((I like people reading my work and I like feedback, so I felt like sharing this here. Bit of an explanation. My main, Crow Call/Jessie Bearpaw, is the second to carry that name. The original was a woman back in the 1930s and 40s named Caitlin MacBrehon, who was your classic two-fisted private eye and pulpy detective hero. This is a story of Caitlin and the team/detective agency she worked with, the Midnight Watch that I've had stuck in my head and been slowly telling. I take some... liberties with the CoH canon on occasion, so I hope folks don't mind that. But in any case, I hope folks read and enjoy my scribbles here and leave any feedback you feel like. Also, because I'm a big dork like that, I did make the characters in the CoH costume creator))

The Midnight Watch and the Woman in Green

Siul Geata
The Spirit World
Not Paragon City, Rhode Island

June 20, 1936

The sky swirled again to a mindblurring shade of pea soup green that twisted the brain when stared at, clouds churning and barreling past at breakneck speed to nowhere. Chattering crows had already begun to gather into a great black wheel of black birds, their dark eyes greedily awaiting the battle they all sensed coming. The air was florid, thick with the scent of flowers and fresh morning rain that stuck to you like a hungry boa constrictor. The land was overgrown with mossy green trees and plants, the ground made of grasping bogs and swamps save the space before them.

Rising above the marshlands were four roads, each broad enough to lay a pair of locomotives lengthwise. The roads appeared different with each glance, once cleared earthen pathways, then perfectly straight stone Roman roads, then concrete and asphalt, then others. Where the four roads crossed was a limestone motte-and-bailey castle perched atop large earthen mound with a single ivy strangled tower overlooking the palisade-encircled courtyard. A flickering orange light of a cooking fire shone from the tower windows, inviting and warm to the hungry traveler, inviting them to stay a while in the Siul Geata, the Wandering Gate, the green wisp’s house at the crossroads.

“Horsefeathers.”

The cursing woman perched atop the signpost did not need binoculars, her blazing green eyes easily sharp enough to see the distance. The castle was not alone at the crossroads, for surrounding it milled a great motley of beasts, warriors, and monsters, none of them human. The matted green fur and broad antlers of the cursed Tuatha de Danann were everywhere, howling their strange cries. Amongst them stalked great hounds, their powerful black bodies furless and rippling with muscle, their hungry eyes blazing with baleful energies. Small bands of other beings lurked about, from knots of slender archers with stone arrows and long tapered ears to taller swordsmen in strange armor that almost resembled the shell of an insect or glass. Shadowing over them were the trolls, hulking bruisers with fists larger than snow shovels and faces that had received entire ugly forests, and above the trolls were the ogres. The three ogres near the gate slouched taller and broader than three men, and each wielded great clubs, or possibly just trees torn from the ground and crudely shorn of branches.

“Horsefeathers,” she cursed again, dropping down the fifteen feet without effort. Looking down on the legion from a hill on the east road were five figures. Five humans, three men and two women, all of them frowning and feeling underarmed. Maybe an armored division or three. The green eyed woman stated the obvious as she lit up a cigarette, puffing it like a convict against the wall. “Hng, we’re not getting paid enough.”

“If you die can I have your share?” a trim man in a full black mask asked as he rechecked his pistols.

“No.” she replied sharply.

“If he dies can I have his share?” he nodded at the gray coated and caped man coolly loading a Thompson and glaring at the otherworldly horde with such icy intensity that one would be half surprised it did not freeze to death.

“Yes.” she answered just as matter-of-factly, the very faintest of smirks quirking at the edge of her lips.

A large, copper-tanned man with gold eyes stood from atop a stone and dusted himself off. He shook his head at the pair. “Comedians, both of you. Can you both try and take this seriously?”

“Calm, Caleb.” A soft feminine voice said in an exotic Asiatic accent that faintly rolled her sounds. The delicate Oriental woman in purple walked silently, seemingly appearing next to the big man thanks to her strange Eastern trickery. “This is their way. The Black Dog is uncertain his weapons will suffice against these black beasts, while the Crow…” she gave a whisper of a smile, glancing up at the growing storm of black birds, “… is just hungry. The dawn of battle approaches. Are you afraid?”

He grunted and adjusted his shoulders. He had no weapons. He didn’t need them.

Caleb King, the Feral Man, was a large, broad man filled out with powerful muscle under his copper-tanned skin, golden eyes that never seemed to rest on any spot for long looking out from strong features topped with short cut gray and white hair. Dressed in a short-sleeved vest with no shirt beneath, dark brown aviator pants and boots, he moved with such leonine grace and energy of purpose as to be unsettling for some to watch, uncomfortably reminding of the way leopards look at you through the bars at the zoo.

An adventurer and treasure hunter born into money, Caleb King had frittered his life away on safaris and big game hunts, seeking bigger and bigger prey until he encountered one full moon a far more dangerous predator. In a desperate battle that lasted the night, he survived being hunted through the dark primeval forests by the werewolf, turning the tables and slaying it, but not unscarred. Bitten and infected with its curse, he gained the werewolf’s bestial power of strength, speed, and healing beyond mortal ken, able to transform into the monstrous man-beast at a thought. Swearing to master his animal side with the strength of human reason and will, to tame the power of the beast for the good of all men, Caleb King became the Feral Man.

“No. Not for me, Lady.” Caleb answered, squaring his jaw.

The small woman arched a narrow eyebrow at her companion, expression inscrutable. “You lie well. Is good look on you.”

The Lady Mystery, Lo Feng, was always difficult to read. A pretty Oriental woman with delicate features, tawny skin and piercing canted brown eyes, her sleek black hair wrapped up in twin braided buns. The masked woman was small next to the statuesque other woman in the group, dressed in the strange Eastern baggy trousers, or baji, golden wrapped belt, and dark purple sleeved top that was emblazoned with the gold question mark set in black and white circles, the symbol of the Lady Mystery. She walked silently with a dancing elegance, often appearing next to or behind people without warning, her hands hidden within her wide sleeve cuffs.

Born in China, Lo Feng had been adopted by American missionaries before their steamer was caught in the dreaded Eastern brother of the hurricane, the typhoon. The child had washed ashore the mysterious island of Penglai, where the secretive monks found and raised her in their hidden city. With them and their peculiar ways she learned the mastery of body and spirit, unlocking the hidden powers of the mind. She could cloud the minds of men, fill them with fear or confusion, or combat them directly them with her exotic Oriental fighting techniques. Most startling was her power of postcognition, the power to see the past events of a room or object just by touching them. Unable to accept seclusion on Penglai, she traveled to America and Paragon City, where no crime and no secret is safe from the Lady Mystery.

“All approaches are covered. Sink into the swamps if we go off the roads.” a tall man in a gray hat, coat, cape, and pants said grimly as he stalked over, his voice gravel in the grave. He shouldered the Tommy gun, his expression hidden. “Only way into the crossroads is by the road.”

“Can your mists hide us, Neverman?” Caleb asked, glancing away from the castle for but a moment.

The tall man’s face and features were hidden behind a thick gray scarf and white goggles, his build concealed by his large gray coat and cape. His age, origin, and nationality were unknown. Save to those present, his race was unknown. Given his familiarity with weapons, he might have fought in the Great War. Even the other detectives were unable to discover much of his past, as indeed, he did not know himself.

The Neverman. Never is, never was, never will be. An honest man left for dead in a frozen lake by criminals, the Neverman crawled back from death with no memory of his name or past. With him he carried a small piece of the other side, of the cold of the grave and voices of the dead. His strange powers of the graveyard frost allowed him to speak with the dead, conceal himself in thick, rolling mist that only he could see through, or chill the guilty to the bone. A master of disguise who left no finger or footprints in his wake, he struck terror into evildoers. With no past, no name, no memory, he was the man that never was, the Neverman.

The others usually just called him John at the office and knew Donald Duck was his favorite.

The Neverman shook his head and pointed down the road. “From the men and monsters, yes. But the dogs will smell you.”

“How many sticks do you have left?” the third man in the group asked as he approached. “I know Crow has at least one satchel, but we’ll need that for when we knock on the door.”

“This is sounding like a Crow plan.” Caleb frowned and narrowed his eyes.

The masked man scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, well, at this point… we’ve got no backup, Mage is busy keeping the Way open so, and still no word from the Calvary or one bright red jacket in sight.”

“Figures.” Neverman snorted. “So let’s hear this, Black Dog.”

The Black Dog was not a large man, rather being trim and agile, able to use his gymnastics to leap or scale into buildings. Like the Neverman, his appearance was concealed. In this case, behind a solid black that revealed nothing but a pair of glaring red eyes. He wore a tight black shirt with dark red stripes along the flank and underarm and the symbol of the hellfire eyed black dog, silhouetted in crimson. Like the rest of clothing, his pants were black with a narrow red stripe down the side. A pair of cunningly modified Colt semi-automatics were at his belt, as were a variety of clever devices and inventions.

A former police scientist, Sam Washington had watched his life go down in flames when he had filed a report conclusively connecting Don Marcone’s son, Leo, to a brazen attack on a rival speakeasy. When he refused to admit he’d made a mistake, even for money, even in the face of threats, the Family had him fired and left him beaten and broken in a gutter like a kicked dog. A week later the police found Leo in a shot up nightclub, surrounded by a dozen of his unconscious capos, driven mad with terror and babbling about the Black Dog coming for him. When the Black Dog crosses your path your doom is near and when he bites down he never lets go.

The masked man began to explain. “We don’t need to fight them all. But if we can break up their lines as we move forward…”

The man in gray nodded, seeing where this was going. “Disrupt them, keep them off their feet and confused. Fight only the ones in our way.”

“Exactly.” The Black Dog nodded. “I think we’ve got enough, between the Mark 2s on Neverman, my shock charges, and whatever Crow’s got left, plus her satchel for the main gate, but if we time this right...” he shrugged. “Keep up the forward momentum with each blast.”

Lady Mystery frowned and held up a finger. “If I may, what of our departure? We cannot fight and carry, and our ammunition will be gone.”

“Never said it was a good plan.” He admitted. “This is Crow’s original plan, after all.”

“Speaking of which…” Caleb frowned and looked about. “…where is Crow Call now?”

As answer, a shape trailing twin white contrails came sailing out of the trees above, landing in an easy crouch. “Scouting. Tell me you have some faith in me.”

The Crow Call was a tall, fair skinned woman whose light brown jodhpurs and dark red jacket hid a strong, athletic figure. Her striking features were hidden behind a black mask that framed her blazing green eyes, a mane of red hair hanging down to her shoulders. A dynamo of a woman whose movements belayed ferocious energy and power, she gave off an air of perpetual boredom when she wasn’t kept busy. The twin tails of her long white scarf trailed behind her, curling and flipping with her motions. More alarming for some would be the brace of seven inch fighting knives hanging from each side of her belt.

Born Caitlin MacBrehon in Belfast, Ireland, and usually just called “Kate,” the Crow Call had immigrated to the States shortly after the Great War. A young Irishwoman in Paragon, she had found work as a secretary and field photographer for the Treasury Department’s local office. A natural at the detective work, her keen mind, impossibly sharp eye, and literally bone shattering right hooks soon made her something of a good luck charm and secret weapon for the office. With the strength of many men, able to run down a horse on foot and barely aging a day in over ten years, plus a reckless passion for adventure, it was difficult to keep her out of trouble anyways. Where she came by her strength or agelessness she never stated, claiming that it was simply in the blood and changing the subject away from her family.

After an incident involving a dark cult, human sacrifice to blasphemous sea gods, a living black mass of a monster, and a small Massachusetts town being obliterated by naval gunfire, Kate became more interested in the weirder side of the work. Also, she’d been fired. Starting her own private detective office in Paragon City at the beginning of the decade, the Crow Call investigates and battles the evil lurking in the dark corners of the earth while avoiding her landlord and creditors.

Together, they were the Midnight Watch. Five detectives, adventurers, and paranormal expects who took cases the cops couldn’t or wouldn’t handle and less unpredictable than the newly appeared, self-proclaimed heroes. Each of them a capable detective, monster hunter, and sleuth in their own right, and together they could pool their resources and talents, take on bigger cases… for a fee, of course. All those fedoras and bullets and cigarettes weren’t free.

When they got paid, anyways.

“Hng.” Neverman snorted in answer.

“See anything?” Caleb asked.

Crow shook her head. “Nothing new. East is our best approach. Less elf-shot archers. I figure one grenade for each ogre-“

The Black Dog interrupted, “Won’t have those left for them. We’re using the grenades for getting through the lines to door.”

“Okay.” She raised an eyebrow. “Split the satchel into three for them?”

“That’s for sapping the gate.”

The redhead nodded slowly. “Then fight our way in, take out anything in our way, do the job, try not to die?”

“Pretty much.” The masked man replied. “We’ll figure out that last part after we get there.”

“Aces.” She pursed her lips they drew back into a feral grin. “So this’ll be interesting.” A hungry, half-mad look lit up her bright eyes and Crow Call looked towards the castle. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Caleb King had started to pace, his voice lowering into a deep rumbling growl. “So am I.” The Feral Man began to stride towards the peak of the hill, growing larger and larger with each loping step.

“Never wanted to live forever, anyways.” The Black Dog nodded grimly, drawing his pistols and moving in to flank the Feral Man and the red-maned warrior woman.

The Neverman grunted and stepped in on the other flank. “See you all on the other side.” He pulled back the slide on his Tommy gun with a loud click-clack “One way or another.”

“Look toward the dark, for the moment of truth, the moment of death…” The Lady Mystery began to recite, stepping in behind Caleb and Crow, between the other two men. Her voice rose into a clarion cry as they crested the hill and beheld the otherworldly castle and the armies of the mysterious woman in green.

“… the moment of life…”

They seemed to stretch now across the horizon, bathed in the pale light of the moon overhead. Five humans atop a hill. The Hero. The Werewolf. The Vigilante. The Ghost. The Monk. An army of monsters below.

“… the moment of midnight…”

The Feral Man, vest gone and now a seven-foot mountain of muscle, gray fur, and fangs in pants and boots, let out a bestial roar that shook the earth. Crow Call threw back her head and released an earsplitting discordant war cry that split the sky as terror rippled through the valley. A gray mist poured in from behind them and around them, enveloping the land with each step in a deep fog. Brass pins spun in the air, slowly falling as a pair of grenades took flight even as they broke into a run.

“The moment to fight!”

To Be Continued!

_________________
CoH: @Dr. Reverend - Crow Call, Econaut, Andromeda Knight, Nemesister, and quite a few others
CO: @Dr_Reverend - Red Crow, Strangeling, Nemesister, and more

Rev's DA Gallery: [url]http://terraus635.deviantart.com/[/url]

Siul Geata
The Spirit World
Not Paragon City, Rhode Island

June 20, 1936

They barreled down the hill like runaway trains, firing from the hip and hurling defiance and grenades as they went. Roaring with fury and rage and either courage or bloody-minded insanity, they seemed to know no fear. From afar could be seen the twin white contrails of the Crow Call’s scarves as she sprinted along the road, the gray loping hulk of the Feral Man, the dark bolting silhouette of the Black Dog, the shrouded shape of the Neverman’s dead run, and the elegantly graceful strides of the Lady Mystery. In their wakes poured the thick graveyard mists of the Neverman, burying the lands behind them in impenetrable fog and shadow.

An inhuman roar of challenge rippled through the ranks in answer, from the front lines of howling Tuatha de Danann to the bellowing of the ogres. Dozens, then hundreds, then thousands of monstrous shouts filled the night, and swords, spears and bows, claws and fangs and clubs slipped their binds.

There were so few of them. Five against an army. They came closer and closer, their tiny number nearer to the enveloping horde by the moment. The boundless mass of monsters prepared to envelop them…

“Now!”

Fire erupted and bloomed, iron and flame scattering and shattering through the bestial ranks as the grenades all ticked to zero. Twice a score fell, scarred and maimed by the blaze or the iron shrapnel that burned even hotter to them. The night lit up as a wall of flame formed, illuminating and separating the two forces even as the monsters and fae fell into confusion.

A great beast leaped through the flames, his wolfish features illuminated hellishly in the blazing fires like an ancient nightmare. With a primal howl he charged into the staggering lines of Tuatha. A red-maned woman darted in to join him, whooping and shrieking as the blood of heroes burned in her veins at the chance for battle and glory. The two gunmen jumped over inferno, their weapons already spitting flame as they tried to keep up with the werewolf and the redhead’s mad charge. Swiftly joining them was the purple woman, seeming to dance through the stray arrows already being let loose.

Inhuman bodies flew into the air as the Midnight Watch crashed into the disrupted ranks, charging through and over line upon confused line. The werewolf swung his great arms, snapping spears like twigs before grabbing their owners, hurling them back again into their own ranks. He slammed into the mass of Tuatha, ripping and tearing with all his primal might. Fists fell upon them like sledgehammers, bone splintering and beasts roaring in pain. Grabbing a large green furred bruiser, he spun about and exposed it’s back.

The Crow Call dodged and weaved through the spears and claws like they were child’s attempts, her fists a blur as she delivered half a score tree trunk shattering punches to the emerald bulk’s vulnerable back. Vaulting the stricken fae even before it fell and the werewolf, she dove headlong into a knot of tall swordsmen. Long scarves flowing behind her, she narrowly avoided their blades, her accelerating fist catching one square in the chest, armor impacting inwards as she drove it to the ground. Standing atop the fallen warrior she found herself surrounded by its longsword-wielding comrades. Her lips pulled back into a feral grin as seven inch blades slipped from their sheathes. “Hello boys, tell me if you know this number…”

She spun to the left, catching a downward slash from a fairy sword between her crossed blades. The inhuman force of the blow actually pushed her back slightly, her boots digging into the road. Several more of the fae swordsmen began to close in, trying to hem her in. With a shout Crow Call dropped beneath another cross swing into a crouch, rising with an upward slash of her own that cut through the fae’s chest, it’s armor shattering around her blade like cheap china. It staggered back, screaming in pain as she whirled away, swirling her blades in opposing arcs to catch a pair of leaping hounds across the muzzle. They shrieked and fell to the ground, wisps of smoke rising from the deep cuts left by iron blades. There were still too many of them, enough to simply pile atop her if they could. A swordsman reared up behind the scarfed detective, wicked looking blade high above it’s head.

“Down!” rumbled a gravely voice through the din, mere seconds before the lethal typewriter began to write a poem of destruction. The bullets streaked over the ducking detective, sparks and inhuman blood erupting from the new holes in the fae’s breastplate. Gray and red cape flowing behind him, the Neverman continued to run forward into the horde. He dove under a Tuatha’s swipe, rolling around its arm and over it’s back to bring his Thompson to bear as he hit the ground. Even before it hit the ground he was running again, never stopping. “Keep moving!”

With each running leap, with each step, more mist gathered in his wake, choking the path behind him in billowing graveyard fog. The thick murk muffled the eyes and dulled the ears, phantoms faces appearing and vanishing to the companies trapped within. Roars of frustration and fear arose in the trackless footsteps of the Neverman. He rounded a spear thrust by a fae warrior, deflecting the blow up with the butt of his gun before reaching forth, the air becoming sharp around his hand as he roughly grabbed the inhuman’s head. It’s scream was snatched away in it’s throat, white frost spiderwebbing down it’s body and armor.

The frozen fae’s armor shattered into glass shards as a pair of forty-five rounds hurdled into it, knocking the warrior to the ground. The Black Dog ran past the icy remains, hidden eyes already tracking and lining up shots. Hammers rose and fell again and again to a deadly steel beat, iron bullets piercing the monsters’ armor like cloth and continuing through. A deep roar made him snap his head to the looming troll and more importantly, its rapidly approaching hogshead sized fist. The troll’s swipe glanced off his back as he rolled beneath it, rising into a leap at the monster’s chest, feet and blazing pistols forward. Blood erupted from the troll’s chest as round after round tore into it, hitting the ground like a toppling tree from the Black Dog’s double kick.

Crouched atop the slowly cooling troll, the Black Dog snapped another grenade from his belt. It skipped, hopped and bounced into the horde, skidding between Tuatha and troll legs before being grabbed by one of the monstrous hounds. A sphere of fire, smoke and iron splinters exploded from the unfortunate beast’s mouth, sending a shockwave of pain and confusion through the nearby ranks. Into the confusion ran the Black Dog, always in motion, pistols blazing. Ducking and weaving, returning the archers’ favors with steel and fire. An archer, barely taller than a large child but armed with piercing elf-shot, lined up on the vigilante’s back and let fly.

The elf-shot streaked through the air, past the masked vigilante, and with pinpoint accuracy into the shoulder of a very startled Tuatha. Lady Mystery allowed a small smile to appear on her face even as she danced fluidly around a swordsman and clouded the inhuman mind of the archer. “Mind full of madness and strange,” she chanted to herself, focusing her strange power to leave a hound writhing in pain, “but finds itself twice deluded.”

The small woman flowed beneath a spear, kicking sharply upwards at the fae’s knee. Before it could topple in pain it rose into the air, hovering a few inches from the earth. With a grunt the Lady Mystery hurled it backwards into the crowd, sending Tuatha, fae and hounds flying as the armored projectile cut a deep furrow through their ranks. The purple lady of mysteries spun to the left then the right, spreading terror and confusion about her with her exotic Oriental arts to send spears off their marks, arrows wide and into the wrong target. Confusion and terror abounded, primal roars rising as she seemed to blur, seemingly everywhere except where she was. She whirled around a troll club’s smash that sent cobblestones flying, running gracefully up the knotted branch to flip over it’s gnarled head, hands taking hold as she fell upon it’s back. “Horrors.”

“Crow, satchel!” the Black Dog cried out as he shoved his pistol into a troll’s face, improving it’s looks with the pull of a trigger.

The Crow Call skidded roughly across the ground to a stop at his feet. She weakly tossed him the home-made demolition charge and groaned. “We done yet? I want a new dance partner.”

“Take mine.” The Neverman grunted, smashing a shivering fae’s face in with the butt of his Tommy gun. “I’ll cover Black Dog.”

Crow Call rippled her body to leap to her feet, throwing a blade through a charging hound’s maw. “Itsy-bitsy problem there, boys.” She thumbed back at the gate before drawing another knife.

Before them rose the heavy wooden gate of Siul Geata, interwoven beams of ancient oaks forming a solid barrier. There were no steel nails or bolts holding this door together, rather the beams and bars had grown together, wooden veins and roots sinking and melting together to form a single piece. The walls themselves were hewn stone, weathered and ancient from an age before that of Man’s. Before the gate stood a nearly as formidable obstacle: a trio of ogres, almost as huge as the gate itself and armed with tree trunks.

“Oh. Right.” The Black Dog nodded at the upset stones Crow’d left from skipping along the road, leading back to one of the ogre’s cudgels. “Your dates.”

Lady Mystery sent a wave of terror and confusion into the mist behind them and glanced over her shoulder. She was dusty and dirty, one of her sleeves ripped along its length. “Prettier than last,” she conceded dryly.

“Cork it.” Crow Call growled, irritably kicking a charging hound back into the Neverman’s mists. She pulled an arrow out of her side and hurled it into the nearest ogre, which barely noticed. “Caleb’s already on it. Wait for the signal.”

Ahead, the Feral Man roared and leaped onto the head of the middle ogre in a single bound. Red teeth and claws bared, the enraged werewolf already had half a dozen spears and arrows broken off in it’s blood-matted gray fur to no effect. The wolfman grabbed the startled giant’s man-sized face, releasing a primal howl before barraging it with a stream of bone-shattering punches. The ogre gave a bellowing cry of pain, dropping its club to flail at the hateful thing. It swatted and swung its great hands, trying to catch or crush the Feral Man, but he held tight, claws and teeth digging in. The other ogre swung his club, trying to knock the pest off its comrade’s face. The Feral Man dropped moments before the tree trunk smashed against the giant’s head, sending it toppling into the castle like a fallen oak.

“That’s our cue!” Crow Call shouted and charged in, scarves whipping behind her. Up ahead, the fallen ogre slumped stunned against the wall next to the gate, the other two nearly tripping over it to try and stomp on Caleb King.

“Crow, play with Caleb. Neverman, cover me while I set the charges. Lady Mystery, keep the rest out of our hair!” the Black Dog shouted as he nimbly flipped over a hurled spear, which he took as the fae’s sincere desire to be shot in the face.

“Don’t need to tell me twice!” Crow Call flashed a feral grin and sprinted in, far too fast for the others to keep up had they been on horseback. She whirled around an ogre’s titanic leg, blades whirling and glinting in the moonlight. “Got an idea!” she shouted to the werewolf as her knives sliced through the giant’s Achilles tendon, steam rising off the iron-inflicted wounds.

The Feral Man growled something not fit for a lady’s ears about Crow’s ideas as he hurled a hogshead-sized chunk of the road at the ogre.

At the gate, the Black Dog crouched down and began setting up the satchel charge, shadowed by the Neverman. The gray-clad man’s Tommy gun rattled off his growing displeasure with the fae a few times as he loomed over the smaller man. The satchel charge itself was home-made, really a glorified collection of dynamite and fuses. The masked vigilante shook his head as he rolled out the fuses. “Worried this won’t be enough kick. No idea how thick this gate is, but this close? Looks tough.”

“Right.” The Neverman nodded as he reloaded. “Just blast enough to fit Caleb through?”

“Little bigger would be copacetic, but can’t shape the charges.”

A swordsman slammed into the wall nearby and crumpled bonelessly, propelled by the Lady Mystery. The taller man stepped forward and lowered his weapon. “Leave that to me.”

“Right.” The Black Dog stood and stepped back, drawing his pistols. “You know, it’d be keen if you told me your plans for once,” he muttered sourly as he took the Neverman’s place providing cover, snapping off a few shots at a Tuatha held in place by Lady Mystery’s power.

The earth shook from an ogre tripping over it’s own feet, trying to turn as Crow Call and the Feral Man dodged around it. The Neverman grunted and put his hand against the wooden gate, fingers spread wide. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, drawing deeply upon the otherworldly chill of the grave, of the ghosts screaming for unsated vengeance, of the little piece of the other side he carried. As he exhaled frostwork spread across the wood, the wood creaking and crackling loudly as the dread cold sank in. Fingers of ice ran through the wood as it withered and froze, the dead man’s frost racing across its surface and into the stone.

The man that never was staggered back, catching his breath before it fled him completely. Behind them, the mist was threatening to fade. The Black Dog holstered one pistol, firing the other at a leaping hound as he caught the stunned Neverman. The smaller gunman glanced over. “You okay?”

“It’s done,” the gray man nodded, forcing himself to recover. “Kick in the door.”

The Black Dog nodded back and lit the fuse before running, supporting the Neverman as they dove behind the leg of a fallen ogre. “Fire in the hole!”

The flame raced along the fuse and into the satchel. For a moment there was nothing. Then came the thundercrack of destruction itself made manifest, as the great noise and force of the blast hammered the frozen door. Smoke and sound rose fill the air, and as they cleared it at first appeared that the door still stood, steam rising from the gate. But then came a crackling groan and in a sudden roar of tearing wood, the gate exploded into in a cloud of splinters and airborne lumber.

“I think Caleb should fit through that,” the Black Dog commented dryly.

“Door’s open, let’s go!” The Neverman shouted, stepping into the breach and scything his Tommy gun over a trio of stunned swordsman staggering towards the courtyard entrance.

A long low roar rumbled through the castle and the Crow Call fell out of the sky in front of him, landing in a painful looking attempt at a roll. He glanced back. The fallen form of an ogre was draped over the front of the castle wall, blocking much of the gate. Lady Mystery rushed up to help the bloodied Crow to her feet, pressing her delicate hand against the side of the warrior woman’s head in an attempt to lessen the pain with her strange powers.

There were much less fae inside the courtyard, many of them startled and wounded by the gate’s fall. A gray streak from the castle wall slammed into the nearest, flattening it before it knew what happened. The Feral Man’s massive lupine form loomed over the fallen fae, a dozen wounds covering his gray body. He snarled back at the rest of the Watch, “The tower, go!”

With the Black Dog tossing thickets of iron caltrops in their wake, the Midnight Watch streamed for the tower. In the bedlam few were able to stand in their way, and the Crow’s knives or the Feral Man’s fists quickly struck them down. The Lady Mystery did what she could to salve their wounds as they ran, focusing her power on healing them, or at least dulling the pain and sealing the bleeding. The five vaulted a strange wagon and kicked open the tower door, slamming it open through the two guards bracing from the other side.

The tower was bigger on the inside than the outside, a winding staircase that warped the world around it leading up past room after room. The Crow Call cursed and jammed one of her iron knives into the door latch. “Up there somewhere.”

“Where?” the Black Dog asked, reloading his pistols.

The Lady Mystery closed her eyes for a moment and touched the foot of the staircase. Images swirled through her mind, of countless previous comings and goings. In this spirit world, time flowed and ebbed like the tides and was a fluid, malleable thing where cause did not always automatically precede effect. She latched on to a particular image and her dark canted eyes shot open. “Follow me.”

The Watch followed the Oriental woman in purple as she darted up the stairs. A few fae, almost all of them uncursed and unarmored, emerged from rooms along the path, but were quickly dispatched by the Lady Mystery’s exotic powers and the Feral Man hurling them over the edge. The tower itself seemed to rise forever, a great corkscrew into the sky.

The small woman stopped suddenly and held up a hand, following the trail of the past. “Here. They are here.”

A pair of great wooden doors, intricately carved with whorls of interlocking patterns and Celtic knots that flowed like ivy, stood before them. Shaped into the wood itself was a strange set of four interlacing spirals that met at a common point, representing the castle’s mistress. Crow Call did not take the time to admire the craftsmanship before kicking the door open and storming into the great dining hall with the rest of the Midnight Watch.

The team stopped in its tracks a few paces inside as hundreds of gleaming inhuman eyes turned towards them. There were fae everywhere, in rich – if tackily ripped off from a Hollywood Middle Ages – clothing, in armor, in the middle of their feast. The Good Neighbors, the Gentry, beings of immense eldritch power, centuries of cunning, and not an ounce of mercy in their veins, regarded the ragged band of mortals with hatred and naked hunger. At the head of the feast hall stood a large cage, with a group of human children in pajamas huddled inside, the oldest looking no more than twelve.

A behemoth rose to his feet, lips curled back in a contemptuous snarl. The being stood up, and up, and up, until it stood nearly twice the height of a man, and nearly twice as broad across the shoulders. Hellish flames licked from its baleful eyes and it’s blazing wings fluttered, great cloven hooves clattering against the stone floor. A great sword made of strangely warped metal, inscribed with unholy, blasphemous symbols, hung from its belt. The demon threw back its horned head and laughed horribly, a rumbling noise that made the mind ache around the edges.

All voices went silent as the lady of the house stood. She was small, barely five feet tall, slender and shapely, with porcelain skin and hair the color of freshly spilled blood pouring down around her round face and her back, and clad entirely in various shades of green. A playful little smile quirked at her red lips, revealing the sharp, fox-like teeth behind it, and her large eyes glowed like twin green will-of-the-wisps. The Green Lady of the Crossroads, the Green Wisp, the Lady of the Wandering Gate, the Bardbane, she was called all of these.

“Hello, chickadees,” Mad Maeve’s musical laughter filled the hall.

Crow Call cursed, “Horsefeathers.”

To be Continued!

((Mad Maeve is a recurring fae villain of mine. But this is what I've got so far, and hope people enjoy it))

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CoH: @Dr. Reverend - Crow Call, Econaut, Andromeda Knight, Nemesister, and quite a few others
CO: @Dr_Reverend - Red Crow, Strangeling, Nemesister, and more

Rev's DA Gallery: [url]http://terraus635.deviantart.com/[/url]

(( More please! ))

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"Do your best and let the rest work itself out."
Doctor Void - Dr. Wretched - Impact Tower - Jackie Bones - MerryGoRound - Bella Facade - Dark Anima - Choose - many others.

Siul Geata
The Spirit World
Not Paragon City, Rhode Island

June 20, 1936

“Well then. Welly welly well well.” The Woman in Green’s lips pulled back into a grin like a tiger that had just spotted a lost child as she stepped barefoot into the air, unperturbed by such niceties as gravity, leaving her raven feather cloak on her chair. Her grin was a little too wide and toothy for her face, just row after row of sharp, perfectly white teeth. Mad Maeve slowly sashayed into the center of the banquet hall and snapped her fingers.

The great ashwood doors slammed shut and sealed tight as the carved roots and ivy animated and flowed knotted together. The Feral Man let out a low rumbling growl and began to step in to shield the others only to be halted by a hand and a headshake from the Lady Mystery. Leather strained as the other three tightened their grips on their weapons.

“Insistent little mortals, coming a calling.” Her green eyes danced like inviting flames off the road. She grinned and threw a mocking little bow. “I bid thee welcome, travelers, to Siul Geata.”

Lady Mystery whispered back to the others, “Follow my lead.” With that, a small, secretive smile upon her lips, she stepped forward and more formally returned the bow. “We humbly accept your offered hospitality as your guests, noble lady.”

Murmurs went up from the assembled Gentry, rumbling up and down the twin banquet tables. Mad Maeve’s crimson eyebrow twitched, her sharp teeth bared for a second, her eyes betraying her howling rage at the invoking of the ancient laws of hospitality. With a tight grin she nodded. “Of course of course, mortals morsels. Oh we shall have to entertain you for ever time indeed.”

“Sadly, my lady, we cannot stay long. Our obligations demand that we leave soon, after our accord is reached, and our contract is most binding.” The elegant Oriental woman was very carefully studying the tapestries behind the floating fae. Anything to avoid those swirling green eyes or the inhuman mind behind them.

The small fairy clucked her tongue. “La. Such a pity.” Nothing in her voice or smile implied she was capable of pity. “So busy and businesses tonight, my my. So you seek not the company, but the clientage. Must think me a shop keeper, a tinkerer, a trader of shoes and scraps.”

“Forbid the thought. But you possess that which is not yours to trade.” Intense training in the secret masteries kept a bead of sweat from rolling down her head. The woman of secrets knew what the green lady was capable of, of snuffing them out like insects.

“Give us the kids back, fairy.” Crow Call stepped forward, eyes narrowed. “Now.”

The murmurs and whispers from the tables intensified even as Maeve broke into laughter. “Oh, now the silly bird speaks! You are so much more fun, sweet pea! Not this so boring polite girl, bless her clever tongue.” Her face appeared inches away from Crow’s, eyes bright and devilishly delighted at this new game. She had not bothered to cover the intervening distance. “So you seek to bid, hmm hmm?”

In a blur Crow Call’s fist passed through the air occupied a split second before by the fairy’s head. Maeve spun away, laughing and giggling. “Ooooh, what fun! Mmm, and a Hero… oooh my… you know not what you are, do you, silly bird. Not one little red drop!”

The Lady Mystery’s collected and imperturbable mask slipped for a fraction of a second, her irritation at her comrade’s temper and impulsive nature flickering on her features. That passed soon enough and she silently slipped behind her red haired teammate to whisper, “Keep her busy and focused on you. Negotiate. Do not fight, whatever you do. But keep all eyes on you.”

The scarfed adventuress gave a shallow nod and glared up at the green woman bristling with feline amusement. “Don’t know or care what you’re talking about, dollface. But you’re letting those kids go.”

“Mmmmmm…” Maeve tapped her chin theatrically in thought. “… no.” She laughed musically and shook her head, chiding the human woman. “You are fun, but…” She looked about conspiratorially, leaning in. “You have not made much of an offer. Give you the children or you die, what is that, silly? So silly.” She clucked and shook her head before pointing at the demon at the table. “While Sabnock there, why, he has offered quite the discount to the Teind. Quite the bargain, too, oh ho yes.”

Crow Call grit her teeth, trying to think of a way around this. The Teind was the tithe the Fair Folk owed to the Princes of the Hells, and they often paid it in children, either their own or with substitutions. Behind her, the others were whispering and nodding. She scowled up at Maeve, raising her voice. “That deal is as squirrelly as you and you know it! Since just beating you to a pulp isn’t an option…”

Mad Maeve gave a pitying little smile and shook her head. “It really isn’t.”

The woman was not accustomed to having to out negotiate people. She tended to focus on avoiding people she owed money. “… then can I counter-bid? He made an offer, I’ll make my own.”

The Green Wisp’s face lit up like a fat kid given the keys to the chocolate factory. She purred in excitement. “Oh very much so.”

A shout went up from the tables, the demon’s fist slamming down upon the wood as it bellowed in outrage. “You entertain this… castoff bootscraping?! This wastes time upon this realm I lack, and you play games with this… ‘mortal.’” The demonic Sabnock snorted derisively and reached for his sword. “I will gut this by-blow myself if you will not.”

An outsized gnarled hand fell upon the demon’s shoulder, pushing him down into his seat by sheer force of strength. Behind the dark beast stood a hulking brute nearly as tall and far broader. The creature was either a truly mammoth example of some manner of goblin or a smaller specimen of some variety of giant, it was difficult to tell which, with huge slabs of muscle straining and rippling under skin the color of battlefield mud. Whatever it was, it was ugly, with teeth jutting from it’s misshapen maw, bat ears, and strange interwoven brands and tattoos roughly carved into its scarred, leathery hide. It was dressed in only the most primitive of clothing and spare armor, a bevy of skulls hanging from its belt. A behemoth black sword, wicked and jagged as if hewn from the living rock itself and as big as a man, hung from a leather baldric upon it’s back. It barked a guttural, rumbling rebuke to the demon, “No.”

“Ah, thank you, Bramblebore, you are always such a dear.” Maeve smiled back at her bodyguard and enforcer, sparing a glance for her demonic guest and waving expressively. “La. Sorry so dearly sorry about the manhandling, friend Sabnock, but all things in their proper time!”

Any attempt at further protest by the demon guest were silenced when Bramblebore encircled its neck with his great hand and began to firmly, unceasingly tighten his grip. The sound of grinding neck bones mixed with the bodyguard’s growl, “No.”

The green fae watched for a moment in rapt fascination before snapping her fingers. Sabnock gasped for breath, flames rising from his eyes in fury as the guardian dutifully stepped back. “That will do, dear.” She sighed and turned back to Crow Call, an apologetic smile on her face. “So so difficult sometimes. Guests fighting, such troubles and trials. Cannot bear to have that under my roof, what would the neighbors think?” She gave a small laugh and shook her head. “To business. Yes! You, my little chickadee, were going to make me an offer better than something oh so silly like trying to fight me. The product is those little dears.” She waved to indicate the cage holding the children.

“I was. But not a deal, since your word isn’t worth the air it’s in and your trades are gonna be beads for Manhattan.” Crow squared her jaw and threw back her shoulders, keeping her eyes locked on Maeve’s and staring into that bottomless green abyss of madness and chaos. She refused to blink, and as she spoke her voice rose to a clarion and filled the hall, echoing off the stones themselves. The detective drew one of her knives and pointed it at the fae. “I challenge you to trial by the sword! Here and now, one way or another, we settle this!”

Maeve blinked in surprise, eyebrows raised, before letting out a peal of laughter. The other Fair Folk soon joined her. “Ah, oh how I have missed your kind! This new age, mmmmm, so much brighter again! Can you not feel it, the color returning to this drab little mudball?”

The Bardbane grinned and floated up to the lone Crow, leaning in face to face and whispered, “Trial by combat… mmmm… what if I say no and just string you up by your entrails?”

The Crow Call flashed a feral grin. “You can’t, sidhe. Let everything slide like this, look bad, won’t it?” She winked. “I broke your stuff, stomped on your garden, tracked mud inside, called you funny names, and you’re too chicken to take me on, what will they say?” She nodded at the other guests. “Makes a bad show, don’t it?”

The fae’s smile crumbled into bared teeth as she hissed at the heroine. Her feet stomped at the air, standing over a foot above the ground. Rising on it’s own accord, her hair had begun to slowly lash about her head like a nest of serpents. “I will tear your wings off and eat your heart. Eat it right up.” Her eyes blazed with eldritch fury. “Silly. Little. Bird.”

The detective did not flinch. “Wanna try that? I’ll settle this now.” She glanced down at the iron knifepoint pressing against Maeve’s belly before grinning defiantly right in her face. “C’mon, tiny, it’ll be keen.”

The woman in green blinked and took a half step back. “You want to fight like a hero? Then so let it be!” She spun back into the air, well out of reach of Crow Call and her blades, her hair returning to normal as she regained her composure. Her voice rose, addressing the crowd as much as her challenger. “So let it be! It would be ungenerous of me to face such a bold challenger, the mortal against magic! So a more fitting, yes, very fitting, champion will take my stead!”

“So much for not starting a fight…” Crow mused wryly to herself, keeping her insolent expression to the inhuman crowd. She threw a glance at Bramblebore, squaring him up the big bruiser as Maeve’s obvious choice for her dirty work. The tendons of the ankles, under the armpit, under the mouth, she quietly began to roll over in her mind the weak points and how to get past that huge sword of his. She jeered at Mad Maeve, “We going to get on with this? I’ve got stuff to do.”

The mad fae grinned thinly over her shoulder at the Crow. “You so do! A little bauble I have kept, getting musty and dusty and rusty… until now.” She spun about, floating back away from the heroine towards her seat. The light in her eyes grew bright, her hair rising to form a writhing halo around her head, her raven feather cloak flying to her shoulders as her voice grew high and sharp. It strained at the ears and mind, a kind of mad pressure as her words filled the air. “You shall have your hero’s duel, Lady of Crows, and the ancient law and old magic demands a worthy foe! What is more worthy of a hero’s mettle…?”

Jade light swirled around the center of the dining hall floor, rising up from the stone in a green mist. Through the boiling fog swarmed countless tiny bright lights, like a million emerald fireflies, churning and coalescing into the shape of a man. The man was tall and strong, dressed in a black cavalryman’s uniform from some time before the Great War. His piping, buttons, gloves, and breaches were all the color of quicksilver, while his coat and boots onyx black. As the haze receded his lack of features were revealed, for his head had no face, no mouth, no ears, and no eyes.

“… than a worthy hero? My Champion for this little matter.”

A pair of ghostly white lights flickered to life in the empty space where the Champion’s eye sockets should have been, locking on to Crow Call with a cold gaze. He did not move, did not breath, only stood there as if dead. Finally he spoke. His voice was human, of a Carolinian in his prime, but oddly hollow, as if some vital chord had been torn away. “A woman? Unusual. You have already been fighting. You smell of blood.”

The Crow Call bared her teeth in a challenge, her hands twitching for the hilts of her blades. “They wouldn’t open the door for a lady. Taught them some manners. So you’re doing the pea soup witch’s black work, eh?”

“I will destroy you.” The Champion replied flatly. He shook his head. “Another fool to the stone then, if you will not turn back.”

“When I win, I have my demands. That’s how this works.” The redhead nodded. “If you can’t beat me, you give me what I want.”

Maeve made a scoffing noise from her seat and beckoned to a set of attendants. A few moments later fae appeared wearing heavy leather aprons, gloves, trousers, and facemasks, carrying a pair of heavy wooden boxes with the care typically reserved for nitroglycerin. Around them the fae were pulling the heavy wooden tables back to give the duelists space.

The faceless man nodded as he pulled a long sword from the box, flicking it about for good measure. The attendants rapidly skittered away. “That is your prerogative.”

The scarfed woman drew her own sword from the box, looking it over before rubbing it down with strange oil. Satisfied that the blade was not a glamoured stick or some trick, she laid it back across her shoulder.

“Not you. Her.” Crow pointed an accusatory at Maeve. “You let every human here go, and I mean free. None of your tricky malarkey with chasing us down five seconds afterwards or sending bullyboy there to their houses. Them and theirs are free of you and yours, and you’re gonna swear it on everything you got that you’ll let them be, forever.”

The edge of Maeve’s mouth twitched in wry amusement. “Is that it?”

“And another thing!” The two fisted detective scowled darkly at the fae. “You… have to pay off all my bar tabs!”

The Green Lady cocked her head in bemusement. “Your…”

Crow smirked up at Maeve as she lit up a cigarette with her free hand, took a drag, and blew out a smoke ring. “Yeah, you heard me. Let us go and you pay off my tab.”

The fae woman huffed theatrically. “As you will. I accept your adorable little demand, silly little bird. La. When you fall to my Champion like you so will…” Her grin grew far, far wider than anything with that many teeth had any right to be.

“That’s just aces.” Crow moved her cigarette to the side of her mouth, puffing on it like a convict being put up against the wall. She swung her blade in front of her, dropping into a loose fighting stance. “C’mon, big man, let’s dance.”

“I honor your courage, if not your wisdom.” The Champion threw a duelist’s salute before moving into his own stance. “On your word, my Lady.”

Maeve leaned forward in her seat, licking her lips in ravenous anticipation of the bloody carnage. “My, yes. Break this oh so silly hero for me, would you, dear?”

The swordsman nodded. “As you command.”

“Go!” she snarled, making little shooing motions with her hands.

Crow Call’s mouth pulled into a grin as she surged forward. She always grinned when she fought.

In a flash their blades met in an eruption of movement, violence, and blue and white sparks. They dodged and swung past each other, Crow leaping over the Champion’s slash to kick into his head. He staggered back at the blow, and bounded into the next forward swing even as she landed. The Champion deftly parried, deflecting her forward momentum past him and into a table.

Crow’s stomach slammed roughly into the table and she rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the downward slash that split the table in two. She swung upwards and across, nearly opening up his chest as he leaned back to avoid it, the tip of her blade taking a button off his coat. With that they were off again, a pair of blurred figures, one black and silver, the other with white contrails, darting across the room and over tables, sparks and flashes of metal wherever they met. Fae scattered and dove for cover as the duelists carved up furrows in the walls, tables, and their meals, the Champion neatly bisecting a chair that Crow kicked at his head.

They crashed into each other again at the center of the hall, blades locked and sparking. Both warriors pushed their weight forward, straining against each other’s strength. The redhead grunted and flashed a feral grin. “You’re makin’ this interesting, bub. Ready to give up?”

The Champion released a faint chuckle, a flicker of humanity in his voice for just a moment. “A shame you cannot win here. Withdraw your challenge and you might survive.”

“Not gonna happen!” She surged forward, driving her knee into his stomach with bone shattering force and sending him sprawling backwards. Even as she swung down, he weaved around her blow to make his own upward slash. At their lightning speeds, she saw it and tried to dodge, scarcely avoiding the counterblow. Most of it, anyways. Crow grunted in pain as the tip of his blade opened her jacket and arm from elbow to just below her shoulder.

From her chair Mad Maeve crowed at the spilled blood, eagerly watching for more.

Steeling herself against the pain and crimson staining one arm, the scarfed woman laughed and raised her sword again. “Had worse bee stings. C’mon!”

Thus they continued their steel dance, their blades almost glowing at the sheer force of the blows. A flurry of slashes, swings, and thrusts at blinding speeds no mere mortal could hope to see, let alone match. They dodged and weaved and parried through the hall, briefly locking half a dozen times only to be broken by a boot to the shin, a pommel to the face, or a knee to the gut.

A bestial roar tore through the hall, shattering the single-minded focus of the crowd and the lady of the house upon the battle. As the roar tore through, the duelist’s blades met once again, the Champion sending Crow’s sword spinning from her grip to embed itself in the wall.

With a bellow Bramblebore vaulted the banquet table and much of the length of the room, drawing his great sword as he landed. He charged forward, swinging down at what appeared to be nothing but the door. The top edge of the blade carved into the wood and continued down only to abruptly stop in place, as if caught and held by an unseen force. The huge bodyguard growled, “Treachery!”

The Green Lady of the Crossroads swiftly shot to her feet and raised her arm. Green and emerald streamers of energy flowed around her hand and streaked forth across the hall, grasping and wrapping around four unseen figures. With a flicker they reappeared, the illusion torn away like old rags, and were bodily lifted into the air. More figures appeared at their feet, cowering as ribbons of arcane energy swirled around them menacingly.

Mad Maeve turned her head to glance back at the open cage and the scattered remains of it’s dispatched minders. With a glower she looked back to the werewolf, the ghost, the vigilante, and the monk she had pinned to the wall and the children crouching by the door. Her entire body began to shake with rage as she rose into the air, her hair rising up into a lashing halo of crimson vipers, eyes gleaming like twin green furnaces. The entire castle shook as she threw her head back and released a skull splitting shriek that made the humans present, and more than a few of the fae, buckle over in agony.

“You dare.” Her discordant screeches echoed off the stones, off the walls of the castle itself as she purposefully stalked across the room. “You dare seek to steal from me? You dare seek to trick me like little rats, scurrying and skittering in my walls, in my house, with my property!” She slashed her hand before her, five ethereal green talons flying from her fingernails and raking the bound detectives. “You shall all see, oh yes you shall see, what happens to thieves at Siul Geata.”

The Midnight Watch screamed as the Bardbane brought them pain, their binds tightening and constricting. Caleb roared, struggling with all his might to break free, his primal strength as useful as the mightiest ant is before a child. The Neverman’s graveyard ice shattered before her arcane power. The Black Dog’s cleverest devices were as nothing against the raw unyielding force of her inhuman rage. The Lady Mystery closed her eyes and focused all her mysterious training, all her secrets of the mind to no avail. None could halt the Green Lady’s wrath or stand before it.

A chunk of oak table hurled itself through the air at the fae. She angled slightly and with a flick of the wrist it exploded into a storm of kindling. Maeve snarled, “What?”

“Hey!” Crow Call hurdled at Mad Maeve through the cloud of splinters, iron knives in both hands. Her speeding form halted inches from the fae’s, the knifepoint menacing a hair’s width from her eye. Green light wrapped around the heroine, entwining her body and wracking her with pain.

“You.” The green lady’s lips curled up into a cruel little smile. “I have plans for you, chickadee. Oh yes, plans upon plans. Tasty, tearing, terrible plans.”

The redhead grit her teeth as her back racked and tightened to an unnatural angle, her knives clattering to the floor. She grinned through the pain. “Nuts to that! We’re not done yet! We had a deal!”

“This farce of a fight…” the howling mad fae brought the scarfed detective to her face, meeting her eyes.

“Isn’t done yet!” She met Mad Maeve’s maelstrom green gaze with her own bright green eyes and laughed. Laughed right in her face. “Kill me and you lose, because I’m not beat yet!”

The fae lady growled and raised her hand, ghostly green talons extending once more from her fingertips. Then with a howl of frustration and indignation she harshly hurled the Watch to the floor. She reached down and grabbed the sprawled Crow by the face, roughly dragging her to her feet and hissing in her ear, “Your kind all break, little bird, and when you do, I will put you all back together, piece by itty bitty piece, just to break you again. And again. And again until there is not the teensiest tiniest bit left to break.”

With that Maeve released the redheaded heroine and floated back to her seat, hair gradually ceasing movement and returning to her back. She wrapped herself in her raven feather cloak and sulked, pushing her lower lip out in a petulant little pout.

The Champion glanced over at his challenger, sword planted at his feet and hands folded behind his back. He had been looking up at the four other members of the Midnight Watch in total silence since their discovery, his expression as nonexistent as his features. With a heavy sigh he picked up his sword once more. “End this. You have no weapons, no escape, and no hope of defeating me. End this now and I can claim as a boon that your deaths will be swift and painless.”

Crow Call wiped the blood from her face and cracked her neck out loudly. “Didn’t you hear what I said?” Her fists tightened, knuckles popping and leather gloves straining, as her mouth curved into a feral grin. “I’m not beat yet!”

A red and brown blur with twin white contrails streaked across the room in the blink of an eye. The air shuddered and rippled around her arm as she swung, her fist slamming into the Champion’s head with such force that the entire hall quaked. Shockwaves radiated out from the impact, rattling tables, chairs, dining ware, and fae. The Champion scarcely had time to fall back from the tremendous blow before another landed, and then another, and then another. In the space of a few heartbeats a dozen punches shook the chamber, each with the strength to shatter through stone, steel and bone alike, each enough to fell even the toughest of mortal man. The flurry of violence that was Crow Call caught the Champion’s sword arm, grabbed the wrist and elbow and wrenched, sending his sword skidding away under a sundered table.

The Champion fell back, battered countless times by the jackhammer assault, scarcely able to mount a counter before the next punishing strike landed and sent him off balance again. Stumbling over a broken chair after a crushing knee to the gut, he fell under her next punch and kicked the debris forward.

Crow Call nimbly leapt over the hurdling mass of wood and it sailed past into the opposite wall, exploding into a mass of splinters. She slammed her knee into where the Champion had been as she landed, missing the warrior by fractions of a second. He had used the momentary reprieve to roll out from under her path of devastation, moving to the side where he could deliver a savagely powerful kick as she landed. The heroine careened away, slamming sideways into the stone wall with a painful crunch and fell to the floor, leaving behind a spiderweb of cracks in the limestone block.

The Champion undulated his body and leapt to his feet, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck out. Nearby the redhead was also rising, brushing the dust off and clearing the stars from her eyes. Though her bones ground together in pain, her arm and face already stained with her own blood, and her body ached, she laughed defiantly as she spotted her opponent, her teeth bared in a challenging grin. “And I thought this’d be boring.”

The faceless man gave a low chuckle as they squared up again. “Finally, someone worth killing.”

“But not today.”

They charged each other, the melee quickly accelerating to such speeds that all others could see was the rush of black and silver against the red, brown and white, though they could not deny the ferocity of the fight. The tables shook with each blow, the gusts of wind from each near miss rushing over them. It carried over broken tables and off the walls, the remaining furniture quickly splintered and broken, the stone cratered with dodged punches and kicks.

They fought not like the civilized duels of knights or rules-bound bouts of boxing champions. Neither of them used attacks with the grace or poise of the Lady Mystery’s exotic eastern fighting arts, or the raw animal savagery of the Feral Man’s mauling attacks. There was no style, no technique, no dignity to how these two fought. This was the art of the street, of the gutter, of the trench, where anything and everything goes and the rules go out the window. It was low and dirty fighting, without honor or reservation. The Champion, in all his silver and black finery, fought with fists, with feet, with heel stomps and knees to the gut and elbows to the face and shoulder checks and clubs and knives and anything he could pick up. Crow returned the favors with interest.

After several minutes of brutal, styleless brawling the Champion grabbed Crow Call by the ankle and hurled her roughly through an ex-table now playing the role of a debris pile. He stalked forward, favoring his right leg but not limping, even as Crow staggered back to her feet. Her striking face was bruised and bleeding, both eyes blackened, dozens of wounds across her strong body flaring in pain or dripping red. She inhaled deeply, bracing herself on her knees, and turned her head towards the approaching Champion. The woman flashed a cheeky little smile. “You fight like a street rat… ngh… no. Soldier.”

The ghostly lights in the Champion’s head flickered as he hesitated for just a moment.

Crow chuckled. “Thought so.”

The man shook his head and growled, “Know when you’re beat, girl. You’re good, but you can’t overcome me.”

The heroine flicked her eyes towards her companions, the children, and the door. She sighed loudly and grit her teeth as she looked back to the Champion. “Guess I’m just stupid.”

A freight train of a punch to the jaw was countered with a strike to the chest and Crow Call went skidding across the floor to the foot of Maeve’s table. The Green Lady peered over the edge down at the battered redhead and clucked her tongue chidingly. “Such a silly little bird… such tasty little tiny morsels you give me.” She giggled excitedly and grinned, eyes gleaming.

Once more the scarfed detective pulled herself upright, leaning back against the table and breathing heavily, ignoring the chattering of the fae. She was having trouble seeing out of one eye and her leg was wobbling, the bones in her knee grinding painfully. With a groan she willed her body into action, leaping off the table to hurl herself at the advancing Champion.

Several seconds later she was pushing off the stone floor to crawl back to her feet, tightening her fists as she turned towards the champion. A half minute after that she grabbed the edge of a stone block, her fingers gripping the edge to support her weight as she dragged herself up. Within a dozen heartbeats, she narrowly rolled out of the way of the Champion’s downward stomp, grabbing his sleeve and arm to quickly rise again.

“Enough!” The Champion bellowed as he slammed both fists down upon Crow’s shoulders, driving her to her knees. She groaned in pain and tried to force her body to work. She could no longer form a tight fist with her left hand. The swelling made seeing out of one eye impossible, and it was becoming tough to keep the blood out of the other. With a cough she spat on the man’s boot, but forced her head upwards.

“Your bones are broken, your body crushed! You’re done!”

Though half blinded by pain, with wounds and injuries and hurts enough to send a dozen of the strongest men to the grave, Crow Call grabbed the Champion’s neck with both hands. She dragged herself, pulled herself to her feet again. Slowly she got up, hands still wrapped around his neck and supporting herself on it. Her stranglegrip was as tight as a kitten’s. “Not… done… I’m too stupid, too stubborn, to stop now… claw up from Hell… if I have to…”

The Champion stared down at her, not bothering to deflect her weak attempt at strangling him. He did not flinch at her feeble punches to his face. He turned his gaze to her companions, the lights in his eye sockets flickering and flaring. Slowly he shook his head and looked back to her. “I could kill you, but you’d win then, wouldn’t you? That was the deal. I have to beat you. Break you.”

“Never.”

“No, it’s not.” He nodded and sighed, the lights flaring to form eyes. The ghostly light spread over the front of his head, coalescing into the ethereal face of a man whose handsome features had been obliterated by tired and hungry lines. “You were right, by the way. Soldier. One that broke far more easily than he should have.”

Crow chuckled lightly, conscious mostly through sheer willpower. “Knew it.”

He smiled thinly and glanced down at the ground, moving his boot to the side and revealing one of Crow’s iron knives that he was standing on. “There’s a stone circle at the bottom of this tower, hidden by a glamoured floor beneath the stairs. It will get you… well, it’s safe.”

“Finish it already!” Maeve howled impatiently from her seat. “This is taking soooo loooong…”

The bruised redhead nodded, trying to keep her body up and glancing back at her group. She reached down and lifted the knife. “You could run, you know.”

The man shook his head. “No. Time to end this story.” He nodded at the Neverman. “Tell John… tell him that I’m sorry we’ll never share that drink I owe him. Maybe in the next life.” He sighed and tightened his lips, taking the iron knife from her hand. “As for me…”

The Champion turned deliberately and faced Mad Maeve and her court, a grin breaking upon his ghostly countenance as he firmly declared, “I forfeit.”

He hurled Crow’s iron knife with all his might, sending it speeding through the air straight at the Green Lady of the Crossroads. It narrowly streaked past the fae woman, opening a thin bright red slice on her perfect cheek and cutting off locks of her crimson hair to embed itself to the hilt in the wall. At the same instant he tossed Crow Call back to the Midnight Watch.

Mad Maeve howled in shock and pain and rage. The chair and table around her splintered and shattered as she screamed, the stones themselves cracking and crumbling around her. An unnatural green light began to form around her, flickering as it scoured and scorched the floor and everything near her as she rose into the air.

The Neverman and the Black Dog caught Crow out of the air. At the same time, Caleb King, the Feral Man, surged forward into the distracted Bramblebore, catching him under his arm and grabbing his massive wrist. The werewolf roared and pulled the bodyguard’s arms downward, directing the swing of his mammoth black stone blade into the sealed wooden door. The great door cleaved in two, splitting with a loud crack as the ancient wood was torn asunder.

“The dog of a madwoman, join your mistress.” Lady Mystery intoned as she opened her eyes for the first time since their discovery. The raw power of will she had been marshalling since that moment rushed out at the bodyguard, crashing into Bramblebore with the force of an avalanche and sending flying him end over end like a leaf in a hurricane.

“Party’s over, let’s go!” The Black Dog shouted as the group quickly herded the terrified children out of the hall, scooping them up as they ran. The Feral Man had Crow Call slumped over one shoulder, kids hanging on to his arms and back as he bounded out of the room.

Crow Call raised her head weakly as they exited the banquet hall, looking back through the shattered door. The Champion stood at the front of the hall, arms outstretched and daring all comers. With the slightest flick of the wrist his sword flew to his hand. Before him floated the Green Lady, Mad Maeve, in all her terrible glory. Her long blood red hair whipped at the air all about her, her raven feather cloak flaring out and covering all behind and beneath her in darkness. A blazing eldritch green light lit up the room as her lips pulled back to reveal row after row of sharp teeth, her nails extending into ethereal emerald talons. The castle shook at her rage unleashed, at the sheer inhuman power of her incalculable fury.

She saw the Champion throw his head back and laugh, bringing his sword up into a guard position, never turning away from Maeve’s awesome might. Just before she passed out, she could hear his voice ringing off the rocks and walls. “Let me show you how a man dies!”

The rest was darkness.

To be concluded!

((This was meant to be the last part... buuuuut I ended up needing an epilogue after this to wrap things up. I hope everyone is enjoying this, and please, leave comments, anything. It lets me know that people are actually reading my work and helps me improve. Special thanks to @Kistulot for helping proofread and putting up with my mad scribbles about fairies and swords and superheroes and stuff. I've already got some ideas for more stories, so if people like this stuff enough, might get around to writing "The Midnight Watch and the Sky Princes," "The Midnight Watch and the Temple of Zapultec," or "The Midnight Watch and the Ghost Jungle." We shall see))

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CoH: @Dr. Reverend - Crow Call, Econaut, Andromeda Knight, Nemesister, and quite a few others
CO: @Dr_Reverend - Red Crow, Strangeling, Nemesister, and more

Rev's DA Gallery: [url]http://terraus635.deviantart.com/[/url]

(( I really, really enjoyed that. You focused nicely on the characters, while also capturing the surrounding environment quite vividly. I loved how distinct you made them all, too. I could see a lot of the action in my head, which was terrific, and I was caught a little off-guard when the Watch tried sneaking the kids out. Bravo! Hope you write more of these! ))

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"Do your best and let the rest work itself out."
Doctor Void - Dr. Wretched - Impact Tower - Jackie Bones - MerryGoRound - Bella Facade - Dark Anima - Choose - many others.