“Lycaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanaaaaaaaaa. Hello again, my darling; I’m happy to see that you’ve made it safely from the flames. That was always my intention, after all; you’ve either figured this out by now or have made some half-mad guess at what you think happened. Chances are, you’ve likely got it wrong no matter what you’ve come up with. What you lack in logic and foresight you certainly make up for in imagination and intimidation. Not that imagination isn’t a beautiful thing; having one has allowed you to make it as far as you have. Without ever having actually won a single match in XWF, you’ve put yourself on everyone’s radar because of your antics with the Left Hand. You’ve been impressive in the ring, showing skills and talents that your win-loss record doesn’t reflect. For someone with a competitive streak like mine, I admit that your motives had puzzled me for quite some time. While you, Marf, Baphomet, and whoever else has taken their time to wonder about my inner-most thoughts and truest nature, I’ve obsessed over the purpose of groups such as the Left Hand and BoB. What is the actual purpose, why are you here? What drives an individual to want to dedicate themselves to something so uniformly inhuman? You don’t even see yourselves like the rest of us do; little flesh robots being wound up and sent out on mini-missions by the likes of Chronic Chris Page, Miss Fury, and your own Bapphy Boo. I spent so much time focusing on the whole, that I almost forgot to take a step back and start examining each of you under the microscope individually. So, congratulations, Moon Child; you’re first up on the list.”


____________


With a groan full of pain, Betsy Granger slides into the steaming hot tub with an assist from James Raven. March Madness was barely an hour behind them now and the adrenaline was beginning to die down; as it did, the pain all through her body began to set in. The pain in her ribs knocked the wind out of her from time to time, hitting again without warning. Her aching muscles remained consistent; she could almost hear them sigh with relief as the hot water hit her skin. Carefully spreading her arms to relax them on the sides, she sinks into the smooth marble seat and rests her head in the cushioned neck and headrest. Her green eyes slide shut as she allows the heat to swallow her up.


No sooner do her lids drop than the images begin to flash like a movie reel in fast-forward: The first round of the tournament and the drama that had transpired, as well as making quick work of Osira Themis. Her thoughts switch to a flipbook of snippets of her match against Jenny; the successful title defense and the end of that nuisance for a while. The feeling of reaching for the belt and grasping it as she gasped for air, knees wobbling dangerously as she tugged the belt down. Before she processes this fully, her mind moves forward with the match against Doc. It had been her wish to face him sooner, but the man... No, the King had made her eat her words. Even still, the loss to Doc D’Ville didn’t sting quite so bad when he went on to win the entire tournament; even though the win was partially at the expense of Shawn Warstein.


Her mind grew troubled as she began to focus on what happened between them that night. Despite their spat, Shawn had been looking for them and had been told where Betsy and James could be found. After they had left Marf and Lycana behind in the blazing circle, Shawn and Betsy hugged it out and promised to hash things out with one another properly at another time. Reaching out a hand, she feels around for the glass of warmed-up port wine James had left for her. The image of the intense violet eyes staring out at her through the fire when she’d turned around came back to her. As the memory invades, she takes a large gulp of the drink she detested dearly. Even as her face winkles as the strong flavors attack her tastebuds, she can see the shimmer not caused by the flames begins to quiver around Lycana; before anything else could go on, the sound of rushing footsteps made both of them turn. While the other was distracted, Betsy had backed into the shadows and high-tailed it out of there. With a heavy sigh, she puts the glass back as she opens her eyes slowly. A loud gasp escapes her lips as a pair of burning red eyes and the silhouetted head of the Baphomet peer down at her from directly overhead. Pain jolts through as she clumsily tries to get to her feet quickly; she cries out, splashing the water over the tub, soaking the floor around her. James comes flying in, looking at her in shock, eyes wide with worry.


“Bets, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Stepping closer and peering into her face, his concern mounts when he sees the terror in her eyes.


Her gaze had still been towards the ceiling, but James’ voice breaks her out of her fog. She snaps her head at him, sending stabbing pains through her neck; her emerald eyes are wide and unseeing for a moment. James inches closer, realizing that Betsy was still lost in whatever fog had her terrified. He holds his hands up slowly and talks to her as calmly as he could muster.


“Hey... Bets. It’s me, James. It’s just us, we’re in the hotel. You’re safe, I’m safe; everyone is safe for now.”


His voice begins to break through the terror of the moment and she glances back up again; of course, the Baphomet was nowhere to be found. Looking slowly back down at James, her eyes are mournful as tears begin to leak from them. Just as quickly as the fear had sent adrenaline pumping, it had worn off; James leaped forward quickly and caught her before she could fall face-first into the tub. He carries her soaking body to the bed, grabbing a towel as he does so. Betsy begins to tremble from head to toe, despite the room being toasty. Setting her down gently on the sheets of the bed, James sits down next to her and gently pulls her wet hair from her face. Grabbing the clip off the table, he makes sloppy work of getting it attached; once he’s done this, he takes the towel and begins to dry her off gently. As he moves along her body, he finally asks the question he knew he already had the answer to.


“You saw him again, didn’t you?”


Betsy only nods, watching him quietly while he works with surprisingly tender hands; despite every inch of her being in pain, never once did any of his caresses send new waves of pain through her. Eventually, her emerald eyes softened and her expression gave away everything she was feeling for him at the moment. A smile touches her swollen lip for a moment, causing her to wince. Catching the movement, James’ brown eyes meet hers, full of concern; touching his cheek softly, she shakes her head slowly.


“It wasn’t you, love. I started to smile while I was watching you... Well, I guess it was your fault.”


Despite her attempts at being playful, the crease between his eyebrows deepens as his worry continues to grow.


“I wish you’d let me take you to the ER to get looked at. I know you’re in more pain than you’re telling me.” He holds his finger up to silence her when she opens her mouth to argue. “Don’t deny it, you can barely move without jumping from the pain.”


“You’re the one who might have a solid concussion; I could hear the moment you made contact with that concrete.” She shudders as the memory creeps in again. “Thank god Shawn got there when he did...” Her voice cracks as the flames rise up in her mind again, giving way to the expressions on the faces of Marf and Lycana.


Throwing away the towel, James gets up and goes around the bed; getting in beside her, he pulls her as gently as he can against him and simply holds her. “Did you really think Shawn was going to let a little sibling spat come before Legacy? Despite what he says or how he acts, he appreciates the fact that you do care about him. He’ll never admit it and he’ll kill me if he finds out I’m telling you this.”


“It stays between us,” Betsy says, sticking out her pinky finger. James accepts it with a smirk. “Besides, I already know all that. It wasn’t me that he was mad at, it’s still not either. Nothing he says to me right now is anything I intend to take personally unless I feel I have to. What happened between him and Atty sucks... but it doesn’t look like it’s going to change anytime soon. I just hope the fallout doesn’t cause any problems for anyone...”


“The parents get divorced and the kids gotta suffer.” James quips though Betsy catches the underlying worry in his tone. She giggles at this, but it quickly turns to a gasp as pain overtakes her senses once more. James kisses her forehead in apology and grows quiet for a long time. Unable to see his face, Betsy begins to wonder if he’s fallen asleep; she’s almost startled when he does begin to speak again. [color=#1E90FF.]“I hope he’ll be alright, though. We both know how serious he was planning to get with her.” [/color]


Her heart sinks as she thinks of the little sky-blue box that Shawn had been carrying around. It made her sad to know that the box would never reach its intended destination. She too was worried about Shawn but had quickly learned not to express that concern. At least not at times, Shawn deemed inappropriate; alas, that was the difference between them and always would be. She can’t keep the sarcasm from her tone when she replies. “Well, I’ll let you be the one to approach him on the subject next time.”


This earns her a chuckle and she slowly rolls herself over so she can look up into his face. He kisses her softly and she’s amazed by how quickly it makes her forget all about the pain coursing through her body. Infinitely more pleasant sensations begin to replace the pain; she presses herself against him unconsciously as his arms snake around her hips. As the kisses grow hotter, he’s unable to help himself; both of them lost in the moment, James rolls her onto her back. Betsy cries out as pain floods through her, killing all the good feelings she had just been experiencing. James stops dead and immediately climbs off of her, checking her all over. Tears of frustration leak from her eyes and she turned her head away so that he can’t see them. Catching it anyway, James laughs softly and uses a finger to turn her head back towards his.


“There will be plenty of other times for this, Bets. You need to rest and recover now... and for the love of everything, you need to sleep.”


Despite her protests, James gets up from the bed and gets her a fresh glass of port wine. Ignoring the disgusted look on her face, he hands it off to her and watches as she drinks it all as quickly as she can. Even though she’s still grumpy and hurting all over, the port wine soon does its intended task; a wave of fuzzy, warm sleepiness washes over her and her eyes begin to droop. Kissing her one more time, James turns out the light, leaving her no choice but to sink back into her confusing dreams...


____________


“I mentioned before that your motives vexed me for quite some time. Someone with your level of abilities should be aiming much higher than grudge fights against the likes of Ash Quinn. You’ve made it absolutely clear you have no interest in taking the Shooting Star Title off of me, which... I dig it. You could make a solid go for it; we both know it and everyone with eyes knows it, but you aim for higher. Something I plan to do myself... Eventually. Of course, I don’t plan to dominate the Shooting Star Division forever. For now, I’m content knowing that Jenny Myst is off in a corner somewhere, fuming over not being the queen of the castle and carving my name into the skin of her... friends? When she had this belt, she had relevance; even I can’t deny what she actually did to liven up the place. Her ulterior motives were shallow and shitty, but she did give life to a division that was long stagnant. It’s just such a shame that she couldn’t hang with Demos; how much further does she expect to go?

Oh, dear me, I veered off track, didn’t I? Jenny is in my rearview as of March Madness, and good riddance to her. I suppose the reason I got on to her, to begin with, was as simple as HER motives being clear enough to me the moment she opened her mouth. She quickly became a nuisance and a bore; the same reasons she frustrated me are the same reasons you intrigue me. Having a mystery to solve is literally my favorite hobby in this universe; to those of you who are thinking ‘But Betsy, the Left Hand, and BoB for that matter, have made their goals quite clear.' And if you're ignorant enough to believe a word they tell us, you're as foolish as the fool who leads and the bigger fools who follow. The Baphomet wants us to think that he's taking it the rejects of the industry; the malcontents and outcasts who think the entire business is against them because they don't quite fit a certain mold. He's very clever in how he manipulates their distorted views about themselves and makes them believe they need to be 'cleansed' and 'reborn' in HIS image. Because who doesn't love a guy with a God-complex, am I right? That still doesn't explain how you came to him, however... You, Lycana, are a strong woman; fierce, powerful in your own right. You have that 'It' factor girls like Geri and Ash could only ever dream of possessing. So why do you give your life to serve a man like the Baphomet? What hold does he have over you that you couldn't break free of his grip and break out on your own path? So many questions, and so few answers... For now..."


____________


When she opened her eyes, she was shocked to find she was no longer in the dark hotel room resting safely in James’ arms. All around her was a meadow, brightly lit with dauntingly tall flowers of purple, pink, and orange; thick green stalks burst from red soil. Along with the bright flowers, a sea of teal grass seemed to permeate from the cobblestone path that led towards a set of looming yellow mountains. The sun beyond them was a shockingly dark shade of orange, the corona flaring a blinding white. The sky was a vivid shade of green that reminded Betsy of toxic waste. Whatever this place was, she was clearly no longer on Earth. Getting up, she looks down and realizes that she’s wearing a soft, silky pink tunic over white breeches; the boots on her feet are light brown and sturdy.

A soft neighing comes from behind her and she turns to see a horse so white it was almost glowing, galloping majestically towards her. It throws its head high in the air, its thick mane waving with the movement; as the beautiful beast approaches, Betsy notices its eyes are an unusual brilliant blue. As she reaches out to pat the horse on its nose, she realizes that she’s no longer in any pain. Overcome with joy at this, she turns towards the meadow and frolics through it happily, allowing the warm sun to hit her face. Beginning to twirl around in manic circles, peels of joyful laughter escape her lips as she feels her spirit lift in ways she hadn’t felt recently. The euphoria that suddenly fills her is so startling, the realization brings her back to reality. Dizziness sets in from her abrupt halt and she falls into the meadow on her butt.

The horse, which Betsy could see from this level was a male, trots over to her and nudges her gently. Petting his nose again, she allows the wave of dizziness to pass before getting to her feet again. Looking around, she realizes that her only choices were to stay put or begin making her way up the cobble-stone path. The Impossible Traveler barely makes it two steps forward when the steed lets out an irritated whinny. Turning in surprise, Betsy watches as he stamps his hoof several times and tosses his head indignantly. Betsy takes a few moments to translate properly then nods; his name was Valient and he was sent to be her escort. Understanding hit her and she nods, climbing onto his back when he kneels over to allow her on. As he begins to trot, Betsy leans forward and rests her head against his strong neck.


“You wouldn’t happen to know why I’m here, would you buddy?”


A friendly snort is her only reply and Betsy just nods, knowing that this was a mystery she was going to have to solve on her own. “I just wish I had a clue as to what it was.” She muses out loud to herself as the horse trots onward...


____________


“It’s easy to believe the trope you’ve been brainwashed into spewing week after week. It’s been clear to me for some time now that you are unquestionably... and perhaps a bit ironically... the Baphomet’s right hand around this place. I couldn’t help but notice how you stepped up to the plate in leading the senseless attacks against several unlucky chosen ones. If this position of ‘leadership’ was meant to be a secret, it was poorly hidden. While the Baphomet was doing a disappointingly short stint in prison, you, my little Moon Shifter, went about doing his dirty work. And you did quite the job too, I must admit; without Baphomet here, you managed to get one over on every one of your targets at least once. Yet every time I, or someone else, finds ourselves in your crosshairs, we always hear the same drivel about raising the Left Hand. You always demand our allegiance under threat of harm, but you never tell us why so it put the question in my head: Do you even know why you do the Baphomet’s bidding? Or, better yet, do you know what the hell it is he wants you to do?

His mission seems simple on paper: he’s the bringer of darkness, sent by hell or whatever void he came from. He’s recruiting literally anyone willing to join; which doesn’t say much about your decision to join his ranks, I might add. He demands your unyielding loyalty in a mission of... what? Dominance? Every stable desire that and you guys made it pretty clear that you don’t give a fuck who walks among you when you fell in with BoB. Not that having Ash Quinn at your side gave you any more credibility as a group, but it’s safe to assume that you’ve got that little problem well-handled by now. So, what else could a chaotic figure like the Baphomet want with an army of the vapid? Power? Influence? Wealth? Still too easy. I know I’m asking a lot of questions, but I haven’t had a mystery like this to sink my teeth into for some time. But once again, I realize I’m off track. I’m always in a rush to reach the big picture and tend to forget to take the time to do the critical research. Damnit Betsy, remember one member at a time...”

_____


Hours passed before the horse arrived at their stop; the base of the mountains. Kneeling down once more, she slides off easily and turns back to face him. He nudges at her and she gives him an appreciative rub once again. “You’re a good boy, Valient. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”


With a proud neigh, he rears up on his hind legs and kicks his hooves up into the air. Betsy salutes him with a beam on her face before he turns and gallops away. She watches him until he’s out of sight before turning back to the mountain; her path is made clear as soon as she turns around. Just ahead was the gaping mouth of a cave emitting a blue glow from within. Something about it called to her, like a soft melody sung to her by the wind. Allowing a calm sense of absolute assuredness to fall over her, she doesn’t notice the pair of glowing violet eyes watching her from the shadows. Entering the cave, she follows the light, feeling it pulsing in time with her heart; she passes several rooms before approaching the one she was looking for.


Without hesitation, she walks through the jagged archway and looks around the walls. Embedded loosely among the unremarkable rock walls were glowing blue stones; mesmerized, Betsy walks up to the closest ones and fingers them wonderingly. The rocks were rough and untouched until now; up close, she could see that stone as a whole was a gorgeous peacock blue. Plucking one out of the walls, she examines it up close in the light; colors pop over the surface like an oil spot after it rains. It’s warm in her hands and she closes her fingers over it; she’s keenly aware of the fact that it seems to be pulsing on its own. Opening her fingers again, she notices the glowing has stopped, but something else happens that she wasn’t expecting. A name flits through her mind, accompanied by a face: Solace Tatum. In that instant, Betsy knew without a doubt that she was here to collect these stones.


Turning to the next, she touches and the same thing happens, but the name changes to RL Edgar. The process repeats as each stone whispers a different name to her: James Raven. Shawn Warstein. Alias. Demos. She begins to sing out loud as she works, a warm wave of serenity washing over her; a peace she had long forgotten fills her heart as her voice grows louder. Before long, she can feel the stones pulsating in tune to her melody; it was soon accompanied by sweet, ethereal music that echoes off the walls of the cave and consumes her completely. Once she’s finished, she spots a small, burlap bag; grabbing it up, she slides the stones inside and holds on to them tightly in her right hand. As her voice and the accompanying music swell, Betsy begins to twirl around the room; the songs that burst from her lips change languages as she changes lyrics. A hymn of her own design, brought on by the power of the cave. Overwhelming joy grabs a hold of her as she continues to dance, her body now moving to match the euphoria that was taking over her soul.


Her arms fly out as though she were about to dance ballroom and for a moment, she swore she could feel a pair of strong arms take her up as a partner. She and her invisible suitor glide across the surprisingly smooth floor of the cave as the music become soft and romantic. Closing her eyes, she continues the slow, measured steps of the Viennese waltz she had started, still feeling the disembodied partner lead her around effortlessly. So caught up in what she was doing, she allowed herself to be dipped passionately and gasped when a pair of lips bit down teasingly at the soft skin in the hollow of her throat. A small groan of pleasure escapes her throat as the lips become more solidified and make their way up her neck and to her ear. Even though the thrills threatened to overtake her better judgment, Betsy remained all too aware that this unknown suitor was in no way, shape, or form James Raven. With a coy giggle, she pushes away her naughty dance partner and continues on by herself. Still singing, she skips out of the room and continues to dance her way out of the cave. Reaching the place where she’d entered, she closes her eyes against the suddenly bright sun. Turning back, she attempts to take another look at the magnificent cave before she went home...


… Until her eyes open and she’s staring up at the ceiling of the hotel room with a smile still on her face. The sense of serenity still lingers within her heart, taking away the pain for the moment as the next steps of her journey begin to unfold. She suddenly realizes that something is sitting heavily in her right palm. Opening her fingers, the smile widens as she realizes the stones from her dream now rested in her hand. Reaching out to set them gently on the bedside table, she snuggles up to James once more and falls into a thankfully restful sleep for the first time in ages.

_________


“Some men... Or in this case, women... just want to watch the world burn. Isn’t that right, my metamorfo safira? On the surface, your objective is simple: recruit and rampage. Spread the unholy words of the Baphomet, and destroy those who would defy his fictitious dark gospel. What will become of you when you realize you’re just as expendable to him as Ash and Tula? Your blind loyalty serves you to the highest in the present; but what happens when the church finally burns and you find yourself without the hooved hand of the demon that guides you now? Perhaps you’ll turn to the moon, hmm? Another clan at your disposal to fall back on when you realize the Baphomet is a fraud and you’re a fool? Perhaps BoB will have a place for you, you’re already practically a member by proxy as it is. Such a cozy little tight-knit group, it must be quite the get-together when team meetings are called.

Perhaps I don’t know what the endgame is yet for you or the Left Hand... But I promise that I’ll be in your face for as long as it takes me to find out. You pretend to be little more than a soldier for your faceless leader, but the Baphomet holds you too high regard compared to the others. Perhaps it’s that little extra something that keeps you from being just another wannabe Suicide Girl; that touch of other-worldliness that makes you stand out above the rest. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was off about you until you were kind enough to give me a taste at March Madness... Oh yes, my lovely blue friend, I saw just enough to figure you out. Not to worry, love, your secret remains safe with me for the moment; I rather like being in the know on something so juicy.

Now that the secret of why your value to the Baphomet is higher than the rest, I must know more. You have power and vision of your own; why short-sight yourself with his schemes? In my heart, I can feel that you are better than the Left Hand; you transcend everything they are. I say this as an opponent who has the utmost respect for you: You are better than the Baphomet and the Left Hand. With your talent and skills, you can get as far as you want to without anyone’s help. I agree that having someone in your corner is handy when the chips are down, but how long will you truly be able to trust the intentions of your leader?

Do you know what the most disappointing part of all of this is? It’s falling on deaf ears; at least, they did with Geri Vayden, so I’m guessing you’ll listen even less. The difference between you and she, however, is that your level of skill compared to hers is... well, let’s stay on track. I already went off about Jenny Myst earlier; I think we can all agree that Geri Vayden was a lost cause who had worn out her welcome by the time I got to the XWF. It really didn’t take much to strip her of the belt she had no right to ever hold, but that doesn’t matter. She’s disappeared into the shadows; I’m pretty sure Baph probably ate her. Crap, I strayed anyway; alright, getting back on track in three, two, one...

March Madness was merely a taste of what’s to come, Lycana. If you thought I was going to blow my entire load on one scrap, then you were sadly mistaken. My goal was to make sure I have one hundred percent of your attention; I think we can both agree that my message was received. The words you whispered to me after the triple threat on a previous Warfare... Yes, I remember them, I hear them all the time. And I thank you for them; whether you meant to or not, you have helped me prepare for what is about to happen.

Judgment is being demanded by the masses for the sins of the Left Hand, and my hands have been forced into carrying out the sentence. It wasn’t just my friend in the industry who enlisted my help, the very stars themselves began to sense the disturbance caused by the Left Hand. They called me into action after I swore to step away for good and leave this dream behind. It’s funny, I grew up watching this very federation; some of the very faces I adored as a child are ones I walk among now as an equal. The starstruck fangirl from a small farm in a small town in Iowa is now leading the charge to save the very soul of the federation she’s loved her whole life. And that’s what my part truly boils down to, in case you were wondering; if I have to die trying, I’ll be damned if the Left Hand is going to turn the XWF into its hellish playground.


Your play, Blaidd Ddrwg.”

FORMER