Disclaimers: First of all, this story is a follow-on of sorts to the Bacchae Trilogy by M.Keck, which means that it is set after the end of Season 2 but before Season 3. Events that occurred in the trilogy will be referred to and characters who appeared in the trilogy first will appear here, so it will be easier if you read the trilogy first to understand this story, although it isn't vital. Graphic violence will be portrayed in this story, so if you don't like that kind of thing, don't read it. Yes, I do think Gabby and Xena are an item, but there won't be anything graphic on the sexual side in the story-well, no orgy scenes, but people do have sex you know. There will also be other relationships of a sexual nature portrayed, heterosexual and homosexual. If your too young to read that kind of thing, wait till you've grown up, if it's illegal where you live, move or vote to change it, and if it offends you or insults your beliefs-tough. You don't have to read this story, and I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who will if you don't, so don't bother sending me hate mail and death threats because they will be ignored and deleted, okay? Intelligent criticism is appreciated, and should be sent to: NR185@lamp.ac.uk

Part 1

Twenty-two summers ago...

The port that the ship would land at, allowing them to disembark and land in Egypt at last, was finally in sight, and coming closer with every pull of the Greek ships oars. It had been a long voyage, too long, as far as the silent watcher standing at the bow of the ship was concerned, and she was almost literally itching to set foot on dry land once more, to feel solid, unmoving land under her feet. On the other hand, after living on dry land for over thirty years, and being out on the blue water of the sea only three times, including this time, in your life, you were bound to want to be rid of it after such a long voyage, she reasoned. Besides which, she already missed her beloved forests back in the North of Greece, and Egypt, despite its age, held few attractions for her aside from the lure of solid ground, so the sooner she was ashore and on her way South the better. Emerald-green eyes gleamed in the sun as the tall woman sighed, staring at the wooden port the big ship was making for, where people already waited, either for the goods the ship carried or the passengers, be they slaves, relatives, friends, associates or whatever. Beyond the port sand was all that could be seen, except for a road made from the sand by the passage of countless feet and vehicles, which had crushed down and compacted the surface of the road into a passable, if rough, flat surface. After that there were several stone buildings on the edge of the sands, evidently warehouses or meeting places, and beyond those was a small town, all of the buildings built of the yellow stone of the desert with red terracotta tile roofs, the windows filled with glass. To the Greeks on the voyage they were the outlying boundaries of an ancient civilisation that long predated Greece itself, and were glorious, ancient monuments of this ancient land. To her, they were no more than ugly living places made at the cost of materials that could have been better used elsewhere, and looked ugly and harsh to the eye, like the buildings in Athens that the Athenians were so proud of. However, the people who lived in them were acknowledged masters of many of the ancient arts, and deserved respect for that at least. The wind began to stir as she shifted slightly to look for other ships, discovering that there were none and returning her gaze to the port they were approaching, and her long dark-red hair, the colour of a hungry fire, shifted in the breeze. It pushed her long hair, braids and all, away from her smooth face, revealing clearly a tall, smooth throat like ivory to the eye and strong, curving features on a sun-bronzed face that were undeniably beautiful. The woman's emerald-green eyes glowed from within with wit and intelligence, but full red lips showed a trace of sadness as a slight smile moved her lips at the thought of their long-awaited landing in Egypt, her and her daughter, Andara, who, even though she was barely a year old, was already learning to walk. Holding the warmth of her child in her arms to her leather-clad chest, just over her heart, Myniria shifted her stance again slightly to make sure that her Baldric of throwing knifes, three of them, held in a strap over her right shoulder to her left hip, were not digging into the baby girls soft body. Even though Andara was well wrapped in soft old blankets, dark-brown in colour, lighter than the faint strands of dark auburn hair coming from her head, Myniria was taking no chances. After all, the child was all that she had left of her the father, Hermion, a man she'd loved-and who'd paid the price, just as she had. Amazon Weapon-Masters weren't meant to form attachments to those outside the Amazon Nation, and especially weren't meant to fall in love with men and agree to a joining with them, even at the price of being exiled from the Nation if it came to that-as Amrissa, the dark-skinned beauty who considered Myniria her personal property despite everything short of physical violence being employed to convince her otherwise, had decided to remind her-with Hermion's head. Myniria had cut her heart out for it, and left the Nation altogether before her sisters could even begin to think of how to respond to such events, now she was here, looking for a fresh start among the tribes of Amazon's that she'd heard existed in the South of this massive land. Her reasoning had, quite simply, been that some things simply couldn't be forgiven, or forgotten, ever. She still wore her Amazon leathers, boots, skirt, top that left her midriff and arms from the shoulders down bare and metal and leather bracers on each forearm, her toned warriors physique still strong and firm, with no trace of fat, only emphasising her curving form and powerful build, but she'd torn all of the many feathers that she'd worn from her hair and burnt them all without a second thought. Her longsword, sheathed over her left shoulder in a sheath on her back, was of Amazon origins, but she'd wielded it for fifteen years against uncountable numbers of the Amazon's enemies, and believed that it was hers more than theirs, as were the three throwing knives across her chest. The garrotte hidden around her waist under a strong dark leather belt that apparently served to hold up her skirt was of her own creation, and the short sword that hung at her right hip had been taken from its owner in a duel which he'd lost. She was ambidextrous, so it didn't matter which hand she wielded any weapon in, she merely preferred to wield them in the order that she did. One of her favourite tricks, in fact, was to switch her weapons from hand to hand during a fight so that it was almost impossible for her opponent to predict from where and from what the next attack would be, a trick that she'd happily demonstrated to her amazed Sisters once upon a time. Around her upper left arm an armlet of intertwined gold and silver rested, clear and glistening in the sun, and a tight silver necklace with a blood-red hexagonal ruby sat at her throat, the ruby firmly held in the hollow at the base of her throat. She'd been given the armlet as a reward by Queen Teliris, current Queen of the Amazons, for heroic service in defence of the Nation and for setting an example that all young Amazon should see it as their ambition to live up to if they were Warriors. After being given it, she'd gotten very drunk with Princess Melosa, the Queen's young daughter, and woken up to find the beautiful young woman literally wrapped around her, both of them naked as the day they were born. It hadn't been a good time, she'd known the young beauty was absolutely infatuated with her, known that it was a very bad idea to get drunk with her, but she'd wanted to wash away the pain of everything that she'd seen and done for her nation for just one night, and the willing Melosa had just been too good a chance to pass up in the state that she'd been in. She'd tried to stay away from Melosa after that, especially since the young Princess was publicly declaring her love after their drunken night together, and that was when she'd met Hermion, a woodsman, on patrol in the borders of Amazon territory. The first chance they'd got after locking eyes they'd been all over each other, something passing between them that drew them together like animals in heat in that one glance, and it had gone on from there. The necklace had been his gift to her, formally being his Mothers, and it had only just fitted her, although the feel of his strong, warm hands gently brushing aside her waist-long hair and rubbing against the sensitive skin of the back of her neck had made it more than worth the trouble. Now everything that connected both of the gifts to her was lost to her, and she was getting further and further away from everything that she'd known with every passing moment. However, there was nothing that she could do about it, so she just hardened her heart and moved on with her life, as she always had, and always would. Sometimes, though, it had to be said that the price of moving on just didn't seem worth it, and, if she was to be honest, after the loss of Hermion falling on her sword had seemed a very tempting thing. He'd saved her one last time, though, even after his death, when she discovered that, despite her total failure to change shape at all, she was several months pregnant by him. She had to live to take care of their child if nothing else, but she couldn't stay with her Sisters after what had happened, so she'd left, and gone to a Healer on the road to Athens to ensure that her child survived the birth and she did too. She hadn't had any arguments with her Sisters about her decision because she hadn't told them about it, sneaking out one night and easily getting past the guards unseen before heading South, towards whatever awaited her when she got to wherever she was going. Her lips twitched once more as the boat docked into a semblance of a smile, but the sadness was still there, even as she looked once more out into the seemingly unending desert, as though looking for whatever awaited her. Just what, she couldn't help but wonder, yet again, really did await her out there, wherever her way lead her?

Fourteen summers ago...

No one in the room saw the attack coming, and none of them could have done a thing about it in any case. There were only two guards at the door, armed with spears and wearing ceremonial armour of a mainly ornamental steel helmet with a large white plume and upper-arm armlets that were decorated with symbols of the Sphinx, displaying the fact that they were Egyptian soldiers. The only other things they were armed with were knifes sheathed at the belt, one to guard, and a leather loincloth was covered by a white cloth skirt about their groin as clothing, sandals on their feet being all of their clothing. They were big men, muscular and seemingly carved rather than born, bare arms, legs and torsos oiled to make them even more impressive, but, in truth, they were poor soldiers, as was to be rapidly displayed. The building they were guarding was a large mansion, the pride and joy of a rich Noble, which had an impressive wall with two large and guarded gates to keep out unwanted intruders, other guards roaming the grounds and house just in case. The house itself was large enough to have a ground and first floor, and had a main entrance at its front, a servant's entrance at its rear, much smaller, and several large windows to capture and allow in as much light as possible. Like all the houses, it had a red terracotta tile roof and thick sandstone walls, unlike other houses it was large enough to have a massive feasting hall on half the upper level, where the Noble owner and his guests could enjoy themselves, servants bringing them a near-endless supply of good food and wine. Entertainers plied their trade also, jugglers, acrobats, magicians and dancers. However, the big hall, lit brightly by many torches, allowed one to see one thing very obviously if anyone cared to look, which the two darkly-clad figures on the roof were indeed doing as they spotted what they were looking for. Several nubile, full-bodied young women were performing a favoured dance of the Egyptian elite at that moment, the Dance of the Veils, which involved women being hired who specialised in dancing in a set of veils that covered their bodies and faces, and who wore no other clothing under the veils. The women would dance the evening away slowly, removing one veil after another until they were naked, but would never remove the veil that concealed their faces, that one mystery being the price of women who performed the dance. One of these women, however, was very clearly not Egyptian, her lighter skin and fire-red hair, almost unheard of among Egyptians, marking her out almost as much as the other obvious differences. Where the other dancers were soft and supple, sinuous and sensual, soft, curving bodies attracting and inviting the gaze of any, man or woman, who cared to view them, the redhead was strongly, solidly built, her body toned and strengthened from living a life that the dancers couldn't have imagined. Unlike the others, also, while she moved with as much and more grace and skill as any of them, there was a fluid, panther-like grace to her movements, and an edge to how her body shifted that spoke to eye's which knew of other uses that the woman was truly bred for. As well as all this, one final indignity was that the woman was forced to dance without a veil over her face, so all could see and know her as she did it. To the two watchers, it was like watching a Panther among its prey, forced to conform to their ways by the simple fact that it had no choice were it to survive. They looked at each other under the cover of night's darkness, nodded as their eyes briefly met, then split, easily moving each to a side of the hall, by the larger windows. One, a man, produced a knife and used its hilt to knock out enough of the corner of one window, slowly but carefully, that he could aim his crossbow through it. Any decent guards would have noticed that something was amiss in his opinion, but both of those at the halls lone doorway, two large doors that opened outwards into the hall, were far more interested in the ten effectively naked women, especially the redhead, dancing in front of them with sweaty, oiled skin, full, curving, woman's charms obvious wherever the eye settled in a way guaranteed to draw the eye of anyone without the discipline to control his or herself. He had to admit that, were the circumstances otherwise, he would very likely have sat back and enjoyed the show himself, maybe even sneaked in and had his way with one of the women afterwards after a private dance, but he hadn't earned himself, Ibn'Amal Toquiori, the title of Master Assassin, or Nightslayer as he was called by some, because of any lack of control, and he had a job to do here. Carefully aiming his doubled-armed crossbow, a unique weapon that allowed him to fire two bolts at once at different targets, he aimed for the guards hearts, well aware that his somewhat temperamental companion would be waiting, and pulled both triggers, then watched the dark-black bolts speed home true. The first thing that either guard knew about their deaths was the moment that the sharp crossbow bolts punctured their hearts, easily slashing through flesh and bone and leaving the points extending from their backs. The only thing that there was time for them to do was widen their eyes in shock, horror and disbelief before they crumpled to the floor, dead, even as Ibn' smiled at the cleanness of his kills. Blood appeared on their lips, then they collapsed, dead before they hit the floor. The party was in full swing, and no one actually noticed the guard's silent deaths for several long moments, just as Ibn' had anticipated. His companion saw the guards fall, though, and didn't wait a moment longer. Barely a second after the two dead men began to collapse, a figure exploded through the window opposite him with a crash that no one could miss, nor did, and a dark-cloaked figure came through the window so fast that it blurred as one watched. The figure dropped twenty feet to the nearest table, hit it with legs bent into a crouch, then used the momentum of its jump to shove itself off of the table again and land after a spinning roll that left it standing upright in the centre of the room, black cloak covering it completely, silent as death. It accomplished all of this even before the two shocked figures at the table could drive themselves backwards away and to their feet in surprise, before the shocked dancers even realised that something had happened, let alone that there was a figure that had not been there a mere moment ago suddenly standing in the middle of the room, among them. They stopped and turned to it, as did everyone in the room, even as Ibn' reloaded his crossbow outside the window in preparation for making his own entrance. Who could make a better entrance that the Red Death herself, though? He wondered. Especially with what he knew was coming, and was looking forwards to seeing first-hand. Once sure that she had everyone's complete attention, the figure reached up to the neck of her cloak, undid the silver clasp, and allowed it to fall away over her shoulders, what appeared from underneath causing the eyes of everyone there, except for the redhead's, to widen to the point that they all seemed likely to have their eye's simply roll out of their sockets. Dressed in dark crimson-red leathers that covered her from throat to foot, a pitch-black breastplate covering her chest and pitch-black and shining silver armour guarding her lower legs and forearms, gauntlets guarding her hands, long hair falling loose to below her waist the colour of freshly spilt blood and a face as pale as a ghosts, even her eyes colourless, her lips the only trace of colour on her apart from her hair, everyone knew in a second just who they were looking at. There was only, and only ever had been one who looked like her, and the Red Death, also known as the Blood Queen, the Crimson Mist and the Bloodletter, was a woman hard to miss and impossible to mistake. She was a beauty to match any woman in the room and more easily, even her armour not concealing a body that any man would kill for and a beauty that rivalled that of any God's, but everyone there knew the saying accompanying the nightmare that had appeared before them. "Man's worst nightmare, in the form of his sweetest dream. Damned be you who seek it, dead you are already" was what was said about her, and if only the slightest part of her reputation was justified, she was more than enough to strike fear into the heart of any legend. She just looked about her, grinned, and chaos erupted all about her. People jumped to their feet or turned and ran from her in all directions, kicking over tables and chairs, knocking each other over and plowing through and over rich food and wines that no peasant would ever be able to afford if they saved everything they earned for fifty years. Everyone tried to force their way past everyone else to get out of the doors first, but, to their horror, the first to the doors found them still and unmoving, no matter how much they pounded on them, even as other desperate men and women tried to force their way over those already standing there to get at the doors themselves. Without hurry, the woman known as the Red Death reached an arm behind her, and drew a sword from its sheath on her back, its hilt invisible under her hair just to the left of her head before she did. At her belt, interested and unafraid emerald green eye's noted, a round empty disk of metal hung, clipped to her belt, its dark metallic colour not concealing its outer razor-edge, and on her right hip, opposite the empty disk, a dagger was sheathed, its hilt pitch-black and shaped into the front half of a leaping panther. She wasn't carrying any other weapons, evidently not feeling the need to, and, from the look of her, such a decision was not formed of arrogance but simple, cold self-knowledge. The hilt of her newly drawn sword was a strange mixture of weaving golden lines, running through coal-black and bloody crimson-red streaks, a blood-red ruby set at the base of the blade where it connected to the hilt. The blade itself was made of a silvery metal with a crimson line running from the ruby all the way up to the tip of the blade along the centre, the line seemingly forming the entire centre of the blade, and the edges of the long blade looked sharp enough to cut steel as easily as flesh. It gleamed in the torchlight, seeming to suck it into itself and shine brighter because of it, and, as it did, carvings of dragons that twisted and turned all over the blade became obvious. It was an impressive weapon, not least because its simple size should have made it difficult at the very least to wield one handed, but the woman made it look as light as a feather as she almost absently rolled it around in her hand. It got and kept the attention of all who saw it, and soon everyone was staring at her, at it, backs to the wall and door, nowhere to go. With a tinkle of shattered glass, Ibn' came from above on a rope, crossbow in hand, a dark shadow, dark skin and face concealed under dark cloak, and he came to rest next to the Red Death, his grin obvious even with his face concealed. As he landed, he tossed off his cloak as well, and dark-black tunic, leggings and leather boots became clear. Dark-brown eyes stared out of a rounded, strong face, and shaved black hair's roots were barely visible atop his dark black skin. His only visible weapon was the crossbow he held, and two quivers of bolts were strapped over his back, each able to hold ten bolts, although each only currently held only nine since two were loaded in the crossbow. Those few who weren't already pale faced and still became so at this point, as they spied this new arrival. Ibn'Amal Toquiori, the Nightslayer, was a legend in his own lifetime, and all there knew who he was by the sight of the unique weapon that he and very few others used. The only time anyone ever saw his face, it was rumoured, was just before they died, when he let them know just who had ended their lives. No one there had any wish to discover if this was truth or mere rumour, but, with the Red Death there as well, no one expected to live long enough to find out in any case. "Step forwards, Dablar'il Oman" said Red, her voice soft and musical, and cold as ice. Dablar'il Oman was the owner of the Mansion, and, although he racked his brain, he couldn't think of anyone that he'd annoyed who was powerful or rich enough to be able to hire two such killers to kill him in his own home, and surely the idea that they might merely have come to kill him on some personal vendetta was impossible? Whatever was the case, however, he was a dead man now he was caught in this place like this, and he knew it. Summoning up all of his courage, he stepped forwards, out of the silent pack of terrified people, and presented himself. "I am here" he said, as firmly and calmly as he could manage, but he couldn't keep the tremor of fear out of his voice or the nervousness out of his eye's. Ten years in the Egyptian army had hardened him to the facts and sights of war and death, blood, pain and suffering, but nothing he had ever experienced could possibly have prepared him for meeting anything like the woman he was now standing mere feet from. He was a big man, Red noticed, over six feet tall and with big bones, thick muscles still strong and firm, dark brown hair only now beginning to go grey at the age of about forty, at her best guess. Even she'd heard nothing particularly bad about him, which was uncommon by the standards of rich old soldiers, but that didn't change what was. Three years ago he had bought Myniria at a slave auction after her last master had sold her on in disgust at his inability to break her to his will and force her to do as he thought she should, just before Red had finally caught up with the trail that she'd been following, only to find that her search was far from over as Myniria had been taken off with the then-serving Dablar' on a campaign against Egypt's enemies to the South. She'd gotten the name of the buyer from the dealer after dealing with the previous "Owner", who had, disfigured without tongue, thumbs or eyes, been left wandering the desert, then followed Myrinai's trail across much of Egypt, only now catching up with her at last. Someone was going to pay for all the trouble that she'd been put through, and Dablar' was the one she had in mind. He couldn't help noticing that her foreteeth lengthened noticeably as her grin broadened, and shuddered, but didn't bother even trying to move away from her. "Thank you for volunteering" she said, then stepped forwards, wrenched his head to one side and sank her fangs in the throbbing jugular vein in his neck. He choked, spasmed, then was still, and, after a few moments, she dropped him to the floor like a sack of potatoes, dead. Before the horrified gazes of everyone present, excepting Ibn' and Myniria, she licked the last of his blood from her lips with relish, then looked at the rest of the crowd. "Well, then?who's desert?" she asked, just before the screaming began?

Twelve summers ago...

"PIRATES AHOY!" bellowed the watchman atop the mast of the sailing ship, looking out across the sea towards the small but quick Greek ship that was fast approaching them-too fast. It wasn't enough that the pirates were in a sailing ship faster than the Kerasis, they'd used the dying suns light to get close before he'd even spotted them, and were mere boatlengths away now, chasing a bigger, slower, less manoeuvrable ship. We are in very serious trouble was the only thing that ran through the watchman's mind at this point, even as he pointed towards where the ship was coming from in response to a shout from the Captain. The Captain quickly went to the side and saw the ship, realised that his watchman was correct in a matter of seconds, cursed and began bellowing orders to his crew, who immediately scattered to every part of the ship to carry them out. The man on the tiller leaned on it sharply and the ship altered course to come fully into the wind even as the crew shifted the sails to catch as much wind as possible to increase their ships speed, but the big ship was slow to respond and slower to react to the sudden surge of wind that filled its sails, even as the smaller Greek ship closed in remorselessly. Several of the passengers of the Kerasis came on deck hurriedly to see what the trouble was, but, on seeing it, most quickly disappeared again or got down on their knees and began praying, occasionally getting thrown out of the way by running crewmen. Those few who had them disappeared below decks to get them and reappeared at speed bearing naked blades, most realising that the slower Kerasis had no realistic chance of outrunning the smaller Greek ship, but some merely recovered their blades in case the Greek's dared try and board the more strongly manned Egyptian ship. A heavily garbed figure covered head to toe by a thick black cloak came running out of the door to the cabins at the rear of the ship, quickly followed by two others, one a woman with silver-streaked flaming red hair and the other a child not yet in even her teens, with very dark auburn hair and gold-flecked emerald-green eyes, who, despite her two companions longer-limbed strides, kept up with them with racing strides. Getting to the side of the ship, the black-cloaked figure put her head over the side and looked back behind them, lifting an arm as though to protect her face from the sun. The woman dressed in Amazonian leathers joined her, also trying to see what was occurring, and the child came up last, staying close to the red-haired woman. "I can see the ship, Red. Can you make out any specifics?" asked the red-haired woman of the cloaked figure next to her. "Yes, the mainsail has an emblem of some sort, a black hawks head, nothing I recognise, and-yes, the name, the Lion of Amphipolis. Odd, I thought that that was a town in Greece, and small towns that don't sit on the coast don't tend to have Pirates working for them in my experience. Does any of this mean anything to you?" replied the cloaked figure, her sharp eyes easily picking out details that the watchman and the rest of the crew had missed in their panic. "No. Is there any chance at all that we'll outrun them?" asked the redhead, even though she knew what the answer would be. She wanted to hear her companion say the words, though, knowing well that the impossible often became the possible where her mysterious friend-although she hesitated to call her that sometimes-was concerned. "No, whoever's sailing that ship knows what their doing. I'm surprised that we haven't been caught yet, in fact, this is only a passenger ship after all. Speaking of which..." said the cloaked figure, as the Greek ship drew closer and closer, close enough that dozens of shouting warriors lining the rail could be heard and their faces seen. They were wearing dark leathers and an assortment of other kinds of armour, breastplates, chain shirts, helmets and leg and arm armour, and there seemed to be no standard weapon amongst them, swords, axes, knives, spears and other weapons of all descriptions being in evidence. Eyes narrowing, the cloaked figure noticed that, in fact, the only thing that the men, and very few women, seemed to have in common was a dark-black hawks head drawn onto their armour or clothing somewhere. Shaking its head, the cloaked figure turned to the redhead next to her again. "I think that were in trouble, this outfit looks somewhat ramshackle but I've seen people who know how to fight too many times to mistake them for anything else. Take Andara back below decks and hide her somewhere safe as best you can, then come right back up here, we'll just have to hope that they aren't out to do anything more than get slaves and goods to sell and won't think to scuttle the ship. Go now" snapped the cloaked woman, as the Greek ship drew even nearer as the sun fell and the Kerasis's Captain began to hurriedly belt on his sword, just as other crew members were grabbing for any weapons that they could find as the Greek's drew nearer, a single boat length behind. Myniria grabbed Andara and ran off. Looking back at the Greek ship, the woman suddenly noticed that a figure was now standing at the bow of the ship, tall and strong, wearing black leathers that left her long legs and arms mostly bare, her long raven-black hair blowing about her in the wind as she laughed at the thrill of the chase. The woman was young, evidently not more than eighteen, but strong muscles were evident in her arms and legs that could only have come from lengthy and extensive work and practise with blades and other implements to build up her skill and strength, as she well knew from doing exactly the same herself for long, long hours. She had a strong but fine bone structure and ice-blue eyes that were especially striking against her golden-tanned skin and wildly whipping about raven-black hair, and a curving figure was obvious even under her leathers. She was a beauty that would have done any statue proud, particularly with her diamond-sharp eyes, her youth only adding to the effect, and she drew the eyes like nothing else on the ship, like Myniria had drawn hers years ago. What was also obvious, at least to the watcher, was the aura of power and the strong sense of danger that almost literally crackled about her, just like Myniria's, whom the woman could have been kin with easily were it not for their physical differences. That she was the leader was not in question, and that meant trouble, because a strong leader always led strong fighters well, but nothing could be done about it, so, aside from making a mental note to get to know the woman better if at all possible, the watcher prepared herself as, to her relief, the sun slipped almost completely below the horizon. She threw off her cloak, revealing crimson leathers, a pitch-black breastplate and silver and pitch-black steel lower leg and forearm armour, gauntlets of the same gleaming in the last gleams of the dying light. Crimson hair, as pure a crimson as freshly spilt blood fell free, falling to below her waist, and a total lack of colour except for her crimson lips was obvious otherwise to any eyes. The Red Death just smiled, her too-long teeth briefly showing as her lips lifted momentarily, she did love a good fight...Just as Myniria came back out on deck, longsword in one hand, throwing knife in the other, the two ships collided. Red drew her sword even as the ship was forced sharply to one side, easily keeping her balance, drawing her dagger with her free hand, but Myniria was caught off-guard on the run, not being as quick as she once was, and went flying, stopping herself just short of the far rail by ramming her dagger into the deck and stopping her slide. The crew all kept their feet as well, too used to the rolling waves to be tossed off-balance by even such an impact, but, of the twenty armed passengers, all men, who were standing on the deck, only seven stayed on their feet, the rest being thrown in all directions, one hitting the rail back-first with a sickening crack and slumping, unmoving, to the deck. Grappling hooks sailed over and bit into the deck and rail of the ship, then men began to jump from the Lion of Amphipolis to the Kerasis's deck, landing on their feet and coming upright with blades drawn and ready. A sailor lunged at a warrior with a knife tied to a pole intended for spearing large fish and stabbed him in the stomach while two more sailors attacked wielding clubs, but the nearest warrior easily ducked the sailors attacks and gutted the first with a sweep of his sword, the second sailor getting a knife in the throat even as more warriors jumped from ship to ship. More sailors attacked the boarding warriors, and the fight quickly became a melee of flashing blades, screams, shouts and sprays of blood as someone managed to strike a fatal blow. Red considered joining in, but decided not to as she saw the raven-black haired woman leaping from her ship onto the bow of the Karsis, knowing that the woman was the most serious threat. Some of the armed passengers attacked her, wielding swords which tended towards the ornamental since few but Nobility could afford to travel aboard a ship like the Karsis, but the warrior woman cut her way through them contemptuously, cutting off limbs and heads, stabbing, slashing and hacking her way through them as though they were simply below her notice. Red darted a glance at Myniria, who was fighting a warrior herself, shook her head and grinned once more. That meant that the warrior woman was all hers, just the way she liked it...

Myniria scrambled to her feet as the ship righted itself after the impact, only to see the boarding lines being thrown over even as she did. Cursing, she ran towards the fight which erupted as soon as the two ships were secured, noticing that Red was watching something else entirely, and hefted her knife for a throw. A man broke free of the fight, dark-haired and dark-eyed, his dark armour splattered with blood that wasn't his, and he paused, momentarily taken aback by the sight of an Amazon. Then he grinned, but a second was too long against her, and her hurled knife took him in the throat even as she ran. His eyes widened in shock and he choked, blood appearing on his lips as he dropped his sword and reached for the knife as he fell to his knee's, but then his eyes rolled up and he collapsed, dead. She drew her short sword as she leapt forwards into the fight, only to run into a second man, bigger and more muscular than the first, this one with ash-blond hair and hard oak-brown eyes, and he had a sword and knew how to use it. He wasn't distracted by the oddity of facing an Amazon like his comrade had been, either, and she just parried a whip-quick slash at her gut before spinning away to gain some room to fight. He nearly caught her on the turn, his blade slashing within an inch of her side, and she cursed her not-what-they-were reflexes as she came around to face him. He lunged at her heart, but she parried with her longsword and countered with a cut to the groin from her shortsword, which he twisted away from expertly, disengaging their swords with a screech of metal on metal. She feinted with a stab to the left thigh with her shortsword, but he didn't fall for it and she had to step backwards to avoid a short slash at her chest. The man was good, it had to be said, few people she knew could have gone two passes with her unmarked even now, but he was young and ignorant of the true intricacies of swordplay, demonstrated, despite his skill, by the fact that he didn't pull in his strikes fast enough or always move quickly enough to be able to defend himself if she struck at certain places. She kept a smile off of her face and went at him, working his sword high, then low-then she suddenly stepped backwards. He lost his balance and dropped his guard for a second, and her longsword slashed through his throat before he even had time to draw breath. Even as he hit the floor, she turned, and saw that the sailors were rapidly being overwhelmed by the warriors, but were still fighting, although less and less were every second. Sheathing both her swords, she pulled out both of her remaining throwing knives, took careful aim and hurled them. One warrior took one in the eye and collapsed backwards over the side of the ship, a second took the second knife in the throat, staggered for a moment then collapsed, weakly grabbing at the knife. Her intention had been to get their attention and relieve the sailors, and it had worked, handsomely, she realised, as she saw five men break off from the sailors and come towards her. Snapping both her swords out, she grinned at them. Ah, Artemis, I'm not getting any younger, but I don't think I'll ever tire of this while I live. Not that I want to die, that is, but sometimes its just your time, and it would be nice to finish it all fighting the good fight, as they say...Oh, to Tartarus with it, maybe today is a good day to die...Myniria thought, a broad grin splitting her face. Raising both of her swords, she screamed her war-cry, a Banshee shriek intended to, and often successful in, striking fear into her opponents hearts, and charged them all, leaping into the air at the last second and smashing two from their feet by crashing into them feet-first. Rolling as she hit the floor she avoided the strikes of her standing opponents, and rolled to her back before kicking to her feet, stabbing one man in the groin before he could draw back. The next man went for her with an overhand strike from his axe, but she stepped into the attack and head-butted him, breaking his nose with her forehead, before she kicked him in the groin, sending him crashing from his feet. Of the four other men, one was bleeding to death, one was still tangled up on the floor and two were coming for her, cautiously now, but her grin didn't waver for a second. Attacking them both, she easily held them off, swords moving in a blur, and enlightened them as to why it was wise to know how to use one's body as well as one's blade by crushing the throat of the one on the right with her elbow, leaving him to suffocate. The second man tried to back-pedal but didn't stand a chance, and his sword flew from his hands before her longsword suddenly lanced through his heart and chest, bloody tip momentarily extending from his back before she withdrew it sharply even as he began to collapse. Suddenly, pain burned in her side, and her head snapped around and down to see the man who had been tangled on the floor stabbing a dagger into her side with a victorious grin. His expression didn't have time to change before her sword decapitated him, and his dagger came free of her flesh as she hissed in pain even as his head bounced on the deck with a wet thud, his body collapsing limply. Looking up, she suddenly realised that she was surrounded, and wounded, her blood running down her side and leg from the dagger wound. Shaking her head, she adopted a guard position nonetheless, determined to go down fighting-"HOLD!" shouted a voice, a woman's voice, startling everyone including Myniria. A streak of darkness flew from further towards the bow, performed a somersault in mid-air and landed in front of her in a crouch, a dark-brown skinned figure with dark brown hair, wearing a dark-red tunic and dark-blue leggings, dark boots on her feet. Intelligent dark forest-brown eyes looked closely at Myniria, who couldn't help but notice the two bloody daggers that the beautiful young woman was holding, and something deep inside her responded to the challenge as it presented itself, her grin disappearing as she shifted to a ready position. "Give us room" ordered the woman, and the warriors stepped well away, the woman's orders evidently carrying some weight. The woman stood up straight, still standing ready, and forest-brown locked with emerald green as they locked eyes. "You have killed eight of my comrades and grievously hurt a ninth, honour demands that I kill you to avenge them, you understand?" she said, circling, Myniria keeping her in front of her carefully. "Of course, I would expect nothing less of a true and honourable warrior" Myniria replied, carefully keeping the woman in sight at all times. The woman nodded, "Of course, but I would prefer to know the name of so great a warrior before I must kill her, if I must. I am Ce'tesria Abu'Lamani, companion of Xena the Warlord, will you honour me with your name?" Ce'tesria asked, still circling. "Certainly. I am Myniria of the Amazon's, former Weapons Master, now exile and mercenary, and it is good that we spoke" replied Myniria, nodding in return. Ce'tesria nodded-then attacked, moving in a blur. Myniria's reflexes were not what they had been, but were still enough to save her, since Ce'tesria's knives would have impaled her heart if she'd been a second slower, rather than just gashing her chest. Myniria countered as fast as she could, but Ce'tesria's reflexes were almost inhuman, and only the tip of one of her swords even sliced the red tunic the dark-skinned woman wore, missing the flesh beneath entirely. Ce'tesria rolled under a lunge and drove a dagger into her unwounded side, but Myniria was again just quick enough and the dagger snapped a rib rather than hitting any vital organs, although it gashed her side badly as well. Myniria threw herself backwards, hissing in pain from her broken rib and injuries, rolling completely over and coming to her feet just in time to see Ce'tesria coming right for her. With no time to dodge or parry, Myniria did the only thing that she could and dropped into a crouch, sweeping out with a leg to knock Ce'tesria's feet from under her, but the quick woman saw it coming and leaped over it, going for Myniria's head with a boot instead. Myniria blocked with her left arm, but felt the bone of her upper arm crack as her entire arm went limp, her sword falling from numb fingers, and yelped in pain involuntarily, even as Ce'tesria somersaulted over her and stabbed backwards-her only mistake. Myniria threw herself into a roll on her broken arm, forcing aside the pain, and drove out and up with her sword. Ce'tesria's reflexes were a split-second too slow, and Myniria's blade cut the skin and flesh of her left forearm before she got clear, drawing blood. Driving backwards with both feet from on her back, both of Myniria's feet connected solidly with the off-balance Ce'tesria's gut, and the dark-skinned woman was blasted backwards, but rolled to her feet quickly, although a wince showed that she was hurt. Myniria kicked to her feet, looked at Ce'tesria and saluted her with her sword, then attacked her one last time. Ce'tesria was simply too quick, and a feint threw off Myniria's guard enough for the real attack to be driven home in her throat. Myniria collapsed, mortally wounded, even as Ce'tesria stepped away, and the last thing the Amazon ever saw was the dark-skinned woman bow her head in a gesture of respect, one warrior to another...

Eleven summers ago...

Xena, Captain of the Lion of Amphipolis, had the largest, most spacious cabin on the ship without question. It was hardly luxurious, despite this, but then Xena had never been a woman to show off, preferring organisation and order over chaotic luxury. She'd always believed that actions spoke louder than words, and, as she'd grown up, had only reinforced that belief as time had gone on, culminating in her leading the defence of Amphipolis a year ago, with her brother, Lyceus, who'd follow her anywhere at her side. His death at that battle had started her on the path she was on now, commander of the same determined followers of the youth of Amphipolis who'd followed the hot-headed eighteen year old to victory against Cortese, and, as then, a woman determined to ensure that Amphipolis was safe from any possible attack, no matter the cost. She'd never loose or change that belief as far as she was concerned, and, partly to her shock, partly to her delight, she'd found that the mysterious red-head whom she'd met barely three moons ago aboard the Egyptian ship that they'd boarded and sunk shared her belief, in more ways than one. Resting her head on her hand as she put her elbow on her pillow, she raised her head and surveyed her cabin, ice-blue diamond-sharp eyes taking in every last detail with casual ease, long raven-black hair slowly shifting across her pillow, blankets and bare skin as she shifted, a sensuous, wicked smile on her face. To her left sat her desk, wooden chair and cushion next to it, neatly arranged scrolls set atop the wooden desk. Just above that was the small window which allowed in bright moonlight, and by it hung a lit torch, one of two, the other being by the door on the right of the bed, the door being barred firmly shut to avoid unwanted intrusions. Behind her a bare wooden wall stood, against which the double bed that she slept in, occasionally with company, rested, and, opposite that, on the far wall her trophies were displayed. Thoughtfully blunted swords from Greek, Roman and Egyptian enemies hung on the wall, next to carefully blunted daggers, staffs and various other weapons, even occasional pieces of armour. In the chest at the foot of her bed was where she kept her real weapons, swords, daggers, throwing knives, garrotte and others, and her carefully maintained armour, not to mention her share of the riches they had gathered. Another chest in the far corner of the room to her right, just to the side of her trophies, held her other clothes and gear, including the rich, special clothes that she saved for special occasion's, such as to make an impact in gatherings of warriors or on her enemies at meetings with them that didn't involve violence. Next to it now, however, sat her mysterious acquaintances small bag of belongings, supposedly adequate because she "Travelled light", but which she was sure contained little more than spare weapons, some strange herbs, an armour repair kit, whetstone, and a flask of a liquid that she'd been warned not to try and investigate the nature of if she wanted their alliance to continue. Thinking of that, she grinned, and her gaze shifted back to her bed, covering the crimson sheets until she came to her current companion, who was currently lying on her stomach, arms curled on the pillows, where she was resting her head, her crimson-red hair, the colour of freshly-spilled blood, an even darker colour than the blood-red bed, made even more obvious by the ghostly white colour of everything except her lips, hair and nails. Her head was turned away from Xena at the moment, and she was covered from the waist down by the crimson sheets, but it took no effort to recall the soft yet firm touch of those crimson lips upon hers, upon places apart from her lips, or the feel of that incredible body against hers, curves, long lines and firm muscles being etched into her memory after a single time, and hardly being concealed by the way that the woman, who called herself "Red", was lying now. Xena knew that she was considered a beauty, and that she was one, unquestionably, she herself being the ultimate reward for loyalty that her men laboured to gain, but Red was simply on a different level. The only comparison that came close to doing her justice was Aphrodite herself, and now Xena had the experience to prove it, although that experience itself had been quite a shock. Red had drawn the eye like a magnet from the moment anyone set eye on her, could have had anyone aboard the Lion that she'd wanted, and Xena had expected her to choose one of the men eventually. She certainly hadn't expected the woman to turn up at her quarters one night wearing a dark-black dress that fitted her like a second skin with a bottle of strong ale in one hand and two mugs in the other. More to the point, she hadn't even known what she was doing when Red had taken matters into her own hands and taken Xena's head in those very capable fingers and gone on from there, yet she'd gone along willingly after a moments mumbled protest, quickly and expertly stilled. She smiled, wondering why she'd never thought of trying this before, even though it was unquestionable fact that Red was likely to be nothing more than an incredible one-off unless something drastic was done to convince her otherwise, and something opened up at the back of her mind as she thought about it. So its not just men it works on... she thought, the thought rolling through her mind like an arrow gathering pace as it shot towards its target. Almost absently, she reached out a hand and ran it gently and caressingly over Red's upper and lower back, luxuriating in the feel of the silken-smooth skin and hair and firm muscles shifting and relaxing under her soft touch. "Mmmmmmnnnnnrrrr....if you don't stop doing that, I won't be held responsible for my actions..." purred Red, her soft, musical voice like warm water on stressed muscles, luxuriously relaxing and attractive, the low purr in her voice sending sensual tingles up and down Xena's spine. "That depends what those actions are, lover, I'm sure I could find good reason to excuse any behaviour on your part in certain cases" replied Xena, her own low, softly musical voice a counterpoint to Red's that, she knew, touched a nerve in the red haired woman. She felt a slight shift under her hand at the comment, and smirked while she knew that Red couldn't see, then quickly removed it from her face as Red's head rose from her arms and her strange, pure-white eyes focused on the ice-blue ones looking at her. "I'll keep that in mind, Captain Xena of the Lion of Amphipolis, and you remember that I am, to" she replied, a slight smile on her face, then she shifted slightly, and rolled into Xena's embrace, her back to Xena's chest as Xena's long, powerful arms wrapped around her. "If there's anything that you want to talk about, by the way, I don't think that were going to get a better time" she added, softly. Xena thought for a moment, then replied "I'm inclined to agree, but on the condition that you start, fair?" she said. "Fair, what do you want to know?" replied Red, her near-whispered reply easily being caught by Xena's sharp ears. "Lets keep it simple, all right? First of all, how old are you?" Xena asked. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, but, officially, thirty-two" replied Red, Xena not able to see the sad smile on her face at the mention of her age. "Officially? What about unofficially?" Xena asked, wondering what the woman meant. Red chuckled, "A lot older, but lets just say that I don't look my age. If you want me to be more specific, find out when there used to be a kingdom called Telemedia to Egypt's east and you'll have some idea of what I'm talking about. Next question" she said, her tone making it clear she wasn't going to talk about it any further. Odd Xena couldn't help but think, but she decided not to press the dangerous woman on the issue since she had agreed to answer other questions-for now. "All right, do you come from this Telemedia?" Xena asked. "I was born in the capital of Telemedia, Raas, and when it was destroyed I left, for a while" replied Red. "I see. All right, where did you learn to fight?" Xena asked. "I was the personal bodyguard of the Queen of Telemedia to begin with, and the standards that were set for that weren't far from Godhood realistically. I had to be the best in the realm and be able to defeat any challenger from outside it in single combat, no matter who or what, and failure meant the death by torture of you, your family and friends. It was quite an education, and I've kept in practise and learned from a few masters since, but their names wouldn't mean anything to you and their all dead, so I won't go into that. Lets just say that I never let myself be anything but the best at anything I do, no matter what it takes, and its paid off" replied Red, softly. "Again, I see, and where did you learn to do what we just did like you did?" Xena asked, a broad smile on her face. Red chuckled again, "Lets just say that as the Queen's bodyguard there were bonuses and prices, and that I've always been naturally very good at what I do..." she purred, pressing her back into Xena's chest more closely, snuggling close enough that it was unlikely that a knife blade could have been fitted between them. Xena gritted her teeth to stop herself from saying or doing something that she might regret later, and forced herself to continue talking. "All right, then, tell me this. How in the name of all the God's did you end up looking like this? Don't tell me you were born like it, either, I've seen people who were born albino's, and none of them have looked or acted remotely like you" Xena stated, firmly. "Ah, now we enter the area of interest to most people"-"How on Earth did you end up looking like a ghost?" If I had a Dinar for every time someone's asked me that question, I could buy Greece! But, I'll answer you, unlike them, or at least the vast majority of them. Honestly, though, its easier to show you than tell you, so if you'll just wait a moment..." said Red, closing her eyes and concentrating. "Wait a minute-what do you-?!" Xena began, suddenly alarmed, but then everything about her faded away...

"What IS this?!" exploded Xena, angrily, as she swung around, flailing at the grey fog surrounding her, trying to break free of Red's solid grip, even though the woman was the only solid object that she could feel or see. There was no colour but for the grey clouds all around them, everything was always shifting, always transparent, but no solid edges or objects were visible anywhere. Even her physical form was as a ghosts, edges indistinct, her body transparent-by Ares, she could see right through herself. What was this place?! "Xena, I suggest that you stop struggling. If I loose my grip on you here, you'll either die or go insane should your mind make it back to your body, and there's nothing that I can do if that happens. As to what this is, this is what's referred to as the Dreamscape, unformed and pure, substance just waiting to be crafted. Were not asleep, but this is what I need to show you what I was talking about, everything will return to normal once were done" replied Red, her own form transparent and ill-defined-but better defined than Xena's, and different. She still looked like the woman that Xena knew, and their astral bodies were nude, looking exactly as they did normally-only Red's didn't. Glowing red bats wings were folded behind her back, and her eyes were dots of bloody red on her transparent face. Talons extended from where her fingernails should have, half again as long as her fingers and razor sharp, midnight-black even in the strange grey surroundings, and her foreteeth were extended like a Bacchae's, pure white and razor sharp, a pink tongue flickering over them in a sudden quick movement, a strange smile on her face. Xena's heart skipped a beat as the uncommon, near forgotten sensation that she still well knew to be fear flared, twisting her guts and making her heart beat faster, her eyes widening as she her breathing sped up, particularly as Red extended her wings and allowed them to beat once, wicked barbs, long and midnight black, evident at the tips and edges. She stopped struggling, something deep inside her telling her that what she was looking at could break her in half without effort, something even deeper telling her that she was trapped and about to die, the darker part of her psyche that normally came to her aid at these times nowhere to be found. She shuddered, and was, to her distress, unable to conceal her reaction to Red from her. Licking dry lips-how could her lips be dry when she didn't have a body? she wondered-she looked at Red as directly as she could. "S-should I have...asked...what you are, rather than who, perhaps?" she asked, somehow, her considerable will barely even holding her together enough to even ask the question. "No, because you can't comprehend what I really am unless you are what I am, no matter what people say. Relax, Xena, I'm not going to hurt you, just watch, and you will see what you wished to know" replied Red, waving a hand. Part of the strange grey mist cleared-and everything changed...

...A crashing boom awakened her, the sound of a battering ram against the gates of the palace, gates in a weak wall that had never been designed to withstand such an assault. Rearing upright from pure white silken sheets, the woman threw off her bedclothes and leapt to her feet, racing over to a rack that held weapons and armour. Uncaring of her nudity in such a situation, the woman began wrenching armour and weapons from the rack, pulling on a dark black tunic and short leggings once everything was loose and ready before rapidly pulling on her armour and weapons. She was quick and efficient about it, but ghostly ice-blue eyes still had plenty of time to observe her, her armour and weapons as she hurried. The woman's skin was a dark black, so dark in colour that her raven-black hair was barely lighter, and gold-flecked mahogany-brown eyes gleamed with intelligence in a face that seemed to have been sculpted by an artist rather than grown, with a fabulous, fine beauty that defied description. Long limbs were smooth and firmly muscled, and a curving body that would have done justice to any Goddess was clearly visible, sleek and smooth, long, dextrous fingers pulling on clothes and armour in a blur that Xena's practised eyes could barely follow. Her long legs and arms were left bare except for silver and midnight-black steel guards on the lower legs and bracers of the same on her forearms, gauntlets covering her hands of leather and chain, still with the same silver and midnight-black design. A pitch-black breastplate guarded her chest and a leather attachment guarded her back, the leather of the same pitch-black colour as the breastplate, and, finally, she pulled on a full-face helm and neck-guard of leather and steel, midnight-black and silver in colour once more. Black leathers wrapped around her face except for her eyes, while a steel guard wrapped around her neck, the rest of her helmet fitting over and around her head, making it almost impossible to strike at her head successfully, or to identify her. Finishing, the woman picked up and clipped on two long silver swords in sheaths to her back, two daggers to her belt, black and silver design blending them with her armour, then she ran out the door, as the crashing boom grew louder and louder, creaks and groans coming from the direction of the gates...

...Xena looked at Red, slowly. "That woman was you, wasn't she? I wouldn't have recognised her, but I've gotten to know you well enough recently that I can tell. If that was you, I'm not sure whether I should be interested or horrified in learning how you ended up as you are now. One other thing, though, the armour design?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Horrified is what I'd expect, but you'll see what I mean. As for the armour, my Queen had unusual tastes, and she liked me looking like she conceived Death as looking like in armour. Her little Champion, who had no choice but to do as she was told or risk a fate worse than death. But enough of that, what you see will explain everything" replied Red, quietly...

...Men and women crowded the corridors, panicking at the sound of the ram on the gates, disorganised masses of people doing little but harm as they ran madly back and forth, the few mainly drug-addled guards not doing anything to help, leaving Red to force her way through. One of the guards, a woman of about sixteen who had caught the eye of the Queen because of her youthful beauty and innocence, stumbled out of a room ahead, supporting herself on a spear which she was clinging too with both hands, naked as the day she was born. She looked dazed and confused, not sure what was going on, but her skin, lighter than the running dark-armoured figures, was light enough to reveal evidence of numerous bites, bruises and scars. She'd actually responded to the noise, unlike most, but was clearly dosed on something that was effecting her body and mind, and the cacophony of screeches and whines, male and female, that issued from the room that she'd exited from made even Red's hardened stomach twist. A white-haired hag, drooling and wild-eyed, more bones than flesh, came out of the room and grabbed at the young girl, screeching in triumph as the helpless girl collapsed onto her backside helplessly, then started to mewl as the old woman grabbed her by the hair and started to drag her back inside. Red's fist connected with the old woman's chin with a satisfying crack and the old woman collapsed, jaw and neck broken with a single blow, filling Red with an immense sense of satisfaction. Two old men looking much the same as the woman came out and started screaming, but a kick to one's knee left him squealing on the floor and an elbow to the throat left the last trying to breath with a fractured windpipe. No more came out, and Red expertly scooped up the young girl and carried on, marking up two more deaths on her mental record. She enjoyed it, she'd be the first to admit that, but that wasn't the point. The point was that every single one of the people who lived in the palace, including her, deserved to die, and she made a point of ensuring that this occurred when ever she could get away with it to whoever she could get away with it with. The young girl was the only one who didn't deserve what she'd got, and Red intended to ensure that she lived to realise that. Running on, Red passed by the servants quarters, kicked one of the doors to get their attention, dropped the girl and kept going, knowing that if anyone survived the servants would most likely be them. It was the best that she could do, and she ran on to her Queen's chambers, which were sealed off by two massive black doors so solid, thick and well-fitted that, as was often said and Red knew to be true, no-one could ever hear the screams caused by what went on inside. Rules were that she only went inside in nothing but her skin unless her Queen was in mortal threat, unless summoned specifically, and an exquisite day of torture was the reward for breaking the rules in any way. She grinned, she'd always wanted to break the rules and not have to care. She drew back a few paces then shoulder-charged the doors, forcing them wide open-then she almost vomited at the stench. Her Queen and her new lover had been busy, it seemed, even by their lower than bestial standards. Six women and two men were all around the room, literally, their bodies having been dismembered completely and their limbless torso's having been mounted on upright spears which penetrated from their backsides up and out of their necks, silver spear-points gleaming even under dried blood. The arms and legs were opposite one another in an X shape, the heads being the centre, and the eight small piles surrounded the crimson-sheeted bed, the eight torso's encircling them. Every torso, she couldn't help noticing, was missing its heart, and every head was missing its eyes. Looking at her Queen, pale white skin, short black hair, slim body with no real physical attractiveness apparent, she couldn't help but notice the traces of blood at her mouth and almost certainly know where the missing organs and eyes had disappeared to, the look in her Queen's eyes, Queen Amdria of Telemedia, telling her all that she needed to know as they glinted and reflected her gaze like broken mirror fragments. Queen Amdira was completely insane, had been since she was born, yet she ruled a Kingdom and controlled forces that had for twenty years frightened an entire population so much that they hadn't dared act against her-until now, when they had nothing left to loose. Her companion, and the real power in the Kingdom, stood next to the bed, frightening in his grace and poise despite the fact that he was doing nothing more than standing in front of her completely naked. His thin red hair and storm-grey eyes were particularly obvious on his thin, lanky form, as were his too-long fingers and toes. His body was so pale it was hard to believe that he was alive sometimes, and she wasn't sure he was after some of the things that she'd seen him do. He was horrifically handsome in the way that corpses laid to rest were, his face soft and peaceful, as though he'd already died once, but his body was thin and held no physical attractiveness otherwise. She never let herself forget, however, that in less time than it had taken her to draw her sword, an almost instant movement that defied anyone's eyesight, she'd seen him jump right across a room and rip out the heart of a man who'd been stupid enough to insult him. It had been a lesson that had kept her alive when he'd later taken her to his bed and himself with her Queen's blessing. "As they say, m'dear, the peasants are revolting. Are you here to join us, give us a show or just die?" he asked, grey eyes locking with her brown-gold one's. "To survive, Tersis, if we can. They will have the gates down in moments, we must not be here when they do" she snapped, angrily. She didn't see him move, but he was abruptly standing next to her, his long fingers tracing her breasts under her armour. "Really. Well, I tend to disagree, there is always time for a little fun, but my dear Amdria has become so sated on a diet that I was sure would improve her that I fear she has lost the ability to move. All hearts and no heart of her own, it seems, so unlike the rest of you, a pity. Still, what will the world come to if the revolting peasants succeed in smelling out the palace while I am in it?" he said, suddenly back at the bedside and lifting the limp Queen in his arms without effort, despite his slender build. "To the Bloodpool, my dear, I feel that time advances upon us at speed, much as do those peasants who have broken down the gates unless my ears fail me" he said, as a grinding crack sounded from the direction of the gates, then sprinted off in a blur, Red spinning and running off after him, barely keeping him in sight. She knew that he could easily have left her standing and been at the pool in mere moments, but he evidently wished for her to deal with any trouble, even though he was unquestionably in no danger. She merely cursed, and sprinted on as fast as she could.

Just outside the entrance to the Bloodpool chamber they ran into a group of wild-eyed peasants, dressed in torn, tattered clothes and armed with clubs, daggers and one sword. There were six of them, and they never stood a chance. Tersis put the queen down in front of them, then just stood there, waiting for them to attack him. Three of them did, two with clubs, one with a dagger, but Tersis got bored before they struck him and moved first. The man with the dagger suddenly found both arms caught in a vice-like grip, then both his arms snapped at the elbow and sharp teeth tore through his windpipe and jugular before the pain could hit him. He died instantly, even as Tersis took the clubs from both of his other attackers and killed the first with a blow to the heart of such force that his heart and lungs ruptured as his ribs snapped, leaving him dead on his feet. Tersis broke every bone in the seconds body, moving in a blur with both clubs, caught him before he even began to fall and drained him completely of blood before letting him crumple to the floor in front of the petrified others. They didn't know it, but the two Tersis had merely killed with weapons or body parts were the lucky one's, the man who'd been drained of blood's torment was only just beginning. Red arrived at a dead run, drew her swords and leapt feet-first, crashing into the legs and groin of the nearest. Both his legs snapped and he screamed and collapsed, Red landing atop him even as her left-hand blade flashed out and slashed through the throat of the second man, her right-hand blade stabbing into the last mans groin, where she twisted it sharply before wrenching it clear. The man fell to his knees, his sword falling from his hand with a clang, a look of horror and terror on his face as his life's blood pumped from the severed artery, forming a pool on the floor, then his eyes rolled up and he collapsed, dead. Tersis picked up Amdria once more and thoughtfully trod on the throat of the crippled man, silencing his moans for good with a wet pop as the man's neck broke. Not bothering to clean her bloody blades Red strode over to the doors to the Bloodpool, dark black stone doors, hard and heavy, and threw her weight against them, bracing herself and pressing with her left shoulder. They creaked, then slowly began to move-she caught the whiff of smoke, as well as the other strange, tangy scent underneath it, fresh blood, too fresh, a moment too late, and Tersis, for all his skill and power, was a second behind her. Arrows shot from behind the doors like a cloud, twenty and more, black-fletched arrows with barbed heads, and neither Tersis nor her had time enough to do anything more than brace themselves for the impact. The first arrow punctured her side just under her breastplate, slashing into her guts and digging in with its viciously sharp head. The second took her in the thigh of her left leg, the bloody tip extending out of her flesh just above her knee, while the third cracked into her breastplate, the tip penetrating enough to nick her chest beneath. The fourth was deflected by the steel guard around her neck, but it glanced up and to the right and slashed through the leather guarding her face and the flesh of her left cheek, barely missing her eye. A fifth nicked her upper right arm, but tore skin and nicked flesh, merely drawing a trickle of blood. She was lucky, however, most had been aimed at Tersis, who fared far worse than she did. He lifted Amdria into the path of the arrows, and several struck her, puncturing heart, stomach, left lung and eye, which punched on into the brain, killing her instantly, but more got past her and struck him. He took three arrows high in the chest, two of which cut past ribs into his chest, one wedging against his backbone, the other nicking his heart. Another took his left eye and tore back out of his skull to the side, while another punctured his throat entirely. Two hit him in the belly, digging deep, and a last arrow tore through his right hip, adding to the blood pouring from his wounds. He shouldn't have even remained standing, but he did, trembling, weak, looking as though he was going to collapse, even as he opened his mouth to say something-two more arrows flew, one punching into his brain through his open mouth and coming out of the back of his skull, the second neatly impaling him through the heart. He collapsed like a doll with its strings cut to Red's disbelief, evidently dead. She'd seen him take sword cuts and stabs without a flinch, be impaled through the guts completely with a spear with no more than a grunt, have bones broken with barely a wince and seen him simply remove weapons from his body from what should have been mortal wounds and act as though they were nothing, any wound simply disappearing without a trace by the next day, yet a mere nine arrows had laid him low so fast that she'd barely even registered it. Holding her footing on sheer willpower, her left leg numb and unable to take any weight, blood pouring down her side, arm and face from her wounds, she raised her swords slowly for all the good that it would do-and saw just why he'd fallen as he had. Two tall figures stepped out of the shadows of the entrance, wearing black clothes that covered them from head to foot including black boots and gloves, with the silver symbol of an Owl sewn onto their tunics over their hearts, their bare faces pale-skinned and seemingly merely flesh stretched over bone, their lips apart and showing too-sharp and long teeth, particularly foreteeth. It was like watching Desert Wolves appear out of nowhere among a herd of Zebras, and her heart skipped a beat as she recognised the two for what they were, predators, nothing more and nothing less, here for the kill, everything else be damned. Both of them still held black and silver intertwined metal longbows strung with fine strings that were barely visible to the naked eye, while one had two raven-black hilted knives sheathed on his belt. The second had a single sword with what looked to be a clean bone hilt extending from a sheath hanging from his left hip, and this one smiled as he looked at her, followed by his companion, who ran his eyes up and down her before looking to her companion with a smirk that chilled her to the bone even after all that she'd seen...

..."Who in Ares name are THEY?!" asked Xena, having to stop herself from backing away from the view despite the fact that she knew that she was safe. She could feel the simple malevolence reeking from the two slim figures merely from seeing them, however, so knowledge and feeling were two different things. Looking at the fallen Tersis, she glanced at Red as she-sat? stood?-next to her, and added "While your at it, care to explain him too?! Last I looked, nothing human could withstand anything like that kind of punishment, but he wasn't going to fall down if those two hadn't finished him off if I'm any judge" she snapped. "Those two have no names that I know of, but are part of what you would call a Clan called Lilim, and were there specifically to kill Tersis. They are among the most perfect killers you will ever see or hear of, totally ruthless, incredibly fast, deadly with any weapon or none and they will not stop, ever, until you are dead if they are told to kill you, unless you kill them first. Tersis never got the chance, and as for him-well, he's my Sire, but he's also one of Cain's Grandson's. Better that you don't know anything more about that except that if you ever think that you know one, either be a friend or stay far away from it. Just think of him and his as being walking and thinking monsters that Tartarus would be hard-pressed to match and you know all that you need to. Don't worry, though, you'll never have to worry about him at least" replied Red...

...Neither figure spoke, but the one with the sword placed his bow in the quiver on his back then drew his sword with a frightening lack of speed, as though he had nothing to fear, and advanced slowly towards her as she readied herself-he struck before she even registered the movement. Smooth steel lined with hard razor-sharp bone slashed through her throat and his sword returned to a loose position at his side, as though awaiting her attack. For a long moment her mind and body didn't even register the injury or any pain from the wound, but then she choked, and found herself breathing blood. Her injured leg went and she collapsed, her swords falling from suddenly weak hands as her strength fled from her along with her breath as she fell to her back with a thud, and darkness almost immediately began to claw at the edges of her vision. She realised what had happened as she saw the flecks of blood on the sword the man who'd attacked her still held as he walked past her, over to Tersis, where he raised his sword then brought it down, hard, cleanly severing Tersis's head from his shoulders, before he picked up the head and walked back into the room, his companion dragging in Queen Amdria's limp body after him, then Tersis's, before he returned for Red, whose vision was rapidly tunnelling as she choked her last. She didn't die quickly enough, however, to avoid seeing the headless bodies of the Queen, Tersis, her advisors, concubines, nobles, almost everyone that her excellent memory could put a name to hanging by their feet from ropes over the pool, the last drops of their blood draining into the massive pool of blood they were hanging over. Their severed heads were mounted on spears facing the pool, as though to watch the horrific scene for the rest of time so that it was their last sight, and, even as everything finally faded away from her as she was dragged inside in a thick trail of her own blood, a shiver ran down her spine at the thought as she watched two more Lilim, both female, finishing the job, one of them turning to look at her...

..."This is impossible. You have to have died, nobody survives injuries like those..." said Xena, softly, unable to tear her eyes away from the nightmare scene. "Quite true, were it that simple. Wait and watch, if you can" replied Red, a strange quality to her ethereal voice which Xena couldn't quite understand...

..."Who is this?" asked a ghostly voice, a woman's, the speaker invisible because of Red's closed eyes. Whoever was talking either didn't know that she could still hear them or didn't care, more than likely the latter, some bitter part of her thought. "Merideth, the Queen's Bodyguard and Bodyslave, and the only one who even came close to being worthy of survival when we found out for certain who and what was involved here. She's dead in any case, no mortal can survive wounds like that, but I suggest that we leave her out of the Spell-Web. We all know that none of these creatures are going anywhere except the Wastes, so we might as well leave the one halfway alive one her own fate" replied a man's voice. "I have no argument with that, although I have little faith that any of this filth deserves anything like that. But your argument is sound, so we will simply kill her. Throw her into the pool then help us finish this before any others arrive, we must be finished before anyone or anything can interrupt or there will be Hell to pay" replied the woman. Without further discussion, Red felt herself being lifted, then she hit something wet and soft hard, sinking into it. For a moment everything flared an incredible, bloody crimson red, then everything went stone-cold black, black as the night sky empty of stars at night and cold as stone on a winters day...

..."That, if your wondering, is what it feels like to die, Xena. Believe it or not, though, as I said, if only that had been the end things would have been far, far simpler. But I can't change history, only show you what happened, so watch, and learn" came Red's voice, softly...

...Blood...smell it, taste it, feel it all about...it smells of life, of death, its touch is soft, its caress cold but warm...it feels like death...cold hardness, warm softness, all rolled into one...life and death...food of the Gods...Queen of Darkness, Prince of Shadows...cursed by day, damned by night, burning, burning, fire-bright...fire...gift of the Gods, life, gift of Death...framed in time, frozen, dead...alive, warm, soft and supple...dead, dead, dead hehe...is this death...or is this life?...difference lies between the moments, lie and truth, life and death, life is death, death is life, live beyond your time you sleep, die before your time you wake...wake...wake...you are more alive than anything else when you die, even if unlife be yours, mortality a shackle, a sin, cursed cast, death freedom, break out, break free and loose...break free and loose...awake you LIVE!

A hand, flesh, skin as white as snow, talons as black as night, erupted from the crimson, bloody red-black surface of the collapsing pool, blood flowing off in all directions, nails changing to pitch-black talons and digging into cracking stone as though it was earth. A second hand erupted, talons extended, half the length of long fingers again, and fastened into shifting stone like teeth into soft flesh, unwilling to let go until the purpose was accomplished. Cracks sounded all around as the burning palace began to collapse, the Bloodpool shifting like the sea as its stone borders cracked and broke, but the fastened hands didn't move at all. Muscles contorted under flesh, fighting against weight and drag of sucking blood, but it was no contest and a milky-white body erupted from the black-red blood, rolled over and lay on its back, trying to breathe, then it stopped, because it could. Rising to its knees it tore off armour and clothes, revealing a body of ghostly white, gone the dark skin and darker hair, gone the bright, coloured eyes, even as blood poured from its mouth, flowing off of its body like a river, gone every scrape or scar. A manic grin took shape on the face, only increasing as it saw that its crimson freshly-spilt bloody hair wasn't running clear, even as razor-sharp incisors extended inside its mouth, visible past the pouring blood, and massive white wings with blood-red membranes spread from its back, long spikes extending from the tips and tops of its new wings as they erupted from its re-shaped back in a spray of blood, bubbling, mad laughter erupting from the thing that had once been Merideth, Champion of the Queen of Telemedia, but was now no more or less than the monster that she had become...

..."There you have it, Xena" came Red's voice, one last time, penetrating to the numbed warriors brain through almost unhearing ears. "Now, I suspect, you understand why I dislike talking about that"...

Ten summers ago...

"Caesar, Julius Caesar? General of Rome's Legions, rumoured rival to-be of the Senators and their ilk in Rome, and, if rumours are to believed, a man with an eye on Rome's vacant, supposedly forgotten throne? Yes, I've heard of you, even if Xena hasn't, but then that's her for you, she's out to defend and secure her home town at any price, she's not interested in the political, military or economic situation except for how it concerns and effects her and hers. Focus is admirable, and I admire her for that and more, but she works to a one-track black and white idea, and that is dangerous, but where she leads, I follow, so I will not question her unless she plans on idiocy. Be advised, however, that I do pay attention to the world around me, little Roman, and I have eyes and ears in places and ways that keep me advised of what occurs in ways that you cannot dream of, so do not think that what applies to our fearless Warrior Princess applies to me. However, unless you are a fool, and I don't think that you are, I'm not saying anything that you don't know, am I? Of course not. Now come, sit" said the bloody-haired red head, waving at a sturdy wooden chair near the bed that she was sitting on, its dark-black silken sheets a marked contrast with her ghostly white skin and bloody hair. Her face was expressionless, unreadable, so were her eyes, and, disturbingly, he couldn't even read her body language, even though he knew that he was an excellent judge of character. Even Xena hadn't presented this much of a puzzle to him, although the young woman had proved surprisingly complex a personality in truth, but not enough of one to stop him finding all of her weak points and exploiting them as he would, as he always did, which had eventually led to her taking him to her bed earlier this very night. This woman, who went by nothing more than the odd name of "Red" as far as he could tell, was seemingly stone to his fire, cold and impervious, with no cracks anywhere in her considerable emotional defences that he could detect or even begin to probe at. As well as that, although he was used to the company of beautiful women who were attracted to his power, wealth and charisma, not to mention reputation in bed-well earned, of course-this strange woman was different, somehow, there as well. Xena had been easy after he'd spent some time with her, found his way to the insecure, lonely young woman who just wanted to be loved by a strong man like him who lay underneath her Warrior shell, which had proved remarkably fragile in truth, and her physical beauty, as he'd expected, had been his to enjoy. He'd taught her a thing or two, he knew, she evidently wasn't used to lovers who were as aggressive as her and more, but it had been like bedding just another new lover after a while, although Xena's seeming inexhaustibility had begun to effect even him by the time she'd fallen asleep. Ha, that was a lie, he'd barely been able to keep his eyes open, but he'd had over an hour since to recover and was back to his usual self now. It was a pity that she could be an obstacle to his ascension if left unchecked, he thought, she would have made a fine concubine once properly broken and trained. However, his instincts, which had always served him well, were warning him that he was walking a very fine line here, and a very dangerous one, despite the fact that he knew he was destined for greatness and would reach it eventually. The red-head was a wild card in a deck of cards he thought he'd already stacked in his favour, she could swing the balance either way with a single movement with no-one to stop her, so he'd have to be careful. As well as that, he was feeling something that he was far from used to in the presence of any woman, no matter her beauty or what she offered, although the red-head was, it had to be said, exceptional by any standards-desire, actual desire. He really wished to see what lay below the loose-fitting sky-blue gown that the red-head was wearing, and he wanted to know just what that firm body felt like to the touch, to the taste, what she was like in a way so basic that he could feel the heat in his groin-caution, he warned himself, thoughts like these, especially if you act on them, will get you killed. He sat opposite her, not even trying to keep his eyes from settling on the full curves barely hidden under the top of the thin gown, which it was clear that she was wearing nothing beneath. She smiled, and he carefully kept his eyes from straying to the black-sheathed sword hanging above her bed or the black-sheathed dagger sitting on her bedside table, the only other furniture in the room, beneath which sat the pack which contained her belongings, a dark-brown shoulder pack. Both the sword and the dagger, which he could see the hilts alone of, looked to be of workmanship so exquisite that both weapons were seemingly more a work of art than weapons, but he'd seen her use them in battle and held no illusions about how lethal they truly were. Both blades cut steel as easily as flesh and bone, and, wielded by her, for them not to strike a mortal wound was rare indeed. He made a mental note to have them added to his personal trophies of war once he got back to Rome and finished planning after repaying Xena this indignity, once the red-head was dead of course. "Ah, Julius, you walk dangerous ground with such ideas while you are still prisoner aboard this ship, but I will not tell you how to live your life any more than I would Xena hers. That, however, is not why you are here" said Red, softly, studying the young Roman. He was handsome, she had to admit, but she'd seen better so she wasn't overly bothered by that. However, his dark leathers did little to conceal the broad-shouldered and muscular frame underneath them, and, despite his arrogance and posture, his hard dark-brown eyes glittered with intelligence, cold and calculating, a determined coolness and an unshakeable faith in his own destiny, a destiny of greatness that no-one and nothing could keep him from. She'd always liked strong men who genuinely were, who didn't simply go to pieces when their plans fell apart or they were confronted by seemingly impossible situations, and she was absolutely certain that Caesar was one, as much by his actions once he'd been taken by Xena and her crew as from what she'd heard of him. It was the closest thing the ice-hearted woman had to a weakness, and she knew it, but didn't care, after all, opportunities like this were few and far between even by the standards of her "lifetime", and she had no intention of passing this one up. "You know, Julius, with some people in this situation I'd be forced to remind them that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely, and you will gain absolute power in time if you live that long. Or, I could point out that there is more to life than simply ruling all that you see and being able to order a man's death because he was standing in the wrong place at the wrong time, but your not one of those people, so you know what I'm going to tell you?" Red said, leaning forwards, looking straight into Caesar's eyes, which met hers fearlessly. Her face was so close to his that she could feel his warm breath on her skin, and she allowed a slow smile to spread across her face as Caesar did the same. She leaned further forwards, and nibbled his ear with sharp teeth. "Always remember" she muttered, working her way from his ear down his throat, his breathing and pulse speeding up noticeably, although she carefully kept her fangs retracted and instincts in check, "That behind every strong man" she continued, tracing the pulse point of his neck before working her way along his jaw towards his mouth, feeling his hands reach up and start to work their way under and around her gown, looking for the cool, softly curving firm flesh that lay beneath, even as her hands began to pull away his leathers with practised ease, "Is a strong..." she said, then kissed him on the lips, gently at first, then with increasing passion, until even her head was starting to spin and he had to draw back to breathe. "What?" he moaned, even as she lay back on the bed, nude body open to his eyes, arms above her head in surrender to him-for now. Caesar, his strong body and manhood just as she'd imagined them, worked his way atop her tall frame. As he lent down, his face pushing into her silken hair so that he could taste her scent, she let her fangs drop and let the beast inside out to play, keeping just enough control to make sure that she didn't accidentally kill him. She shifted so that his neck, with its throbbing jugular vein, was in easy reach. "Woman" she finished, then opened her mouth wide, pressed her fangs against his neck and bit down gently, letting the slow but steady sweet flow of blood go unnoticed from him to her, building her up to a form of ecstasy that only one of her kind could ever know. Where Xena's blood was touched by traces of darkness but was still mainly, overwhelmingly light, where M'Lila, whom she'd tasted only once, was almost a beacon of purity despite the darkness of deaths that coloured her soul, she couldn't help but notice that Caesar's blood was thick with darkness, desire and ambition, death and blood at his hands. She knew the type, knew it well, knew that if he lived, and perhaps he shouldn't, that this man would, indeed, go far...

Continued in Part 2.