"invisible Fiend"
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dochermes"Invisible Fiend"
6/23/1991
Completely covered by her black uniform, Tang Ming was almost invisible as she raced through the forest. Her snug bodysuit, cowl and gloves were light cotton; her low boots were soft leather and, with the full-face hood she wore, not a glimpse of skin could be seen. The only break in the camoflauge of the black was the thin white outline of a rampant Chinese dragon on the front of her mask. It was late, but no trace of dawn showed in the sky as she ran.
Ming no longer carried any weapons. She had long ago discarded the anesthetic dart gun and other mechanical devices of the KDF because she felt they interfered with her balance. The heavy wooden darts she had worn in wristbands had also started to annoy her, so she had left them packed away as well. Her main talisman now was the small Dragon pendant made of Ensalir crafted by the immortal Eldarin themselves. Hung on a thin silver chin under her tunic, it was this sigil which gave the Dragon of Midnight the ability to pass through solid walls.
Silent even at a full run, Ming was breathing evenly and smoothly. She was a small woman, just over five feet tall and a bit over one hundred pounds. Yet all her life had been spent in hard exercise and discipline, The Fang Lung style she had learned from her love Chen Wong-Lai had been derived from the arts of the Brumal of Androval, masters of stealth and quickness. In his short life, he had taught it to no one else. Her own innate abilities of perception and balance made her a peer to any martial artist in the Midnight War. Tang Ming slowed as she spotted faint light ahead and she became even more stealthy.
The crescent moon was so thin it barely showed, and the stars blazed brighter than she had seen them for years. It was good to be away from the cities, which were never dark and never silent. In the year since Chen had died, she had become more and more weary of her life. She was tired of fighting, of tension and worry. Lately, she had woken from dreams of being in a small village somewhere in a peaceful land. She wanted to go back to Chujir, where Chen had taken his last breath, and spend her days there.
Soon, she crept up to a small courtyard with a low stone wall, from which light showed and voices sounded. Something was wrong, though. There was a heavy fog of malice in the air that repelled her. Her perception seemed fogged as she approached.
Gralic magick. The Forbidden Arts were being practiced here and, even as the aura numbed her sensitivity, she grew angry at the offensiveness of it all. A shadow among shadows, making no noise and offering no glimpse of herself, the young Chinese woman slowly made her way to peer through a gap in the crumbling wall.
Around a low stone table stood four women. On the crude altar lay a tiny bundle wrapped in a blanket. The women were wrapped in the dark red robes of Those Who Remember, the cult dedicated for ages to rousing the Sulla Chun from where they had been imprisoned at the beginning of the world. The baby on the altar stirred and made a mewling cry, and Tang Ming restrained herself with an effort. She continued to watch. All her captain had been able to tell her was that there had been a kidnapping that morning. Bane had said he knew that the Tel Shai knights had been disbanded and that, as one of the few survivors, she had been released from service. Ming had replied that she would always do her duty and he would be her captain however long she lived. So here she crouched on a chilly North Dakota night and watched witches prepare a sacrifice.
The cult members all seemed to have long white hair that hung loose down their backs, and they were all thin. Only one held a weapon as far as she could see, a long-bladed ceremonial knife. Then she spotted a fourth figure, a man, wearing a long topcoat and wide-brimmed fedora. She could not see his face between the upturned collar and the lowered hat brim. He wore gloves, too. Was he in disguise? Which of the Thirteen was this? With her gralic perceptions muted, she could not be sure. Their interrogation of the Phantom had not given them enough information on their enemies. Quilt did not limit his organization to just thirteen, despite the name. Well, it made little difference, she thought. Whoever this fiend was, whatever these witches intended, no baby was going to be sacrificed tonight. Ming came from a large family in Kowloon, she had held and changed many babies and she knew there was nothing more important in the world.
The man in disguise was not taking part in the ceremony. Perhaps he was a bodyguard or servant. The four witches were marching counterclockwise, widdershins, around the altar. She could hear them chanting, "Nocem artis! Cavel tremeks Enas-Goth." Tang Ming picked the part of the wall that was closest to the ceremony and raced around to it. She took a deep breath and held it, calling on the power of the ancient sigil she wore and ran right through the loose stones as if she were smoke passing through a mesh. She hurtled headlong upon the witches without any warning.
The nearest one went down as Ming whirled on one heel and kicked her right in the solar plexus as hard as she could. The air was driven from the woman's lungs with a rush. EVen as that one fell, the Dragon of Midnight seized the next one by the wrist, pressing down on the witch's shoulder with the other hand, driving her body down to the hard ground and bending that arm up until it snapped. The other two were just beginning to react, turning around in confusion. There was the one with the knife, well she would get what she deserved. Leaping in beside the witch, Ming seized her elbow and wrist and drove the blade into the woman's heart as hard as a punch. Gone was the usual restraint Ming showed. Gone was the care not to use more force than necessary. Tang Ming took a quick step forward, raised her right arm and smashed the open edge of her stiffened hand to the woman's neck. All this had taken place in a heartbeat. As the fourth body hit the ground, Tang Ming was whirling back to the first, who had only been winded and she dropped to one knee to finish the witch with a tight hard fist to the back of the head.
In no more than three seconds, she had taken four lives and she was glad. Baby killers! Rising, she looked for the man and did not see him. Had he fled? But she spotted the topcoat dropping to the ground. The wide-brimmed hat, the gloves and trousers and loose shoes were strewn around but there was no sign of the man himself. She understood now which of the Thirteen she faced. It had to be Bryan Griffin, heir to the secret of the original Invisible Man. Even as this sank in, something she couldn't see smashed right into her face. Ming hopped back, arms whirling in the wide windmill patterns of her original Fu Jow Pai style. Her lip had been split by that punch.
For a long moment, she stood in a low stance, arms circling in an attempt to find her enemy. Then an unseen fist exploded against the back of her head, taking her by surprise so she could not roll with it. Lights flashed inside her skull. Wheeling, she whipped out a wide reverse kick that caught nothing. Again, the Invisible Man struck her hard in the face.
Ming fell, rolled and leaped up again. Let him do his worst. She could take it until she found him. She stepped forward with her arms whirling in a wide patterns, every sense alert. If only her gralic perception were not numbed by the ceremony she had interrupted! She was the one Tel Shai knight who normally could have found this dog instantly. For another moment, nothing happened. Then an unseen hand squeezed one of her breasts. She swung furiously, spinning around and almost falling as she connected with nothing. No. She must be calm. She must empty her thoughts...
The Dragon of Midnight lowered her arms, waiting, ready. Her mystic perception stirred and started to pierce the miasma in that courtyard. Suddenly her head snapped up. She glared at the altar where a long wavy-bladed dagger was hovering in mid-air over the baby. Ming had never moved more more quickly in her life as she snatched a flat piece of rock the size of a fist and hurled it with perfect accuracy. Griffin cried out in pain and the knife fell with a clatter. In an instant, he might step away and be lost again but she would not give him that instant. Like a small black leopard, she flashed forward and pounced upward onto the space where she knew he must be. They tumbled to the rocky ground. She still could not see the fiend but she had him beneath her and would not let him get away.
Finding an arm, she grabbed it by the wrist, pulled it out straight and with her other fist broke it at the elbow. She had never struck a more satisfying blow in her career. The Invisible Man shrieked in agony and wriggled desperately to get away. It was no use. He might have been a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier but he was no match for her deadly skill or her grim determination. She forced him down on his back, one knee thumping down on his chest, pinning his remaining good arm down with her other foot. Griffin's voice cursed her from the empty air but that only gave her the final target she needed. Ming drew back her arm with her hand in the leopard-fist position and drove it down with the blow she used to break tiles and bricks. It connected squarely to the man's forehead, just above the unseen eyes and the crunch of bone cracking had a gruesome finality.
Beneath her black mask, Ming winced as she licked her split lip. One of her eyes was beginning to swell shut but she hardly noticed it. Rising to her feet, she watched as the man's body gradually returned to normalcy. The skeleton blurred into sight, then organs and muscles appared over it. Finally, the skin took form and the naked corpse of Bryan Griffin lay sprawled at her feet. A deep indentation in his forehead showed how he had died. He had been a rather ordinary-looking man in his forties, pale, with whitish-blonde hair. Almost an albino. It took Ming a few minutes to calm down after the fight, to feel her stability return. She turned away, paused and then picked up the topcoat and flung it to cover the naked body.
At last, she could turn his attention to the baby. She found it still sleeping, bundled in a wool blanket knotted to hold it motionless. Apparently, the Invisible Man or the witches had given the babe a sedative but she found its pulse strong and its breathing even. Ming saw it was a little Asian girl, less than a year old, with a thick mop of black hair. Tugging off her mask and folding it into her waistband, the Dragon of Midnight kissed the infant on the cheek and carried it away from the scene.
Her car would be where she had left it, a little over a mile away, back where the dirt road ended. She began to walk briskly back toward it. She had to get this infant to its home. After a few hundred feet, she looked down at the sleeping little face and unexpectedly, she could not hold back a sob of relief. This could have been her as a baby.
5/18/2013
6/23/1991
Completely covered by her black uniform, Tang Ming was almost invisible as she raced through the forest. Her snug bodysuit, cowl and gloves were light cotton; her low boots were soft leather and, with the full-face hood she wore, not a glimpse of skin could be seen. The only break in the camoflauge of the black was the thin white outline of a rampant Chinese dragon on the front of her mask. It was late, but no trace of dawn showed in the sky as she ran.
Ming no longer carried any weapons. She had long ago discarded the anesthetic dart gun and other mechanical devices of the KDF because she felt they interfered with her balance. The heavy wooden darts she had worn in wristbands had also started to annoy her, so she had left them packed away as well. Her main talisman now was the small Dragon pendant made of Ensalir crafted by the immortal Eldarin themselves. Hung on a thin silver chin under her tunic, it was this sigil which gave the Dragon of Midnight the ability to pass through solid walls.
Silent even at a full run, Ming was breathing evenly and smoothly. She was a small woman, just over five feet tall and a bit over one hundred pounds. Yet all her life had been spent in hard exercise and discipline, The Fang Lung style she had learned from her love Chen Wong-Lai had been derived from the arts of the Brumal of Androval, masters of stealth and quickness. In his short life, he had taught it to no one else. Her own innate abilities of perception and balance made her a peer to any martial artist in the Midnight War. Tang Ming slowed as she spotted faint light ahead and she became even more stealthy.
The crescent moon was so thin it barely showed, and the stars blazed brighter than she had seen them for years. It was good to be away from the cities, which were never dark and never silent. In the year since Chen had died, she had become more and more weary of her life. She was tired of fighting, of tension and worry. Lately, she had woken from dreams of being in a small village somewhere in a peaceful land. She wanted to go back to Chujir, where Chen had taken his last breath, and spend her days there.
Soon, she crept up to a small courtyard with a low stone wall, from which light showed and voices sounded. Something was wrong, though. There was a heavy fog of malice in the air that repelled her. Her perception seemed fogged as she approached.
Gralic magick. The Forbidden Arts were being practiced here and, even as the aura numbed her sensitivity, she grew angry at the offensiveness of it all. A shadow among shadows, making no noise and offering no glimpse of herself, the young Chinese woman slowly made her way to peer through a gap in the crumbling wall.
Around a low stone table stood four women. On the crude altar lay a tiny bundle wrapped in a blanket. The women were wrapped in the dark red robes of Those Who Remember, the cult dedicated for ages to rousing the Sulla Chun from where they had been imprisoned at the beginning of the world. The baby on the altar stirred and made a mewling cry, and Tang Ming restrained herself with an effort. She continued to watch. All her captain had been able to tell her was that there had been a kidnapping that morning. Bane had said he knew that the Tel Shai knights had been disbanded and that, as one of the few survivors, she had been released from service. Ming had replied that she would always do her duty and he would be her captain however long she lived. So here she crouched on a chilly North Dakota night and watched witches prepare a sacrifice.
The cult members all seemed to have long white hair that hung loose down their backs, and they were all thin. Only one held a weapon as far as she could see, a long-bladed ceremonial knife. Then she spotted a fourth figure, a man, wearing a long topcoat and wide-brimmed fedora. She could not see his face between the upturned collar and the lowered hat brim. He wore gloves, too. Was he in disguise? Which of the Thirteen was this? With her gralic perceptions muted, she could not be sure. Their interrogation of the Phantom had not given them enough information on their enemies. Quilt did not limit his organization to just thirteen, despite the name. Well, it made little difference, she thought. Whoever this fiend was, whatever these witches intended, no baby was going to be sacrificed tonight. Ming came from a large family in Kowloon, she had held and changed many babies and she knew there was nothing more important in the world.
The man in disguise was not taking part in the ceremony. Perhaps he was a bodyguard or servant. The four witches were marching counterclockwise, widdershins, around the altar. She could hear them chanting, "Nocem artis! Cavel tremeks Enas-Goth." Tang Ming picked the part of the wall that was closest to the ceremony and raced around to it. She took a deep breath and held it, calling on the power of the ancient sigil she wore and ran right through the loose stones as if she were smoke passing through a mesh. She hurtled headlong upon the witches without any warning.
The nearest one went down as Ming whirled on one heel and kicked her right in the solar plexus as hard as she could. The air was driven from the woman's lungs with a rush. EVen as that one fell, the Dragon of Midnight seized the next one by the wrist, pressing down on the witch's shoulder with the other hand, driving her body down to the hard ground and bending that arm up until it snapped. The other two were just beginning to react, turning around in confusion. There was the one with the knife, well she would get what she deserved. Leaping in beside the witch, Ming seized her elbow and wrist and drove the blade into the woman's heart as hard as a punch. Gone was the usual restraint Ming showed. Gone was the care not to use more force than necessary. Tang Ming took a quick step forward, raised her right arm and smashed the open edge of her stiffened hand to the woman's neck. All this had taken place in a heartbeat. As the fourth body hit the ground, Tang Ming was whirling back to the first, who had only been winded and she dropped to one knee to finish the witch with a tight hard fist to the back of the head.
In no more than three seconds, she had taken four lives and she was glad. Baby killers! Rising, she looked for the man and did not see him. Had he fled? But she spotted the topcoat dropping to the ground. The wide-brimmed hat, the gloves and trousers and loose shoes were strewn around but there was no sign of the man himself. She understood now which of the Thirteen she faced. It had to be Bryan Griffin, heir to the secret of the original Invisible Man. Even as this sank in, something she couldn't see smashed right into her face. Ming hopped back, arms whirling in the wide windmill patterns of her original Fu Jow Pai style. Her lip had been split by that punch.
For a long moment, she stood in a low stance, arms circling in an attempt to find her enemy. Then an unseen fist exploded against the back of her head, taking her by surprise so she could not roll with it. Lights flashed inside her skull. Wheeling, she whipped out a wide reverse kick that caught nothing. Again, the Invisible Man struck her hard in the face.
Ming fell, rolled and leaped up again. Let him do his worst. She could take it until she found him. She stepped forward with her arms whirling in a wide patterns, every sense alert. If only her gralic perception were not numbed by the ceremony she had interrupted! She was the one Tel Shai knight who normally could have found this dog instantly. For another moment, nothing happened. Then an unseen hand squeezed one of her breasts. She swung furiously, spinning around and almost falling as she connected with nothing. No. She must be calm. She must empty her thoughts...
The Dragon of Midnight lowered her arms, waiting, ready. Her mystic perception stirred and started to pierce the miasma in that courtyard. Suddenly her head snapped up. She glared at the altar where a long wavy-bladed dagger was hovering in mid-air over the baby. Ming had never moved more more quickly in her life as she snatched a flat piece of rock the size of a fist and hurled it with perfect accuracy. Griffin cried out in pain and the knife fell with a clatter. In an instant, he might step away and be lost again but she would not give him that instant. Like a small black leopard, she flashed forward and pounced upward onto the space where she knew he must be. They tumbled to the rocky ground. She still could not see the fiend but she had him beneath her and would not let him get away.
Finding an arm, she grabbed it by the wrist, pulled it out straight and with her other fist broke it at the elbow. She had never struck a more satisfying blow in her career. The Invisible Man shrieked in agony and wriggled desperately to get away. It was no use. He might have been a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier but he was no match for her deadly skill or her grim determination. She forced him down on his back, one knee thumping down on his chest, pinning his remaining good arm down with her other foot. Griffin's voice cursed her from the empty air but that only gave her the final target she needed. Ming drew back her arm with her hand in the leopard-fist position and drove it down with the blow she used to break tiles and bricks. It connected squarely to the man's forehead, just above the unseen eyes and the crunch of bone cracking had a gruesome finality.
Beneath her black mask, Ming winced as she licked her split lip. One of her eyes was beginning to swell shut but she hardly noticed it. Rising to her feet, she watched as the man's body gradually returned to normalcy. The skeleton blurred into sight, then organs and muscles appared over it. Finally, the skin took form and the naked corpse of Bryan Griffin lay sprawled at her feet. A deep indentation in his forehead showed how he had died. He had been a rather ordinary-looking man in his forties, pale, with whitish-blonde hair. Almost an albino. It took Ming a few minutes to calm down after the fight, to feel her stability return. She turned away, paused and then picked up the topcoat and flung it to cover the naked body.
At last, she could turn his attention to the baby. She found it still sleeping, bundled in a wool blanket knotted to hold it motionless. Apparently, the Invisible Man or the witches had given the babe a sedative but she found its pulse strong and its breathing even. Ming saw it was a little Asian girl, less than a year old, with a thick mop of black hair. Tugging off her mask and folding it into her waistband, the Dragon of Midnight kissed the infant on the cheek and carried it away from the scene.
Her car would be where she had left it, a little over a mile away, back where the dirt road ended. She began to walk briskly back toward it. She had to get this infant to its home. After a few hundred feet, she looked down at the sleeping little face and unexpectedly, she could not hold back a sob of relief. This could have been her as a baby.
5/18/2013
