Past Changes

The Archmage

Written by Donald E. Fleming II

Story Concept by Donald E. Fleming II

Disclaimer: All Gargoyles characters are the property of Disney and Buena Vista Studios and are being used without their consent or permission. Other Gargoyle characters are the property of The Gargoyle Saga (TGS) writing staff and also are being used without their permission. I am receiving no reward for this story other than the satisfaction of being able to share it with others as it is intended solely for my own entertainment and the entertainment of Gargoyle fandom everywhere.

Previously...

"The clan's eggs survived. All thirty-six of them."

Demona felt her legs collapse under her. They live, she thought. My clan's eggs live!

She could feel herself being gently lifted to her feet. Tom had rushed to her side and was helping her back up.

"But how?" she whispered, surprising herself by not pushing him away. "I...I don't understand."

"There's someone with him," Gabriel said. "Could it be Goliath? Is he awake already?"

Katherine watched as Tom landed the skiff and helped his passenger out of the craft.

"Nay, I dinna think so," she said. The form was too slight to be Goliath's, and she could see that the hair was the wrong color. It almost looked like…

"Princess," Tom called out. "We have a guest."

Katherine's jaw dropped when she saw who it was.

"Ach, she does at that," Katherine admitted. "She becomes more and more like her mother each day."

"What?" Demona said in shock.

Katherine looked at her in surprise. "Surely ye have eyes, Demona. Can ye not see the resemblance? After all, she does have Goliath's color."

Demona looked at Angela. Her daughter, she thought. The coloring of her egg had promised a daughter…

"Are you certain she will do as you ask?" Selene said. "I doubt very much that she will do so willingly."

The Archmage smiled. "Oh, of one thing I can be certain, it will be that she will do this task for me. For if she doesn't, something she will soon hold very dear to her heart will suffer the consequences."

"I am not trying to seduce you, Magus. I know that deep down in your heart, you will always love Katherine. But I need your help, Magus. I need...you."

The Magus gulped as she reached up and carefully removed her halter, then let it drop to the floor.

"Demona," he gasped. "I...I can't. I don't..."

"I understand," she said, realizing that this would be the Magus' first time with any female, human or gargoyle. She carefully took him by the hands. "Don't worry," Demona said as she led him towards the bed. "I will try to be gentle."

Try? he thought.

Past Changes: Demona

Past Changes: The Archmage

Southern France

1545 AD

Late Winter

Demona sat with her hands clenched together, watching the egg that lay nestled in the straw. Our egg, she thought as her eyes looked up and focused on the human sitting opposite her in the makeshift rookery. For ten years, she and the Magus had been awaiting this day, waiting for the moment of truth when the egg the two of them had produced in a single moment of passion would hatch. She reached out cautiously and touched the mottled surface, sighing again as she felt it shift slightly as the tiny being inside moved.

"It will soon be time," she said to the Magus.

"Are you certain?" he asked.

"Yes," Demona said. "I was witness to the last clutch of eggs to hatch at Wyvern, before you came to the castle." She paused as she looked at the Magus. "Surely this happened when Angela and her rookery kin were hatched."

"It did," the Magus said. "But we were uncertain as to whether it was normal or not. We wondered if perhaps moving the eggs as often as we were forced to may have caused them distress..."

"You apparently did all right," she said. "And do not fear, this much movement is quite normal." Her hand caressed the exterior of the egg. "In a few moments..."

Her words were cut short as the shell of the egg cracked under her hand, causing her to jump back in surprise.

"Or perhaps right now," she said with a bit of a smile. She moved forward and placed her hands on the fractured shell. Using her talon, she scored the outside of the shell, creating several long grooves along the sides of the egg. The section closest to the initial crack separated and fell away, revealing the skin of the gargoyle hatchling.

"I will need your help with this," Demona said as she gently took hold of the edge of the break. The Magus took hold of the other side and together, the two of them pried the shell open, freeing the hatchling, who tumbled into the soft straw. Demona quickly picked up the hatchling and began picking the bits of straw away so she could get a better look at the infant.

The tiny hatchling's skin was light blue, just a shade lighter than her own azure-blue coloring, but the hair was white, like the Magus', and as the hatchling reached out to her, Demona counted five small fingers on each hand. She wondered if this was the result of their joining. Would this happen if there were another human/gargoyle mating? she wondered. She examined the hatchling more closely and discovered that the hatchling was a male.

"We have a son, Magus," she said, offering the hatchling to him.

The Magus took the child and looked at him carefully. "A…a son," he whispered. He looked at Demona. "He is beautiful," he said. "Just like his mother."

Demona's eyes went wide at the Magus' words. "I…I didn't know that you…that you thought me…"

"Demona," he said as he took a hesitant step towards her. "We have been friends for years, and we have lived together, for all intents and purposes, as man and wife ever since we returned to this world. It should come as no surprise that I should…"

Demona smiled at him. "And to think, at one time you once referred to me and my kind as 'unnatural', if memory serves me correctly."

"I was a different person back then, Demona," the Magus said as he handed the hatchling back to her. "Times were different. Many things have...changed...since our days at Wyvern. I...I do not think I could have ever given voice to how I felt..."

Demona shifted the hatchling until he was nestled in the crook of her left arm, while she reached up and gently placed her right hand against his chest. "You don't have to say another word, Magus," she said. "I understand..."

"Marcus," he said.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Marcus," he repeated. "It is my given name. In all of the years we have known each other, Demona, you never once called me by my given name."

Demona blushed visibly. "To tell the truth, I never gave it much thought. To me, you've always been the Magus. I guess it was always much easier to dislike you if I thought of you as the Archmage's apprentice instead of as a regular human."

"What about now?" he asked.

"Now," she started hesitantly. "Now I cannot think of you as anything except someone who means a great deal to me. You've given me something very precious, and it is something I will never be able to forget." She looked down at the hatchling in her arms.

The Magus stepped closer to look down at the hatchling. "What will you name him?"

Demona looked up. "I...I hadn't given it much thought," she admitted. "Giving things name was always a human tradition that I never truly cared for..." She looked down at the hatchling for a brief second before looking at the Magus. "But I guess it would better to give him a name that he would recognize as his own rather than saying 'You there' all the time." She turned her attention back to the hatchling. "What to name you, little one?" she said. "It should be a special name, one that would represent the joining of our two races."

The Magus thought for a moment. "What about Malcolm?" he asked.

"After Katherine's father?" she asked. "Why?"

"I think it would be appropriate," he said. "Despite what others thought of your clan, he was always the first to speak in defense of your kind. Even when others thought your clan was responsible for Princess Elena's death, he refused to believe them. He knew that your clan would never do anything to harm any who lived in the castle."

"As I recall," Demona said. "Yours was one of those voices who called for our exile from the castle after Elena's death."

"As I said before, I was a different person then," he said. "We both are."

"True enough," she said as she turned her attention back to the hatchling she held in her arms. "Very well, it is decided. You shall from this day forward be known as Malcolm."

The Magus smiled as he placed his hand on her shoulder and gazed down at their son.

Early Spring

The Magus paused in his reading to look over at the azure-blue gargess laying on her side on the bed, her eyes closed as she napped, her right arm and wing wrapped slightly around the three-month old hatchling that was their son.

Even after ten years, the Magus was still amazed that the two of them had managed to produce a child together. He had thought it impossible, that two species so dissimilar could ever create anything as miraculous as the tiny being that lay nestled in the security of his mother's wings. But they had, and now they were one step closer to undoing the damage he had done so many years earlier.

The past few years hadn't been easy for either of them. Even though Demona had managed to slay what they hoped had been the last of the Hunters five years ago, deep down he knew that someone would eventually take of the mantle and begin the Hunt again. Just as Prince Duncan had after the death of first Hunter, and the young Prince Canmore after Duncan's death, and his son afterwards...

His attention was drawn back to the azure gargess as she suddenly bolted up in the bed, almost spilling the hatchling onto the floor. With uncanny, catlike reflexes, she reached for her son to arrest his fall, but the Magus was slightly quicker. His hand shot out, an unspoken spell already forming in his mind, and suddenly the child was suspended a mere inch from the floor, held there by a levitation spell.

Demona smiled meekly at the Magus and gently picked up little Malcolm, who was already wailing plaintively at having his nap so rudely disturbed.

"What is it?" he asked, seeing the look of worry already crossing her face as she tried to comfort and quiet the child. He knew already that something had disturbed her, otherwise she would not have awakened so abruptly from her nap.

"Something's wrong," she said. She looked towards the door as a sudden sense of urgency washed over her, an urgency that originated from outside the small cottage they were living in. But that could only mean...

The Magus jumped up as the door was thrown open, and a large, heavily dressed human rushed inside. He was already in the process of uttering a spell when Demona called out. "Magus, wait!"

The human looked at the pair of them for a brief moment before reaching up and pulling off the fur hood that covered his head. "Demona," he said, focusing on the gargess. "Praise the gods I've found ye in time!"

"Macbeth, what is it?" she asked as she shifted her grip on the hatchling in her arms. Macbeth's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the hatchling, but he quickly turned his attention back to Demona. "What's wrong?" she asked, but already sensing what he was about to tell her.

"It's the Hunter," he said.

The Magus felt a sick feeling settle in his stomach as he saw the look on Demona's face. The last Hunter had died five years ago, at her hands, but they both knew that this was almost an inevitability. "Where?" she asked.

"The village," Macbeth said. "He's been asking around, seeing if anyone's seen any gargoyles lately." He paused for a moment. "He's been asking about you in particular."

"Why can't he stay dead and buried, damn him!" Demona snarled. She turned her attention to the Magus. "Marcus, take Malcolm and go." She quickly handed the hatchling to the Magus, and then began rushing around the cottage, grabbing items and stuffing them into a pack.

"Go where?" he asked.

"Somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but here." She paused for a second. "Go back to Avalon. You and Malcolm will be safe there."

"What about you?" he asked.

"I'll be all right," she said as she finished filling the pack and set it aside. "After I deal with the Hunter, I'll join you there." She then turned her attention to Macbeth. "I have no right to ask this of you, Macbeth..." she started.

"You wish for me to safeguard them," he said.

"Yes," she said. "The Magus knows the way to Avalon, but he will need someone to watch his back and our..." She hesitated for a second. "The child."

Macbeth looked at the hatchling the Magus held. "The child," he said. "He is..."

"He is a gargoyle hatchling," Demona quickly said. "That is all I am willing to say for now."

"Very well," Macbeth said, not willing to press the issue. He already suspected the truth anyway. "I will see that no harm comes to them."

"I have your word?" Demona asked.

"I am a man of my word, Demona," he said. "Ye know that."

"Thank you," she said. She then turned to the Magus. "Marcus..."

"Don't ask me to abandon you, Demona," he said sharply, surprising her. "I won't do that."

"I'm not asking you to, Marcus," she said. She walked up to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. "But I can't let this Hunter harm..." She paused for a second. "I won't let him hurt you or this child." She reached up and gently stroked the side of his head with the knuckles of her right hand. "But if I'm worrying about the two of you, something terrible might happen, and that I couldn't bear." She then let her hand fall away.

The Magus quickly reached up and caught her hand. "Just promise me that you'll be careful, and that you'll return to Avalon after you've dealt with this Hunter." he said urgently. "Then I'll be content to leave."

"I will," she said. She then turned her attention to Malcolm. "Watch over him, young one," she said before turning and heading for the door. In an instant, she was gone.

"We had best leave quickly," Macbeth said. "The Hunter will undoubtedly not be satisfied with merely hunting her down. If he hears of this hatchling..." He paused as he noticed that the Magus was staring at the door Demona had left through. "Dinna worry about Demona, Magus," he said. "She's always been a survivor. The Hunter may have tracked her here, but he'll not find her an easy prey to bring to ground. Ye can be certain of that."

"I certainly hope that is true," he said. Grabbing a blanket, he bundled up the squirming young Malcolm as best he could before leaving the cottage. Macbeth picked up the pack and followed him into the night.

Demona soared through the night, heading towards the village, every fiber of her being tensing up as she readied herself for a fight she was not looking towards. She and the Magus had carved out a simple life together in this quaint countryside, she thought. Why did this damnable Hunter have to come and spoil it? She paused for a brief moment. How did he manage to track me here? The last Hunter she had faced has been dead for five years, and that was in Paris, many miles removed from where she was now. Could Macbeth...

No, she thought, quickly brushing that thought away. Macbeth had as much reason to hate the Hunter as much as she. There was no way he would ally himself with their common foe. And besides, she had felt the sense of urgency that Macbeth felt just before he burst into the cottage. There really were no secrets between the two of them; given their eternal link, it was nearly impossible. She would have instantly sensed it if Macbeth intended to lure her into a trap. And she had to trust him now; she had entrusted the life of the Magus and their child into his care. It was too late to turn around and head back...

The neighing of a horse below her brought her back to reality. She looked down and saw two riders pass beneath her. The Hunter, she realized, her sharp eyes focusing on the hooded figure on the left carrying a heavy crossbow. The other one she did not recognize, but she knew he had to be working for the Hunter. She watched as they continued on without pausing. Obviously they hadn't seen her, but the way they were travelling, it wouldn't be long before they reach the cottage, and that worried her. She looked back over her shoulder towards the distant cottage. Macbeth and Marcus should be gone by now, she thought, but she couldn't afford to let the Hunter and his companion reach the cottage. No matter how careful they had been in the past, the Hunter had always found a clue which put him back on her trail. And the Magus was hardly a young man anymore. The years had not been kind to him, and he was starting to feel his years. The Hunter would have no trouble catching up, unless she slowed him down first. She made a bold decision. Waiting until the Hunter and his companion had passed beneath her, she turned around and dived, coming up behind them. Just as she was about to pass over him, she screeched loudly, startling the riders and their horses, and whacked the Hunter good and proper across the back with her tail, unseating him from his mount. Her surprise attack spooked the horses, and the Hunter's companion was thrown from his mount. They both watched helplessly as the animals took off across the countryside.

Demona smiled to herself as she circled them, watching as they pulled themselves to their feet.

"Filthy beast!" she heard the Hunter curse. "Ye'll pay for that!"

"Only if you can catch me, Hunter," she called back. She paused for only a moment as she watched the Hunter bring the crossbow up and aim it at her, letting him get off one desperate shot before turning in mid-air and heading back the way she came, away from the cottage. The bolt from the crossbow missed her by a wide margin, and she looked back as she saw the Hunter readying another shot.

"Five hundred years and that's the best you Hunters can do?" she taunted. "I've fought drunken Vikings with better aim."

The next bolt was closer. Too close in fact; it tore through her right wing, eliciting a gasp of surprise from her, and the searing pain almost caused Demona to tumble from the sky. But not quite. She quickly regained her wits and began climbing higher, trying to get out of the range of the Hunter's crossbow.

"This isn't over yet, Demon!" she heard him shout as she flew out of range. "I'll shatter you and yuir hellspawn and all yuir filthy kind if it takes another five hundred years! Or a thousand years! Or ten times ten thousand years. The Hunt will never be over until the last gargoyle is dead!"

Demona ignored the Hunter's rants as she put more distance between her and her foe. One thing she couldn't ignore was the damage to her wing, and the odd burning sensation that was beginning to spread from the edges of the tear. After a few minutes, she set down and began examining the damage.

The tear was small and ragged, but not big enough to give her much concern. She'd still need to stay on the ground until it completely healed, but what did concern her was the fact that the healing process was taking longer than it should have. It was a minor injury; given her immortality, it should have started healing almost immediately, but it hadn't. On top of that, the edges of the tear were enflamed, and the burning sensation seemed to be getting worse. She hissed sharply in pain as she gently probed the edges of the tear, and realized what was wrong. Poison, she thought ruefully. Typical. Previous Hunters had used the same ploy to slow her down in the past, but it was rarely ever effective. Still, until her body completely rid itself of the poison, the tear wouldn't heal properly. She looked back the way the way she had come, knowing that the Hunter would soon be coming after her.

"Well, if you hoped the poison would incapacitate me, Hunter," she said. "You're going to be sorely disappointed." Ignoring the pain and the burning sensation in her wing, Demona dropped to all fours and took off in pursuit of the Hunter.

On a nearby rise, the Archmage smiled as he watched the drama he had set into motion begin to unfold.

Demona frowned as she reached the spot where she had surprised the Hunter and his companion, only to find that the Hunter was no longer there. Off in the distance, she could see the Hunter's companion returning with the horses, but the Hunter himself was nowhere in sight.

Where... she started, but then she got a very sick feeling in her stomach. 'I'll shatter you and yuir hellspawn and all yuir filthy kind...' she remembered him shouting. Hellspawn? she wondered. Then it dawned on her. The Hunter wasn't interested in just her. He was also after Malcolm! No! she thought as panic filled her. She couldn't let her son come to harm, not when so much was riding on him. It didn't even occur to her that there was no way the Hunter could possibly know about her child. No one in the village even suspected that she was in the area, much less her and the Magus' half-breed child. All she knew at that moment was that he was in danger. She quickly took off towards the cottage. Even if the Magus and Macbeth had left immediately after she did, the Hunters had an annoying habit of always being able to pick up on the slightest hint of a trail. And with the nearest body of water several hours away, the Hunter would have no problem catching up with them, especially with the Magus burdened with their son. Demona had to make certain that didn't happen.

By the time Demona caught up with the Hunter, he had already reached the cottage. She listened carefully outside the door while the Hunter ransacked the cottage, obviously angered by the fact that he had missed his quarry, but his anger caused Demona to relax slightly. At least they got away safely, she thought to herself. That will make dealing with him so much easier. Flinching as she heard something shattering against the wall of the cottage, she carefully looked inside before boldly announcing her presence.

"Looking for something, Hunter?" she asked coolly.

The Hunter spun to face her, and even from the door, Demona could see the loathing in his eyes. "You!" he snarled in open hatred.

Demona looked around as she entered the cottage. "I usually expect better manners from my houseguests," she said. "But then, what can I expect from an uncivilized lout such as yourself."

Demona's goading elicited the response she was hoping for. The Hunter drew a long-bladed knife and lunged at her, a clumsy move she easily sidestepped. She then brought her clenched fists down on the Hunter's back and sent him crashing to the floor.

"That was pathetic, Hunter," she said as she reached down and flipped him over onto his back. When he saw her standing over him, the Hunter began scrambling backwards towards the door. Not willing to let him escape, Demona rushed forward and grabbed him by his tunic, hauling him to his feet. "I always thought you Hunters were better trained than this," she said as she looked him in the eyes.

"D...d...don't...don't hurt me!" the Hunter stammered, the hatred in his voice and the loathing in his eyes now replaced with open fear, which surprised her. Demona had faced numerous Hunters over the years, but none of them had ever shown any fear of her. Something is wrong here, she thought, frowning. She reached up and pulled off the Hunter's mask.

The instant the mask was off, Demona realized she had the wrong person. His skin was too dark, and his hair was the wrong color. On top of that, his build was too slight. Whoever he was, he wasn't the Hunter.

"Who are you?" she snarled, her eyes blazing blood red.

"He...he made me put on the mask..." the false Hunter said. "He said..."

But before he could finish, an arrow came through the open door, imbedding itself in his back. He let out a surprised cry before sagging in her grip, dead. Demona let the dead man fall to the floor as she took a step towards the door, but then another arrow came sailing in through the door, this one burning bright. It went sailing past her and struck the far wall of the cottage, setting it on fire. Another arrow followed, forcing Demona away from the door to avoid being hit by the deadly projectile, and then another. And another. She risked a glance out the door and saw the Hunter standing several yards away from the cottage, and he wasn't alone. With him were two archers, who were expertly launching burning arrows at the cottage. Demona ducked back as one of the arrows struck the doorframe, and then she looked up as she saw the straw roof beginning to smolder.

"Ye'll not be escaping this night, Demon!" she heard the Hunter shout over the roar of the fire. "Tonight the Hunt ends for you and yuir hellish offspring!"

Demona rushed to the back wall, heading for the window. It was too small for her to climb through, but that wouldn't be a problem for very long. Grabbing a stool, she tossed it at the window, shattering the glass, and then began pulling apart the sill and the stone wall. But before she had a chance to escape, an arrow came flying through the opening, grazing her arm. She jumped back, yelping in surprise and pain, and she grabbed her wounded arm even as she focused on the archers that had taken up position near the rear of the cottage to cut off her escape. They began launching burning arrows through the hole she had made in the rear wall, forcing her to retreat back towards the center of the burning cottage. As smoke began filling the structure, and burning straw began to fall from the roof, Demona realized that the Hunter finally had her trapped.

"You certainly have gotten yourself into a spot of trouble, haven't you, my dear?" she heard a oddly familiar voice say. She turned and spotted someone sitting in a chair by the door.

"Who's there?" she asked, coughing as smoke filled her lungs. "Who are you?"

She could swear she could see the figure smile at her through the smoke, seemingly unaffected by the heat and smoke of the fire. "Surely, you haven't forgotten about me after all this time," he said. She watched as the figure waved his hand, and the smoke parted, revealing a white-haired human she hadn't seen in over five centuries.

"It...it can't be," she gasped. "You're..."

"Dead?" the Archmage said. "Hardly, my dear. Though not for lack on trying on yours and Goliath's part." He stood up and took a step towards her. Demona quickly backed away from him. "I take it you're not too happy to see me," he said.

"After what you did to Prince Malcolm, and the way you treated me when I was still your apprentice," she said. "I'd be foolish to let you anywhere near me."

"Even if I were to offer you a chance to escape from this unfortunate situation?" he asked.

As if to emphasize his statement, a portion of the burning roof finally collapsed, falling on top of Demona, but somehow missing the sorcerer. Demona struggled to pull herself out from underneath the rubble as the Archmage knelt in front of her and offered her his hand. She looked at the proffered hand disdainfully, then crawled out from underneath the debris on her own. "I don't need your help, Archmage," she said. "I can fend for myself."

"Of course you can," he said, smiling as he watched her push herself painfully to her feet. He then watched as she looked from the open door to the hole in the rear wall, weighing her options of escape. If I can distract the Hunter long enough... she thought as she tried to put the Archmage's presence in the cottage out of her mind, but he had no intention of being so easily dismissed. "But can you say the same for your son?" he asked.

This brought Demona up short, and she turned to look at him, surprise on her face. "What do you mean?" she asked.

The Archmage smiled at her. "You and the Magus have placed so many hopes on that hatchling," he said. "It would be a shame if something were to happen to him before he could reach his full potential."

Demona snarled dangerously at the Archmage, the fire raging around her no longer on her mind. She took a step towards the Archmage, but stopped when another portion of the roof caved in, blocking her path to the sorcerer. "I will not let you harm my child!" she growled.

"I have no intention on causing him harm," he said, ignoring the flames that licked at his cloak, but failing to ignite the fabric. "That is, of course, dependant on your cooperation."

"I will not be your puppet..." she snarled.

"I'm afraid you have little say in that matter, my dear," he said. "Willingly or unwillingly, you will do as I ask. Otherwise..."

Demona didn't get a chance to hear what he was going to say, because at that moment, an arrow came flying through the hole in the wall and imbedded itself in her back between her shoulder blades. She let out a startled cry and pitched forward onto the floor, dead. The Archmage looked down at her motionless form, a smile crossing his lips. "Well, I guess it's time we take this discussion someplace where we won't be interrupted." Crossing over to where Demona lay, he touched the Phoenix Gate and transported both himself and Demona out of the burning cottage as it finally collapsed in on itself.

Outside, the Hunter watched as the fire consumed the structure.

"Well, that takes care of that," one of the archers with him said.

"It certainly seems that way," he said absently, but he couldn't escape the nagging feeling that somehow, some way, the Demon had eluded him yet again.

A barge outside the mystical entrance to Avalon

"Where is he?" the Archmage asked.

"Patience," Luna said. "He will return."

"And when he does," Phoebe said. "He will have with him the key to your ultimate power."

"I certainly hope so," the Archmage said. "I have waited long enough for what is mine by right."

The Sisters shared a knowing glance among themselves. The Archmage's earlier self left a great deal to be desired. He was arrogant, presumptuous and insufferable, but as much as they wanted to put him in his place, they had to let him have his delusions of grandeur. If not for his future self, they would still be stuck in the forms the Magus had trapped them in. But they were willing to put up with his earlier self only for so long before they felt compelled to remind him that they had far more power than he did.

All thoughts of putting the Archmage in his place were set aside as the fires of the Phoenix Gate materialized in their midst's. The flames subsided, leaving behind the future Archmage and an azure-blue gargess lying dead at his feet.

"I thought you were going to bring me something useful," the earlier Archmage complained as he stormed across the deck of the barge. "Not this worthless creature. What possible use can she be to me?"

"A great deal, if you would only shut up and listen," the future Archmage said. He extended his hand over Demona's still form. "Reveal," he said, and a small object appeared from a hidden pouch under her loincloth. It floated upwards, and then drifted over to the Archmage.

"The Phoenix Gate!" he shouted in surprise as he held out his hands to catch it. "She had it all this time?"

"Obviously," the other Archmage said.

The Archmage looked down at the Phoenix Gate in his hands for a moment, then looked at his future self. "But it's broken," he said in disappointment. "It's worthless."

"Only until it becomes reunited with its other half," the future Archmage said. He then gestured to the restored Gate on his chest. "Which, as you can see, is destined to take place."

"Where is the other half?" the Archmage demanded. "I must have it now..."

"Have you learned nothing?" the future Archmage said, berating his earlier self. "Like the Grimorium, the Phoenix Gate must also remain in play until it is time for you to claim it. At any rate, you would not be able to retrieve the missing half at present, as it is currently locked in stone along with Goliath, and won't be released from its stone prison until he is." He reached out, said, "Return," and Demona's half of the Phoenix Gate leapt from the Archmage's hand and returned to the hidden pouch under Demona's loincloth. "When the time comes, she will be the key through which you will gain ultimate power."

The Archmage focused on the arrow imbedded in her back. "How can she be the key when she's dead?" he asked.

"Only for the moment, Archmage," Luna said.

"The spell that restored her youth and strength also eternally linked her life to that of Macbeth, granting them both virtual immortality," Phoebe went on.

"Until one destroys the other," Selene finished. "Then both perish together."

"But until such time as that occurs," the future Archmage said. "Demona will recover from any injury inflicted upon her. Even one such as this. Withdraw." With a wave of his hand, the future Archmage caused the arrow to be pulled violently out of Demona's back. He then opened one side of his cloak and the arrow flew to him, disappearing into the folds of his cloak. The other Archmage watched in rapt fascination as the wound in Demona's back closed up completely, without leaving so much as a scar behind. After several minutes, he heard a soft moan coming from the prostrate gargess, and then Demona began pushing herself to her feet.

"So nice of you to rejoin us, my dear," the future Archmage quipped.

Demona looked up, frowning as she saw the Archmage standing over her, and then paused as she realized she was no longer in the cottage. The Archmage had transported both of them someplace else. Someplace that was oddly familiar... "Where are we?" she asked.

"All in good time," the Archmage said. "For now, all you need concern yourself with is listening to what I have to say."

"I will not be your puppet," Demona snarled.

"I'm afraid you have little choice in the matter, my dear," the Archmage said. "It is well within my power to force you to do my bidding, but that is something I won't do unless you force me to. I would much rather have your willing cooperation."

"That is something you will never have," Demona said. She glanced around, trying to figure out where she was and choose an avenue of escape, when her eyes fell on the three women standing nearby. While she was certain she had never seen them before, they were all oddly familiar. Then she realized who they were. The Weird Sisters, she thought. And that means I must be just outside the mystical entrance to Avalon. She turned her attention back to the Archmage. "There is nothing you nor these three harpies can say or do that will make me do your bidding."

"You think not?" the Archmage said.

"No," she responded.

"Obstinate beast," the earlier Archmage said, drawing Demona's attention to him. "I knew she would be utterly useless."

Demona's eyes went wide as her eyes fell on the other Archmage, surprised by the fact that there were two of them. But then her mind flew back to a time in the past when she'd had an encounter with herself at Castle Wyvern, years before the Massacre. He must be the one Goliath and I saw fall into the chasm all those years ago, she thought, realizing what was going on. And his future self saved his life. For all the good it will do him. Coming to a quick decision, she snarled and charged the earlier Archmage, intending to end his life, and that of his future self.

"Let's have none of that, shall we?" the Archmage said as he watched Demona leap at his earlier self, who was rapidly trying to back away. But just as Demona reached him, the Archmage raised his hand, and a fountain of water came rushing over the side of the barge, knocking her back. Demona tried to push her way through the deluge, but the force of the water held her back, and then it started to push her towards the center of the deck. "Freeze," the Archmage said, and the water holding Demona back suddenly solidified, encasing her body in ice. Smiling, the future Archmage walked over to her as she struggled to free herself. "Did you really think I would be that careless?"

Demona's response was a snarl of outrage.

He smiled at her. "Of course you did," he said. "But in the end, it gained you nothing. And now you have no choice but to listen."

"I will not serve you..." she said, defiantly.

"As I've already said once before, you have little choice in the matter," he said. Then he turned his head and listened to something in the distance. Then he smiled. "Ah, I was wondering when they'd arrive."

Demona started to ask what he was talking about when she heard it; the sound of someone poling a skiff through the water. She watched with trepidation as the mists parted, and a small skiff came into view, carrying the Magus and their son, and Macbeth, who was guiding the skiff through the mists.

"Marcus!" she called out, desperate to warn him.

The Archmage smiled at her. "It is useless to try to warn them," he said, even as Macbeth seemed to pause for a moment. "They can neither see nor hear us. And even if Macbeth can sense that you are nearby, that still would not be enough to help them or you."

Demona watched in horror as the Archmage walked to the edge of the barge and raised his hand towards the skiff. "Thicken," he said, and suddenly Macbeth was unable to push the skiff any further.

"What is wrong?" the Magus asked.

"I dinna know," Macbeth said, grunting with effort as he tried to get the skiff to move. "We seem to be...mired...in something..."

The Archmage turned his attention back to Demona. "I could, of course, leave them like that," he said. "Trapped in the mists for all eternity with no hope of rescue. Starvation is such a slow and lingering death, or so I'm told. Or I could simply capsize their vessel and let them drown. Macbeth, of course, would recover, but I'm not all that certain the same could be said for the Magus. Or your son." He raised his hand, pushed forward with it, and the skiff rocked, almost pitching Macbeth overboard. "Decide quickly," he said, seeing the fear and anguish in her eyes. "The water here is surprisingly deep."

Demona watched as the Archmage magically jostled the skiff again, smiling as he did. "No!" she cried out as Macbeth almost lost his balance a second time. "Leave them alone!" She struggled even harder to free herself, but the ice remained solid. "Let them go and I'll..."

The Archmage smiled knowingly as she hesitated. "Yes?" he asked.

Demona went still in the ice. "Let them go and I'll do as you ask," she said in defeat.

"Excellent," the Archmage said. "I knew you would see things my way." He turned his attention back to the skiff. "Release," he said, and Macbeth discovered that they were no longer trapped. He began poling the skiff away as quickly as possible.

"You're just going to let them get away?" the other Archmage asked in disbelief.

"Macbeth is another pawn in this game whether he knows it or not," the future Archmage said. "And still has a part to play in this drama. The Magus as well. The child..." He paused as he looked at Demona. "Well, let's just think of him as 'added insurance'."

Confused, the Archmage watched as his future self went back to where Demona was trapped.

"I trust we understand each other now," the Archmage said.

"Yes," Demona said.

The Archmage smiled triumphantly. "Excellent. Then it is time for your part in this drama to continue." Motioning for his earlier self to join them, he touched the Phoenix Gate on his chest, and the three of them disappeared in a ball of flame.

Avalon

Katherine looked out across the waters, wondering when Demona and the Magus would return. It had been several months since they left Avalon with Tom, and while Tom had returned shortly after parting company with them at Castle Wyvern, she had hoped that they would return equally as quickly. But they hadn't, and Katherine was getting worried.

Tom looked at Katherine with concern, even while the gar-beast Boudicca lay down at her feet. For some time now, Katherine had taken to waiting at the beach for any sign of their friends, and it worried him. Yes, he was also concerned about Demona and the Magus' safety, but he also knew that they would watch out for each other. Both were extremely powerful sorcerers, and Demona was both a gargoyle and an immortal, so whatever uncertainty the outside world held for them, he was certain they could face.

Or could they? He thought back to the last time he had seen Demona, during the confrontation with Macbeth at Castle Wyvern. Macbeth had come dangerously close to ending Demona's life, along with his own, and Demona had almost let him. Was it possible that Macbeth had decided to finish what he had started, ending his centuries-long existence the way he had intended to? Tom knew it was possible, but he doubted it was probable. With Demona gone, the Magus would have returned to Avalon alone, and since he hadn't, Tom felt certain that both he and Demona were safe.

But that still left the question: where were they?

Almost as if she had heard the question, Boudicca suddenly lifted her head and looked towards the water. Getting up, she raced towards the water's edge and started running back and forth, barking wildly. Curious, both Tom and Katherine ran to the water's edge.

"What is it, Boudicca?" Tom asked the gar-beast, realizing as he did that he couldn't very well expect an answer. "What's out there?"

The answer came in the form of a gentle splashing, the sound of someone pushing a skiff along with a pole. They both looked up as the mists parted and a skiff came into view, a familiar figure seated at the front of the vessel.

"Magus, you're back," Katherine said joyfully as Tom ran into the water to pull the skiff towards the shore. Once the craft was beached, she rushed forward to greet her friend. "We were wondering if ye would ever..." But she stopped as the Magus turned to look at her. "Magus, what has happened to you?"

"Time is what has happened, my princess," he said. "Since last I saw you, fifteen years have gone by in the outside world. And unfortunately, those years have been less than kind to me."

"And Demona?" Katherine asked.

"Alive and well when last we saw her," another voice said. Katherine looked passed the Magus to see someone else, a gray-bearded man dressed in a simple tunic, standing in the skiff, the pole held tightly in his hand. "One would imagine that she's decided to lead the Hunter on a merry chase before returning here."

"Who..." she started to ask, but then Tom extended his hand to the newcomer.

"Milord, it is good to see you again," he said.

"And you as well, Guardian," Macbeth said as he stepped off the skiff. As soon as he did, he grasped Tom's extended arm above the wrist and gave it a brief but hearty shake, a warrior's greeting. He then smiled at Tom. "Ye've changed little since last we met," he said.

"Only eight months have passed by since Wyvern," Tom said. "I could say that I'm surprised that ye've changed so little yourself since then, if I did not know that ye and Demona were eternally linked."

"Tom?" Katherine asked, drawing his attention.

"I am sorry, Princess," he said, looking at her. "Milord, this is Princess Katherine of Wyvern," he said to Macbeth. "Princess, this is Lord Macbeth of Moray."

"My lady," Macbeth said, placing his closed right hand over his heart and bowing slightly to her.

Katherine curtsied gracefully before the former Scottish king. "Sire, you honor us with yuir presence. Welcome to Avalon. I only wish we'd known you were coming. We could have prepared to greet you properly..."

Macbeth's smile widened. "There be no need for that," he said. "I've not worn a crown for a great many years, and I truly never cared for all of the fuss that was made for my benefit when I did." He walked over to her and extended his hand. Katherine took his hand and rose to her feet. "Besides, we are cousins after all, so I think we can dispense with the formality for the time being."

"Cousins?" she started, but then she recalled what Demona had told her about Macbeth. He was the son of Findleigh, the high steward of Moray, who was the cousin of her own father Prince Malcolm. She'd visited Moray once, shortly after the death of the Archmage, but that was still years before Macbeth was born. She looked at his face and saw just how much Macbeth resembled his father. She blushed. "I'm sorry, milord," she said. "I'd forgotten that yuir father and mine were cousins."

"'Tis all right," he said with a smile. "Seeing as we two never met, it is easy to forget." He noticed that he still held her hand, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to release it, and Katherine didn't seem inclined to pull it away.

"Will ye be staying, milord?" Katherine asked. "We have so much to talk about."

"Would that I could, my lady," he said, finally releasing her hand. "But I cannot. I only came to safeguard the Magus and the child."

"Child?" Katherine asked in surprise as her eyes shot to the Magus, who was being helped out of the skiff by Tom. She hadn't noticed it before, but the Magus had been holding a small bundle in his arms, out of sight, while Tom beached the skiff. Now she could see it clearly. She quickly went to him. "Magus, what means this?"

The Magus hesitated, wondering how he was going to explain the existence of the child. His child, his and Demona's. During the entire flight from the cottage, all of his thoughts had been on Demona, wondering and worrying about her and praying that she would be able to lose the Hunter and join him. He hadn't given a single thought as to how he was going to explain the existence of a half-human, half gargoyle hatchling to Katherine. No one had even thought that the two races could inter-breed. Would she be willing to raise it with the rest of the gargoyles if he told her the truth?

"It is..." he started, hesitating. What could he tell her? "A hatchling," he said finally as he opened the swaddling, allowing Katherine her first glimpse of the child. "His name is Malcolm."

"A hatchling?" Katherine asked, confused. 'Hatchling' meant a gargoyle child, she thought, but where did the Magus get him? She gazed at the child in the Magus' arms and noted that his coloring was very close to that of Demona's, but not quite. And his hair was white, not red. One of the three that had been sent to the rookery the night before the massacre had white hair, she remembered. Does this mean the spell has finally been lifted? Were Goliath and the rest of the gargoyles finally awake? But if they were, then why bring only one hatchling to Avalon? Katherine had too many questions swimming around in her head, and none of the answers she came up with made sense. "Magus, where did he come from?"

"Demona and I...we..." He hesitated again, still worried about what Katherine would think if he told her the truth. He'd never lied to her; he loved her too much to ever do that, but he didn't want to risk telling her the truth about what he and Demona had done. "We found him...alone...in a cave," he said, trying to keep from looking at her, afraid that she would see in his eyes that he was lying. "We...don't know what happened to his clan."

Katherine reached out to take the hatchling from the Magus, noting as she did that he pulled away slightly before finally surrendering the child to her. Alone in a cave? she thought. Who would do such a thing? She knew that gargoyles were very protective of their young; she'd never been allowed anywhere near the rookery at Castle Wyvern, and she knew that abandoning a hatchling was unthinkable, especially one so young. Was it possible that they weren't able to look for the child because they were... She shuddered at the unthinkable, thinking that she might very well be holding the last survivor of a slaughter. Still, as she turned her attention to the Magus, she could tell there was something about the child he wasn't telling her; he wouldn't meet her gaze. She looked back at the child and noticed the that babe in her arms had five digits on each hand, which she immediately realized was peculiar. None of the gargoyles in her care had that many fingers on their hands, and she couldn't remember any of the gargoyles at the castle having that many either. It made her wonder even more about where the child had come from, and what the Magus wasn't telling her. But she wasn't going to force the issue. The Magus was her friend, and she was certain that whatever he had to tell her, he would when he felt he was ready.

Macbeth watched the exchange with interest, curious as to why the Magus had withheld the truth about the child from Katherine. He himself suspected something of the truth already, that the child was Demona's; that much had been clear since the cottage, but the Magus' refusal to meet Katherine's gaze when she asked where the child had come from seemed to confirm something else he suspected, but didn't think possible. Did the child really belong to both of them? he wondered. It would explain Demona's remark back at the cottage, the one she had changed in mid-sentence. She'd almost called the babe 'our child', he remembered, and the worry he had felt coming from her before she left could only come from someone concerned for the safety of both her child and her child's father. And if that were the case, then he had an additional reason to leave as soon as possible. He didn't want to risk divulging what he knew of the child's possible lineage to Katherine and the Guardian, not until the Magus himself felt it was time to tell them. He approached Katherine and the Magus.

"My lady," he said, bowing his head slightly. "It is time for me to take my leave."

Katherine looked up at Macbeth, surprised. The news about the hatchling had almost made her forget that Macbeth didn't intend to stay. "Must ye, milord?" she asked, hoping she could talk him into staying. "There is so much we have to talk about..."

"I dare not," Macbeth said. "There are things I must see to in the outside world, things that I dare not leave unfinished."

"Can they not wait?" she asked. "Surely you can spare a few hours at least." She looked at Tom for a moment. "Demona has told us much about her time as your advisor, but I would like to hear more. Please? Please say that you will stay for just a little while?"

Macbeth sighed, knowing he wasn't going to win. "Very well," he said. "I never could refuse the request of a lady, especially one so fair. I will stay, but only for a short while. I do not wish to overstay my welcome more than is necessary." He extended his arm and she placed her hand in top of it as they started towards the castle. Tom shared a worried look with the Magus as they fell in step behind the pair.

Southern France

The flames of the Phoenix Gate appeared, grew in size and then dispersed, leaving behind three solitary figures on the French countryside.

"Where are we?" Demona asked. She was no longer fully encased in ice; most of it was gone, but enough remained to serve as icy restraints. Her wrists and ankles were bound by frozen shackles, and a block of ice enclosed her body about the waist and arms, pinning her arms to her sides. She should have been able to escape her icy restraints with ease, but she couldn't, and she suspected that the Archmage was responsible.

"This setting doesn't seem familiar to you?" the Archmage asked. "I would think that it would be, considering how much time you and the Magus spent here."

Demona looked around, as much as her restraints allowed her, and she saw what appeared to be the ruins of a small farmhouse not too far away. Then she realized where she was. He's brought me back to the cottage. But why? She looked back at the Archmage.

"I've brought you here to give you an idea of what could have happened had I not intervened on your behalf," the Archmage said, already knowing what she was about to ask. "Had I not delivered you from your 'unfortunate predicament', you might very well have perished in that fire. And even though you would have recovered, you still would have been in the hands of the Hunter, a situation I'm certain you would much rather avoid."

Demona couldn't argue with the Archmage on that point. She'd never been captured by the Hunters during the night, and they had never been able to find her while she slept during the day, but there had been some close calls over the years, and she didn't want to think about what they would do to her if they ever managed to take her alive. "And I'm supposed to be grateful that you 'rescued' me?" she asked.

"No, now you listen to what I have to say," he said. "You have already agreed to serve me in exchange for the safe passage of the Magus and you son to Avalon, so now it is time for you to fulfill you part of that bargain. Agreed?"

Demona sighed heavily, knowing there was no way to avoid this. "Agreed," she said somberly.

"Excellent," he said. "Now listen carefully. In 448 years, you will contact a mortal named David Xanatos. He will be the key to releasing Goliath from his stone sleep."

Demona's eyes went wide in surprise, even as the Archmage's earlier self yelped in outrage. 448 years? she thought. She was immortal, but that didn't mean the years went by any faster for her. Forty years felt like a long time. Four hundred and forty would seem like an eternity. But as part of her mind tried to grasp the full measure of how much time was going to pass while she waited for one particular mortal to be born, another part of her mind was planning. Four hundred and forty eight years of waiting also meant four hundred and forty eight years to prepare. Even if he has the Phoenix Gate, the Archmage can't be everywhere at once. He can't keep an eye on me every second of every day for the next four centuries. That knowledge gave her an edge she planned to use to the fullest. But how to begin? she wondered. "Is he a sorcerer?" she asked, fixing on the last thing the Archmage had said.

"No, but he will be a person of great power and influence in his century," the Archmage said, smiling inwardly as he realized that Demona was already searching for a way to undo him. For all the good it will do you, my dear, he thought. "And it is through him you will also locate and secure for me the Grimorium Arcanorum and the Eye of Odin. Once you have those items and Goliath's half of the Phoenix Gate in your possession, you will bring them to me. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Demona said.

"Excellent," he said. "Then it is time for you to resume your part in this drama." He gestured slightly, and the icy restraints holding her finally started to give way. As she started to free herself of her frozen bonds, the Archmage turned an ear towards the distance. "And were I you, I wouldn't tarry too long in this location," he said. "One never knows who may be in the area." Even as the words rang in her ears, Demona watched as the Archmage reached his hand up to touch the Phoenix Gate.

"Archmage, wait!" she called out. "Where..." But it was too late. The flames of the Phoenix Gate engulfed him and his earlier self, taking them away to who knew where, and leaving her with unanswered questions. How was she going to find this David Xanatos? Where was she going to find him? And if he wasn't a sorcerer, then how was he supposed to be able to release Goliath and the others from their stone sleep? Without the counterspell, which Hakon had burned the night of the massacre, the only way to do that was to fulfill the conditions of the spell, which meant raising the castle above the clouds. But, short of taking the castle apart and physically moving it by hand, she couldn't think of any way of doing that without magic. And the Archmage had said that David Xanatos was not a sorcerer, she thought. How was he supposed to... But as she was trying to solve the puzzle the Archmage had left for her, her ears began to pick out a sound in the distance. The sound of hoofbeats. Thundering hoofbeats. And they were getting closer. Which meant that someone was on their way to where she was. And she had a feeling she knew who that someone was, even as she remembered the Archmage's parting words. 'One never knows who may be in the area.' But she knew, almost as if she had developed a sixth sense about it.

The Hunt was on again.

An hour earlier...

The village was quiet; many of its inhabitants still asleep in the predawn hours, but a few could already be found in several of the village's shops and inns, preparing for the coming day and the promise of new business. It was near one of these that the fires of the Phoenix Gate reappeared. It grew quickly and then dispersed, leaving behind the Archmage and his earlier self.

"Why are we here?" the earlier Archmage snapped, seeing a nearby tavern. "Surely we haven't the time for such meaningless frivolity..."

"We have all the time in the world if we so wish it," his future self said. "But we are not here to indulge ourselves in, as you said, 'meaningless frivolity'." He gestured towards the inn. "We are here to ensure that another player in this drama fulfills the role we have set out for him." He opened his hand, and the Archmage watched as an image appeared, an image of a man. "This man waits within," the future Archmage said. "His name is Robert Canmore, and his family has been pursuing Demona for the past five centuries."

"For what reason?" the Archmage asked.

"Does it truly matter?" his future self responded.

The Archmage thought about it for a moment. "No, I guess not," he said.

"Of course it doesn't matter," the future Archmage said. "All that matters is that with the Hunter on her trail, Demona will be unable to set anything in motion to try to foil our plans."

"But how will she be able to find the Grimorium and the Eye of Odin if this Hunter is pursuing her?" the Archmage asked.

"Oh, she will locate them," his future self said. "Make no mistake about that. But for now, I want to make certain that Demona is kept too busy to try to return to Avalon until the time is right." He held up his hand. "Disguise," he said, then his earlier self found his garments transformed into a priest's robes.

"What have you done?" the Archmage asked. "Why have you altered my appearance?"

"I've done so to give you a measure of credibility," his future self said as he drew the arrow he had withdrawn from Demona's back out of the folds of his cloak. "Humans during this time are as superstitious as they were in our time, and they have a tendency to see demons where none exist. No one would doubt the word of holy man when he tells them he is running from one." He then passed the arrow to his earlier self.

The Archmage smiled as he realized what was expected of him. He was to put the Hunter back on Demona's trail, and in a way, it seemed only fair to do so after all of the trouble she had caused him in the past. He took the arrow from his future self and turned towards the inn.

Robert Canmore sat alone in a corner booth of the inn, picking at the food before him. He had little appetite left; after pursuing the Demon for so long to avenge his brother, only to lose her had left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he didn't feel like eating. The fire he and his men had set had completely engulfed the Demon's lair, but after the flames had died down, there was no sign of her at all. No body, no shattered stone. Nothing. They did find the body of the man he had forced to where his hood in the rubble, a common thief that no one would lose any sleep over now that he was dead, but nothing else. No Demon, even though he had followed her to her lair after her bold attack, and certainly not the unholy hellspawn he had been told she had given birth to. That had been nearly a week ago, and after six nights of fruitless searching, he wondered if he was ever going to find her again...

Suddenly, there was a hard pounding on the door, and the innkeeper went to open it. As soon as he drew back the bolt, the door was pushed open, and a white-bearded man in a priest's robes rushed into the inn, clutching an arrow in his fist. "Please, you have to help me," he said frantically to the innkeeper. "I need shelter."

"Shelter from what?" the innkeeper asked.

"A demon," he said. " A terrible, horrible demon."

Hearing the word 'demon' caused the Hunter to look up from his plate of half-eaten food. He caught sight of the man the innkeeper was talking to and his eyes went wide in recognition. Was it he? he wondered. The one who had told him about the Demon and her hellspawn? The old priest begging for help from the innkeeper looked very much like the same man who had approached him several weeks ago in Paris with information about the Demon, but that person had had a much shorter beard, and he'd projected an aura of self-confidence. This frail-looking priest couldn't be the same person, even though the resemblance was uncanny. But his interest was piqued. He quickly got up from his chair and started to approach the pair.

"It was probably only a rogue gargoyle," the innkeeper said.

"No, this was no gargoyle," the Archmage said. "It was a demon, I tell you. No gargoyle could have done the things I saw."

"What did you see?" the Hunter asked.

The Archmage turned to give his full attention to the Hunter. "She appeared as if spawned by the foulest magic," he said. "Emerging from a ball of unholy hellfire. When I saw it, I became so frightened..."

She, the Hunter thought. Could it mean... "Where did this happen?" he asked.

The Archmage smiled inwardly, knowing he had hooked the Hunter. "A short distance from here," he said, pointing in the direction of the ruined cottage. He then turned and clutched at the Hunter's tunic. "Please, you must protect me. I am an innocent..."

The Hunter saw the arrow in the Archmage's hand and pulled it from his fingers. "Where did you get this?"

"From the demon," he said. "She threw it at me. And then she said, 'Tell the Hunter he will need more than mere arrows to stop me and mine.' And then she flew away, laughing."

The Hunter frowned in anger. Taunt me all you want, Demon, he thought angrily. But I will be the one who will be laughing over the shattered remains of you and you hellspawn. He looked at the arrow and recognized it as one of his own. And then he noticed the fresh blood on the tip. Her blood? he wondered. Had he managed to hit her through the flames at the cottage? But the blood looked very fresh, and the cottage had burned six days ago. Another taunt? he wondered. Are you using your own blood to bait me? It will be your own undoing, Demon. He turned his attention back to the Archmage. "You will be safe here, good Father," he said. He then pulled a coin from his purse and handed it to the innkeeper. "See to his comfort. I will return after I have settled with this 'demon'."

The Archmage smiled in feigned gratitude. "Oh thank you, good sir. Thank you. May God go with you on your noble quest."

The Archmage's blessing caused the Hunter to hesitate as he started for the door. It almost sounded insincere, but he forced it out of his mind. He had more important things to think of.

The Archmage waited until the Hunter had left on his mission before following the innkeeper upstairs to one of the rooms. Once inside, he locked the door and waited.

It wasn't long before the flames of the Phoenix Gate appeared.

"Now we get ready for the endgame," the future Archmage said.

Now...

Demona snarled as another bolt from the Hunter's crossbow sailed passed her. At a full gallop, he had a hard time drawing a bead on her while she was in the air, but her advantage was cut by the fact that the air currents weren't being very cooperative and she couldn't seem to gain enough altitude to get out of the range of the Hunter's weapon.

When she'd realized that the Hunter was alone, she debated the idea of standing her ground and facing him, one-on-one, and eliminating the threat he posed to herself and her child, but then she saw that the night sky was beginning to brighten; dawn was coming, and she couldn't afford to be caught out in the open. So she took the only rational course left to her.

She ran.

But the Hunter refused to give up the chase, and she couldn't shake him. Worse still, she knew that dawn was fast aproaching, and if she didn't set down soon, she was going to be caught in the air when the sun rose, and she seriously doubted that her immortality would prevent her stone form from being shattered when she plummeted out of the sky. And even if she managed to lose the Hunter before the sun rose, in this part of France, there was naught but open countryside, with very few areas for her to hide during the day. For the past few years, it hadn't mattered to her; she'd had the relative security of cottage and the Magus to safeguard her during the day, but now she berated herself for not having looked for an alternate place to hide just in case.

Another bolt sailed passed her; this one was so close she felt the fletching on the shaft graze her ear as it flew past, and she was so startled by how close it was that she almost panicked. She looked back, seeing the Hunter readying for another shot, and she decided that she'd had enough. She wasn't going to be able to lose the Hunter before dawn, not this time, but she was going to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. As the Hunter brought up his crossbow, she decided to end the chase.

The Hunter fired his weapon. But even as he did, Demona suddenly turned in mid-air and caught the bolt, and then threw it back at him as she dived out of the air, screeching. Her cry startled his mount, and the Hunter tried desperately to hang on as the horse reared up in terror. Then Demona did something that the Hunter couldn't stop; she dived under his horse, spooking the animal even more, and as she went under the animal, her talons flashed out and severed the strap holding his saddle in place. Her gambit almost worked; there was no way the Hunter could avoid being thrown from the horse, but as he fell, he came down right on top of her. They went down together in a heap, and as luck would have it, the Hunter ended up on top of her, pinning her to the ground. For a brief second, she actually thought she saw him smile behind his mask, believing that he was about to succeed. And she knew he had. The sky continued to brighten; she had run out of time.

But then Fate intervened. Just as he drew his dagger to finish her, a crimson blur flew out of nowhere and barreled into him, knocking him off of her. The two tumbled a short distance away, but only one got up. A gargoyle. A gargoyle that was oddly familiar...

Demona lay on the ground, stunned by the sudden appearance of the brick-red gargoyle who stood over the Hunter's unconscious form. The new gargoyle knelt down to examine the Hunter for a brief moment before standing up and turning his attention towards her. He quickly walked over and held out his hand.

"Come with me if you want to live," he said.

Demona was so surprised by the brick-red sudden gargoyle's appearance that she didn't even protest when he took her by the hand and leapt into the air, leading her across the sky towards the coming dawn. When she saw the sky continue to brighten, she tried to pull her hand free.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "The sun..."

"Trust me," he said, keeping a tight grip on her hand.

Demona threw him a worried look, then looked back over her shoulder. The Hunter had been left far behind. It would be a while before he regained consciousness, but if the sun rose before they could find a place to set down and hide, it wouldn't matter when he recovered. They would shatter on the ground below when they turned to stone and fell from the sky, and that was something she doubted even she would survive. She felt the gargoyle's hand tighten around hers and she turned her head forward, then gasped as she saw the disk of the sun begin to peek over the horizon. She threw her free arm across her eyes and waited for oblivion to overtake her.

Several tense moments later, she opened her eyes, wondering why she hadn't turned to stone. She discovered that she was no longer over the French countryside; she and the brick-red gargoyle had been transported someplace else.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"That's kinda hard to explain," he said.

Demona pulled her hand free from his. "Try," she said. "Starting with who you are."

"I think you already know the answer to that question," he said.

"You look like one of the Trio," she said. "But that's not possible. He and what remains of my clan are still trapped by the Magus' spell..."

"I know," he said. "But from where I'm standing, that spell was broken a long time ago."

"How?" she asked.

Brooklyn hesitated for a moment, wondering what he could tell her. He knew that neither one of them could change what was going to happen, but how much of that resulted from what he told her was another matter. "There's a human," he said. "His name is David Xanatos."

Demona frowned immediately as she recognized the name the Archmage had told her. "You're in league with the Archmage," she snarled.

"No," Brooklyn said, holding up his hands as Demona advanced on him. "Demona, wait..."

With a scream of rage, Demona launched herself at Brooklyn, intending to rip his heart from his chest. But as she did, Brooklyn reached up and caught her wrists. He then fell backwards, pulling Demona down with him, and planted his foot against her stomach, using her own momentum to throw her forward over him. She landed hard on her back, momentarily stunned by the impact, but she recovered quickly and leapt to her feet, still intent on ripping the red gargoyle to pieces. But Brooklyn was ready for her. Just as she reached him, he dropped to the ground, sticking one foot out to trip her while bringing the other foot up to catch her across the back of her calf, bringing her down and knocking the wind out of her. Before she could recover, he jumped onto her back and put his arms in front of hers, then locking his hands together behind her neck in a Full Nelson. He then began pulling back to keep the pressure on her arms, preventing her from gaining any leverage that would allow her to escape. Demona was a superb fighter, one of the best he'd ever known, but in the 16th Century, she knew absolutely nothing about professional wrestling, and it gave him a distinct advantage over her. Still, he could only hold her like this for so long. She was immortal, after all. He wasn't.

"God damn it, Demona!" he snapped as Demona continued to struggle. "Would you just chill for a minute and listen to me? I'm not working for the Archmage, I swear."

Demona stopped struggling for just a moment, surprised by his words, particularly by how odd some of them were. "Why should I believe you?" she asked.

"Because, quite frankly, I could very easily put you under from where I am right now," he said. "But once you wake up, we'd be right back where we started, and to be perfectly honest, I don't have time for that crap." He unlocked his fingers and broke the hold, and then quickly jumped away from Demona. As she started to get to her feet, he cautiously approached her. "Besides, I know that deep down, you want to believe me."

"I'd be more than willing to believe you if you were to offer me some sort of proof," she said, trying to work the soreness out of her shoulders.

"Fair enough," he said. Reaching into the pouch on his belt, he presented his proof.

Demona's eyes went wide as he held out what was unmistakably the Phoenix Gate, whole once again. He offered it to her, and she took it to examine it more closely while removing her half of the Gate from the pouch under her loincloth. Comparing the two, she could tell that the restored Gate Brooklyn had obviously seen better days. It was pitted and cracked and the gold had lost much of its luster, but there was no denying that what she held was in fact the Phoenix Gate. The hairline crack that ran down the center of the talisman perfectly matched the broken edge of the piece she held. As she looked at the Phoenix Gate, she examined the possibility that this was all a ploy of the Archmage, that the gargoyle was indeed in league with him and had given him the Phoenix Gate in order to trick her, but she quickly dismissed that possibility. No, she thought. He'd never willingly surrender the Gate, not for a moment. The Gate held too much power for him to trust it to someone else. Which meant that... She looked up at Brooklyn. "How did you get this?" she asked pointedly, hoping that he would confirm what she was now beginning to hope.

"How do you think?" he responded.

Demona frowned. "That's not much of an answer," she said.

"That's as much of an answer as I'm allowed to give you," he said. "Sorry."

Somehow, she knew he was going to say that, but it seemed to confirm her suspicions. He has the Gate because the Archmage is dead. Not now, but at some point in the future. And that brought a glimmer of hope to her heart. "How did it happen?" she asked pointedly.

"I wish I could tell you," Brooklyn said.

"If you want me to trust you..." she started, but then Brooklyn held up his hand.

"It's not that I don't want to," he said. "I just can't because I don't know. Goliath didn't go into details about what happened on Avalon."

"Goliath?" Demona gasped.

"Yeah," he said. "Goliath. I don't know, maybe he got the Archmage wet or dropped a house on him or something. He never told us what went down." When he saw the look of confusion on Demona's face, he smiled. "A little joke. You'll get it one of these days, I promise." Then he turned serious. "Listen, Demona. There's some things I need to tell you, and I seriously doubt you're going to like what you're going to hear."

Demona crossed her arms across her chest. "I'm not liking it already," she said. "But you might as well go on."

Brooklyn took a deep breath and let it out. "You're going to have to do everything the Archmage tells you to do," he said.

"WHAT?" she cried out in anger. "Are you mad? I have absolutely no intention of being his puppet..."

"If you want to beat him, you're going to have to," Brooklyn said. "It's the only way." He paused when he saw the fury still turning her eyes blood-red. "Look, Demona. I don't like it any more than you do. The Archmage made all our lives a living hell, both in the past and in the future, but the only way to beat him is to give him what he wants. You have to trust me on this."

Demona wasn't about to relax, not after what Brooklyn had told her. It just doesn't make sense, she told herself. It was suicide to give the Archmage what he desired. He would gain ultimate power over all, become virtually unstoppable. Unbeatable. But then, there was this gargoyle, an older version of one of the Trio, and a testament to the fact that the Archmage had been stopped. Had been beaten. The restored Phoenix Gate she held in her hand was proof of that. "Very well," she said as she handed it back to him. "I will trust you. For now. But I'm going to require more on your part if you expect to win my complete trust."

"All right," Brooklyn said as he put the Phoenix Gate back into the pouch on his belt. "What do you need?"

"Information," she said. "Tell me about this 'David Xanatos' I'm supposed to meet. Where can I find him? And how does he awaken the clan?"

"You don't want much, do you?" he said. "All right. You do know about the conditions of the spell the Magus used on us, right?"

"Yes," she said. "The spell can only be broken when the castle rises above the clouds."

"Well, Xanatos makes that happen," he said.

"But how?" Demona asked. "The Archmage said that Xanatos was no sorcerer. And the only other way I can think of to break the spell would be to physically move the entire castle. Even an army would need years to accomplish that feat."

"Well, you're half right," he said.

"And you're starting to irritate me," she said dangerously.

"Okay, I guess I'm just going to have to tell you flat out," Brooklyn said. "The world goes through a lot of changes over the next few centuries. You got the Industrial Revolution, mass production, the Digital Age. The whole works."

"The...what?"

"The short of it is," Brooklyn quickly continued. "A lot of people make a fortune on all the neat stuff that gets invented, and a few of them get so rich that they start their own companies. Xanatos is one of those guys."

"And he has the castle moved?"

"Yeah. Lock, stock and gargoyle. He has the whole works moved to an island called Manhattan, which is in the New World." Brooklyn paused for a moment. "You do know about that, right?"

"Yes," she said.

"Well, when Xanatos gets the castle moved," he continued. "He puts the whole thing up on top of a building he has built specifically to break the spell. And the rest, as they say, is history."

So that's how the clan is reawakened, she thought, realizing that her goal was in sight. She needed only to wait until Xanatos was born to set things in motion and she would be reunited with her beloved Goliath. But there were still some things she needed to know. "How does he find out about the spell?" she asked.

"He told us that he read all about the spell and how to break it in the Grimorium," Brooklyn said. "But the truth is that you're the one who tells him about us."

Now she had something else to consider. From what she had just heard, it sounded as if Xanatos had lied to the clan, and that concerned her. "Can I trust him?" she asked.

"Oh, hell no!" Brooklyn said. Then he paused. "Well, you can trust him to a point, but beyond that I wouldn't turn my back on him."

That did worry her, and she wondered if he meant that Xanatos was as bad as the Archmage. Or even worse. And how was she going to be able to help defeat the Archmage if her only human ally might be plotting against her as well. "Is there anyone I can trust?" she asked in desperation.

"Yeah, there is someone," he said. "There's a woman. A cop by profession. Her name's Elisa Maza. She works for the NYPD."

"NY..." Demona asked, confused.

"New York Police Department," Brooklyn said. "Guardians, like Tom. They protect the citizens of New York. And she's one of the best there is. She also plays a big part in bringing the Archmage down."

"So she knows about us," Demona said.

"Yeah," Brooklyn said. "She finds out about us the same night the spell is broken, and it's a hell of a shock for her, but she ends up becoming one of the closest friends we have in the New World. And she puts both her career and her life on the line lots of times just to keep us and the rest of the city safe."

Demona mulled that over in her mind. Elisa Maza, she thought. A human she could trust, and from what Brooklyn said, someone who's dedicated their life to protecting others. And if there was one, maybe there were others. "Is there anyone else?" she asked.

"There's a few," Brooklyn said. "People you'll meet later on, but Elisa's the one you have to watch out for. And I can't emphasize that enough."

His tone caught her attention. "What do you mean?"

"I can't go into specifics," he said. "But I meant it when I said she's put her life on the line for us. It's important that she stays alive, because like I said, she plays a big part in bringing down the Archmage. The first few months after we wake up are critical."

"Why, what happens?" she asked.

"I...I can't tell you," he said, forcing himself to hold back the information. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't tell her about that night, the night they almost lost Elisa because of one moment of carelessness... "It's something you have to find out about on your own."

Demona wanted very much to press him for more information, but then his attention was drawn towards the pouch on his belt. "Oh, crap," he said. He then turned his attention back to Demona. "Listen, Demona," he said urgently as he quickly approached her. "There's something else I need to tell you, but we don't have a lot of time. The Archmage is going to force you to do some things you're not going to want to do, but it's important that you do, even though it means getting the rest of us pissed off at you. You can't avoid it. Just remember that everything turns out okay for you in the end."

"What?" she asked. "What things? What does he force me to do?" But then the flames of the Phoenix Gate enveloped them, and they were gone.

Castle Wyvern

Scotland

Demona looked up at Goliath, still asleep in his centuries-long slumber. The Phoenix Gate had deposited her here and then vanished, taking the brick-red gargoyle with it, and leaving her with several unanswered questions and an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. He said that everything was going to turn out for the best, she thought, looking at the stone figure of the gargoyle. So why is it I get the feeling things are just going to get worse? "I only hope that you're right and I'm wrong, young one," she said, laying her hand on Brooklyn's stone arm. "Because if you're mistaken, then none of us are going to survive." Looking up at Goliath one last time, she spread her wings and took off across the Scottish night.

Up on the tower, unseen by Demona, a lone figure watched her depart. Titania smiled for a moment and then disappeared from sight.

To be continued in Chapter Three: Xanatos