Craven walked the streets of the city having sent Nighthawk and Tiara ahead to their fortress. He’d learned the girl’s name from the Indian. He was now riding high on several different adrenalin rushes… one being that he finally had the child he’d always longed for. Craven pushed the urgency away knowing she would not wake for a while.

He trusted Nighthawk not to feel the urge to hurt her in any way… he had seen as much in the Indian’s eyes and it made him curious. He’d been searching for a reason as to why the zombie-turned-Night Walker had chosen to stay with him. Now it looked like Nighthawk had simply been waiting on something… or someone.

They both wanted to protect the beautiful little necromancer… even if it was for different reasons. If she was anything like her mother, then Craven could not fault Deth for siring a child with such a human. He could not feel his brother’s life force in this world and it was disturbing to think he’d just abandoned his child.

Watching Nile suffer at the hands of his attacking children had given him immense satisfaction. He would have quickly become a problem had he not been stopped. Nile was a demon master and had already gathered much strength by taking that huge graveyard as his own. Even a lower class demon could become a nuisance if his or her army grew to such numbers.

While it was not he who had ultimately killed Nile, being able to witness his destruction had reminded Craven of the demon wars of old. It had filled him with bloodlust and the need to fight for dominance. Rarely did such an overpowering emotion possess him, but when it did he would find something that needed to be killed.

His time within the rift was only a fleeting memory. Time had suspended him there… much like a good night’s rest. He could feel the lapse in time only when the rift opened and he’d awakened. He assumed it was the same as pulling souls from the afterlife… the same confusion followed.

The night had given way to early morning now, but unlike some of his underlings… Craven wasn’t bound to the night. While he was in the mood, taking down a weaker master or two would be an enjoyable pastime. He could already smell the mess they were making of the city.

Craven leaned back against the side of one of the buildings just taking it all in. This was the same world he’d lived in for so long, before being banished into the stillness of the rift, but now it was different in so many ways. This time period was more sophisticated… yet more wild than he remembered. The streets that crossed over the terrain held so many secrets… but with every soul he touched… he would learn more of this time from their memories.

The number of humans had grown along with the number of souls who had stayed behind to haunt the city on their own. He could feel them inside homes, hospitals… everywhere. He watched a city bus slowly drive by and noticed the soul of a man staring out the window at him.

Was this why the cemeteries he’d raised had been lacking the number of souls compared to the graves? From his point of view, it appeared as though the souls remained where the body had died, striving to continue an existence that no longer had any meaning. Most demons were only able to use the humans who were still alive… possessing or controlling their bodies. With so few necromancers in existence, his army would be immense once it was complete.

The passing of time had granted one thing… the number of the dead now matched the number of the living… if not surpassing it. Craven was fairly certain that if the dead were all summoned at once, they would easily overpower the living.

Testing the notion, he let his power flare out around him in waves, feeling for those who had no master to claim them. The souls he touched could feel themselves surrounded by demons, unable to move freely and most were too frightened to leave their security.

Craven was a soul collector… as was Deth. He used the weaker demons and any other creature of the night to do his bidding, but his bloodline was special. When he or anyone of his ancestry offered a soul a way home, it was then that a bargain was struck between them.

He could use his body as a medium to send the souls back to the afterlife, but if he ever called upon them to fight, they would be bound by the deal to return to this dimension and do as he wished. By waking the souls of the dead, Craven could then offer to send them back on this condition… that they remained his to call if he had need of them.

When a soul walked through him to return to the afterlife, they left a residue of their power behind… inside him, making him stronger with each passing. The same would happen with Tiara, and he knew Deth had not shared that secret with her mother. If the naiveté of the girl was any indication, she’d been given only the mother’s training.

The secrets Deth possessed had not been shared, nor would Craven share those same secrets with Tiara. He would use the ability to walk souls to the afterlife and let the young necromancer believe he was helping her… endearing her to him by appearing to empathize with her ‘need’ to save them all. Such mortal notions were brought on by her human side.

There was no use in letting the souls he could feel remain free for another lower class necromancer like Nile to feed upon. Calling them to him, Craven made his silent offer. His bargain was this… he was their savior from other demons, he was their sanctuary, and he was their direct path home if they accepted the deal.

One by one, the souls began to slowly emerge from their hiding places… walking past pedestrians who were going about their normal morning routines. Some humans could feel their closeness and would quicken their steps wanting to get away from the odd feeling. These humans had a heightened awareness; even though they could not see the ghosts whose energy they were feeling.

Souls that exhibited more bravery than others began stepping into him, taking his offer and disappearing from this plane of existence, while the more timid simply watched from a distance. Craven’s lips hinted at a small smile as he sent out another wave of power to entice them. Suddenly more unclaimed souls crowded the streets, rushing toward him at a maddening pace.

Craven remained relaxed in his easy stance, leaning against the wall of the building as the souls rapidly flooded his body. If anyone had paid any attention, they would have seen his soft silver hair fluttering around his face in a breeze that was completely absent. However, on the inside, his power was building higher than the simple new souls that he’d been playing with in the graveyards.

These souls were old and tired of being in this world… strong souls giving him the touch of their power as they crossed over. He would use this power to protect what Deth had abandoned for him to find… their bloodline. Once the tidal wave of souls had stopped, he resumed his inspection of the city.

A sinister smile graced his features as he followed some of the demon hunters from block to block, tracking their movements. He almost laughed when the hunters would stop short of one area to go and search elsewhere without wondering why they’d changed their minds. It was one of the oldest spells demons had used against their enemy since the dark ages… a repellant spell, making the unwelcome guest not want to come any closer.

The hunters were either extremely smart or extremely stupid considering their line of work. However, most of the hunters appeared to be human with no extrasensory perception, so it may have been just plain ignorance on their part.

He stopped to admire the fighting style of one who reminded him of Nighthawk… the human could have been a descendent of the Indian. Demon blood was streaked across his face like war paint and his magic was of high quality. This one Craven would have to remember, not out of fear but curiosity.

Becoming bored, Craven backtracked to the area that the hunters were unconsciously avoiding. It was riddled with darkness and provided a sanctuary for the dregs of this society to run and hide. Inside that darkness, power was waiting and feeding on the life that thrived in it. Craven stood at the mouth of it, looking in before stepping through the fog that had drifted in off the ocean toward the self-deluded power source he had discovered.

Yes, self-deluded was the perfect term for this power. It felt very confident, sure of its claim in the darkness and Craven approached it almost happily. He walked down the sidewalk taking in the silent screams of agony, and the pain that accompanied it.

The few females he encountered walked past him, giving him longing looks but keeping their distance… almost falling off the edge of the sidewalk into traffic, or nearly pressing their backs against the walls of the buildings.

The males were no different except their expressions were anything but longing. Fear and hatred seemed to flow from their very pores when they looked at him. He’d learned long ago that mortal women thought he was beautiful and the men were jealous of that fact. Craven felt nothing for the living… necromancers rarely bothered with a soul that was still attached to its body or a body that was still alive.

As distasteful as it was, Craven now paid attention so he could find the master demons that controlled the living. They were not to be taken lightly because their armies could also become a threat to his own territory in the future.

Reaching an intersection, Craven stood on the edge of the sidewalk watching the traffic lights for a moment. A deep gurgle caught his attention, blocking out the sounds of the morning traffic, and he turned his head toward the sound. His eyes glowed with excitement for the fight that was to come. He followed the sound of a human whimpering with fear knowing it would lead him to his target.

When he walked down a short walkway leading between two buildings, he stepped into a parking lot where a dense fog had settled, trapped between the buildings. People were gathered in a loose circle in the middle of the lot watching a struggle of some kind taking place.

Just a glance at them told Craven the humans had been possessed by shadow demons. Their souls were still intact but the demons had taken them over. Again Craven mentally shook his head at human weaknesses. Weaving his way among the possessed humans, Craven stopped just outside the inner circle to watch as a shadow demon forced its way into the mouth of a human female.

The woman was dressed in some kind of skirt suit with her belongings scattered on the ground around her. The demon had worked its way so far in that only the tail end of its black glittering cloud was sticking out, wriggling back and forth. Craven had concluded correctly that the shadow demons were working together to find victims… and from the looks of it, their numbers were growing rapidly.

He tilted his head to the side in fascination when the woman’s body started twitching violently from the intrusion. As her struggles against the inevitable slowly ceased, her eyes rolled into the back of her head leaving only the whites visible for a moment before returning to normal… complete possession.

Craven’s lips hinted at a knowing smile and he completely suppressed his power when he felt the real threat approaching at a rapid pace. A long stretch of glittering shadow came around the corner of one of the buildings in full daylight. It was as he’d thought. This demon was a shadow master… but even shadows had a weakness he could exploit.

The shadow pooled on the ground next to the woman’s feet looking like a puddle of thick tar. It sloshed thickly for a moment before a humanoid shape began to rise up out of it. The shadow seemed to drip from the form before it finally stabilized revealing a tall, dark-skinned man. His head was shaved close, no hair on his entire body that Craven could see except a Fu Manchu mustache on his face.

The shadow master walked over to the woman, his black knee-length dashiki and charwal pants flowing around his legs. The neckline of the dashiki was ornately decorated with red and golden thread leaving him with little need for jewelry, however a large golden medallion hung from his neck and a single gold hoop earring was pierced through his left ear.

He looked down at the woman and narrowed his midnight black eyes. “Who do you belong to?” the shadow master asked, his voice a deep baritone.

The woman’s mouth opened and closed a few times before her voice finally decided to work properly.

“I belong to you… Master,” she stated in a confused voice.

“Very good, now rise up and serve me.”

The woman slowly regained her feet with jerky movements as though she weren’t used to the body she inhabited. In a way it was a completely accurate description. When a human was under complete possession, at first the shadow demon inside of them could not fully control the most basic of bodily functions.

“What is it you desire of me?” the lady asked her voice almost normal but still a little dazed.

Craven chuckled darkly already growing tired of the foreplay. In a condescending voice he answered the woman’s question, “He wants you to go find unsuspecting men and bring them here so they can also be possessed and his pathetic army will grow.”

Both the woman and the demon turned their heads in his direction to look at Craven. He tilted his head to the side when the possessed humans also turned toward him. Their eyes abruptly began to cloud over, going from dull grey to blacker than pitch in a matter of a few seconds.

The shadow master was looking at him like he was a piece of easy prey and Craven resisted the urge to laugh again. How little they knew. He waited patiently as the humans started slowly walking toward him. When the first hand grasped hold of his shoulder, Craven tossed his head back and opened his arms wide. A tidal wave of souls began streaming out from his body and straight through the humans… emerging from the possessed with the shadow demons in their grasp.

Craven felt no sympathy for the humans who had fallen under the shadow master’s possession… releasing them from those who would eventually try to invade his territory was merely a side effect of removing their possession. He took notice that the shadow master had enough intelligence to stay in his human form where the souls could not touch him.

“Very impressive necromancer,” the shadow master murmured in his thick accent. “But you only delay the inevitable.”

Craven smirked, “Very true, perhaps I should just kill you and be done with it.”

The shadow master growled deep in his chest and ran at Craven. He twisted to the side to avoid one fist, then to the other side to avoid the second.

“Too slow,” Craven mocked. When the demon spun his leg toward Craven’s head, Craven bent backwards so the strike sailed directly above him. Using the momentum of leaning back, Craven flipped onto his hands and swung both feet up in a somersault, landing a double kick to the master’s chin.

Craven flipped back to his feet just as the shadow master regained his own footing. A thin trickle of thick, black liquid trailed from the corner of his mouth onto the front of his dashiki.

“So you can bleed,” Craven taunted. It wasn’t his fault the shadow master was scared to change back into his other form. He would beat this demon either way.

The man spit on the ground and glared with unfathomable rage. He knew this necromancer wanted his territory and he refused to back down. He lived by his own code… a demon that backs down is a demon that deserves to die.

“I won’t let you!” the shadow master growled and came at him again. Only this time Craven didn’t dodge. When the demon came within arm’s reach, Craven’s fist flashed forward burying itself in the demon’s chest.

They both stood there staring at one another, one with shocked surprise on his face, the other with a smug expression of triumph. Craven pulled his fist from the demon’s chest and stepped back. A hole remained showing the inky blackness inside the human façade the demon had claimed.

A human scream erupted from one of the women followed by the sound of feet hitting the pavement. The humans couldn’t see the shadow master for what he really was, nor could they see Craven as a demon. What they saw was two men having a street fight and one punching a hole in the other one’s chest.

Craven smiled sardonically, “You lose.”

The shadow master staggered back a few steps and looked down at the hole in his chest. A long, deep wail filled the parking lot and the demon looked up just in time to see the first soul fly into the hole. His body jerked forward at an odd angle just before another soul forced its way inside. More followed suit, flying into the demon’s human body to attack the darkness within.

Craven sighed with satisfaction when the last soul fought its way inside. The demon stood ramrod straight with his arms outstretched. His skin began ripping apart and wisps of black smoke rose from the gaps accompanied by a soft white light.

Spinning around, the demon tried to run but his movements were stiff and jerky, almost zombie like which amused Craven to some extent.

The master threw his head back and screamed just as his body was completely ripped apart from the inside out. The scream abruptly silenced and a thin, grayish black smoke hovered for a moment before fading in with the morning fog and vanishing completely with a final hiss of contempt.

Craven held out his arms as though asking to be embraced. The souls moving about the parking lot turned toward him and shot back into his body. When the last soul disappeared from this dimension, Craven lowered his arms and approached the remains of the clothing the shadow master had been wearing.

Leaning down, he picked up the medallion and exited the parking lot. As he stepped back out onto the sidewalk, Craven looked about and saw more humans mulling about.

In the shadows cast by the nearby buildings, he spotted a few shadow demons slinking around… useless with no master to follow. Shadow demons were normally not much of a threat once their master was defeated, so Craven didn’t really concern himself about where they went. Holding up the medallion in the dim sunlight that was starting to burn away the fog, he smiled once more.

“Good morning!” he said quietly before putting the Aztec medallion in his pocket and headed toward home. Perhaps he would find some amusement in the medallion the shadow master had been wearing.

He began shimmering through the city so fast that when he saw the silver-winged creature it was only an afterimage. Slowing his steps, Craven turned and again faced the inner city in contemplation. Now this was interesting… he’d thought all of the female Fallen were taken from this world at birth.

*****

Carley had followed the Indian carrying Tiara all the way across town before they’d finally arrived at a dark mansion in the outer hills. The place gave her the creeps… maybe it was because of the gargoyles and demons that were crawling all over the outside. The inside wasn’t much better.

Once again, she was glad most of the monsters couldn’t see her. Even if they could, they wouldn’t be able to hurt her thanks to Tiara’s spell. That didn’t stop her from flinching when she heard screaming coming from the basement… at least she hoped it was the basement and not the actual ground.

Trying to block out the cries of agony, Carley hurried after the Indian as he went up the stairs to the second story. If he was taking Tiara to some kind of torture chamber, then she’d have to act fast. When she entered the room behind him, Carley paused to watch the man simply staring down at Tiara.

Nighthawk frowned wanting to feel something… even a spark as he gazed at the beautiful girl. She had caused something to spark within him when he’d met her the first time, but it had been so quick that now he wondered if it had only been an illusion. His gaze was drawn to the graveyard dirt lingering on her face and body.

Carley went into panic mode when the Indian started removing Tiara’s clothing.

“Stop it!” she yelled and slid between them only to have Nighthawk reach right through her without missing a beat. “Damn it, where’s a cowboy when you need one?” Carley railed and made a flurry of movements trying to get his attention off Tiara and on her. She finally stopped since it seemed to be useless.

She needed to go back to PIT and let Jason and Guy know Tiara’s location but she couldn’t bring herself to leave until she made sure her friend would still be alive when they came back to rescue her.

Nighthawk stood up and removed his own clothing down to his breach cloth before taking the girl back in his arms. Moving into the bathroom, he stepped into the large garden tub and kneeled down, patently waiting on the basin to fill with warm water so he could cleanse her lover from her. He also did not like the scent of the Spinnan master lingering on her skin.

Relaxing his body, Nighthawk let his mind drift while the heated water rose. He despised necromancers because they had turned him into what he was now… even that feeling had to be concentrated on before he felt the slight twinge of it. This necromancer was different from the others… she didn’t want to control… she wanted to set them free.

Looking down at the woman in his arms, he didn’t have to wonder why her body had no effect on him. His soul was still trapped in the grave and with it… most of his emotions. He felt no need to be loved or to be hated… much less want someone.

Finding the shampoo on the corner shelf, Nighthawk gently lathered up her long silver hair allowing the strands to slide silkily through his fingers. Seeing no reason to rush, he took his time washing her. It had been a long time since he’d touched someone without the intent of causing harm.

When he was satisfied with her scent, he rinsed her off and emptied the tub. Wrapping some towels around her body and hair, he stepped back into the bedroom and placed her down on the bed. He’d done what he could for her. Since the water hadn't roused her, he knew she was in a very deep sleep and probably would not awaken for some time. Without the right protection, this war would be the end of her.

Removing the towel from her hair, Nighthawk gently lifted her upper body and touched his fingers to the injury on the back of her head. He’d felt it while washing her hair. During his first life he’d been somewhat of a healer… a shaman… so he knew this injury was not life threatening.

He let his mind reach deep inside her, wanting to know if there was another reason for her to want to stay asleep… abandoning this world for a little while. He had never severed the link she’d established with him in the smaller graveyard and this allowed him to turn the mental link back on her. In the past, when a necromancer would link with him, it had felt more like a choke hold. Hers was the equivalent of holding hands.

Even in her sleep, he could feel her hunger burning… the side of her that wasn’t of Craven’s bloodline. She was keeping it deep inside her… hiding its call. The hunger was offering to speed up her natural healing abilities. This was the one thing he could not do for her… the energy she needed came from the soul, and as of yet… he didn’t have one. It was good that she slept for now, even though it was a slower way to heal.

Nighthawk traced the back of his knuckles across her soft cheek where Nile had struck her and left a dark bruise. Craven had said a lover’s caress could heal her. Did one have to have a soul to love? He supposed so since he had not felt the emotion since his true death decades before. He had to strain just to feel any emotion beyond hard numbness most of the time.

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