Ghost leered at the young girl who hovered in mid-air in front of him.She was very pretty, if a mite too young, with wings composed of spinning blades of a pale silver-blue energy. “Now, girlie, you gonna settle down right nice an’ peaceful like, or am I gonna hafta chill ya ‘till ya die?”

	Wingstorm shuddered, then braced herself. “I don’t care what you think you’re going to do. Take this!” Suddenly, somehow anchored in mid-air, her wings began to spin at incredible speeds, generating a gale force wind. 

	Even though he wasn’t totally physical anymore, Ghost found himself starting to be buffeted, and began to slightly disperse, smokelike, from its power. “Not bad, girlie. But so what if you’re a blowhard?” he sneered, and began to make his way forward through the wind.

	To his surprise, she simply grinned. “Oh, that was just a setup. To prepare you for THIS!” Suddenly, several of the energy blades that composed her wings shot off, racing through the air as spinning missiles. 

	Too stunned by the sight to dodge, Ghost felt incredible pain as the glowing disks of force ripped through his form. It was a psychic pain, as the blades damaged and tore at his essence. “But...but...” he stammered.

	“My wing blades are pure, solid psionic energy, according to Mentor. And when I concentrate, they don’t affect the physical world anymore, but the psychic one!” she crowed, triumphantly, even as her opponant passed out from the pain.

	Well below her, Black Tiger was taking a serious beating. Blood ran from his mouth and nose, and one eye was swollen shut. Jarhead was looking only shilghtly better, but his left arm hung limply at his side. “Face the inevitable,” wheezed Wight. “Though you have given me a valiant fight, there is naught you may do against me!”

	Calvin snorted. “Oh, yeah?” Lashing out with one paw, he managed to catch the overconfident Undead warrior on the side of the head, knocking off the helmet perched on his skull-like head. The retaliation was short and swift, however, as a mailed fist connected with the side of Black Tiger’s face, sending him to the ground, unmoving.

	Jarhead steeled himself. He only had one chance, and he had to make it count. “Well, well. Looks like it’s just the human against the almighty Undead lord, eh? Come on, let’s see what you’ve got.”

	Wight advanced on him. “I promise, mortal, I shall be merciful. You and your companion have entertained me well.” Raising his sword in a salute, he dropped back to a fighting stance, then lunged.

	It was what Jarhead had been waiting for. He dropped to the ground just below the blade, and grasped the wrist of his opponant. Planting his feet firmly, he heaved, tossing Wight head-first into the wall of the Hostel. A sickening crunch let him know that his ploy was successful, and though the Undead would vaguely stir from time to time, he was definitely out of the combat.

	On the far side of the property, Hauler continued to maintain the arm bar he believed kept Ghoul immobile, and in too much pain to do anything. “You know, my friends will wipe out the rest of your motley little group pretty easily, right, Ghoul?”

	‘That’s it, keep talking,’ thought his foe. Suddenly, his left arm, which was clutching the ground, darted upwards, tossing a cloud of soil into Hauler’s eyes. The big metahuman kept his grasp on Ghoul’s right arm, a fact which the Undead seemed to ignore as he rose, the hideous popping nose idly reminging him he had just dislocated his shoulder and possibly broken his elbow. Ignoring it, he drove his knee hard into the gut of the blinded metahuman.

	“Think that little wrestling trick is gonna stop the sneakiest fighter this side o’ the Mississippi? Guess what, it didn’t!” The force of the blow had caused Hauler to release his arm, and Ghoul now used his good arm to slam as hard as he could on the back of hauler’s head, driving him face-first into the dirt. “An’ here’s a few I picked up a while back!” With that, he began savagely kicking the massive metahuman in the head, ribs, and face, occasionally jogging a few steps when he would knock Hauler twenty feet or more with a particularly savage kick.

	Hauler, in pain and still bleary-eyed from the dirt in his eyes, finally grabbed Ghoul’s foot, and tossed, giving him enough breathing room to stagger to his feet. “I... I’m gonna...”

	“Heh, you ain’t gonna do nuttin’, ya overgrown Howdy Doody.” A crusted foot slammed down on Hauler’s, breaking several bones, followed by a left hook to the jaw. Ghoul then grabbed the back of his head, saying, “Goodnight, Gracie,” and slammed his forehead into hauler’s nose. With a groan, the huge man slumped, and fell over with a crash.

	“Guess I better get back an’ see how the others are doin’,” muttered the Undead, as he leapt off to rejoin his comrades in death.

	Flamestrike and Gateway, however, had their hands quite full with the spellcaster known as Liche. As a bolt of black lightning snaked towards her, Flamestrike realized she wasn’t going to be able to move in time, and closed her eyes and braced herself. To her surprise, the bolt never hit, and she heard Liche scream out in pain. Opening her eyes, she saw that her sister had opened a gate to ridirect the bolt, staggering the creature, who now was on one knee, his robes smoking. “Way to go, sis!” she cried.

	“Do not celebrate too soon,” cautioned their foe, as he rose once more. “Ithak al haravad malchor!” he intoned. Suddenly, the ground around them began to erupt, as stones the size of a man’s fist begain raining upwards. Not knowing what else to do, Gateway made a gate directly below them, and they vanished.

	Cautiously, Liche approached the spot his foes had vanished from. “A simple spell shall determine where they fled to,” he rasped.

	“How about here?” came a voice from above him. Looking to the roof of the hostel, he saw the two young ladies. 

	“Ah, there you... “ Before he could erect a hasty shield, a bolt of searing flame impacted with his back. Confused, he whirled, but saw no foeman there. Again, he was engulfed in flames, this time from directly above. Weakening rapidly, he hurriedly incanted a final spell. “AND LET DARKNESS TAKE YOU FOREVER!” A silent explosion of shadows, and the two figures on the roof were no more.

	Once more, however, flame shrouded him, and beckoned him into unconsciousness from the pain. Before the light in his eyes faded, however, he heard behind him, “Sorry... an advantage of having a sister who can gate.”

	Gateway turned to Flamestrike as Liche collapsed. “Wow... I actually did pretty good!”

	Her sister laughed. “You sure did, shortstuff.”

	Silverlance rolled to one side in a near panic, and felt the blade that would have cleaved him in half instead cave a severe gash in his arm and shoulder. The blood ran freely, and stood out starkly on his bright white shirt and albino skin. “Nice... try...” he growled through teeth gritted from the pain.

	“Ah, so there is life in you yet. Perhaps I shall get to enjoy this even more than I had planned. So be it.” Sheathing his sword, Blackblade instead lashed out with an armored boot, catching Silverlance in the side, and sending him hurtling nearly ten feet. “I shall destroy you. Every bone shall break, and every sinew shall unravel. Your entrails will be your bonds, and your beating heart the last sight you see.”

	Rapidly weakening from loss of blood, the leader of the Legion could see no way to prevent his foe from fulfilling his promise, as the ebon armored warrior strode towards himonce more, his death in the eyes of his own brother.

	Wingstorm glanced below her, and saw Calvin’s unconscious form, and Jarhead leaning up against a wall, cradling his left arm gently. She glanced in the direction that hauler and Ghoul had gone, but saw nothing in the moon’s soft glow. Looking up, she saw Amber was engaged in an aerial duel she couldn’t follow, and hoped she could handle herself. Concern over the friends she could see were injured warred with concern for the friend she couldn’t see, and those close at hand won. Alighting next to Calvin, she checked his pulse, and his breathing. “Anthony, he’s pretty beat up, but I think he’ll be okay.”

	Jarhead nodded. “So you took out the ghost guy, eh?

	She nodded. “How are the others doing?” she asked. 

	“Looks like Flamestrike and Gateway took out the one in robes, Calvin and I took out the swordsman, and Amber’s still going at it with Vampyre.” He gritted his teeth, and slammed his shoulder intoo the wall. He nearly fell over from the pain, but Wingstorm steadied him, and he could feel his arm slowly recovering from being dislocated. “But it looks like the boss is getting worked over pretty hard, and Hauler and Dragonlord have been gone a while.”

	A bounding form caught Wingstorm’s eye. “No, look, there he is now! Hi, Brian!”

	Jarhead’s vision was keener than hers, though. “That’s not Hauler... that’s the ghoul! He must have somehow beaten the big guy!”

	“What? No!” She took to the air, and then immediately dodged a boulder the size of a small car, casually tossed with one hand by the massive Undead. “You fiend!” she cried. “What have you done with Brian?”

	One last leap left ghoul face to face with Jarhead. He looked pretty bad, but they couldn’t tell how much of that was from the fight with Hauler, or how much was how he normally looked. “Heh, he’s sleepin’ the sleep o’ the just. He’ll prolly have a headache tamorrow like ya wouldn’ beleive. If’n I don’ eat ‘im when Blackblade’s done wit’ yer Silverlance guy.”

	Jarhed sized up the situation as rapidly as he could. Ghoul’s right arm was hanging limp, and the bones protruding through his elbow were clearly broken. Certain areas of his mottled hide looked far greyer than the rest, the same shade of grey as the battered flesh around his broken arm. Surmising those must be his bruises, he dove low towards Ghoul’s legs.

	“Nuh-uh, mister Mo-rine!” snarled the ghoul, bending over to snatch the annoying pest. But Jarhead suddenly brought his arms up, grabbing the creature’s arm, and pushed hard, catapulting his entire body into a two-footed kick into a greyish bruise on the thing’s chin that snapped Ghoul’s head back. “Hey!” complained the unfeeling thing. “That coulda hurt!”

	“So can this!” cried Wingstorm. A beat of her mighty wings, and dozens of spinning psychic blades catapulted at the Ghoul, streaking ghostlike through his bulk. 

	“An’ what’s that supposed ta...” His sentence went unfinished, however, as the psychic blades completed connections to synapses long unused. Suddenly, ghoul was subjected to every moment of pain he had experienced since the start of the fight. It was too much for even him, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Jarhead barely managed to roll out of the way in time to dodge the titan’s fall, and stood there.

	“Good work. Now maybe we can go help the Boss.”

	High above them, golden energy danced with a blood red form. Amber, covered in a golden nimbus, raced after the slower yet more agile vampire, her own eyes filled with anger and righteous indignation. “I swear, you and the rest of the undead are going to pay for Uncle Ryan’s death!”

	Vampyre lazily dodged a bolt that could shatter steel. “My dear, I have killed many, many individuals. One man’s death is as nothing to me. Oh, I have just received word from my companions, mystically. All of your friends have fllen. You can give up, now,” he said, chuckling.

	Amber glanced down, and, save for Silverlance, saw a tale that showed Vampyres words to be a lie. “You’re wrong, monster, I...”

	Before the words could leave her mouth, he was on her. He flew around her, and came up from behind, wrapping his arms and wings around her. “Now, now, my dear. It’s not nice to call your future Master a monster.” Opening wide, he bit down on the golden sheath encasing her neck. Slowly, ever so slowly, his fangs began to penetrate her energy field.

	‘Just one chance,’ she muttered to herself. ‘I just hope the old stories are true...’

	Time seemed to slow to a crawl as, millimeter by millimeter, Vampyres fangs slowly broached her personal force field, drawing ever closer to her neck. ‘Soon,’ he thought, ‘soon she shall be mine. And all her wondrous power shall be mine to command! Or, perhaps, even added to my own!’

	His fangs were nearly on her. Then, almost deliciously, he felt the touch of her supple skin on his fangs. A slightly greater force, and they began to pierce. 

	“Goodby, Vampyre,” was all she said... and pain filled his world.

	“Wha...” he rasped out, and looked, to see that she had been flying at tremendous speeds all this time, while he had been enraptured by the thought of her. They were many miles west, where the sun had not yet set, and its searing light drove him into agony. Powerless to prevent it, he dropped into a deathlike trance, as the light he was forever forbidden to behold enforced its ban.

	“Darn,” said Amber. “He didn’t just go ‘poof’. Oh, well, time to fly deadboy, here, back to the hostel, and see how the others are doing.” Taking the undead’s unconscious form and putting it in a multilayered cocoon of golden energy, she raced back, hoping she wasn’t too late.

	Back on the property, several forms moved into position. “Okay, Alpha formation!” called out the lead Doom Guard sergeant. “Open fire on my command, don’t let him get the chance to get back up!”

	Dragonlord’s eyes snapped open, however, and glowed golden. “I do not think so.” He staggered to his feet, and confronted them. “There is one more thing about Dragons you still do not seem to remember,” he said. “But you shall.”

	“Oh, yeah, scale-boy? An’ what’s that?” demanded a Doom Guard trooper.

	“Dragonfear.” His eyes flashed again, and a wave of panic swept over them. Their hearts sped up, their bile rose, and their knees turned weak. Several rifles dropped from nerveless fingers, as the lucky ones found the strength to break their paralysis, and run screaming. Walking over to each one, he struck them with a fraction of his true might, rendering each one unconscious.

	However, as he began to fly towards the fleeing troopers, his exhaustion once more came over him. “Still... too... weak...” he groaned, and once again passed out.

	Silverlance looked up from the ground at his foe. “Do you know how long I have waited to do this, last son of the Binder?” purred Blackblade, as his boot slowly ground into Silverlance’s hand. “More than a thousand years. Longer than any of you, save the dragon, could even comprehend. Perhaps after I have killed you, I shall enslave the dragon. He shall become my steed, when our Master has completed the crossover from his Realm of Darkness.”

	“No...” groaned Silverlance.

	“Oh, yes. And the tastiest morsels you have gathered, such as that fiery wench, or perhaps the one with the golden energy, shall be my harem. And your skull shall adorn my throne, my prized possession, when I become the ruler of a third of the world.” He ground his boot harder, just enough to break a few fingers.

	Something inside John Mendolsson snapped. Sick and tired of hearing this madman speak, sick of hearing his friends being threatened, and still grieving over the loss of two of those in his care, he did the one thing he was not willing to do before out of fear of hurting his brother. He rolled onto his back, and unleashed the Silver Lance.

	To his surprise, the beam was far more intense than he had ever seen it. It filled the night sky with a light as bright as day, and lanced into, and through the demon swordsman. Blackblade was engulfed in a shimmering, coruscating nimbus that hummed with power, and all those left standing could only stare in awe. Fear gripped John’s heart, however, as he realized he may just have slain his own brother.

	To his shock and joy, when the light faded, he beheld his brother again. The black armor had been burned away, leaving Michael dressed in the trousers and shirt he had been wearing that night at the museum. The sword dropped to the groud, whining instead of howling, and Michael blinked. “John? I don’ feel so good... Like I been alseep to long.”

	As the dust settled from the various fights, the casualties were carefully carried over to the bay window by Amber. John still lay there, looking at his brother. “It will be alright, Mike. I’m here, and I’ll protect you.”

	The sword, buried nearly half its length in the dirt next to him, whimpered one last time in protest, then fell silent. Then, the runes stopped glowing, and everything was incredibly silent in the Hostel compound.

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

	“I wanna go inside,” said Mike, as Jarhead helped John to his feet. “I wanna lay down, and I wanna sandwich.”

	Jarhead looked at the older Mendolsson brother. “Sure thing. Help me get your brother to the first aid area, and I’ll go with you and fix a nice sandwich.”

	He was stopped by a finger in his chest. “No you are not, mister!” demanded Rache, the receptionist. “You can barely stand, yourself, and that arm doesn’t look good at all! I’ll take John and mike inside, YOU are going to the ‘first aid area’ yourself.”

	Sighing, Jarhead agreed with the young lady who had become his girlfriend, and looked around. They had won, but it had been a hard fight. Amber had finally found Dragonlord and Hauler, both unconscious, and carried them back to what Darkenwulf had dubbed ‘Med Bay’. The alien had missed out on the fight because he was tending to wounds recieved by the civilians in the Hostel during the opening fusilade of fire, and his slightly greater than human strength came in useful in getting hauler onto an oversized bed for treatment.

	The Undead were all defeated, and currently lay unconscious in a heap outside the Hostel. John and jarhead argued for a bit as to whatto do with them, especially Ghost, but in the end they decided to call on Freedom Force once more, this time for advice and ideas. Unfortunately, Liche awoke while they were conferring with Minuteman and Mentor, and all they found on their return was a pile of empty shackles and ropes.

	The Black Blade was carefully removed from the ground behind the Hostel, and handed over to the newly rebuilt museum, this time to not be on display, but instead locked in a vault as far away from the public as possible. Once, John was certain he caught a glimmer from the runes on the blade, but he could not be certain.

	As the weeks passed by, Hauler, Black Tiger, Jarhead, Dragonlord, and Silverlance recovered from their injuries. Perhaps not surprisingly, Black Tiger was the first to be declared ‘fit for duty’ by Darkenwulf, his most severe injury having been a mild concussion and broken nose. All too soon, he was bounding up and down the halls of the Hostel again, and occasionally terrorizing newly arrived inhabitants with his antics.

	All was now quiet for now in Mountainrock. But, of course, as with all things, this was not to last...

- The End.