All Souls Night.

Disclaimers in Chapter One. Warning: where there is a certain warrior, violence follows. Expect nasty, graphic stuff and flying bacchae parts.

Augustus had been enjoying himself. Oh, their play earlier that day had certainly gotten his blood flowing, and Cameron's gifts' had been a welcome treat. But *this* had been a dream come true!

Truth be told, he'd been rather disappointed that the Ancient Bard had surrendered herself so quickly to them. She'd not uttered a word or offered a move of protest when they'd restrained her, nor cried out when they'd begun this little ceremony of pain and violation. This lack of response had dampened his enthusiasm somewhat, leading Cameron and the women to pick up the slack.

The eagerness with which they'd done so might have shocked a lesser soul. But Augustus had seen and done more than the lot of them could have dreamed. Perhaps too much, given he'd become somewhat addicted to the struggle his prey usually gave. It added a certain spice to his play and feeding. If anything, he found the conduct of his fellows...tame.

Oddly, the Ancient passing out on them stirred the same excitement within him as might be felt if she'd screamed and thrashed from the beginning. Perhaps, he thought, there would be some sport to partake of this night.

The Ancient proved more delicate than any expected, not able to remain conscious for more than a few minutes of their play at a stretch. This proved more annoying than empowering, particularly to the Roman, who had no wish to empty himself into a column of unresponsive flesh.

Nassada had made the requisite patterns across their captive's tender and torn flesh, while Cameron and Caliphon did the best to keep her roused and aware. The three of them together were chanting away as the ritual demanded. For his part, Augustus carried on as he had. Whatever his initial misgivings or reservations, this sport proved every bit as enjoyable as hunting the countryside for unspoiled farmer's stock. Moreso, as the prey in question was already caught and could only offer protest but no defense. Or so he thought.

He'd kept a steady rhythm in his thrusts into the Ancient, each as deep and forceful as his strength and her flesh would allow, the rhythm interrupted only when he needed to steady himself or adjust her hips *just* so. All his concentration had been focused upon his pleasuring and her pain.

As his latest release built in his loins, so to did an accompanying cry, both ready to burst forth in unison.

Suddenly, the chamber rang with a cry of its own which completely drowned him out.

"YI-YI-YI-YI-YI-YI-YAHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

Augustus had intended to simply ignore it...only to be literally torn away from the Ancient by a hand so solid and cold he momentarily envisioned it being made of stone. This one hand, which encircled his throat, not only pulled him from his business but propelled him clear across the wide chamber with such speed and strength as to leave him as insensate as when he impacted on the far wall.

Strong as he was, Augustus could only sink into dark oblivion upon the impact, having no time to wonder at what came next.

******

Listen to the chorus, for its voice falters now. The harmony of this night of remembrance has been disrupted, and though the choir knows only its song, it is keenly aware of such disruptions.

The choir of lost voices is aware of such things. An animal awareness, true, but awareness all the same. Such disturbances are never tolerated for long.

Listen now. Can you hear the choir express its discord? Perhaps it is the wind which swirls and stalks among the marker stones and broken bodies. Perhaps it is the way this wind picks and prickles the hairs upon your neck as it catches you in an invisible embrace, leaving as suddenly as it came.

The choir of voices senses where those who disrupt and corrupt its flow hide. It is neither moved not impeded by the crude magicks or raw mass of rock and soil barring the path.

The voices are raised in anger, in rage, and the move as one to bring pain to an end.

Listen, and hear the wind die in strength and force. Listen, and hear the cry of voices still and fade.

Listen, as silence reigns among the dead once more.

******

She appeared as little more than a streak of black night, her speed and purpose every bit as deadly as the blade of her sword, itself a blur as the stone holding Gabrielle's hands was hacked to dust in the space of a single breath. She caught the Ancient's body and lowered it the cold floor with such tender care as to touch even the hardest heart.

All the Elders present went unmoved by this, at first too shocked to interfere, then amused by such a show. They had no hearts as such to be touched, and so knew only their amusement and arrogance.

"Well, well," Cameron chuckled, the first to advance towards the pair. "If it isn't the little whore..."

His voice died as the intruder stood and met his eyes. Swathed in shadows as she was, only her eyes could be seen. Eyes of cold sapphire blue, hard as the stone itself. Eyes which began to glow with an inner fire of the same cold blue.

White teeth gleamed beneath those eyes, a smile every bit as blinding and deadly as the blade by her side. The shadows which hid her from view were not nature, they all knew, and each tensed against the unbound storm gathered before them. There was no other way to think of this tall intruder.

The chamber vibrated ever so subtly, as if quaking from the emotions and rage coursing throughout its space.

There was no repeat of the battlecry. No hint of her attack before the blade began arcing and slicing both air and flash. She became a blur of motion once, circling about the Elders for a heartbeat before striking her first.

It was Cameron who fell first, his bared chest so open a target. To the naked eye it seemed as though he simply exploded open, his organs spilling forth in a cascade of rich red and black. Those same organs appeared to *shred* to pulp and waste as they emerged. As his arms flew about his stomach to try and arrest the damage. They, too, joined the pile at his feet, cut into as many pieces so cleanly and quickly he registered these wounds visually before actually feeling them.

The once-gentleman opened his mouth to cry out. He was given no time to even draw the breath, his had severed at the neck and tumbling to the ground. It landed amid the remains of his heart, guts, and arms with a wet *thud*, still trying desperately to scream.

Nassada and Caliphon took all this in, waited until their fellow's evisceration was finished, then moved as one with a speed all their own.

Nassada, being a daughter of the wise spider, leapt the distance with only the slightest bend of the knees. Caliphon crouched low and sprinted, both arms crossed beneath her generous breasts, hands hidden within her robes. Both Elders hissed and bared their full fangs, eyes predatory and hungry.

The sword's blade flashed again as the shadowed figure dodged away. Sparks lit the darkness, the sword's edge catching those of the long knives the castewoman drew from her robes. Nassada landed gracefully into a feral crouch opposite this stranger, mere steps from the still-unconscious Roman. It might have been the whore's body doing this deadly dance, but the though that the whore herself doing these things was laughable to the both of them. Better to treat her as the known quality that she was than indulge in dangerous fantasies.

Caliphon herself had been knocked off-balance by the force of their blades meeting, causing her to spin into the nearby wall. What further proof was needed that they dealt with something *other* than a tall, beautiful streetwalker?

The stranger pressed her attack against the castewoman, ignoring the growling African and going so far as to fully turn her back to the chocolate-skinned woman. This was all the invitation Nassada would need. She sprung forward again to take full advantage of this, her hands reaching and nails sharpening to razors.

The fallen daughter of the wise spider was sent to her former totem's judgement when a metre-long length of burnished metal buried itself deep into the back of her skull, its three edged blade punching clean through and clearly protruding through her right eye.

She had not covered even a full metre of the floor when she fell. So powerful were the magicks of the dagger, they leached away all energy and dark vitality from the body. Nassada of the wise spider was but brittle bones and charred cloth when she reached the floor, her remains crumbling to dust upon impact.

Caliphon had no time to contemplate this development. While she herself was armed with two blades, one in each hand and as familiar as her own skin, the shadowed giant set upon her as if armed with three times as many weapons. The castewoman was hardly idle in her own defense, her knives flashing and streaking all about in complex patterns of parry and strikes which by rights should have left even the most practiced of swordsmen on the defensive. Yet, her every strike was brushed aside, every block met and deflected with ever-mounting force of strength. She felt, rather than saw, the opposite blade doing this, so quick was its play so to be nothing more than a blur.

Then, as abruptly as the contest began, so it ended and silence took reign in the chamber. Caliphon was *very* confused as to why the clash of metal might end so suddenly and the shadowed one now simply stood before her. A glance downwards explained why.

So extreme was the shock of the sight, it took her mind several moments to comprehend both arms had been neatly cleft at the shoulders. *Both* arms, each now lay twitching at her feet.

Caliphon, scourge of the alleys of Delhi, could only look upwards at her opponent. Distinct features could now be seen in the shadows cloaking her, and Caliphon felt her lips tremble slightly, recognizing her from ages past, *not* from mere hours before. Eyes and features not seen in more than a century gazed upon her from within those weakening shadows.

Both knew what was to come next, the castewoman closing her eyes to it.

When the blow came, and the sword's keen blade sliced through her throat, she hardly even felt it.

******

Hope had waited until the harsh melody of metal-against-metal ended before looking in the chamber, not wishing to risk either distracting her compatriot or giving the Elder's a second target. It had only been on pure instinct that she had thrown her dagger upon hearing the growl of the African Elder's attack, her aim as perfect as ever and her blind throw succeeding.

When finally the noise of the battle had died, Hope dared to round the corner and look upon aftermath. It was a scene not unlike that in the graveyard above them, though the number of body parts were fewer and it was the stench death rather than despair that greeted her. There would be no resurrection for these bacchae, and good riddance to the lot of them.

She bent down to retrieve her dagger of the dust that had once been the African, the hungry roar which erupted immediately behind her enough to momentarily freeze her. The toga-clad Elder had simply *played* dead, waiting for a moment of distraction when he might strike. That moment was *now*...or so he'd assumed.

The longsword which sailed across the chamber and pierced his chest, pinning him helpless to the wall, proved him wrong. The runes woven into the metal of Caliburn proved every bit as deadly to a bacchae as a dozen driad bones to the heart. The Roman was dispatched before he even realized what had befallen him.

Hope herself was quickly on her feet, facing her savior with dagger in hand, both curses and thanks coming to mind. This other waited for neither, turning away and moving towards the bloodied, still body which lay at the center of this carnage. Hope tensed, then relaxed at seeing the tenderness with which Xena (for who else could this be?) pick up Gabrielle frail form and cradle it to her breast.

Breathing sobs came from the tall woman, giving Hope all the proof she would ever need of her identity.

A fine sprinkling of dust landed on her shoulder, interrupting her musings. More to give the two a small measure of privacy than actual concern, Hope looked upwards, as if in search of the source of this new annoyance.

Sharp eyes quickly found the reason, causing her to scream "RUN!"

Then the earth fell upon them all, both the living and dead.

******