It was necessary.

She had argued this point with him, argued that she had to know, had to find out. So much was at stake here. Everything hinged on this. He had only relented when she agreed to try and not go too far, only putting as much of her own life force into it as was needed, and not a drop more. Of course, when she had said she had to do this one on her own. She cringes.

That had not gone over very well either.

Neither had her explaining she did not want him in the path of the magic, because she did not care to risk him. That had started them right back at the beginning of things. In the end, with all her explanations, and downright near begging, here she was making her way through the forest by herself, towards the clearing where they had left Reika’s body, with a very miffed Marf left behind at her home. A basket laden with items she needed weighed down her arm as she hurries onward, knowing that he might break and decide the hell with it and come looking for her, and she truly did not want him around for this. Why?

Because it WAS dangerous.

She could very well give too much tonight and drop dead right beside Reika and then neither of them would be of much use other than as some fuel for a good fire that the wolves would gather around and mourn them by.

It was a risk she had to take. The pros and cons had weighed heavily on her mind from the moment the idea had popped into it. The good that could come of this all, is that it would work and she would know exactly what happened. She would know who the perpetrator was. She would be able to see if her nagging suspicion was true, and cut it off at the pass, bring the news to Cate and prepare to really dig deep to get a handle on this war with the werewolf packs. That was the biggest issue... she had to be one hundred percent sure before she went and accused a top trusted as being aligned with Tius. What were the cons?

Well, the fact that it was dark magic and forbidden.

The fact that if she was found out, that she could be executed.

The fact that this could suck her magic so dry, she would keel over without having the axe get bloody.

Death was a pretty damn strong argument against this path she was embarking on, but if nothing else, Lycana was stubborn and set in her ways, willing to risk herself to try and do what she perceived as the right thing. Once you had her loyalty, she would battle for you until the bitter end unless you turned traitor or did something to break that bond. Reika had, but in all truth, Lycana still held on to a large mass of guilt for not being able to get her away from the Harbinger that night. All the 'if I only hads’, the ‘what ifs’, the ‘should haves’... none of them would change what happened, but maybe now she could alter that path after the fact.

She enters the clearing and approaches Reika’s body on the large, flat stone. She sets down the basket, and slowly reaches out her hand to gently brush the strands of blond hair off of her chilled flesh. She had to get to the bottom of this. Cate was being blamed, and as much as Lycana did not want to believe it, some things did point to her. Others did not make any sense. Still others were starting to become suspicious, with some of that suspicion landing square on Lycana herself.

She pulls her hand back and crouches to remove the items packed neatly in her basket. She bustles about, setting up and lighting candles, setting out items and preparing ingredients that would be made into an elixir. From there, she lights a fire, coaxing it from a small spark into a roaring blaze that danced cheerfully in the oncoming night. She throws some ingredients in an iron pot, fills it with water and sets it along the edge of the fire to heat up. The scent of the various herbs and petals soon fills the air which each puff of steam that unfurls itself from its depths.

Lycana grabs a small jar of red ochre, said to hasten rebirth, carefully dipping her finger in and painting symbols over the body of Reika, before doing the same to herself. She moves over to the fire, carefully dipping a cup into the lightly simmering concoction. She looks down into the murky depths of the liquid, imagining her own death within. A deep sigh pulled straight from her soul and down it goes, every drop running down her throat as she commits to her task.

From there she places various things into a large bowl, a handful of dirt, small bones from a wolf, a handful of quartz crystals, and a picture of Reika. She places the bowl in between four candles and steps back, looking over the clearing, lightly lit by all the candles set about, as well as the bigger fire in between her and the stone. Everything was at the ready. There was still time to call it off. All she had to do was walk out of this place and alert the wolves to where Reika’s body was. She sighs.

There was no going back. It was time.

She picks up a long switch, moving to ignite the end within the large fire before taking her place before the bowl. She speaks lightly as she lights the candle representing North. “In spiritalis corporis.” ‘Here in spirit, not in body.’ The light from the moon is blocked out slowly as cloud cover starts slipping in from nowhere, blanketing the stars and sky in thick, turbulent, darkness.

She moves on to the left, to the candle for West. “Vocamus tibi auferetur quod scissa est.” ‘We call to you away what was torn.’ A wind starts to pick up, making leaves tumble lightly about the ground around the area. It teases her hair, lifting it and setting it down as it caresses the long strands. The branches of the surrounding trees dip and bob to its silent tune as it tickles them to life.

South. “Offerimus tibi nostris.” ‘We offer you what was ours.’ The clouds growl their agreement with her as thunder rolls across the heavens. Lightning flickers, scattered randomly about, lighting up the edges of the nimbus it occupied for the moment, before skipping to another, like they were playing a game of hide and seek. Again, the low rumble of thunder breaks the stillness, the sound riding on the eager wind.

East. “Ita quod sit renascitur.” ‘So that you may be reborn.’ The clouds mourn with her, allowing their gentle tears to drop as the lightest of mists over the land. They lovingly dampen all they touch, leaving a fine glittering sheen over the bodies of Lycana and Reika, that sparkles in the light of the flames. The fire hisses as its nemesis gets too close, burning it to nothing and standing strong as the light rain continues its descent from the sky.

Lycana takes the lit switch, and tosses it into the bowl before her. Out of nowhere, everything is engulfed as fire surges up and over the edges, trailing long fingers into the sky, seeming to grasp for something, anything, but finding nothing but the air. The edges of the picture begin to curl in and char, a hole slowly eating away at the beautiful, smiling face that was captured within. The ground begins to shiver, the candlesticks complaining with a low clatter as the quake adjusts the surface they are reposing upon. Lycana picks up a dagger, and raises her hands to the sky, closing her eyes as she reaches inside, and evokes her own life force, drawing on both it and the beast that lurked.

“Homicidii vitae a Deo deorum, accipere eas!” ‘Taker of life, god of gods, accept my offering.’ The clouds move in heavier now, thick and charcoal colored, heavy with their burdens. They roil in the air, slowly moving into a near spiral giving mind to the start of a tornado. The thunder moves from a growl to a roar, echoing in the air. Lightning bolts start streaking from cloud to cloud relentlessly, the flashes at bright as strobe lights as the air grows electrically charged. It reaches down, as if to touch the dead woman on the stone. Both women’s hair lifts, crackling in the sky as it picks up the energy running amok.

“Os, caro, spiritus. Tua aeternum!” ‘Bone, flesh, breath. Yours eternally.’ With a brilliant flash of silver, Lycana uses the dagger to slash deep into the flesh of her own forearms. Blood starts to stream down, and the wind wails in protest. It picks up in volume, screaming through the trees as it throws whatever it can pick up in a wild circle around the clearing. Lycanas hair violently twists, a sapphire crown swirling like Medusa’s snakes about her skull. The fires dip dangerously as the wind whirls about, taking the embers to add glowing orange streaks to the chaos.

“Os, caro, spiritus. Obsecro autem vos mihi in reditu.” ‘Bone, flesh, breath. I beg of you, return to me.’ She holds her arms over the flames, her blood sizzles at it splatters heavily down, thick puffs of smoke rising as the bright red blood turns black and thick within the confines of the bowl, bubbling wildly with the heat. The skies open up and sob, the rain lashing down ferociously in the storm, drenching everything, yet... the fires burned on. Each droplet stings as it meets the flesh and still she continues on, the storm raging its warning at her.

“ORTUS!!!”

‘RISE!!!’ The shaking of the earth increases as Lycana’s legs splay out slightly to keep her balance. The fire in the bowl rises, touching her flesh yet does not burn her. It sinuously wraps around her forearms, holding her steady as her blood flows freely now. The hissing noise grows louder as the fire eagerly devours her gift. She feels her life ebbing as the crimson drains from her body into the hungry flames. She is transfixed by the sight, feeling woozy now, but summoning all her strength.

“ORTUS!!!”

The thunder rises to a deafening pitch, threatening to pop Lycana’s eardrums. The wind shrieks as it spins around the clearing, taking the heavy rain with it, creating a moving circular wall. The fire burst upwards, fighting through it all to climb high into the sky, defiant against all odds. Lycana’s whole body screams with pressure and pain. Her head throbs, and blackness threatens to take her. Weakness eats at her, and she knows she is giving too much. The wolf within growls. And still her blood flows.

Reika’s body seems to levitate slightly above the rock as electricity crackles around her in a glowing display.

Lycana senses Death. She can feel his looming presence over her, his skeletal hands skimming mere inches over her body, just waiting for the moment he can pull her into his embrace. And STILL her blood flows.

She grits her teeth and keeps her tenuous hold on life, opening her mouth one last time to bellow into the gales. “ORTUS!!!”

Lightning plunges from the sky, striking Reika’s body. A buzzing sound is added to the symphony of the event. A silvery glow exudes around her, blocking her from sight as the bolt doesn't let up, remaining to pour its charge into the woman. Everything rises to a fever pitch and still, Lycana’s blood flows.

Death moves in now, certain of his prey. Sweat beads on Lycana’s brow as she waits until the very last moment. Death leans in close, his face hovering over hers, his lips about to brush her cheek when she yanks her arms from the fire.

A massive flash goes off as the flames shoot multiple feet into the sky, the noise of it all sounding like a freight train, and Lycana is thrown right off her feet. As her back connects to the ground with a thud, knocking her breath from her lungs, everything abruptly stops, the fires extinguished, and the clearing is left in silence.

She gasps desperately for air, her muscles wildly spasming from her brush with the reaper. She had cheated him, but barely. She raises her arms, looking at the now cauterized wounds. She pushes up on her shaking elbows, eagerly looking at Reika’s body.

Nothing.

The expression on her face morphs to one of confusion. Her fingers scramble to find purchase on the stone next to her as she fights to gain her feet. Doing so, her wobbly legs barely carry her over to the large rock Reika still reposes peacefully on, albeit her hair quite mussed up now. Lycana could only imagine her own disheveled state. She snorts a little at her inane thought process as she stares, waiting for a sharp inhalation of breath. Waiting for her chest to rise and fall. Waiting for her eyes to pop open. Waiting for something, ANYTHING to indicate Reika had come back to life like she was supposed to after all of that.

Nothing.

Not. A. Damn. Thing.

Lycana leans heavily against the stone and starts giggling helplessly. All of that, almost giving up her own life for... not a fucking thing. How had it failed? Her mind races over the steps, the ingredients, all the fine details that had led up to this moment... this giant clusterfuck. She had done everything to the letter, there was no reason. Frustrated, she closes her eyes, her self loathing laughter fading to be replaced by a lone tear that makes its careful way down her cheek. She had failed. And now she would never have the answers she sought.

She looks around the clearing with a defeated eye. It would still be here tomorrow for her to clean up and then bring Reika for a proper burial burning. She didn’t have it in her to do it right now. Now she just wanted to get back to her house and faceplant into the bed and sleep for a week or two. Truly, the odds were that she would be facing death all over again, at the hands of Marf once he found out just how close she had flirted with the edge of her life.

And she couldn’t -and wouldn’t!- lie to him, he would get into her mind and see the truth of it all anyway. It was a lot easier than explaining what had occurred.

No, she would go back and take her knocks. With any luck, he might be in a giving enough mood to let her sleep before he ripped her to shreds. She wasn't going to count on it though. It had been miracle enough that he had not made his appearance while she was performing this... this... waste of time and energy. In the end, he had been right. He had not wanted her to go through with it, and she probably shouldn't have given the outcome, she concedes. She had risked herself needlessly.

But if the results had been different...

Having the choice, she would do it all over again. She was putting off the inevitable now though, just standing here wishing and hoping and wanting things that were never going to happen. With one last look at Reika, Lycana pushes off the stone and makes her subdued way across the clearing. Exhaustion and dejection have her dragging her feet, her pace more of a meander than anything else. As her palm touches the rough bark of a tree bordering the clearing she hears it. Her name... but not the one she uses now. The barest whisper rippling in the air. Tavora. She straightens, turns, seeing nothing.

Her brow furrows but nothing more is forthcoming. She stares at the rock where Reika is, narrowing her eyes, as if willing her to just sit up and wave, calling to her once more. Had she even heard anything in the first place? Or had she been imagining it? Lycana wasn't really sure if her mind was playing tricks on her. With how the night went, she wouldn't be surprised. Still though... She waits a few more long moments but all is still around her. No motion and no sounds- real or imaginary. But... something is amiss.

She takes a few steps backwards as the hair on the back of her neck rises. Goosebumps crawl their way across her flesh as an uneasy chill taps its way up her spine. Everything remains as it is before her, so why this feeling she could not shake? Perhaps tonight had taken more out of her than she thought. Tearing her gaze away, she turns and slowly makes her way towards home, disappearing from sight in the darkness of the forest.

He stands and watches her go, trapped in another realm and invisible to her eye. But he could see her, oh yes, he could see her. She had breached the Wall of Silence and had enabled him to step forward onto this in between plane, watching her as she carefully crafted her dark magic, only to fail. The very essence of her calling to him. He is tall, well built. His beard is trimmed close, mere stubble across his strong jaw. The moonlight kisses his short, lightly wavy brown hair giving it a silver sheen. Almost as gray as his dramatically pale eye, fringed thickly with dark lashes. He would be considered handsome about anywhere, until one spied the gaping ruin of a hole where his other eye used to reside.

He turns that single orb to the body of the girl that the dearest blue haired witch had risked the repercussions of necromancy for. It was really too bad he couldn't have slithered into her, animating her and using her to toy with the wench. A shame indeed. He had not been done with her oh so long ago, and he had walked this foreign realm for many years now, never forgetting what he had failed to do. What a boon that she had cracked the Wall, allowing him to find her. Plush lips curl upwards as she disappears from view.

“Another time... Tavora.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

“The Left Hand is a bunch of Satanists. The Left Hand is evil. The Left Hand is just a bunch of goth kids who drank way too much Kool Aid. We hear it all the time. Nearly without fail the words are spat at us from our opponents and those in the back, disregarding the fact that everyone who had come before had pointed fingers and done the same. Incognizant of the fact that we let such asinine drivel roll from our backs time after time. And yet, it is the favored insult from those that have no idea what we are doing, what we stand for, and why we are here. We tell you that plans will be revealed, you scoff. We tell you we are here to remove the blasphemous pretenders, you turn a blind eye and claim otherwise.

So, we choose not to say anything at all. Allow you to draw your own conclusions and work in the dark to achieve our goals... unchecked, unheeded, and supposedly unfeared. Yet, we are in the mouths of so many each week. There is a rush to face us, a war cry screamed to the sky that they will be the mighty who take the violent Left Hand down and chase them from the halls of XWF. Time and again, the matches are fought and the results? We still roam freely, unbothered and insouciant about our business. Secure in the knowledge that all goes as we plan, finding humor in the pathetic mumblings of the would be knights in shining armor. Such as the three who will be charging in on their noble steeds come Warfare.

But Lycana, don't you mindlessly follow Baphomet and only do his bidding? Isn't that what the Left Hand is? Some cult that marches in line and cannot do a thing without the permission of their owner? Aren't you but a pawn to be moved across the chess board? No. I am loyal to the Baphomet, and I am a part of the army of his, but each of us, our paths are blazed as individuals. Instruments of chaos. Each instrument may sound beautiful on their own, but bring them together and something truly awe inspiring occurs. Each a part of a bigger whole. Such is the same within the Left Hand. We are of our own minds, but come together as one to turn our eyes to the greater picture.

Nobody believes that though, no matter how often we bring it up, there are still more who trot forward with their accusations like it is some new thought that someone will fall to their knees and applaud them for.

Isn't that right Ned?

Donning the cap of avenger, proclaiming yourself the jury for the Left Hands judgement day. Playing at being some sort of hero of the apocalypse. Acting as if this coming Warfare will somehow be the day of reckoning for the Left Hand. That you are of so much importance, that we would clutch our pearls and gasp. My goodness! Its Notorious Ned Kaye! What EVER shall we do? He has allowed his friends to get in his ear and drag him along on their fools mission! No matter that every last one before him has failed! Clearly he will be the one to make us tremble and quake! The hypocrite himself!

“I saw what happened out there, and I don’t think it was the Left Hand. Something about it just doesn't seem right!”

Are you so easily swayed yourself, that you allowed you partners to convince you that it was the Left Hand behind all the attacks on you? Despite saying otherwise when you showed up in the back during Warfare? Despite all our attacks being under the bright lights, out in the open, making sure we were seen, not under the cover of darkness like the coward who came for you. Your head was turned by the furor, the call for our execution by Demos and Reggie, you dropped your own belief and scampered to join theirs. You bent your head and allowed them to slip the blinders on and slap you on the rump to set you off on the path to lay blame at our door. THEIR path, suddenly yours.

Now isn't that... ironic?

That's not what happened? You are not wearing a halter being led to the water and being told to drink it? You walked in eyes wide open and made your own choice about what you wanted to believe. You decided on this path, but you are not bound to your partners by it, but you find it to be a common goal now? Huh. Funny how that happens isn't it Ned?

It is an amazing thing that someone can turn a blind eye to what they are doing while simultaneously doing the same thing is it not? Isn't that what I'm accused of all the time? The petty need for vengeance says the man who is challenging for the same reason. The fighting for something that isn't ones self, as you join two others when you didn't have a single bone to pick prior. The masked face, well... you might not wear one quite as obvious as your fellow musketeer Demos over there, but you hide things Ned Kaye. You just don't do it well. You sweep your pile of hypocracy under the rug and hope nobody will notice the bulge. You try and hide your pliableness, the ease in which you are swayed by people like your partners... by yelling that we will never have you no matter how much we ‘send this masked man’ to attack you!

We don't want you.

Especially if your head can be turned so quickly in another direction by a mere whisper. No, you are free to hide under your mask of fear and of disillusionment Ned, without the worry that the Left Hand would consider someone as wishy washy as you to be worth looking towards. It is just unfortunate that you decided on the fools mission was the horse you were going to back. We could have just kept right on ignoring your existence if it wasn't for this.

You Demos... the biggest pretender and hypocrite of them all. Hiding behind your mask in truth as you skulk about trying to be the one people look to as the soul to cleanse the XWF of the Left Hand. Calling us forth only to run and hide behind people you clearly think are your betters, who will protect you from the veritable hornets nest you insist on prodding. Why not good old Jim, who skipped down to the ring to lend a hand in costing Marf his match? Oh no, you knew we would chew him up and spit him out, leaving you nowhere to go... nowhere to hide so you gave Jim the boot and selected two you thought would be a stronger wall. Its easy to be brave from behind them, isn't it?

That mask you wear cant hide the bright yellow of your cowardice.

It oozes from your pores like the walking pustule that you are. It shows when you can do no more than slink around and attack from behind the very person who had answered your first call. The one who took it upon herself to track you down. The one who had to goad your ass into a match after you scuttled away like a little pussy the first time, until you had no choice but to cave or look weaker than you already did. All that bluster about tables and alas! Not a single weapon to be seen. But you were sure to bring one to Savage weren't you? And to sneak attack?

I’m flattered that your balls shrivel into raisins at the thought of facing me without your little equilizers... Without something between us to protect you from my wrath. Be it partners or a two by four... Without them, you tuck your tail and run like the bitch you are until you are cornered and forced to bare your teeth and pretend to be fierce as you leave a puddle as yellow as you on the floor.

But you go along thinking that your goal of ridding the XWF of the Left Hand, is completely different from our own agenda. But Left Hand is violent! The Left Hand attacks people! The Left Hand tries to chase people from the federation! Hmm. You feel that in your throat Demos? Double standards can be hard to swallow cant they?

Ah Demos, you too with bringing up my losses no matter how many times I say they mean nothing to me, and that it is what happens between the bells that counts. You seize on to the most blatant thing you can and try to worry at it, like a dog with a squeaky toy that's long since been broken, trying desperately to garner some sort of reaction as he drools all upon himself. You just FOLLOW along the path others have trodden before you. It is you that is blind if you see praise heaped my way. You are also blind to think that such things of a trivial nature would change anything.

My goodness, people find me attractive and like to watch my body according to the Demos! The blue hair and not-actually-big tits strike again! Hide your husbands, hide your wives... Lycana will entrance them all. Nobody is safe when she is in the ring! Win or lose, my breasts would jiggle all the same. As do yours. Is that why you wont face me alone Demos? Would you be too entranced by the feel of me under your palms? Too busy salivating into my cleavage as I lay across you for the pin? Are you the ‘they’ that sings for Lycana behind her back?

No? Nobody of importance? Just waterboys you say? Then why should I give a shit?

Fawning sops or braying jackasses. Praise or jeers. They are all just words, that are of no value when it comes to wrestling, so why would I worry about them? Nevermind coming from those that I will never step into the ring with? So you are right Demos, I am deaf to what they say about me behind my back because you know what the ever so mysterious they say about that right?

Its the perfect position for them to kiss my ass.

A cliche for my sweet, darling Reggie! You know, when I sat down to watch your stroll along the beach, I had expected the gloating, I had expected you to wave my loss in front of my face, I had expected you to write me off like all do. I was not disappointed by you, mores the pity. You are right, you did win. I suppose you are entitled to a certain amount of self pride in that. As much as one can throw the confetti when pinning someone he thinks is one of the worst on the roster. The bumbling dingbat. Easy to defeat. The one you dismissed as well, but still discount what happened in the ring. The disbelief was written all over your face.

Yes I lost, but you had to work for that win, no matter if you want to admit it or not.

It is how one handles their failures, that shows true character and heart Reg. The will to fight on and not give up. Each time, I brush myself off and gun for the next, eager to take my place in the squared circle once more and taste what I am here for. I am not here for the fame and glory, to see my name in the bright lights. I am here for the fight, and fight I have. Every step of the way since I joined the XWF. I have said it before, the wins don't matter to me, I wanted your belt to spite you. A loss would have distressed you far more than it fazes me.

You didn't break me down Reg. For two weeks you say you were gunning for my throat and my spirit. You might have tried to subdue my soul, tried to trample it down into the dirt with your words but you failed. Not even a crack in my veneer was accomplished by your barbs as we traded quips. There was no pity party. No why me's. I don't fit in your box that you designed for me Reggie and I never will. I’m uncontainable. If that is what you want to call an ego, then so be it. You can say as you will, and do what you will... it all boils down to what I have been saying.

I cannot be broken.

Each match is an opportunity to learn, and learn about you I did. Will I get a chance to show you just what you unwittingly taught me about yourself? Not as much as I would like, I’d guess. Chances are that you will be able to elude my grasp and allow your partners to experience the punishment I mete out instead... rest assured, every moment we get to dance with one another, will be savored. After all, you are one of my favorite playthings in the fed. Oooh yes, I went and said it again.

Allow me to elaborate, being my favorite plaything, merely means I enjoy our banter. I look forward to toying with you in any way I can. It means nothing sexually. It does not elevate your skills in my eyes, it certainly does not mean that you are special in any other way in the XWF.

You being that to me, does not put you in the same talent bracket as Corey Smith in the fed or my eyes.

Nobody. Not a single person, would say that.

I am curious though... I don't recall ever saying that I could not beat Corey. That seems mighty out of character for someone like myself doesn't it?

Someone who you says has SUCH an inflated sense of ego would hardly go around taking about how they would never be able to win against someone correct? They would boast about how they would take down all comers and just win everything, am I right? I think you should show me just where that happened. A receipt is needed for that one Reggie. I’m willing to wait too. But I’m going to be waiting an awfully long time aren't I Reg?

Because that never happened.

That's also what you're good at isn't it Reg? You like to close your eyes to the truth, to make up things as you go along, as you point your finger at me bellowing that I do the same. But the difference is, I am more than willing to deliver on them. You questioned the plans we had, you said that we never showed you anything so we must be lying about them, that all our admonitions to wait were just a ploy. Did you see Savage darling? We came out to show just how some of our plans were coming along. To show how our numbers have grown. And there's the difference in us...

I CAN show you.

But you?

You cant. You take things others say and try to twist them to suit you, but sooner or later, you're going to trip your own ass up in those tangled threads and this is one of those times. So you don't like me, and I don't like you. We have both made that pretty damn clear, but that's alright. I don't like your partners too much either. It will just make it that much more satisfying to get my hands on all of you. For all six of us to step into that ring to make some beautiful music together. Because that's the real point of the matter isn't it? Its not the talking. Its not the promises. The finger pointing. The posing in front of the cameras. None of that is what we are all here for is it?

None of that shit really matters.

We all want to sip the nectar of a good battle. To feel the thrill of competition. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies our line of work. Some of us revel in the feel of the way flesh gives way under our fists, the screams of agony we rip from our opponents throats. That's the real driving force. The very essence of why we do what we do. Come Warfare, I fully plan on extracting as much blood, sweat and tears from you all as I possibly can. And no matter how I do, it will never be enough. So you should all consider this to be the prologue of our stories with one another.

Because each of you? Will be standing before me one on one at some point. That, you can count on.”