'We Ancients - saviors or bigots? How long have we wanted to be one while in a fact merely being the other?'

- Fares, Head of the Council of Kel-Drashi, in a letter to Darius the Even-Handed.

Estate near Munich, Southern German Empire, 1881

The big, muscular man known and feared throughout the Lander of Bavaria and even in the rest of the powerful German Empire banged his fist against a luxurious maple table from the best craftsmen in Munich, making the supple wood wince and creak. It did not break, however, and it was rather logical to the fiery, raven-haired Ancient one who had gone by the name of Nyra for fourteen centuries that it had been built with the short temper of its owner in mind.

"No! I refuse to accept such a thing!!" the man roared in a booming voice, his bearded face scrounged up in disgust and fury, veins beating at the temple. "I care NOT that this is a decision from the Council of Ancients that our Elders endorsed! I will not DO this ridiculous, HUMILIATING deed! Doesn't the Council know who I AM?!?"

The council knew quite well. After all, who had ever been as powerful and as vain in the Psychics as Wolfgang Bison, son of the famed Eidrich Bison and sole heir to the immense Bison fortune through a series of rather unexplainable and unfortunate 'accidents'. Although the Elders themselves thought them accidents still, the Council knew that the deaths of Wolfgang's three brothers, father and two sisters, had been all part of an elaborate set of murders so well-prepared no one except people who had done similar things in their lives - like Fares and Nyra - could tell them appart from coincidences.

Wolgang was a man who wanted power, who harnessed it economically ans socially like a great black hole, removing any obstacle which stood in his way. He was charismatic, ruthless, inflexible, was amongst the most powerful Psychics there was and had a burning hatred for the Ancient Leader Fares. In short, he was perfect for Nyra.

But, it seemed, she had counted without his immense vanity kicking in. His burning anger filled the room, and his power became palpable, a display which would have made any but an Ancient tremble. As it was, the man's posturing was seriously starting to annoy her.

"Oh yes, the Council knows who you are, young Bison! Your family has controlled this land for nearly a millenia, and today you control nearly all of Munich through puppets and fake companies, your reach and outposts stretching to France, Britain, the United States and the African Colonies. You are the most powerful psychic your line has yet produced. And yet..." her tone hardened as she snapped her fingers almost just below his nose "You are nothing, NOTHING to the Council. You're a bug which can be squashed if need be!"

Oh, he didn't like that. Didn't like being looked at in a way which showed contempt instead of fear. He was vain, arrogant, used to having his way. And that, she felt darkly, had made him forget there were those who looked at him as if he were an insignificant insect. It was time, it seemed, to make him remember what an Ancient was.

Her power built up within her, powers of chi and psy, building up to levels unattainable to even the greatest of the non-Ancients. Her yes shifted, glowed purplish, then light rose, becoming pure white, her very aura was a whirlwind in the man's private offices, making the furniture fly, hitting the walls. The windows exploded with the show of power.

And for the first time since this painfully necessary meeting had commenced, she felt fear from the last of House Bison.

It didn't last long, as the psychic's face shifted from awed and fearful to angry and stubborn. His face was set in hard lines, and he snarled as his own eyes glowed. Nyra lifted an eyebrow sardonically.

"Are you whishing to fight me, child? Don't try! You are powerful but never fought, and that makes you absolutely no threat at all!"

"Shut up!" he howled "NO ONE speaks of me like this!! Not even the Council not even Fares himself!" And he built his power, concentrating his energies in his hands, creating a great vortex of swirling mauve-white. With a grim smile he thrust his attack forward.

She'd seen it coming over ten miles off, and the attack impacted on her psychic barrier, which she had run to maximum. She barely felt the strain, having fought against far greater opponents in her very long life. She gave the psychic a smirk.

"I TOLD you my power was much too great for yours. Desist and we'll stop all of this before you get hurt." she gave every ounce of condescension she had into those few words, intent on provoking an equally intense reaction.

She wasn't disappointed. Wolfgang Bison had never been looked down at, had never NOT had his way. To find himself in the position of the weak one in any conversation was enraging to say the least. Compounded by the scorn she had just thrown his way, it made him utterly untenable. He growled loudly, like a beast, and thrusting his desk aside moved his great body forward with blinding speed, ramming into the cloaked woman in archaic clothing. All the normal gallantry was thrown to the wind, as his one intent was to throw her clear into the opposing wall.

Her feet slid across the floor two feet.

That was it, that was all.

She looked up into the startled eyes of the man she had chosen coldly, her own anger starting to bubble. That was enough for her. She used her powers to augment her strength, easily breaking free of Wolgang's grasp. Then, before he could recover or defend himself, gave him a great kick in the stomach.

He flew backward, slamming into a great mural painting which must have cost a fortune. She walked towards him as he retched and gagged, his breath nearly cut off.

"Now," she said cooly "I hope you have learned some manners and can now appreciate the fact that you must heed the commands of your betters. DO NOT try this again."

"I'll have none to do with you." he coughed, still retching on the floor, still defiant.

"You have no choice!" she shouted, her patience spent. "Lord Fares commands it, and you will follow his command!" And if I was unable to resist his command, you certainly won't START, she thought savagely.

But that was underestimating Wolfgang Bison's stubborness and vanity. The man gathered his strength, hoisted himself up and glared defiantly. "NO! I will not do this! I will not mate with a WITCH like you!!"

Those words hit her with the force of a thousand lightning bolts, freezing her into place. Witch...she? The nerve...the impudence! Memories flooded Nyra for a few moments, reminding her of a time when she had been loved, but had been stolen that love by lucky humans who had managed to capture her mother, and burn her for being possessed by demons.

WITCH, SHE?!? After she had to give herself to that lowborn child instead of sleeping with her one and true love, the gentle, soft-spoken, cultured Belzar? HOW DARE HE!! The insolent little PUP!!!

Her power lashed out at him, overcoming his barriers, penetrating his defenses, thrusting deeply into his mind. The man screamed and covulsed in pain, but she didn't relent, instead thrusting deeper, flooding him with pain and the feels of things only an ancient could feel without having his or her soul shiver. He defiantly tried to push her back, but she mentally beat down those efforts. There was no mercy in her.

'You are nothing but a worthless worm, but I need you for this task.' she sent viciously, thundering into his mind 'You now will mate with me, whether you like it or NOT, and I when I have a child from this distateful union, you will take care of it and raise him, train him, and all that NO MATTER WHAT YOU WANT TO DO!!! And if you do not, I will come, personally, and FLAIL YOUR mind until you are a mere shadow of yourself!"

She increased her mental shout to its zenith. 'UNDERSTAND, WRETCH?!?'

He whimpered, curled upon himself, broken by the total invasion she had visited upon him. "I will, I understand, I'll do it, please, please stop, I beg you, it hurts, it hurts!" he blabbered and she let him go. There would be no more problem with him. She relaxed herself. Seeing this vain man so completely humbled, mind-raped, soothed her.

"Thank you for being so understanding." she said wryly, eyeing the weeping man. "Now lets do this deed and get on with our lives like the civil people we are."

She only hoped she would never see this man's face again in her life. Or the child's, after it was born.

If she ever did, things would get very, very ugly.

Somewhere in Western Europe, late 1882

Belzar winced as his beloved Nyra screamed again in uncontrolled pain. Having lived over fourteen and a half century and having seen, endured and heard aout more trials than most mortal minds would ever accept, he had never been one to suffer the pain of others. Kind and soft-spoken he had been long ago when he had been only the son of a sheppard who lived in the hills of Athens, and he had remained so through the ages, the blood and the deaths of almost everyone he ever befriended.

He knew many in the council - indeed, some outside it - wondered why the one known as the Ancient of Kindness had ever fallen in love with the Ancient of Wrath. Those who had dared ask him received no answer, and only Darius - wise, far-sighted Darius - and Lord Fares himself knew the reason.

Another scream echoed, and his heart shivered. A slight smirk formed on his lips. He had the power to kill with a gesture, could control even a powerful mind utterly, had knowledge of things so deep most mortals never would believe him and yet... one scream from her, one scream brought him back in time...to the pirate raid.

His father vainly trying to defend his family with but a stick and rusty sword...

The rest of his family beaten and slaughtered...

His power exploding for the first time, tearing the flesh from the ruffians' bones...

He shivered. How the memory still hurt. One of so many. So was the price of near immortality and power. How he hated it sometimes. Indeed, if Nyra wasn't around, he would probably long have stopped wanting to live at all, and would have killed himself quietly. The white-haired man with delicate, ageless features bowed his head for a moment. Then he lifted it up quickly as he heard another cry. A piercing one, the cry of a new birth and a young life screaming its defiance at death and the world.

Without any hesitation he walked from the balcony of the immense castle he and his beloved had shared four over six centuries and hurried down the halls, his tranquil eyes the only thing which indicated what he expected others to do. And it worked. When he arrived to the room where Nyra had just given birth, his eyes slightly narrowed at the guard in front of it. It was enough to make the soldier blanch and hurriedly open the wooden door, through which he entered.

Inside was a small room, with only a window, a chair and a bed with blood-spattered sheets. A midwife was hurriedly envellopping the small, crying form in white linen, while the lady of Castle Remberstand shouted at her.

"OUT! GET THAT *THING* OUT OF MY SIGHT!!! DESPICABLE CREATURE, BORN OF A FORCED MATING! I WANT NOTHING OF IT! NOTHING!!! YOU HEAR ME?!?" she bellowed, her voice surprisingly strong for one who had just given birth. Not that it was of any surprise, with the way she usually healed.

"The whole continent certainly hears you, my beloved." he said softly. This caused her to look at him. "No need to shout your anger thus. I said I would take care of the child."

Her angry eyes locked with his calm ones for a moment, before she turned from him in a fashion which reminded him of his own feelings when he'd had to mate with a psychic female. Displeasing to say the least, but he didn't have to carry the child to term. No wonder her rage defied description.

"Take that...child...away, Belzar. I won't bear to see it or hear it a second more!" she said, her voice shaking. She slumped on the bed and he wished to comfort her. But he couldn't. A servant was there. Appearances had to be maintained. It would have to wait for later, that night, when he will be able to hold her and reassure her, ignoring her stubborn protest and angry curses. He looked at the midwife, who looked understandably frightened of being caught up between both her lord and lady. The bundled in her arms seemed to have stilled, which was good.

"Give me the child." he said, his tone soft but commanding.

A moment of hesitation. "My lord..."

He frowned. "Give me the child now, servant, than leave this room and send for someone to clean Lady Nyry and help her to be." he extended his arms.

The servant knew when she should obey, and wisely held the bundle to him. He looked at the newborn face in consideration, and felt out the raw power it contained. His eyebrow rose quickly. Powerful. VERY powerful. Not an ancient, this one would be, but it would be closer than any psychic to date.

"Franz." Nyra whispered, her head turned toward the window, away from him. "Franz Bison. That will be his name.

He nodded. "So be it. Let the child make the name Bison and his heightened bloodline proud."

'And may he be spared the darkness I have ever felt within your dangerous but beautiful soul' he thought. And he teleported.

Wolfgang Bison, the psychic whose family nearly ruled all of Bavaria, looked up from his work when he felt a power materialize in his workroom. He stiffened. He didn't like visitors as a rule, but was hostile to those who came in unnannounced. He glared as he examined the stranger in front of him.

He was of ordinary if fit built, with hair as white as snow, running freely down his back. His garnments were of archaic design, but showed wealth and a very high rank. But none of this interested him. What took his voice and breath away was the eyes of the man. Calm as death, containing more scars and burdens, joys and pains that could be counted, they showed an agelessness he had seen only once. At once he knew the name of the one before him.

And inwardly, he trembled.

"You're Belzar." he breathed "Nyra told me you would come when...when..." his voice utterly failed him, but the calm man in front of him nodded as if his thoughts, so well-screened, could still easily be read. With a mental start he realized that it was entirely possible. Strong he may be, but he had learned in the most humiliating fashion, that the Ancients had power beyond reckoning.

"Nyra told you I would come when the child was born. And so I have." he held out the sleeping bundle. "Wolfgang Bison, meet your son and heir, Franz Bison."

The psychic lord looked at his son in distaste. What did he want with this child? He would ever be a reminder of the fact that a woman - a WOMAN - had humiliated him in his very house, mocking his worth and his power? How could they expect him to treat this bastard with respect, indeed to recognize him at all.

His thoughts betrayed him, of course, and Belzar cocked his head to one side slightly. "This child might very well become the most powerful psychic alive. Only the Ancients would surpass him." he said softly. Wolfgang blinked, looked at the sleeping child, and felt for the raw power it contained. His eyes widened.

"Such power...it is even greater than mine."

"Yes, this child will become stronger than you. But whether he would be your master...that depends on you."

Wolfgang thought hard. This child was his son, and he could arrange things so that his brother, who had died only two months before the humiliation he suffered, had had a bastard child, and that he'd adopted him as his rightful heir. Or he could come up with something else. Whatever it was, he would find a suitable excuse. After all, this brat might be a formidable tool to use later.

"Very well, Belzar. I will take care of him well." but I will never love him, he finished silently, and didn't care if the near-immortal heard him. He took the little bundle in his great hands, and a part of him was gratified that, at the very least, the child seemed to look like him. Good. It would make its presence...tolerable.

The ancient looked him in the eye, and he recoiled mentally. But no attack came. All that came was a soft whisper.

"Beware still, Bison. For your son has a darkness which may emerge one day. If it goes against you, you might not survive."

And in a flash of power, the enigmatic man was gone, letting the lord ponder these strange words. No matter. He would show this child to Carina. Perhaps that other enigma would no.

But right now, he held his son aloft in front of him and smiled.

He would make this brat a very, very useful tool.

Farra, Northern Italy, 1885

Darius looked at the woman who was to be his choice for the greater psychic strains, and once again doubted what he was doing. It wasn't a feeling he permitted himself to indulge in often, but this time, there was no way around it. This was wrong.

Beside of him, seated on the other side of the bed they were supposed to share, July Kerrina, heiress to the wealthy and powerful House Kerrina, looked tense and sad, her mind shut to him but her feelings of displeasure easy to pick up. She wasn't in anyway agreeing to this. But he had chosen her, for she fit the conditions given by the Council as well as the ones he had given himself.

He had chosen the Kerrina Family after a decade of careful research when he'd heard Gregory Kerrina had had two wonderful daughters whose beauty awed more than one blasé psychic. The Kerrinas being extremely wealthy, with industrial holdings all over Italy, France, Germany and the United States, it had the ressources to give the child he had to produce the good life he never had himself as a youth. Also, the fact that the daughters were supposedly extraordinarily beautiful appealed to him. After all, if he was to do something so drastic, he might as well do it with someone who was very good to look at.

He had thus gone to the main Kerrina household and met the two young daughters - splendid young maidens, extraordinarily beautiful and both possessing great psychic powers, which fit the council's directive. They both had good wits, and a good store of wisdom for ones so young. But July had won in his eyes barely a few days later, when it became apparent that, while her sister had a certain disdain for children and was slightly hollow, the red-haired maiden was kind, compassionate and generous - the kind of traits he could relate to and had been looking for.

Thus, he had asked her to do the deed with him, telling her about the Council's plans.

It hadn't gone over very well, as he had surmised. She, after all, had fallen for another Psychic, a rather introverted but caring man by the name of Gaspar Merrin. She wanted nothing to do with another man, something he respected even though he himself was born at a time when such morals were rather thin and inconsequential. But he had convinced her in the end, and they had talked to her love, Gaspar.

He took it in a silent, stoic way that gave the impression he did not care what happened either way - something which was quickly dispelled when he had risen and faced Darius very calmly, and pointed a steady finger at him.

"If you hurt her while doing this, if I see her crying because of this and if you don't treat her well, I will kill you." he had said calmly, his eyes calm but intense.

And he had felt no doubt that he would do it too, for the will behind the introverted eyes was very strong, quite driven, and wished nothing else but the best for the woman he loved. The fact that this was reciprocated was when a distraught July had kissed him with no regard to good protocol and that the young man had pulled her into a passionate embrace. They had thought no one was looking ast them, but he had been there, using his powers to hide his presence from them. He had then known for certain that these two would be together whatever would come, and that they would be loving parents.

And that Gaspar WOULD find a way to kill him if Darius ever hurt July.

He had nodded, rather relieved. So be it. He had been relieved the man had posed that kind of threat and showed his lover this much affection. After all, to threaten an Ancient, one had to care very much about the one he was protecting, very much indeed.

And after a few days more of waiting, knowing he had nothing but the disapproval of all involved save the Council's, he had brought her to his abode to do what had to be done, something that wasn't new to him, who'd lived his youth in what history today called the 'Middle Ages'.

And yet, he found he couldn't reach out to this woman, couldn't make her his - if only for one night. Although born in chaotic times, he found the increasingly moral ways of the modern world to be much to his liking, and as such felt he was violating his principles. He sighed, then reached out and put an hand on July's shoulder. He felt her shiver at it, and looked at her sadly.

By God, was she beautiful! Tall as women went, she had a well-curved body which her magnificient dark green gown - which matched the color of her eyes did not quite attenuate. Her face was a slightly severe, classic beauty, severity stymied much by the softness reflected in her eyes, and by the curling, long flame-red hair which cascaded down her shoulders and back. Yes, she was beautiful. And still extremely frightened.

"Lady," he said softly "I wish you no harm. If you would just tell me you do not wish this, I will look for someone else. There will be nothing wrong if you refuse."

He meant that, too - as far as he was concerned, if she refused, that was it. But he secretely wondered if the others of the Council would care very much for his decision, and wouldn't try to move against that family. In that case, there was little he could do. His power and influence was vast, but it was nothing compared to the combined power of the Council.

The young woman might as well have read his thoughts, even with his shields on, for she shook her head gently. "I know...you mean it. But...it wouldn't do to disobey Lord Fares...even diagonally." she bowed her head slightly. "Will I...be able to keep the child, at least?"

He nodded readily. "Of course. I can't raise it whatever happens. It would go against the Council's edicts." he couldn't help but let a little bitterness be heard in his answer. He hadn't been very willing on the plan to begin with, even though he hadn't shown it too much then.

She raised her head and looked at him gently, with the kindness which had affected him so much before. "You are sad, too, Lord Darius. Because of that, I will let you sleep with me for one night, and forgive you for it...one day." she closed her eyes tightly, and her lips trembled suddenly. "I...I just thought...that Gaspar would be the only one to...to touch me. But I suppose dreams are just that. Dreams."

"I understand this far better than you know." he said softly. Indeed, who else but him knew about the harsh reality of life where dreams are torn down to ashes, leaving bitterness in its wake.

Sometimes he wondered if the rest of the council still remembered, truly remembered who they had been before they had changed. Before the strange power coursing through their veins - a power which was to make them even stronger than the First Psychics, took hold of them and made them into the beings they were now. Belzar and Batholomew seemed too, at least to a point, and he thought that, for some reson, Lord Fares, the greatest of them all, also did. Not the others. The others had long forgotten their mortal lives in their immortal centuries of life.

And that was sad. But, upon reflection, was it worse than what he was about to do, consent aside? But did he have a choice on the matter?

Perhaps. Perhaps not. God, this was going to stay in his mind a very long time. He decided to do the deed and and do it quickly, so that there would be little of the event to be remembered. In fact, during the time, he would arrange it so that she wouldn't remember the deed in itself come a year or so. Just the fact that she did it, willingly, not betraying her lover.

He put his hand on her shoulder and she opened her eyes, looking at him in resignation and sadness. But at least not in fear or disgust. From thjis gentle soul, he doubted he could have taken it.

"So...do I have your blessings, then?" he asked.

"I suppose so...for this one night." she answered softly, before warning "But only this night. The rest of the nights, will be for the one I really love."

He chuckled. "So be it!" and pulled her in for kiss, which she returned willingly, but not lovingly. He didn't mind. It was just one night. And besides all this, he had achieved the goal he had set for himself.

He had never had any caring or love in his first few years.

This child would. With July and Gaspar, this child would.

And beyond any plan, beyond the grand schemes of things, this was what seemed the most important to the great Ancient Darius.

Zurich, Switzerland, early 1887

'What am I doing?'

The thought echoed through the heart and soul of the man and powerful psychic Gaspar Merrin, direct Heir to the immense Merrin fortune, as he walked soundlessly from the luxuriously-furnished room he shared with his young wife, July Kerrina, now July Merrin to the baby's room. He had taken precautions not to wake his sleeping wife, for he knew that if he had to do what had sprang into his mind, he had to do do it in such a matter that no one would ever know he had done the deed.

Killing Rose Merrin, his adopted daughter. Dear God, could he really DO such a thing?

He pondered the events which had led him to this decision. It had all started with the Ancient Darius, of course. The powerful, ageless personnage had suddenly intruded into their lives, telling the Kerrina daughters that he had to chose one for a mate by order of the council. Just one night only, of course. He had known of him when his dear love had visited him that very evening, crying and begging him not to hate her, that she had been chosen by Darius to carry his child. He hadn't reacted badly then. She sincerely hated what she was about to have to do, and so he did not feel slighted.

In fact, after that night, after a month or so had passed, he had asked for her hand, first because nothing would ever make him stop loving her and also, because of the jealousy and spite of Marita, July's younger sister. Marita of course knew about July's unwilling tryst, and had been ready to crush her with the knowledge the baby was conceived outside family bonds, a sacred thing to the people of Farra. When he had wed his love, she had sheeted, and they had been happy.

Until the child was born.

Once the gentle, tender baby soon named Rose had been born, July had increasingly lost interest in him, her eyes only for the little bundle of flesh, her thoughts always on her, even when he was with her. She loved nothing more than to rock the little child, rarely allowing the nannies and the servant to take care of her. Her eyes were lit with a joy he had never seen her give him, a sight which caused him to ache with sadness and loss. And jealousy. Burning jealousy.

But this would all end with the child's death. Or would it? Was this what he wanted?

He opened the baby room's door gently, and slipped inside, using his mighty mind powers to make sure no sound escaped the room, he walked to the crib at its center, the carved, expensive crib with silk sheets he had bought more for July than for the child. He looked inside.

Little Rose, only three months old, slept peacefully, her little hands curled into balls, her tiny mouth opened. She shifted and a soft baby groan was heard. His heart beating faster than it ever had in his entire life, his mind flooded with horror and yet still urging him on, he took the child from the crib, and lifeted it to eye level. Immediately, with a soft, surprised whimper of protest and confusion, it opened its eyes and looked at him. Round, unnatural purple eyes, a legacy of her true father. How he hated him! How he hated Darius for what he'd done!

But could he truly sate his anger this way.

"Is this what I want?" he asked himself softly.

His mind was a turmoil, his hesitation was burning him, making him doubt. Was this what he wanted? All his life, he had tried to be fair, had tried to live without hatred, preffering to let other argue and let his silences discourage the whiners and meddlers. He was unused to all this. Was such an act what he wanted? Would it gave him happiness again. His whole being seemed to freeze with the intensity of the decision.

Then the baby began to cry.

He had gripped it too hard in his moment of mental battle, and it had reacted to the attack the only way it could. Shock, sadness, fear and pain were mingled as it howled with its piercing voice, cutting through his soul. His anger, his jealousy, his hesitation, all fled during that moment, and he found himself craddling the baby gently, rocking it, trying to soothe it in a way which was clumsy, desperate and ashamed.

"Shh, shh, little Rose." he whispered sadly, his voice breaking "Don't be scared. This won't happen again, ever. Shh. I'll take care of you. I'll never let people hurt you. I'm so sorry. Please forgive a fool for a passing madness." he nearly sobbed the end.

It took a long while, with Rose bawling her lungs out, each scream burning itself into his mind, a scar he would make sure would never heal, to remind himself of how despicable he could be, and how much he hated himself at that very moment. But the cries lessened to sniffles, to whimpers, and then the child fell asleep again, against him, reassured. He quickly but gently put it back into the crib, and left the room precipituously.

"Forgive me." he whispered brokenly as he closed the door. Never would that child know hatred from him. He wasn't like that. He never would allow himself to become like that.

The next morning was a restless one for Gaspar, as he had spent the rest of the night walking outside, having teleported far away to live off his guilt and made vows to himself that he would never break. His despair over his previous action ever gnawed at him, and he fought with himself until he had hidden it deep within himself, in a corner of his mind no one would ever be able to reach. It was a scar which would fade only through his loving and caring for the child, he knew. He had no doubt about caring. Loving was another story.

As he came to one of the back doors to his great mansion, the door flew open to reveal July. She wasn't dressed in more than her nightgown, her hair was uncombed, and she sported lines of worry which dissolved into a misture of wrath and relief as soon as she lay eyes on him.

"You...YOU POTTY ASS!" she yelled, and before he could even open his mouth he received a sound slap which, he was certain, was heard from one end of Europe to the other.His mind froze with sadness. She knew. That was it. She'd guessed what he'd been about to do, and was accordingly rageful. She would certainly hate him now. And his life would be over from the moment she would.

And then all those gloomy and depressed thoughts flew out the window as she pulled his head down and gave him the kind of kiss they had permitted themselves only when they were alone and in a private setting. He reacted with surprise, but the relief from the fact she still loved him made him return it, albeit shakily. Finally she pulled away, her eyes relieved and filled with tears.

"I...I saw you weren't in bed last night and I....I..." she said softly.

He felt sorry for what he'd done to her there. Going off into the night wasn't the brightest thing he'd ever done, but the fact was that at the time, there was little he could do except flee. His guilt had been too much. But of course, he could never tell her that. Ever. For the rest of his life this would remain his own secret, locked so thickly even Fares himself would never pry it loose. He hugged her tenderly.

"I apologize for doing this to you, July. I had a bad night and wanted to find answers to something that was bothering me and I just walked off, not noticing the time."

She smiled at him. "Its okay. Just...just don't let me wake up to an empty bed like that for no reason again. Please."

"I promise." a rather easy promise to keep, that.

They entered the mansion, and Gaspar gently waved away the servants who tried to clean him up, going to the private living room with his wife, intent on seeing one whom he had wronged.

Rose was busy playing with a noisy toy when they came in, watched carefully by a servant, who bowed and departed at a gentle word from July. Immediately the glow reappeared in her eyes, but the psychic man saw it differently now. Certainly her face showed something for the baby, but it was probably because the kind of love was different. A baby was innocent, pure. Of course the love would be the same.

It didn't matter. She loved him too. It was all that counted now.

He looked at the baby sadly, and out of habit it looked back before his wife took it in her arms gently. In its innocent eyes there was no reproach, only a feeling of security and contentment. He had been looking for forgiveness. But he had been a fool to even want to ask it of the child. A true fool.

For the child had never condemned him. It felt safe with him. It trusted him.

And it was then, at that very moment, that Gaspar Merrin felt the first spark of fatherly love flare into life, directed at his adopted daughter Rose.

Somewhere in Europe, 1893

It’s late, and up above, within the sky, the stars of eve twinkle majestically like small pearls in a dark blue sea. The moon bathes the earth in silver light, so gentle and soft one can’t help adore the beauty of nature in all its glamour.

This beauty was ageless, eternal, undying. Nature is just like the man who now walks through a grassy field within a great plateau, unyielding to the strains of time. This man was Fares, one of the sole surviving ancient psychics in the world.

He wears an aura of dignity around him, a small spark of commanding power always flickering deeply within his eyes, he was the leader, he was the sovereign of psychic kind, now and perhaps forever.

No psychic could hope to equal him, for he himself was so old, so experienced, surprising him would be nothing less than impossible. Yet, as he eyes the moon, his eyes soften with a ping of sadness; for tonight was the night his twin sister had died, so many years ago.

** Begin flashback **

“Milord, we have managed to break through their psychic shields, their forces are falling slowly, It’s time to strike them down” one of his disciples says, peering at his side at a large granite fortress perched above the snowy summit of one of the Alp mountains.

“Have you substantiated the location of my sister yet?” he asks, ignoring his aide’s request. The aide is about to answer when Fares silences as he senses her, at last, she was in the fortress, what good fortune he could save her yet.

He sighs in relief before suddenly a huge explosion rocks the area and the snowy ground rumbles violently. Psychic energy

Fares eyes turn to the source and then they widen in horror. The castle bastion, the fortress home of the opposing force of psychics now lay in ruin. Fares rushes over to the front of the battle, his power throwing enemies and friends alike as he rekindles a new found horror.

“No…No…NO!” he mutters as he begins lifting stones with his telekinetic power, but in the end falls to his knees and exhales through grit teeth in despair. Pounding his hands against the snow covered ground.

He climbs up to his feet, feeling his sister somewhere nearby, but it fades as he concludes she has died. He rises to his feet looking at his soldiers with a look of rising rage as his power begins to swirl around him.

“WHO ORDERED THIS?!” He bellows loudly, his voice booming through the plane, much rage rising to his voice, his aura deadly, his eyes narrowed and full of murderous bloodlust, someone would pay, whoever did this to his sister.

No psychic steps forth, for many of Fares troops were buried under the piles of granite debris and no sane man or woman would order it at that time, it was simply stupid, crazed, or perhaps, planned.

He should’ve known that bastard would do this; he had probably hoped to break down most of Fares forces which he had just accomplished. It was simply too like his former mentor to pull a trap like this, even at the cost of his own men, he would pay for this, this time for good.

“Carina…poor sweet sister…he’ll pay, I’ll make him pay…no more holding back. I’ll deal with him myself…” he swears to himself as he teleports away, going to consult his fellow ancients on a final strike on the final bastion of the rogue psychics.

** End Flashback **

He sighs heavily, he did finish his older mentor a week later, no alone, his old teacher was far too durable, experienced, and powerful to be vanquished alone, he had taken 4 other former pupils and had faced him in combat, and he was the sole survivor of that conflict, one which had scarred him till this day.

He turns and bows his head, oblivious to a pair of eyes glancing at him from the shadows. A feminine figure peers at him from a nearby hill, perched on the ground, her eyes sad and longing.

She looks down at him, much of her heart burning with pain, of knowing she has to keep on this lie, for so long, keeping her presence from him as he slips into pain and loneliness.

But she had no choice; she had chosen this outcome long ago, so long ago.

** Begin Flashback **

She was sitting in her room, clad in battle clothing, a leather suit under a suit of durable and light metallic alloy which was a mystical feat of her master’s allies within the human non psychic ranks.

Her long hair is tied in a long ponytail and her eyes downcast as she thinks heavily on her decision to choose her master and most recently lover over her brother.

It had been a heart wrenching choice, but in the end, she chose against her sibling only because he and his psychics willed to control and oppress the non psychic strand of humanity to suit their own will.

Her brother had said it not once or twice, humans were like insects, simple and divided they are easy ton control, but united they become a pestelince and problem which is quite hard to deal with.

He swept the psychic nation with his speeches, spoken charismatically of the way humans and their technology will bring ruin to the planet, how they the psychics were meant to be not only guides, but rulers, for they were superior, they had power, and nature deems the powerful as the ruling, it’s just how it is.

She had been blind with love, and was willing to oversee her own master’s action, sacrificing thousands for his vision, killing his own kin mercilessly without a second thought in order to gain his own goals.

He had now asked her to meet him here, his last front in a war which he is losing, and on purpose, for his grand plan is not conquest but rather a much more subtle and unseen tempest, one which will one day topple psychic kind with all its glory, all he needed was time.

And though doubts gnaw through her she could not bring herself to turn her back on her beloved, no matter how hard she tried, he had simply entrapped her heart and no force of will, logic or mercy toward her kin could bring her to turn her back on him.

Her thoughts are cut shot as he enters the room, his face calm and calculating, his eyes troubled as he shuts it behind him, she rises to approach him, but he stops her by lifting his hand.

"Carina, not now, I've come to ask you for a favor, though I fear its consequence…" he says and turns his back from her and bows his head. "In 2 hours, Fares and his army will arrive here, you I trust, you must stay and fight for me, I must get to the pool of life, which is the forge from which the Drashi fuels itself, there, I can finally fulfill my vision" he says.

"But milord, Fares main army is unbeatable, without you with me, I will undoubtly be killed" she says, sadly, not understanding.

He turns to her, his eyes troubled and sad, but serious and calm, he walks over to her and puts his hands on her shoulder "We must be brave, we must sacrifice for the cause, I ask you not to die, but I ask you, to not fall back until it is necessary beyond any doubt," he says.

She gulps and nods slowly, he strokes her cheek and shuts his eyes "Carina, My days grow short and my destiny will soon come full circle, I just want to…to bid you farewell now, I believe we shall not meet again," he says and purses his lips.

"No, you said…" she whispers and moves her hands to his lips, her shivers lightly and shakes his head and hugs her closely all of a sudden "Do not be afraid, it is all for a higher purpose, but you must stay alive promise me this…" he whispers.

She shakes her head "No…You promised you'd marry me, you can't turn your back on the promise…you can't…" she whispers and clutches onto him, glaring pleadingly into his eyes.

He gulps and puts his finger on her lips "I'm sorry, I really am my love, I loved you, I cherished you, but I cannot sacrifice all we've worked for for my own desires, but I do not know, I do not think, I'm sorry, they come…earlier than he said they would…" he says and his power rises around him.

"What about me desires! What about my heart, my life? I turned my back on all I ever knew just for YOU?!" She sobs and holds onto him, her power blocking his. He looks down at her sadly and kisses her softly, she kisses back, hugging him close "don't leave me…please!" she says as he pulls back, goodbye printed all across his eyes.

"Farewell my love" he whispers and teleports, that would be the last of him she ever saw, he had promised her happiness and in the moment she needed his encouraging words the most, he had left her alone.

The pain pierced her heart like a burning hot dagger, sending her into a spiraling vortex of guilt and sorrow, this is what she betrayed her brother for, this was what she would die for?

She shuts her eyes and buries her face in her hands "NO! I won't let him…he's gone far too far, he's obsessed, I thought maybe I was enough to keep him at check…but he's…he's proven me wrong, there is only one way…to make Fares…kill him…" she thinks and gulps.

"My brother, my lover, I lose you both now, forever, as I leave you and enter the shadows, I will keep on fighting for humanity in your own teachings my love, but you, must die, for your dream to live, for you've lost your own goals, I can see it…I can see it…farewell to you both….farewell" she whispers as she stands, hearing the battle outside, biding her time, before she would topple the castle with her power and vanish from the psychic world, forever.

** End Flashback **

"Fares…if only I could let you know…poor brother…" she thinks and blows him a kiss silently before standing up. At the current time, as leader of her own group of human psychic hunters, known as the conclave, she uses any means to keep balance, to preserve both her brother and former lover and mentor's wishes.

Her brother's society grows and remains powerful, guiding the world in the shadows, adapting slowly, her mentor's human evolve quickly and grow into all he would want them to be, and mostly due to her subtle intervention for with him gone, she alone knew Fares enough to know how to block his every move to reverse her lover's moves.

How she regrets what she's doing, but she believed in her former mentor's ideals, truly she did, and is proud of protecting humanity, but she loathes herself immensely, for in her will to protect she has often used her own mentor's infamous ways, though to a much less extreme manner.

She sighs tiredly, how she longed for release, but it was not time yet, not yet, when the time would come, when both societies are ready, she would apologize to Fares and step aside, leaving both societies to themselves, when the time would come.

She lets her power take her away, back to her adobe, hidden and invisible to psychic peering, the flicker of her aura momentary, but even the weak flicker is enough to make Fares` eyes widen slightly as he turns to her, but as he does she's gone, the momentarily flicker of her power arising even more painful memories and a silent hope.

He relinquishes his hope and reenters his shell, his impassive and cold mask and bows his head once more “If only sister, if only I could tell you how sorry I am, if only I could just see you again, I’d. I’d make things right, somehow…” he thinks and teleports off, going back to Kal Drashi to monitor the progress of the psychic strand duplication he had devised only recently.

Nagovano Mountain, Japan, 1898

The wind blew lightly through the Cherry Blossoms as the sun pierced through the obscure branches in an almost artistic way, bathing the ground in the crimson orange rays of the twilight. The petals were scattered on the ground, the pink and soft texture now decorating the earth.

In the midst of this beautiful area in the mounts of Japan stand a humble looking single building. It is Oriental in style, in the architect of Feudal Japan, triangular ceiling, built of wood chiseled in stunning shapes, the pride and joy of one man who accommodated this medium sized building.

The sounds of people training can be heard throughout the woods, the wind carrying the sounds upon its gentle currents. A young man is traveling the woods. He wipes the sweat off his forehead; it was not an easy trek.

“Finally, the dojo…I hope I can convince him to take me in and train under him…” The young man thinks and follows the sounds of training. He peers curiously through the trees, gazing down at the dojo from a higher position that he is standing on.

The youth watched intently as a group of young men preformed a Kata. Then a man clad in a gray uniform stepped in between them and they all bow before him humbly. “Ikuzo!” he shouts in Japanese, urging them to prepare as he enters his stance.

They chant “Hai sensei!” and enter their stances quickly. What he saw next was nothing less than an amazing form of art, a deadly one with that.

The man in gray systematically decimates the younger men, they outnumber him 20 to 1 but it doesn’t seem to matter. Especially since some of his moves were simply impossible to comprehend.

Two try to kick him simultaneously, he lifts both hands and grabs their feet before leaping and doing a aerial split and clocking them both, their heads snapping back as they reel backward.

He lands lightly on his feet and spins around while lifting his foot. A kick whistles by his ear but he doesn’t seem to notice it, his movement seemed calculated and thought of beforehand as he takes advantage of an opening of the attacking youth’s stance and kicks him in the cheek, his heel hitting first and sending the boy into a spiral before he lands heavily on the ground.

The youth above smiles lightly “It’s him alright, only he could, ouch that hurt, only he could, god that’s probably going to leave a mark, be the one I seek…” he thinks and turns for the road to approach the dojo.

Down below the Gray Gi wearing man stands calmly, the younger men groaning and moaning in pain all around him. His dark eyes roll and he sighs heavily before the retain their calm and calculating look. Someone was spying on them and now, he was approaching, this could prove interesting.

He is known as Shin, the world-renowned fighting legend. Few were the people who knew not his name amongst the fighting circle or even throughout the streets of Asia and Europe.

During the years following his awesome victory over the Baron, his prowess only grew in magnitude, and with it, the mysterious shroud around him and the true content of his martial arts.

Many blamed him of sorcery and conjuring powers from dark voids and plains. They were of course mostly delusional, but not entirely, for one of the two paths of his arts, the less used and more secretive path demanded using some unnatural energy from sources that mortal men and women should best stray away from.

Thus Dozens of young men from all over the world sought him and willed to be taken under his wing and be taught the ways of the Karate style now known as Shotokan. Other sought to challenge him and gain fame from beating him, none had succeeded, and none even came close.

Thus far Shin had not spotted even a single pupil with the potential he was looking for, he needed someone who was first and foremost strong, determined, patient and bold minded. Men and women of those qualities were indeed found in abundance but he needed something more, something not every man and woman contained.

He also needed his pupil to have Great Spirit, powerful natural Chi lines which were strong enough to be able to sustain the most advanced techniques he had invented and perfected.

Also he needed a person with iron strong will power, for the most deadly and dangerous of all of his moves, one that required lending power from an essence from beyond, a demon of the underworld.

If the wielder was strong, he could contain and control the pit fiend, if he failed to resist the temptation and stay true to his honor, and be able to withstand the urge to use it on every occasion, he would have a very powerful weapon, the same weapon Shin used in his time to crush the Baron.

"Ohayo, are you the honorable elder one, are you perhaps the warrior Shin?" a voice speaks from behind him.

Absorbed in thought, weary of his search for a heir to his arts, Shin had failed to notice the young Japanese youth who had spied on him, a fatal mistake normally for if he were with hostile intentions, Shin would be dead now.

The youth had approached from behind him. Shin smiles faintly, luckily for him his name was enough to repel most foes, he need not worry of such things, at least, not in his own adobe and also he sensed no hostility in this youth, only admiration.

Shin turns to the youth and crosses his arms. The young man bows honorably and waits silently. "Amazing, his natural power...it's almost as strong as mine was at his age..." Shin thinks and then nods once.

"My Name is Goutestu, I have long heard of you and your skill honorable one, I know not if I am worthy of such an honor but I nevertheless humbly request to train under you," Goutestu says in a calm and confident voice, averting his eyes to the ground.

"Why do you wish to train?" Shin asks blatantly. “The youth indeed has the power needed but was his heart in the right place?” Shin thinks, this he had to determine for sure before deciding how thoroughly he would train this Goutestu in the ways of the Shotokan.

“I wish to find a path in life, I wish to find a purpose, a goal, an honorable way to conduct myself in this materialistic bound world.” Goutestu says calmly.

Shin rubs his chin and hmms lightly to himself. “The boy seems to be just what I was looking for, excellent. At long last, somebody worthy shows himself and requests my guidance…and for the right reasons, it is finally time to pass my arts onward” Shin thinks and then turns and swings his fist at Goutestu.

The young man sees it coming and dodges it. The punch Shin had sent was not a true punch meant on hurting, but rather a test, one that Goutestu had just passed.

Shin smiles “Lesson number one I see you need not learning, you seem always ready.” Shin says in an amused tone.

“The world’s a hostile place, one must never drop his guard, that’s what my father always says” Goutestu.

“Wise man your father seems to be, very well, I’ll take you under my wing, keep true to your goals, keep focused on the honor behind your actions and I shall teach you techniques which you never imagined possible, stray and you will be banished from my teachings, for good, clear?” Shin says.

Goutestu nods as Shin walks over toward the dojo. Goutestu follows him, peering at the other pained pupils and wondering how long it would be before he would be beaten up by Shin like that before brushing the thought aside.