See how this edge is cloudy, and looks like it bubbled a bit, but where it meets the other edge, it’s shattered just as cleanly?”

	“My word,” said the older gentleman. “That was the display case for a broadsword on loan to us from the Smithsonian. It was one of the swords found at the Sutton Hoo burial. It seemed older in construction than the other weapons around it, and we could place no accurate date on it.”

	“AND YOU NEVER SHALL!” cried out a booming voice, seemingly from everywhere at once. They all looked around, confused, and saw inky black spheres manifesting. From each of these, stepped out walking shadows, as black as pitch, but with an eerie sensation of depth and form. With a wailing cry as one, the shadow things rushed towards the group gathered at the display case.

	Without thinking, John raised his hand, and the silver beam of corruscating energy he had manifested on that night, many months ago, lashed out, impacting with one of the creatures and sending it flying back fifty feet, before it faded into a wisp of shadow-stuff, and vanished. Calvin charged one of the creatures, claws out, while Brian had reached down, and lifted a massive block of granite that had to weigh nearly a ton, preparing to throw it one-handed.

	“Protect the curator and the policemen!” John shouted over his shoulder to Brian. He unleashed another silver blast, obliterating another creature, even as the massive block of masonry left the large man’s hand, impacting with a small cluster of three of the creatures., and crushing them beneath the weight of it. To his left, however, the young feline metahuman had launched himself at one of the Shadow creatures, and slashed at it with his talons, and feeling a disturbing yet reassuring tangibility to it, before it faded before his own onslaught.

	Six of the creatures had fallen, but there were still many more left. Wheeling about, the albino placed himself on the other side of the curator from Brian, and watched as the two policemen there with him drew their service revolvers and began to open fire. Their fellow cops back near the cars, meanwhile, were rushing forward, intent on helping their comrades against a seemingly supernatural menace.

	The battle still seemed to be going in their favor, when another dark sphere began to manifest. From it stepped not another demon of shadow, but what appeared to be a man, in full helm and armor of a twelfth century knight. His conical helm rested on a mail coif, leaving his face open, and his chain hauberk was supplemented by a breastplate, pauldrons, greaves, and bracers. A tattered black cape fluttered in a non-existant breeze behind him, and in his hand he held a sword, seemingly of iron, with glowing red runes carved on its surface, and it writhed slightly in his grip, and a low, keening wail murmured forth from the unnatural thing. Even as Brian finished hurling the last of the shadows into one of the few walls of the museum left standing, this new figure cried out, “HOLD! Now you face the Wielder of the Black Blade!”

	The silence was deafening as the three metahumans watched this new figure. He seemed to pay no attention to the police, who were leaving the wreckage back for the safety of their cars, nor of the old curator who they were escorting. His attention was directed solely at John Mendolsson. “You, the wielder of the Silver Lance, shall be the first to fall!” he called out.

	“Yeah, right,” snarled Calvin,and he pounced on the figure. He impacted with enough force to bowl over a full grown horse, but the Wielder of the Black Blade simply rocked back a step, catching the feline metahuman’s claws on his outstretched left arm. 

	“Die,” was all that was said, as the hideous sword in his grip lashed out, and struck Calvin’s side. The young man was sent flying, and impacted a mound of rubble with enough force to shatter a stone slab. With a groan, he tried to rise, but then collapsed, unconscious.

	Brian started to surge forward, but John’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “No. You’d have to get in range of that sword. Calvin was lucky he only used the flat of the blade.” John stepped around the huge metahuman, and stood to his full height. “I will stop you, whoever, or whatever you are.”

	The Wielder of the Black Blade simply chuckled. “Descendant of the Binder, do you know not whose flesh I wear here?” He reached up, and removed the coif, revealing a touseled shock of sandy colored hair, and eyes that John knew almost as well as his own. :How can you stop one you swore to protect?” So speaking, he replaced the armor.

	The albino took a deep breath, and steeled himself. “I have to. Brian, go on, go get Calvin back to the car. If I’m still standing by the time you get back, then just stay back. If not, then it’ll be up to you.”

	As the big man rushed his new friend back to the waiting line of Police, John dropped into a lower stance, feeling he would likely be far more mobile in case the thing in his brother’s body charged him. To his surprise, it did not, but instead pointed its sword, and rasped out harsh, arcane words that hurt his mind as it tied to comprehend them. In the moments this took, he had begun charging up his blast, but stopped, shocked with fear, as a swarm of black, buzzing imps emerged from that hellish blade, and sped towards him like an arrow in flight. He dove to the side, barely in time, as the dark creatures slammed into a broken pillar, pulverizing it and destroying themselves.

	“Ah, so it shall indeed be a challenge. And one I welcome heartily.” The sword swung an awkward arc, as a beam of blinding darkness erupted, narrowly missing the albino. 

	Before another simIlar attack could be launched, though, John thrust his hands forwards, casting out his silver energy. The beam struck his foe full on in the chest, rocking him back two full steps, and interrupting the next attack. Taking advantage of the lull, he ducked behind one of the few remaining large slabs of debris for cover, and began to assess the situation around him.

	“Yes, descendant of the Binder, run. It shall merely make the game far more... URK!!!” Whatever tirade the Wielder of the Black Blade had begun, it had been interrupted by a massive block of granite travelling at an incredible rate of speed impacting with his armored form. The stone dashed him to the ground, and shattered, with a thunderous crack like the hammer of a god.

	John turned. “I thought I told you to stay back!” he barked, only to discover that Brian was, indeed, well back from the conflict, and hefting another multi-ton piece of debris. “Oh... well, watch your aim!”

	“That... hurt,” complained the black armored figure. “Your torment shall be great indeed!” Another bizarre sword swing, coupled with words that John could not make out and did not wish to, and the albino prepared to dodge either another blast, or more of those imps. To his dismay, the thing merely vanished in an explosion of darkness, only to appear behind Brian!

	A flash of black, and a flash of red, and the blade had completed its lethal course. However, Brian did not fall. He merely looked over his shoulder, and dropped the chunk of masonry directly on the armored figure. The Wielder dashed back, narrowly avoiding the block, and lunged forwards again, blade forward.

	A massive fist lashed out, and connected with the entire body of the armored fiend, sending him flying several yards before skidding to a stop, cracking the sidewalk as it landed. Hopping directly back to his feet, though, the wielder sent a swarm of imps at Brian. To John’s amazement, and the amazement of the onlookers, the incredibly huge man actually somersaulted over the beam, and charged forwards.

	The two collided with a crash that knocked several policemen off their feet, and the larger man’s momentum carried them into a nearby car, which promptly caved in under the unimaginable force. Brian reared back, and sent his fist hurtling at the dark-armored villain’s face with enough force to demolish a battle tank.

********************************************
	The dark figure stared beyond dimensional walls. The blow was unlikely to hurt the Black Blade’s host very much through the enchant4ed armor, but this battle had gone on long enough. “To me, my oldest of servants!” it called, as the shadows moved, performing a dance that would drive a man to madness.

********************************************

	The fist landed, but the villain was no longer there, and the large metahuman’s momentum carried his blow into the shattered remnants of the automobile, imbedding it two feet deep into the pavement. “Huh? Where’d he go?”

	John stared at the large metahuman, and the area where the enemy had been, as he helped the groaning Calvin to his feet. When the man had removed his coif, he had gotten a clear look at the face of the individual obviously responsible for the destruction of the museum. And that person had been his own brother, Matt.