There and Back Again

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"The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper."
-W. B. Yeats
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~With the sun riding low on the horizon, the wagon train slowed its journey, turning off the well worn dirt road and heading into the trees. Jay Omega frowned with mingled frustration and unease; there was still plenty of daylight left for traveling, and these woods had proven to be full of deadly predators. Less than half the company of mercenaries they had hired were still alive, and three of those wouldn't be fighting any time soon. A small clearing a hundred feet or so from the road served as a makeshift campsite, the mercenaries swiftly beginning the arduous task of taking an open patch of nature and turning it into a defensible position with practiced ease. Jay swung down from the wagon seat he occupied and made his way over to the leader of the mercs, affecting a pronounced swagger in order to surreptitiously work out the stiffness in his buttocks and lower back.

"Ayo, Paco," Omega said as he reached the grizzled old veteran, drawing the grey bearded fighter's attention, "What's the deal? There's still more than an hour of daylight left; why are we stopping?"

"I'll not tell you again," the weathered warrior said gruffly, turning to face his current patron with an expression that made it clear he was not a man given to familiarities, "My name is Harrigan Paikoh; speak it proper, or don't speak it at all. And we're stopped because my men need the cleric's healing to get them back on their feet; we'll need every hand working double time, or do you want to be setting up camp in the dark, hmm? Would you care to go gatherin' firewood with those damnable galltrits flyin' about, Mister Omega?"

He most certainly would not; galltrits were horrid things that looked like flying gremlins. They were only half a foot tall, but they hunted in groups(called a "cloud") and their saliva contained a powerful paralytic. Worse still, other denizens of the forest often followed in the wake of a cloud of galltrits, making easy meals of the prey left weak and immobilized. Scarcely a day before, Jay had watched a pack of wolves materialize from the forest gloam and drag two large men into the foliage; the paralyzing agent had not quelled their ability to scream, though the wolves had quickly seen to that.

"Fair enough," Omega answered, pulling himself from his bleak reverie, "I'm just eager to get this journey over with; we were at sea for almost two weeks already before we hired your crew, and it’s been four days since we left Arnasten."

"Aye, and it's another day at least to the edge of the forest," Paikoh confirmed with a nod, leaning against a wagon wheel in order to pull his boot off and dump a few pebbles out, "Then two more to the Court of the Bloody Baron, and yer on yer own from there; none of my men will come within a mile of that foul place. Why any decent man would want to go there is beyond my ken."

"Well, unfortunately we need his help with something." interjected Jay's magic-wielding friend, Jack of Shadows, inviting a dark chuckle from the mercenary captain.

"Then more's the pity for you, lad," the veteran said, turning his attention toward the approaching mage, "The Bloody Baron is no the sort of man to lend his aid without exacting a heavy toll."

“Oh, I’m well aware of what kind of man he is,” Omega said knowingly, “We have a… complicated relationship.”

“As you say,” Paikoh grunted noncommitally, not wanting to continue that topic of conversation. To change the subject, the mercenary leader nodded at Jack, then jerked his thumb in the direction of the wounded soldiers. “Cleric, I saw you cast some holy magic the other night; might I ask if you could help restore my men to fighting form?”

The mage half turned to see who Paikoh was speaking to, then realized he was the one being addressed. With a confused expression Jack tapped himself on the chest.

“I’m sorry, did you mean me?” he queried uncertainly, “Because, I mean, yeah, I can do that, but I’m not actually a cleric. If anything, I’m a wizard, Harri.”

“Harrigan!”

“Right, sorry.” Hampshire said meekly, “I’ll, uh, I’ll just go see to that then.” Jack didn’t quite scurry away, but there was definitely a bit more pep than usual in his step. Paikoh watched him go with a smirk, then turned his attention back to Jay.

“Now, about that firewood, Mister Omega,” the mercenary began with an amused smile, “The sooner you’re back, the sooner Old Mil can have a hot meal for us. And then I suggest you get yourself some rest; you’ve got third watch.”

Grumbling to himself about menial labor, Omega ventured out from the campsite to begin collecting firewood, his thoughts drifting back through time as he contemplated how he had gotten into this mess.~

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"Never in this quest have I found a simple answer; every lead is always a prelude to more questions."
-Doireann Ní Ghríofa
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~"That should do it, near as I can tell," Jack Hampshire said tiredly, rising from where he knelt at the head of a circle comprised entirely of arcane runes, "Keep in mind it won't be perfect - my magic's slightly out of sync with this 'verse's energy - but it should do well enough to keep anyone from pokin' about when you don't want 'em to. 'Course, there are some exceptions you should know about."

"Such as?" Jay prompted, lighting a blunt and offering the flame to Jack.

"Such as the fact that there's things out there way more fookin' powerful than I am, bruv," Hampshire replied as he lit a smoke, "I've got a lot of pull on the celestial planes, but I sure as fook ain't a god, for example, which is relevant to my next point. This Lucan bloke you were telling me about--"

"Her name is Lycana, and she is a woman."

"Doesn't matter," Jack said dismissively, "Point is, they've been in direct contact with Hecate, so, y'know."

"Know what?" Omega asked genuinely, "Who or what is Hecate?"

"Seriously, bruv?" Hampshire asked in disbelief, "Your name's Omega, you had that whole Greco-Roman thing going, you don't recognize the name Hecate?"

"I was fifteen when I came up with Jay Omega," Jay said defensively, "So no, I don't recognize Hecate. Is that a K-pop band?”

“Are you takin’ the piss?” Jack cried in exasperation, “Hecate, mate! The fookin’ goddess of fookin’ magic! Power such as what you wouldn’t believe! And this bint’s got a direct line; there’s a good chance these last two days have been a waste of fookin’ time. I couldn’t say for sure because I only touched the fookin’ residue of her magic; I’d have to feel it flowing in person to know for certain, but I'm not too fookin’ keen on meetin' her.”

“Enh, I’m sure she’s not that bad,” Jay began, the pot smoke tickling his brain leading him down a tangent, “She’s a bit bitchier than she needs to be, but I attribute that to the instincts of the wolf within her.”

“It’s not her fookin’ outlook on life that concerns me, mate; it's her outlook on death.” The curious tilt of Omega’s head invited elaboration, and Jack obliged, “I’m sure you know, at the very least, that necromancy is generally frowned upon by practitioners of the arcane arts, yeah? And with good reason; what do you know about liches?”

“It’s a prickly fruit that goes great in smoothies.” Jay responded without hesitation.

“No, that’s a lychee.”

“Ah. Then I have nothing.”

Hampshire blew out an exaggerated sigh, took a haul from his cigarette, then fixed Omega with a level stare; his words taking on a lecturing tone, as though he were a professor instructing a particularly dull student.

“A lich is a magic user who has given up their soul in exchange for immortality, by way of undeath.” The mage stuck his smoke between his lips, made a few quick gestures with his hands, and suddenly a bony apparition floated in midair before them, “This is someone dedicated enough and fookin’ evil enough to perform the Ceremony of Endless Night, which invariably requires actions and ingredients so foul and profane, just fookin’ knowin’ about ‘em would make your fookin’ skin crawl right off and hide in a corner."

"Yeah, I can see why that would be a bad thing," Jay agreed, contemplating the undead horror before him, "Except Lycana's a werewolf, not a zombie, or whatever."

"Right, right, but when she tried to resurrect her dead friend, she cocked everything up,” Jack explained, gesticulating with his cigarette, “She parted the Veil between the living and the dead in the hopes of bringing his soul back to his body, but she brought sumfin else back; sumfin pretty fookin’ bad.”

“How the fuck do you know that?” Omega asked, “We haven't been to Earth since you got here."

"Same way the little perv was able to watch you get it on with your girls," Hampshire said, as if it should be obvious, "Fookin' magic, bruv."

“I guess that makes sense. Okay, so Lycana accidentally brought back a wizard ghost, or some shit,” Jay gave a half shrug and shook his head, “Not to be a dick, but that sounds like a whole lot of not my problem.”

"I don't know whether it is or not," Jack said truthfully, his shoulders rising in an apologetic shrug, "I don't even know what the fook it is, only that it's fook off powerful, and evil as fook. You've killed some nasty shite in your time, and I think this is at least worth looking into. Downside is you're gonna need to talk to someone who knows a fook of a lot more about necromancy than I do."

Omega let out a weary sigh and stubbed out his blunt, motioning for Jack to join him on a walk to the Quantum Micro Tunnel Stabilizer.

"I might know a guy," Jay said hesitantly, using the Wearable Espionage and Information Retrieval Device strapped to his left forearm to remotely feed coordinates to the interdimensional transporter, "But I can't guarantee he'll help; he's kind of a dick."~

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"The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it."
-J. M. Barrie
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*Ah, most excellent; the flock of True Believers grows ever greater! And you are great, my faithful friends, no matter what those other jerks say behind your backs. Forget them, come with me. Oh come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant! Oh come ye, oh come ye to Bethle-- no wait… Welcome back, True Believers! Before we even get to the fade in, the crackling of a campfire can be heard; said campfire being what we fade in on. The view remains steady on the flames, dancing low over the mostly burned pair of logs on a pile of embers. A fresh piece of fuel is laid atop the pair, and a stick stirs the embers slightly. As the new wood begins to burn, our view recedes from the fire; rising up and away far enough to center the shot on our favorite Red-Eye Jedi, the illustrious, the industrious, and we can't forget his lustiness; the incredible, the inedible, the completely unforgettable; he's a multiversal hero, both a lover and a fighter; whether the bedroom or the ring, you are in for an all-nighter; he's pretty hot, he smokes good pot, the Emperor of Entertaining; with every match, you can bet your ass, his popularity is gaining; like the cream of the crop, he'll rise to the top, try to stop him if you can; O, his name is Jay Omega, and he's The Omega Man! La di-da di da di da-da, la di-da da-da da-da!*

*That was actually pretty good, though I recommend pants if you plan on performing that dance in public.*

*GWAH! Don't sneak up on me like that! And get out of here, this is my promo!*

*You did the last one by yourself, it's my turn. You can do the second one.*

*But I wanna do this one!*

*No you don't, this one's the setup. Trust me, you want to do the second act; there's going to be nudity…*

*Ooh la la, as they say in Mexico!*

*No, that's-- nevermind. The third act is going to be a collaborative effort--*

*You mean a coollaborative effort!*

*... Y-yeah… that-that's exactly what I meant. So you go ahead and prepare for the second promo, and I'll take care of the boring setup, all right?*

*All righty then! Toss ya now, catch ya later, Boringface McStuffypants!*

*Ahem. Clad in his typical ring gear, Jay Omega sits on a fallen log in the midst of our view, with a small fire struggling to remain ablaze in the foreground, and the deep, impenetrable darkness of a forest at night behind him. The dying flame provides enough illumination to keep the video in true colors, but only just; the screen occasionally flickers into greenscale night vision as the weak conflagration dips in luminosity.*

JAY OMEGA: Well holy shit, this is quite the opportunity for someone, ain't it? Five men. Four losers. Two matches. One shot at greatness. Now personally, I love me those multi-man madness matches; a good old clusterfuck, we used to call it. Plenty of people to throw punches at, and nobody but yourself to watch your back. That’s a pretty decent match all by itself, but in this particular instance it’s just a means to an end - though a damn fun means, to be sure. Because it’s not just bragging rights on the line, it’s a big leap up the ladder; winner of this match gets the dubious “reward” of wrestling two matches in one night. Now don’t get me wrong, I can do it, it's just kind of a pain in the ass when the second match is against a fresh guy, more so when that guy is someone like Corey Smith. We'll get to Corey and his Supercontinental title in a few moments, though; despite my confidence that I'll outlast the four dudes I gotta beat first, I should try to do these things in the proper order.

*Jay pulls a black cigarette case from the right pocket of his utility pants and a gold Zippo lighter from the left, but simply holds them for the moment.*

JAY OMEGA: I'll start with Dick Powers, because the name is funny. I've taken a few Dicks in my time, and only ever choked once; "Big" Dick Swinger was a bit more than I could handle, he really stretched me out with his submission finisher, the Fissure King. But when we had a second round, I was able to return the favour; it was hard, and I thought I was gonna pass out at one point, but in the end, I came out on top. I don't expect Dick Powers to be more Dick than I can handle, though I do expect him to be more than a handful.

*Omega glances down at the items in his grasp, contemplating lighting a blunt. Apparently he thinks better of it, as he shakes his head and returns the items to their respective pockets.*

JAY OMEGA: Now I could sit here and make dick jokes all night, I've got plenty of material to work with. But I'll leave the jokes to Dick, it seems more his wheelhouse. And I don't mean how everyone and their mother brings up Powers' penchant for penile puns; it's not actually that easy to organically work a bunch of innuendo into a tirade about kicking ass and taking names. No, I'll leave the jokes to Dick because that's all I see when I look at him. Of course, the biggest difference between Powers and his purported "comedy", is that nobody laughs at his jokes. But what else is the guy gonna do? It's not like he's got a string of notable achievements to talk about; he doesn't have any title reigns to fall back on. For the last two years, Dick has appeared almost exclusively on Pay Per View, which is to be expected from a huge draw that you don't want to oversaturate the crowd with. But Dick is not that draw. In fact, his track record on those Pee Pee Vee matches leaves him with more losses than wins. So he beat a nobody for a shot at the X-treme title - which he promptly blew - and he got to rub himself up on Dolly Waters, as if that's supposed to be impressive. Other than that, the most impressive thing he's done is barely outlast Geri Vayden at the last War Games, which… I mean, Geri Vayden? C'mon, dude. Sure, I never met Geri in person, but I do know Derrick Vayden, and he's by far the better competitor. Still pales in comparison to me, though.

*The shot flickers into night vision for a moment, picking up a pair of reflective orbs in the brush behind Jay. The Omega Man scratches at the back of his head, then rubs his arms to ward off his sudden goosebumps.*

JAY OMEGA: That seems like a good segue into talking about the Chameleon, who is quite literally going to try to compare to me. Now, information on this particular opponent is pretty sparse, and I assume that's mostly by design. It's also partly because this will be their first appearance in the XWF. Now, this lack of info does make this part of my job a lot harder - kinda hard to talk shit about somebody when all you've got is a barebones roster entry on the company website - but I'm Jay Omega; I adapt and overcome. Which… is also kind of Chameleon's entire schtick; they adapt to whomever they're up against. Kinda reminds me of Taskmaster, to be honest; the lame version from the Black Widow movie, not the cool one from the comics. Gotta wonder how that's going to work in a scramble match like this; just how quickly can the Chameleon adapt to the situation and adopt a new style?

*Jay pulls the cigarette case and Zippo from his pockets again, glances at them, sighs, and stuffs them back in his pockets.*

JAY OMEGA: Fuck, guard duty fuckin' sucks. So there's a few problems with Chameleon's copycat bit. For one, you can copy my moveset and mannerisms, but you can't copy my style; the unique thought processes that lead me to favour any given strategy over another. For another, if it's a full-on emulation, then Chameleon also adopts their opponents' weaknesses. Unlike most people, I've had the opportunity to scrap with several different versions of myself, so believe me when I say that I know how to exploit my own weaknesses. Furthermore, I know how to turn that to my advantage; for example, I'm well aware that I'm an attention whore, and copying such behaviour at an inopportune moment could lead to Chameleon's downfall. Of course, I also know how to counter my own considerable strengths; over the years I've trained in a variety of different combat disciplines, and I can switch between them pretty easily. Against a copycat that works for both of us, as several of the styles I use counter each other. I'm used to doing that, though; will Chameleon be able to keep pace?

*Omega shivers slightly and rubs at his arms again. Jay then grips the lapels of his vest in a specific manner and tugs twice at the collar. A moment later a ripple runs through the fabric, and the vest sprouts sleeves which fit to form, turning it into a leather jacket. Again the camera feed flickers into night vision, picking up several pairs of reflective eyes for a brief moment.*

JAY OMEGA: We'll just have to find out. I'll tell you who definitely won't be able to keep pace; Rampage. But that's only because his pace can best be described as "glacial", or maybe that's just his career progression. I'd like to talk about Rampage's accomplishments in the ring. I'd like to talk about his numerous, lengthy title reigns. I'd like to talk about the fear his name strikes in the hearts of those unfortunate enough to face him. Too bad for him this ain't the time for make believe bullshit; I'm only going to talk about the things Rampage actually has done. After some cursory research - like, the bare minimum - I learned that the only thing Rampage has done is suck out loud from the moment he signed his contract. For real, that abominable Dwayne Johnson film was a better credit to the name. I honestly don't have any more material on Rampage, but it doesn't matter; he's a big, slow guy who relies on his strength, and those are really fuckin' easy to beat if you know what you're doing. Spoiler alert: I know what I'm doing.

*The Omega Man pulls his lighter and cigarette case out again, checks the time, then nods to himself and pulls out a blunt.*

JAY OMEGA: Excellent, my watch is almost up; no need to keep my mind pure any longer. And speaking of things that are pure, let's take a moment to chat about Okamoto Hayato. Konnichiwa, Hayato-san; it's an honour to do battle with such untapped raw talent. There's a lot of buzz about you in the Japanese circuits, kid, and I'm looking forward to seeing if you live up to the hype. This is a Hell of a match to be debuting in, and what a feather in your cap it would be to win out over three more experienced opponents and a weird, twisted psychological freakshow. And that's not even the best part! You've got the potential to unseat Corey Smith as Supercontinental Champion at your very first XWF event; that's an incredible opportunity, and there's no shortage of detractors claiming you're not ready for this. Personally, I don't much care what dirt sheets and bookies have to say; only you can decide if you're ready. Fire and Ice could set the tone for your entire tenure in these hallowed halls; all your friends and family are going to be watching as you go into the biggest match of your career so far. Are you going to come through for them, or will you falter, fail, and fall flat on your face? Don't sweat it, dude, no pressure.

*Jay lights the blunt held in his right hand, puts his accoutrements back in his pockets, and exhales a cloud of smoke in our direction. Omega wrinkles his nose for a moment, making a face that implies he smelled something foul. The Omega Man sniffs at the blunt, then shrugs his shoulders and takes another hit.*

JAY OMEGA: And the subject of not sweating brings us to the defending champion, Corey Smith. Of all the people involved in this dog and pony show, Corey's the one I've done the most research on, because duh. The prequel match is an appetizer, and only the winner will go on to the main course; a shot at Corey's Supercontinental Championship. The thing is, I'm pretty sure I'd be hard pressed to match Corey if we both started fresh; I've watched some of his matches, listened to some of his promotional work… the kid is good. He most recently took Lycana to school, and she thoroughly showed me up in my debut. I could make excuses about underestimating her, but the fact remains that I lost to someone that Corey considers well beneath him. Stands to reason I likely won't have enough gumption to overcome him in my second fight of the night. Still gonna give it the old college try, though.

*Jay hits the blunt again and taps the ash from the end. The view flickers into shades of green once more, and picks up more than a dozen pairs of reflective eyes in the forest behind Omega. Of its own accord, Jay's left hand drifts down and rests on the butt of the pistol-like weapon holstered on his thigh.*

JAY OMEGA: I see a lot of myself when I look at you, Corey. But, like, a young me; before I got all jaded and involved with time gods and interdimensional bullshit. There was a time a few years ago I also tried to help people who needed it. I had an island, though, not just a commune. I was also helping people who were broken because they were former victims of otherworldly possession, not just broken people, but that's not relevant. What I’m getting at is that you’re a noble soul, and I don’t really have any harsh words for you. In fact, I wish you the best; I was on a similar track in my youth, until things went all pear-shaped and I wound up in a looney bin. Hopefully the recent change to your relationship status doesn’t weigh too heavily on your mind once the match starts; I had someone take advantage of me in a situation like that years ago, and I spent the next six months doing a whole bunch of shit I would later regret.

*Omega pauses, narrows his eyes, and looks about slowly and suspiciously. A rustling in the brush comes from his left, and a twig snaps to his right. In an eyeblink, The Omega Man is on his feet, weapon drawn with his left hand. With a snarl, a trio of squat, filthy, ugly, green-skinned humanoids in ragged loincloths burst from the cover of the foliage and charged at Jay with crude weapons raised high.*

JAY OMEGA: Goblins! Rouse and fight for your lives!

*Pandemonium erupts as Omega fires a blue burst of superheated plasma at the charging goblins, melting the flesh from the lead goblin’s head. The element of surprise no longer with them, goblins boil out of the trees en masse, and the vicinity is quickly filled with shouts in both English and Ghukliak, and the ring of steel on stone. Jay shoots the second goblin in the chest, leaving a smoking hole with bubbling edges where its lungs should be, but the third is upon him before he can bring his weapon to bear. Omega tries to leap back to gain some room and strikes a stray root with his heel, toppling him onto his backside. The goblin approaches with its stone club held overhead when suddenly it halts its advancement. The goblin’s expression changes from glee to confusion to pain almost too quickly to follow, then rivulets of blood begin leaking from its eyes, ears, nose, and the corners of its mouth. The Omega Man watches in horror as the goblin is exsanguinated by some unseen force; every last drop of blood in its wretched body drawn forth to hang glistening in the air. Once drained dry, the dessicated goblin corpse falls to the ground, its blood slowly spinning in a circle which grows in size as it gains velocity, until it forms a paper-thin oval of brackish crimson. A bulge appears in the middle of the oval, stretching further and further out until the bloody film splits and peels back, allowing a red-robed figure to step into the clearing from nothingness.*

*With the newcomer’s arrival, the flame of the campfire flares up into a great blaze, providing more than enough light for the humans on screen to stand a much better chance against the goblin horde. The robed figure raises an arm, a ball of fire held in his palm, and flicks his wrist to the left; the orb of flame darts offscreen, followed half a second later by a loud explosion that rocks the drone recording the events. An unearthly howl emanates from the deeper forest, and with the crashing of saplings being pushed aside, an enormous green-skinned figure emerges from the trees, ugly enough to make the goblins seem cute by comparison. Mad laughter bubbles forth from the darkened hood of the robed figure, and with a flourish, a blade carved from fire appears in his hand. Jay scrambles to his feet and draws his second pistol, then begins firing at the approaching terror with both barrels, to little effect.*

RED ROBED FIGURE: Your efforts are wasted; only fire can overcome a troll’s regeneration!

*The stranger sweeps in like a crimson tide, his blade flashing with each strike. The troll - if that’s what it truly is - recognizes the danger of the fire sword and avoids more than a glancing blow with frightening speed and agility. Omega brings both pistols up to shoulder height and speaks to each one individually.*

JAY OMEGA: Thermite rounds. Thumper rounds.

Tesla Caster: Thermite rounds.

Virfneb Caster: Thaum-Pyrrh rounds.

*Both weapons whirr as they manufacture the selected ammunition type, then click twice to indicate the chambers are loaded. Jay begins to unload once more, this time blanketing the troll with a ceaseless outpouring of fire. The creature bellows in rage, unable to advance under the onslaught, and attempts to retreat only to find the red robed stranger barring its way. Three quick slashes from the sword of fire, and the beheaded troll sinks to its knees, from which position the stranger plunges a hand into its chest and pulls out the troll’s still beating heart. One bright blaze later, and the stranger stands, dusting greasy soot from his palm. Breathing heavily, Omega lowers his weapons, only now realizing that the other occupants of the camp had managed to survive against the goblin ambush.*

JAY OMEGA: I don’t know who you are, pal, but your timing is fucking impeccable. Thanks for the assist; we probably wouldn’t have managed as well without you. My name’s Jay Omega, and you are..?

*With a mirthless chuckle, the stranger turns towards Jay and lowers his hood, the firelight reflecting off the gleaming silver face mask he wears. The mask is also removed, revealing that the left half of his face is twisted and scarred, the skin cracked and shiny. More shockingly though, is that the right half of his face is identical to Jay’s own.*

BLOODY BARON: I am Janus von Megar; Bloody Baron of the Northern Reaches, I believe we’ve met.

*The Omega Man stands stunned for a moment, then notices the drone hovering nearby, the camera still recording. Jay makes the universal “cut” motion, and the scene fades to black.*