July 7, 1999

Sitting in his chair, under the parasol, Jeremy Storm was reading the english version of the excellent french book Les Misérables. Usually a fast reader, this kind of lecture usually rejoiced him greatly, and in fact he often seemed completely seperate from his own reality, absorbed as he was in the story of this or that hero or heroin. But it wasn't the case this time.

Today he was squirming uncomfortably, darting looks here and there, looking at the myriad of people who lounged around, bathing in the sun or played in the sea. He seemed as uncomfortable as could be possible of being. From time to time he would shift and make some noise that told of a constant state of unease. It had been the way he had been acting for the past three days.

And it was starting to get on Cammy's nerves.

Lunging beneath the sun, wearing only her swimsuit and a pair of sunglasses, the blonde wanted nothing more than to enjoy the day and tan a little more. But for the last three days, her husband, her Grey Eyes, had been fidgety and absent, ever since that strange battle the night after the extremely embarassing nudist incident. Although she had tried to understand his worries - which he couldn't explain himself - she had her own tolerance limits.

And she had reached them.

"All right, that's enough." she said quietly, sitting up decidedly, frowning at him. "It think its about time you changed you tune, because its beginning to be bloody annoying here."

He looked up from his book, quizzical and confused. "What do you mean? I'm not singing any tune or anything."

"And don't play dumb. I know you better, and right now, its not funny. You've been watching the people of this city for the past three days now, and for three days I've been silent. But I won't let you ruin our honeymoon - our HONEYMOON! - because you have a 'weird feeling'."

He frowned. "I know what I saw and what I felt. There was danger there, and centered on us, but also on the city. My instincts tell me something is afoot and these very instincts have saved my life far too often for me to simply ignore them!"

"You and your instincts. Sometimes I wonder what you would do if you had to chose between something dear to you or your intincts." she muttered. Not the right thing to say. Definitely not something one should spout to make someone forget about his troubles. But then Cammy had never claimed to being tactful or diplomatic.

He narrowed his eyes for a split moment, and she realized with a sinking heart that it had struck a nerve. Although he his it better than she, Jeremy had his own kind of temper, and was very strict where that was concerned. She loved him for that, was one of the reasons she let this man be with her and make love to her when she still sometimes felt insecure. But it also made him quite a susceptible bastard sometimes.

"You know what I chose between you and common sense." he said quietly, looking towards the sea fixedly."

She sighed, moved to sit beside him, and patted him on the the leg gently. "I know. I know thats what you'd do. I'm sorry, Jer. I'd choose you too. But right now I wish I'd understand what is going on here. You never explained much."

"That's because I don't KNOW much. Its just a feeling which I've had ever since then. Something big's gonna happen. It won't be good, and I want to stop it. But its no more than a feeling, so that's why I'm...distraught right now. Its not that I want to spoil our honeymoon, Cammy, really. Its just that...there's something...and I'd like to know what it is."

He suddenly looked even moodier than he'd looked for the last two days. She couldn't help but sigh tiredly. This guy was impossible sometimes! And she couldn't take it anymore. She saw his half finished soda can suddenly and smirked. What he needed was exactly this - a good dose of the present reality. Moving subtly, she picked the can up while he looked elsewhere somberly, and spilled part of the contents down his back.

The result was instantaneous. He yelped, loosing his book, jumping up and looking behind him, in confusion and ennervation. He had such a pitifully surprised mien that she couldn't help but snicker at it for few moments, which had the effect of capitalizing his attention. He saw the sodaa, caught her mirthful gaze and, being the bright man that he is, quickly put two and two together. He stared for a moment. She smiled at him wickedly.

"Did that feel refreshing or what?" she asked with dancing eyes.

She barely had the time to uttere the phrase before he lunged at her with a playful cry of 'why you!' and she soon found herself pinned down under a grinning Jeremy. She didn't even think of struggling, as he lay on top of him, just quietly savoring the regain of interest he was showing - her little victory. She smiled softly.

"Well, I'm captured, it seems." she said sensually. "What are you going to do with me now?"

He smiled, bending down and kissed her, and their arms wrapped around each other gently, turning the embrace into a more passionate ensemble. After a few moments, they were feeling positively aroused.

"Shouldn't we...do that at the hotel?" she asked when they came up for air.

He grinned. "Well, we can always have a little prelude here. In fact, I think - "

She was never to know what he was thinking about. Not that time anyway. For at that moment they were quite interrupted. Rudely and loudly, by the voice of the man who had become 'the greatest pain in the ass this side of the world had ever seen.

"Well, HELL-OO! Don't want to interrupt what you guys are doing, looks mighty fun, but I'VE GOT TO ASK YA SOMETHING." Came a joyful, goofy, mirthful voice that they had come to tolerate but not really to like - for obvious reasons.

It was Brad Morton. A man who could shift from genius to the lowest moron the earth had ever seen at the drop of a hat. The man who was able to discuss deep philosophical subjects when in one mood, but who played mini-golf inside the hall of the hotel when he was in another. The one who solemnly helped old people cross the street but seemed to rush maniacally against any female wearing blue swimsuits - except Cammy, he knew it would be dangerous to his health.

A studu of contrasts and contradictions built in behind a perfectly goofy gring and laughing eyes. Jeremy, who usually was good at judging people, had told her he simply couldn't define him. But Cammy had defined him. To her he was simply this:

A pain. In the. ASS!!!

Groaning a little in displeasure, Jeremy lifted himself from Cammy, who glared at Brad balefully. "Great. You. And what do YOU want now?" she griped.

He raised an eyebrow. "My, my! It seems I disrupted even more than I thought! If thats what I think, I'm really sorry. Its just that..."

"Oh, save it, would you, Morton?" Jeremy sighed, picking up his fallen book and dusting it. "Just tell us why you're here and have done."

Other men might have been offended by such grumpy, even cold, welcome. But not Brad. He only grinned happily and nodded. "Right! That's what I'll do and like that we can all move on to what we want to do!"

Cammy, who right now wished nothing more than to have a blatant reminder of how soft Jeremy's hands could be, only nodded somberly.

"Okay! Its like this. You know, Storm, when I met you, I remembered someone telling me about a similar name fifty years ago. I searched my brain and came up with a name." he looked at him gently "Tell me, do you know a guy who goes by the name of James Storm?"

Jeremy gasped, and his eyes widened perceptively. "JAMES?!? But that's my grandfather's name?!? How did you..?"

Brad clapped his hands. "So I WAS right! Its incredible. It seems destiny has it think for you Storms. Because you are right, there IS something afoot in this town, and it is very dangerous! And it happened before. And guess where?"

Both were gaping at the man now. "Where?" they both asked. He seemed even more joyous.

"Why, in Greenway, of course. Fity years ago in three days!!!"

That was it. Somehow Cammy knew it. Her day was ruined. Again.

Around the same time...

The Salt Shores East Mall was always full of people these days. It was july, most people were on vacation, and tourists were like flow of life and money that surged from the opening time to closing time. From Quebec, Ontario, Maine, New York, New Jersey and many other far away places, mixing the dialects and the cultures in a very chaotic but lively and peaceful way. And it surprised no one, for it was thus that it was in Salt Shores in July.

Only it wasn't to be an ordinary day, as knew quite a few people who were inside the mall, near the doors and at prescripted junctions. And there were a few, in a circle before a great glowing crystaline stone, who knew it even more than those. And one of them, who was simply known as the White, was trying to banish the wrongness of what they were about to do.

They had to do this. For Ribambelle, for themselves and for all the generations that came bfore and which certainly counted on them to perpetuate the organization. It was an unescapable destiny, their duty, and they had sworn to see things through and revive what had been lost.

But still...why did there need to be so many victims? So many innocent people's lives taken? This was wrong and yet in another way right!

He shook his head tiredly. This was no time for this. He was an High One. His duty was clear. It was too late to stop this even if he wanted or could. And deep down, he truly wanted neither. His power before the lives. His people before the lives. Ribambelle before the lives. This was the way it was.

It was surprising as to how fast all this had been arranged, and the Stone brought from the Holy Vault discovered in Marseilles just over five hundred years ago, by those who would found the group that would become Ribambelle. The haste was due, it was learned, because there were specials in the town of Salt Shores, and that they couldn't afford to have their powers diminished right now. He was in agreement of that. If not of everything else.

Their leader, the rainbow, stepped forwards, percing them all with his gaze. "Our acolytes are placed and concentrating. Let the channeling begin at once! For the Ribambelle!"

"For the Ribambelle!" they chorused, he White, beatiful Blue and silent Red, dour Black and energetic Green, and all the others besides. Immediately Rainbow raised his hands in front of the Stone and spoke the words which always began the summoning.

"Stennel-kan, Hes-kan huras uldanakth!" he uttered. And at once the Stone flared and glowed a pale light.

The Stone of All Colours. Where did it come from? That was a question he had asked himself long in his youth, and which he had fibally found the answer after much research and a few risks.

It appeared that thousands of years ago, a race which was today only known as the Psychics - humans with great natural mind powers - had built a great City, inside a great tower forever hidden from the Mortals who had no such power. This Great Citadel, which was today mythical, was known in obscure texts as Kel Drashi, the Citadel of the mind as said from the early dialects of that particular region, which could never be acertained.

It appeared the Psychics of the time had become so powerful that they had found a way to channel the energies and redistribute it in times of need using three great stones. Three existed at first. One was captured by the romans and made its way to the roman vault of what later became Marseilles. That was all he knew about the Stone. It was humbling to know all the power the high ones had was from something which had seemingly been an afterthought to those of Kel-Drashi.

Each member was now saying the sentence which activated his colour within the Stone. Already Lords Red and Yellow and Lady Blue had cast it, and the air was now alive with streaks of power and energy, lighting the room which stood over many boutiques in the mall. The crystaline piece pulsated with power, the glow greater and afaster, with each gift, each syllable.

Finally it was his turn. He raised his hands and uttered his own enchantement. "White be what brings life; white be the first that one sees; white be what be begins and keeps."

And with this he felt his energy leave him, the tangled pieces of the formaer minor Channeling he could do depart, and the Stone pulsed a little more.

And a little more.

The glow continued to increase, and lines of power started to streak forth from it, barely contained, keeping in the combined powers of the High Ones of Ribambelle. At last it came to Rainbow again, who lifted his arms once more.

"Rainbow binds thee all; rainbow see them all; let colours gather, into the depths of power! Stennel-Kan, uras Barakalag vir-deppuh!"

And with these words, the cristal flared bright, a light beyond light, of pure power. Great streaks of light streamed downward, directed by the wills of the high ones - a thousand tendrils - streaking downward, reinforced by the acolytes outside. Tendrils seeking the life-force of a thousand souls.

Streaks of death looking for life.

They stroke, one after the other, and the crystal became bluish, increasingly so as fresh energy was being drained from the inner spirits of people. He could hear the muffled screaming from downstairs, could faintly feel the terror. And Whitecould well understand it. What could be worse than being helplessly sucked of life, no matter how young or old.

The crystal became a fierce blue, as the shouts went unabated below. He blocked them out. Now was no the time to be softened. Now was not the time for regrets. He had damned himself long ago, and it was too late. And he had to prepare for what he was about to receive, or there would be dire consequences for him.

The blueish hue became as glaring as the first glow. At that moment, Rainbow uttered the word of release.

"Sridanok!" he shouted, his eyes closed and focused.

The Stone flared once more.

And there the pain envellopped White's body. He gritted his teeth not to scream out, obstinately refusing to show any weakness, even thought the others would certainly be too preoccupied with their own pain to care much. He felt the new energies - many energies, from any people - merge with his own, as he usewd his training to mix them into a cohenrent whole that his will could control.

And slowly, little by little, the pain lessened. As it did, he opened his eyes, blinked, and felt the power suffuse him it was a marvelous sensation, beyond emotions and normal sensation. The feeling of true, litteral, tangible power. He saw the others standing up, some with smiles of pleasure, others barely showing anything, but all clearly stating that they felt good. Rainbow beamed at them all.

"The Reaping was a success, it would seem." he said pleasantly. "The Stone has just increased our powers.

'At the cost of a thousand lives' White wanted to remind him, remind them all. But he didn't. It wouldn't do anything good and in fact would make him look like an hypocrite and put him in danger from the others.

But he couldn't shake what he knew. That downstairs people had died, and others lived. Wives had lost husbands, husbands had lost wives, parents had lost children and children, parents. The grief downstairs and the horror as well would be immense. And all because of his people. The High Ones.

It was enough to make one sick, that knowledge. Strange that it had never really bothered him before. But right now it did. A lot.

'High Ones, we call ourselves.' he sneered in his mind's eye 'What fools. We're nothing but vampires.'

And although he intended to see this to the end, the White Lord was suddenly not wishing to see the Grand Reaping.

And was somehow sure it would break his heart.

But this was the price for being damned. And that was what he was.

Around the same time...

"I think you owe us an explanation." said Cammy dully.

Jeremy was completely in agreement with this, in fact he was all for taking the man by the ankles and dump his head into the sea for what his little speech earilier. For three days, he had wondered about what was happening, wasting a bit of a time he had promised himself he would focus only on his wife's happiness. No problems, no Circle, no SCD or anything of the sort! Just a plain, peaceful, loving honeymoon! Was it all too much to ask?

Apparently it had been.

And then the woman who was his friend, his lover and his wife all rolled up into one being had spoken against the way he had been treating her - and rightly so! He had been so caught-up, so absently, so musing on the strange battle and chi-feelings he'd had that he'd let her down. And right then and there, when he'd realized it and started to make up for it, here came Brad Morton, all goof and bearing a cryptical statement regarding James Storm, his grandfather.

Yup, the man definitely had some explaining to do.

The red-haired man - dressed in a ridiculous set of pink swimming shorts with white elephants - looked down with a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his head. Obviously he hadn't expected to meet that level of unspoken aggression. 'Well, them's the breaks, pal.' Jeremy thought with a snort. 'Can't expect exasperated people who've seen way too much to greet news like that with a smile.'

"I'm really sorry to suddenly come up with that bomb," Brad said, just a bit hesitant "But I wasn't sure if I was right and I had to see your reaction to the name just to be sure."

"And now you know." he snapped. "He's my grandpa. Now what were you babbling about just now? What's this nonsense about something happening to Greenway?"

The man looked up, and the goofy expression slipped off like a mask, revealing dead-serious sets of eyes and a frowning, determined face. The red head shook a finger in front of him. "Not a fiction, not a babble. What I said was true. Something did indeed happen to Greenway!"

"And how comes Jer or anybody else ever heard of it." Cammy asked, crossing her arms, glaring at the man.

"Your grandmother...Kim, was it?...knew about it. I doubt he told his sons, and its no surprise he never told you. After all, the 'incident' to which I am referring happened long ago, as I said. Fifty years is a long time and besides..."

"That wouldn't have stopped him from telling my father and uncle. "Don't keep secrets" was his motto." Jeremy interjected.

"As I was about to say...it might have been very hard for him to tell. After all, nearly three thousand people died, and the group he was part of barely stopped them."

"Them?"

"The Ribambelle." he sighed. "Look, I want to tell you what Ribambelle is, but its gonna be long - not to mention hot - standing up. Do you mind if I sit next to you, ma'am?"

Cammy actually looked a little repulsed at the very idea, but nodded stiffly. Her eyes said it all clearly: tell your story quickly and then leave as fast as your legs will take you! Still miffed about the other day, eh? Well, he sincerely couldn't blame her. Blissfully ignoring the unspoken threat, the pink-garbed man plopped dow besides her and looked at them both with a serious look.

"All right then. To make everything coherent, I'll tell you what as far as I know Ribambelle is." he closed his eyes. "I'm not going to tell you about the powers that are in this world, because since you're James Storm's grandson, I'm pretty sure you have knowledge of it. But then, I'm going to have to tell you that amongst the races: the Normals, Specials, Psychics - you tow must be in either category, I can feel you're far stronger than usual - and the freakish Ancients, the there are exceptions, people who lift themselves to an higher level of power through artificial means."

Jeremy could well believe that, knowing about Bison's fearsome psycho drive. He nodded aquiescence.

"Well, the Ribambelle is a groups who's like that. The first who formed this brotherhood - and those who've looked have seen their work as far as the early sixteenth century, and thats were I think they took shape. They used an arifact known as the Stone - and artifact of great power, created before any of those alive in this world - and I mean ANY - was born. It was designed for a certain purpose which has no bearing on this little story, but they changed it, managed to twist it around so that it did something else: give them power."

Cammy leaned back to better look at him. Jeremy could tell she was interested, for some of the experiments Bison had done on her had been genetic enhancements. "Artificial power." she stated. The red-haired man nodded.

"Right. But the way they managed to get it was by sucking the energy of other humans and transfer it to them, binding it to their own strength. Many died at first while this was being perfected, but finally a few got the hang of it. They became the first true High Ones, naming themseves after colours and having a leader called the Rainbow. And so they named their group Ribambelle."

"And for centuries, every fifty years, they accomplished a great channeling of power which I've explained, called the Grand Reaping. Which would be no problem, if the great energies deployed didn't kill the populace of the city where it took place." he finished grimly.

Both Jeremy and Cammy stared at him in horror. "But, I don't understand!" the grey-eyed Elite stated. "You said three thousand people died in Greenway. There were at least ten times that number in nineteen forty-nine!"

The red head smiled. "You're right, but that's because the Grand Reaping of that time was stopped - in extremis, I must say - by your grandfather and some other people who were with him. Other fighters, who helped out and saved many thousands of lives, underpowering the Ribambelle by it."

Jeremy closed his eyes, heaving a deep breath. He really was more annoyed than anything else. He had no qualm about playing hero and saving life, but some times he wondered if he'd done something to who or whatever held the strings of fate. He never seemed to ever really get a rest, hadn't for five years now. Incredible. But, if there were lives at stake...

"It's going to start again here, isn't it. Your Grand Reaping." he sighed.

"You're right. They'll try again here. And they won't want to miss this shot, for if they do, they will certainly lose the power to summon one for a long time to come. Certainly not before another fifty years. And by that time, they might become to weak. No, they'll want this one to succeed."

"And how do they intend to do that?" Cammy inquired. Brad looked at her evenly.

"Well, they'll try a practice run, to boost their powers, especially since now they know you two are a threat. THAT I can't know when it will come, only that it will be." he stopped, coughed "Only that it will be costly."

Jeremy was about to inquire what he meant, when excited people, clearly frightened and awed, started pouring down the boardwalk, running to others who were lounging or swimming. That was strange. A nasty feeling in his stomach, he used what little powers he possessed and read the thoughts from one. Usually he couldn't but this one had no protection and thought so hard he might as well have been shouting.

'Thousand dead...no reason...fell...panic...a friend of mine...God have mercy...all dead... Mall...police...' were the fractured thoughts he read.

His eyes widened, and he looked at Brad Morton, who gave a bittersweet smile while looking at the passing, terrified people.

"Yes...costly." he mused softly.

And the nasty feeling in Jeremy's stomach intensified as he exchanged mute look of horror with Cammy.

Thirty minutes later...

The one who stood above an edifice had once been a man. A very normal man, in fact. It pained him to remember it, but it was there, deep inside of him, buried deep within the animality and the desire for blood, but most of all beneath the insane need for retributrion. It was this feeling which fueled his broken psyche, which pushed him each step of the way as he stalked his prey.

Years ago, his name had been Henry Gormack, a computer technician. An ordinary, happy life he had, that man he was. Got married, one son, a car, a house. He had no reason to complain and he never did complain. The worst complaints he ever did were about some of the clothes his wife made him wear. And even when he grumbled at her then, it had always been with great love.

Yes, life had been kind to Henry and his family.

Until eight years ago.

The muscular human weapon who had been a normal joe whimpered as the memory assailed him. Eight years ago. His wife complaining about him not helping her in the house, their six year old son sleeping, he watching a baseball game. All was peaceful. And then they came. Entered his house and life without a backward thought. He had tried to resist them, of course, but they were trained and had such powers. He had been taken, had been forced to watch as they roughed up his wife and son. He had soon learn who they were.

The Ribambelle.

His enemy now.

They had thought to use him in their experiment of Channeling, as they had used his wife. They had chosen her first. And for days upon days, he had heard her tortured screams as they experimented, these dark bastards, her cries eating away at his sanity, at his soul. Then one day the cries stopped, and they came for him. He knew his wife was dead then, and it broke him more than anything else. He had never known what had happened to his son.

And then they had started on him.

The days in there, suffering under powers he simply did not understand, the agony which suffused him destroyed what he once was, and the beast within him emerged, and escaped the control of his captors, eluding them, escaping them. And when he had been safe again, he let himself become the beast.

Gone was Henry Gormack. There forever after was only the beast with no name, called Retribution by the higher-ups of that rotten organization. And fitting was the name, for this was what he sought. And he sought it in the most bloody way possible.

And today, as he looked down upon four who were of the eternal enemy he had, he intended to make it one more for the road.

"No hunt today." he hissed, clenching hands which had became feral, nails clawlike. "Today I want their death and their pain, Francesca. Only that. Nothing else."

Francesca. His beloved wife. He faintly wondered why he gave these thoughts to her. He was certain she would be horrified by him, by all that he'd done, by the lives that he'd taken. But he had to keep her in his mind, in his heart. If he didn't...he would be dead. Completely dead. There would be nothing but the beast inside of him, and that would be too much to take.

He looked down, two stories, at the four Ribambelle people. Men, all of them. Lower people, acolytes. Not that it mattered. Anyone with that organization was nothing more than prey. He gave no thought on how strong or how weak they were. He wanted to kill all of them anyway.

The time to continue his mission and need was now.

He jumped, down the two stories, a jump which would have maimed or killed a normal man. Henry never would have survived. But Retribution wasn't Henry. He wasn't human. He landed on his feet with a roll, with barely a strain, and was already ready to face them when they turned, surprised. He saw their eyes widen at the sight of his feral, not-totally-human appearance. He grinned, showing teeth that were slightly pointy.

"You die, preys." he hissed, and lunged silently.

He stroke quickly, his breath coming in regularly, but his heart pounding as he reached down on the well of energy the experiments had unwittingly unleashed. His hands came at the first, breaking his arms in one swift move, his claws raking his neck, opening his throat. The man gurgled as his lifeblood flowed out of him in spasmish waves. He was dead already. Retribution went to look elsewhere for a hunt.

One was summoning his mediocre power to help him, striking him with a minute amount of energy. He didn't even defend himself, only sidestepping the slow little greenish light and turning back to the terrified and astonished grunt.

"Too bad." he growled with a dangerous smirk. "My turn."

He jumped at the man as he was about to flee, and landed on his back. He stayed there, first breaking one forearm, then the other, then bashing the back, again and again, the beast inside of him rejoicing as it heard the screams. He lived for those moments.

Something hit him on the back, flining him from his downed prey. It surprised him. He rolled to see one of the two man with an iron bar in his hands, frightened but defiant. He smiled inwardly. Despite his hatred, he'd always liked those with a spine a little better. He went to his feet quickly, waiting for the next attack.

When it came, he ducked it, caught the bar in one hand and kicked the man as hard as he could in the stomach. As his prey doubled for a moment, he used all of his rage, his energy to twist it around its neck. The prey gasped, choked, tried to pull at the iron, but it wasn't strong enough. Watching him suffocate would have been a pleasure, but he had one last little fish to fry.

He turned to the trembling, whimpering last member, and found that he was facing little more than a boy. The kid couldn't be more than sixteen. Something of the old Henry stirred, and for a moment he hesitated. Was this right? Shouldn't he let the kid go. The boy was no threat, after all.

And then the boy charged. The moment passed.

He let the boy hit him, and felt the coppery tast of blood in his mouth, but that only enraged him further, as he grasped the lad by the skull and held him alost. The boy pleaded for his life frantically, and he growled. No mercy. Never mercy. He increased the pressure in his hand, and felt the bone crack. Blood flowed from the kid's nose and mouth, and he jerked in his agonized throes. Only when he was completely still did Retribution let his go.

One sharp heel to the head killed the last one who lived.

The one who had been a man once, nothing more than a weapon now, surveyed what he'd done with satisfaction. Four dead preys. Four less people who would prey on the innocent, who would destroy the lives of others. This was what he did. It was for all those they had hurt. He was their weapon. Their willful too of revenge.

And soon he would have to fight a great battle against them, perhaps his greatest. The greatest among them, people who actually could defeat him, those High Ones, were readying to deatroy this city and all the good pêople in it, sucking their life to augment their powers. It wasn't going to happen.

Not while he was still alive and fighting. No one would suffer like he had, because of them. Already he'd been unable to stop something, he knew, it felt it in the air. But he knew where the final act was supposed to be played.

And he would be there. Count on it.

"Stand with me, Francesca." he whispered, his voice betraying the man he had once been with the love he used with that name. "Walk with me, help me defeat them." Well knowing she would hate him for it, were she there.

He left the corpses to rot, without a backward glance. He felt no guilt. That was his mission in life.

He was Retribution. And for the innocent, he would kill them all.

Let true justice be served in blood!

Thirty minutes later...

There were many things the man who named himself Brad Morton came across during his time. Some had been good things, ranging from amusing to intensely pleasant. And some had been bad things, going from the mere little annoyance to the great spectacle of horror. He had seen a lot more than his face and his goofy facade let on. And amongst these events he had faced some constants. And he was facing one of them now.

Death.

And not just one death, from what he saw at the entrances of the mall. Many police cars, from the city and the county around, along with ambulances and fireworkers and all those who had been able to come from the entire region were now stationed around each. Many police officers were talking to people, taking notes, shaking their heads in confused helplessness at the unexplainable loss of lives. Many grief-stricken people were wrapped in clothes, shivering, being helped along by social workers or people they knew, while many white-covered strechers were being carried back and forth by ordelies.

These people would never know what had happened. Would never know why dad had fallen so suddenly, why their boy, so lively, had dropped dead. Why their grandmother had fallen silent in the middle of a gentle laugh. He couldn't help but grit his teeth a little as he also realized they would never know all these lives dear to them had been taken by people who thirsted for power, taking what should never be anyone else's. Lives.

The bastards.

The bloodthirsty VAMPIRES!!!

Almost he let loose his wrath at that. Almost he let go of what he had been holding back, which had demanded release with insistance. He normally would to a certain degree, but couldn't. Not with that man standing next to him, looking at the scene with an expression which was easy to read. With a woman who was walking back with similar feelings. No, these people did not need to know more about him. Not yet.

After all, he wasn't entirely sure on how they would react. Perhaps they accuse him of letting this happen - which wasn't true, but he couldn't truly blame them for thinking so - or worse - which he couldn't readily refute. No he would have to wait until his true nature revealed itself when there was need of it, not before. For now, they'd have to only know him as Brad Morton, a man who had just a little too much wisdom.

Cammy was returning from questionning the policemen, her look even more dismayed and angrier than her husband. He could already tell what she was about to say, but had to hear her say it. He just had to. He owed the dead that much dignity.

She arrived upto them, and fixed their questionning gazes with one which was slightly glazed from the shock and the numbing strength of her emotions, which exhuded from her in terrific waves.

"One thousand and sixteen." she mumbled, her gaze dead. Then life came back to her eyes, as well as ferocity. "One thousand and sixteen innocent PEOPLE, dead, just like that, for no apparent reason! What kind of monsters are they, your Ribambelle, if they can do such a thing?!?"

He half-closed his eyes,the familiar feeling of grief sinking in. He fought it as he had done so many times before. "The worst kind of people, Cammy White. Just the worst kind of all." he answered simply.

"And what was this?" Jeremy asked with an edge to his voice, his grey eyes having gained an icey touch. "Some kind of message?"

He shook his head slightly. "No. As I said, it wasn't a message. They couldn't care less what 'inferior' people thought. To them, this was simply a way of seeing if they could augment their powers a little before the big show."

"A test..." the man gasped dazedly. "Children, husbands, wives, old men, young men, all these people...a test!"

Ah, now he could see the relationship between this young man and James Storm. They had the same fire, the same righteousness and roughly the same outlook on life. They were both good men, much more powerful than was normal - although he could see that the grandson was the strongest of the two - possessing a great hidden anger at those who did wrong, but also great caring and gentleness that moderated the anger. Yes, Storms had never been people one could easily forget.

Amelia had been right, it seemed. But then, love was seldom wrong.

He shook himself out of such thoughts and felt the two people around him very subtly. The boy, righteous, angry, memories of dead people, of cold or maniacal faces. He wasn't new to all of these things. In fact, he had grown to accept such occurences as inevitable, but never did it mean that he liked it.

The woman...was even more personally involved. She had been hurt and mistreated by Bison, after all, and he had the kind of mindset that would go well in hand with the High Ones of Ribambelle. She had more anger within her, and more scars than her counterpart, although he could feel many of those scars were healed or were healing thanks in great part to HE, but it did not stop her from feeling furious on a very PERSONAL level.

But most importantly, he felt what kept these two going, beyond their dedication, beyond their loyalty. It was their love for each other.

A bond of unconditional trust and affection had been built, cemented, and had become an unshakable ground upon which they had rebuilt their shattered lives. That was their strength, this knowledge they had of each other. Only those who had the will to forge such bonds had the strength to resist the energies unleashed during the Grand Reaping. Unless they were like he, of course. Then there was no problem. But then again, few were like he was. And that was all to the good!

"When is the that Grand Reaping you told us about?" asked Cammy, her eyes glinting, her whole body tense.

He mused. "In three days, the moon will go into the unseen, necessary phase for the Stone to act at its fullest power. So in the not three nights from this one. Until then, it will be impossible to know where they are."

"But HOW to know where they are, when that night comes? This city is far too big to search." Jeremy noted.

"Don't worry. When this happens, when the energy starts being called by the High Ones, people like you will know, if you know that you must use your six senses."

"You seem to know a lot about people like us, as you say." Cammy said, looking at him intently. He shrugged. He knew that they would end up asking such questions, and knew the best way to answer was not to answer at all. She seemed ready to press, when Jeremy put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Why isn't that important now. As long as you want to stop this insanity, I'll walk with you." he took a breath. "As for later, we shall see." His eyes were even as he said this. Truly a magnificient reminder of James Storm, with a touch of Amelia and and some bits of Jonathan.

'I hope you are proud of your son, Amelia', he thought gently. He then faced the couple.

"All right! In three night we go out and have fun! A Grand Reaping is to be stopped, and that's no laughing matter. So be prepared. Prepared for anything."

They nodded. They didn't trust him, but acknowledged him. A fine division. A very good one. He looked towards the many police cars, the people, the bodies. Death. Death had stricken where it should never have. He hated it. He wouldn't allow it to happen this way again. In three nights from this one, the Ribambelle would fall.

And that night, he would reveal his true nature. And woe to anyone who would stand in his way.