Fan Fiction: Crossovers
Justice Falls
by Qutime
Part: 1
2 3 4
5
Chapter 2:
Truths Revealed
Words could not express what Margo was about to witness,
though emotions could and did. She watched as, from a tiled floor in a
heavily curtained circle room, a black clad figure arose from the shadows
themselves. A figure she knew all to well; however it seemed his attention
was focused elsewhere. Margo began to turn her fearful gaze only to be
interrupted. They are merely shadows of what has occurred, Miss Lane,
an icy whisper reminded her, as Margo's host revealed itself next to her,
there's nothing that either of us can do, but watch.
Watch, Margo wonders looking about the room that was covered heavily in shadows, watch what...?
The Shadow's final moments, it coldly replied, Margo want to say something but once again was interrupted.
As you can see Ying Ko, I've escaped that poor excuse of a prison, that you've placed me in, rang a heavily accented Chinese voice.
I have spared you once, Khan, replied a hollow whisper, I shall not be so generous, this time. At this, a deep chilling laugh of hollow mockery echoed throughout the room.
We shall see who destroys who, Ying Ko, hissed Khan, as the once powerful Mongol prince lept from his shadowy throne, casting his silken robes and in the same fluid motion, drew two evilly curved swords from nowhere. The blissful silence was shattered by the twin roars of .45s that lit up the confines of the room for but a moment, each pulling off three shots. Some missed, others hit dead on, though Khan seem neither to notice nor care as he dove at The Shadow with swords screaming for blood. Khan's swords found some, but not much, for one of The Shadow's .45s found one of deadly edged weapons, shattering the blade which Khan immediately cast aside. Neither notice nor cared for their inflicted wounds as the deadly engagement continued to collide, as though both Shiwan Khan and The Shadow had become the two most powerful and defying forces in the world. Both bent on the other's destruction.
Margo suffered horrifying terror was she watched the bout continue between both men. Her mind and heart were demanding, no screaming, for her to help the man she loved. But, something held her back, or someone... Perhaps, even the horrific and yet harsh truth of the world, one that Margo hoped that would never come. The truth, that The Shadow could and had been beaten at his own game. She watched helpless as Khan plunged his sword up to its hilt in mass of cloaked figure, then whence away her tearful gaze as she plummeted to her knees, as The Shadow received the finally and fatal deathblow. A deathblow that Margo would never forget because of Khan's last fading words.
A gift, Ying Ko from our own departed master, Khan laughed an evil laugh as the scene around Margo and her immobile host faded to nothingness. Margo wept in the conferring abyss, until she simply asked weakly.
Why? Only to have silence answer her. She screamed the same question.
Calm yourself, Miss Lane, it replied, there is no reason for you to scream.
No reason, Margo demanded, peering hatefully into depths of abyss that concealed it, No reason, it says. I have all reasons in the whole god damned world to scream. You must have known. She implied, standing, known that he was going to meet his end and yet you stood by and did nothing.
Are you implying, that I've could have done something about it, its harsh echoes frightened Margo into submission, and yet you saw for yourself how much they were bent on killing one another by their own means... And yet, you did not feel His remorse?
His remorse, she pondered.
Yes, you know to whom I am speaking of, it sighed, The Shadow's remorse...
The Shadow's remorse? Margo wondered, but what does He have to regret?
Many things you could not even begin to fathom, Miss Lane, it mocked, but none more present than two. Never admitting his love to you, a sudden pause, and leaving the world when his mission has been left unfulfilled.
But that does not explain how you had gotten his girasol, Margo pointed out.
I never had his girasol to begin with, Miss Lane, there seem a bit of hatred in its tone, Khan stole it, there was a frightened yet sudden pause, and I relieved him of its dead, yet meaningful weight.
Shiwan Khan, Margo forced herself to say it, is dead?
I could show you, Miss Lane, it evilly implied, however, I fear you would only find his end all too befitting for man of his prowess. Margo sighed, shaking her head no anyway.
Is it over, she inquired.
No, Miss Lane, it sounded as though its voice was fading as well, As I've already stated, this is far from over...
Margo awoke with a sudden start, only to find the owner looking over her with concern and curiosity holding a small glass vile. She began to sit up, only to have the owner place a hand firmly on her chest, recommending her not to move with a grim look and head shake. It was then that Margo noticed the small, embroidered work upon his light blue shirt, spelling out the name of Hank. Hank, she thought to herself, what an unusual name for an elf.
"Why, thank you for the compliment, Miss Lane," the owner replied in a rusty voice, yet there was wisdom behind it, "I get that a lot from all my customers." Margo was in shock; it was pure and simple as that. As Hank simply sleeved the small, yet fragile bottle.
"You heard me," she requested verbally, still laying her head
upon a well-placed pillow.
"Louder then those bloody air raid sirens," replies Hank, "But, your cab man been waiting for nearly an hour in that corner booth over there." At this, Hank thumbed towards a booth behind him, which Margo cocked her head to check only to find that Hank was indeed right. The familiar plaid cabbie's hat was sticking over the top of a newspaper being read with an empty cup in front of it. Hank began to help Margo up as the paper folded horizontally in half revealing Moe Shreevy's rugged and yet kind face.
"Ah," comes Shreevy, "I'm glad to see you up and around, Miss Lane." He quickly and neatly folds up the paper, placing it on the booth's table, slides out only to come over and assisted Hank in helping Margo off the tiled floor. Once off the floor, Margo was offered a chocolate piece, in the shape the size of a quarter.
"Here," says Hank, "eat this Miss Lane, and you'll feel better in no time." Margo, feeling like she just went through the worse beating of her life, took the chocolate gratefully and began to munch on it. After the first bite, Margo felt a lot better and it just went uphill from there. Shreevy began to walk her to diner's front door.
"And one more thing, Moe," came Hank's voice, "Do not forget to give, Miss Lane, her messages." Moe just nodded in acknowledgment opening the door and helping Margo down the steps.
"I hope, you know what your doing, Jwin," Hank quietly admitted to himself. He was answered by a sadistic, hollow, haunting, icy whisper of a laugh echoing softly off the diner's inner-shell. "A simple yes, would have sufficed."
Ah, came a faded icy whisper, but what's the fun in that? To which Hank answered with a simple head shake of 'oh brother'.
Moe had no difficult leading Miss Lane to the parked cab, which if she took any notice was parked in dirt lot, instead of the street. Moe was still puzzled on this diner was suddenly there, when he had driven around only ten minutes later. Which he had done out of pure instinct, rather then sheer dumb luck. And now Moe was glad that he had driven by it again, for Margo at the moment seemed in no condition to be calling him. Let alone walking. But, what really bothered Moe was the package attached with a letter addressed to Margo that sat in the backseat of his cab. Then there was the larger package and letter attached to it addressed to a man; Moe has never heard of, that sat in the trunk of the cab. Addressed to one James StCloud. Hell, Moe though as he help the dazed Margo into the back of the cab, I've never heard any families around this area with that last name. However, Moe neither did nor could not question a simple request that Hank had handed him when walk into the diner. A folded note inked in silvery scrolled script reading thus.
Mr. Moe Shrevnitz
Please see that these packages are kept.
Kept safe, sound, and secure.
Till upon my return or upon delivery to addressee.
Be careful to whom you trust these too…
There was no more or less, accept a symbol that Margo would have recognized. A blacken mark of a katana enclosed between simplified wings. A mark, that Moe feared meant something more than it seemed. However, that was not his main concern at the moment, his main concern was to get Margo as far away from this unusual diner as soon and fast as possible. So, moving like a man bent on destruction, Moe was around and in the driver's seat starting up the vehicle. It was to the roar of cab's mighty engine that snapped Margo from her dazed state. At first, she didn't know whether she was still daydreaming or fully awake. Upon the cab's exit into the street, Margo had gotten her painful answer.
As Shreevy drove in his normal manner of a madman, Margo took notice of the deep package on the seat next to her. The one that bore an envelope with her name neatly scrolled in silver. Carefully, she drew the package onto her lap tearing of the envelope first and pulling out its contents.
Miss Margo Lane, it began
I am sorry to bear any more bad news than what has been borne upon you already, but this news most be heard and told. Tell no one who has passed yesterday, for this news will unravel all my delicate and intricate work that I've already set into motion… I know you still have many questions unanswered, and it's better for the both of us, if they remain so. However, there are things only you may and must do. Though, He has passed away does not mean that his agents are allowed to rest, for your duties are far from finished Miss Lane, much like His mission. There are things I require of you. Do not think of me as another Him; instead think of me as His very own guardian angel. A fallen one at that… That's beside the point, I need you to keep on top of everything. From agents' movements to what's going on in the underworld. You'll find all your needs within your box.
But especially I need you to recruit new agents and make sure that you keep His network intact in New York. I have asked the same of all right-hand agents worldwide. However, I have a very special request of you, Miss Lane. In a few months time, there shall be a new wealthy family migrating from Scotland. Their family name is StCloud, and plays an important role in the work I've set in motion. Pay very close attention to their eldest son Kyle. He has great psychic potential, but it's only a quarter of what I require. It may take only one generation or several before StCloud's psychic energy come anywhere close to being His. This, I'm afraid is nature's rule, not mine. If was mine, there would already be someone ready to receive His role. But, since there is not, we wait. Wait as long as it takes…
My request of you, Miss Lane, is to take the young and untrained Kyle under your wing. And I do not care how inexperienced you are… All that matters is that he receives so training; otherwise you may have a very nasty headache for a very long time. In the larger box on your lap, you shall find a smaller and longer one. Open it, if you wish or dare, but do not open the box half-willing. That will be a fatal mistake on your part, Miss Lane. And remember you have been warned.
The letter ended there, unsigned. However, it left a great deal to Margo's imagination, which still wanted one single question answered. Unlike the first note she received, nothing appeared after her inquiry. She sighed placing the letter back into its envelope. Margo opened and shifted through all the mailing popcorn until she came upon the second unmarked box. She pulled it from its packaging, then set the larger box aside on the seat. Forcing her will to full, like Lamont had shown her through His reparative drills with the candle, Margo flung open the box's lid. To her surprise, nothing happened, though there appeared an object wrapped tightly in Tibetan silk with yet another fold note balance so perfectly on top. Margo rolled her eyes in frustration as she braced herself as Moe took a turn at high speed. She took her time unfolding this note, expecting to see the silvery inked script once more. Instead, she found beautifully done calligraphy.
To Miss Margo Lane,
If you are reading this, then I am no longer able to instruct my students. Let alone give any helpful advice to you, since the untimely death of my finest student. However, thanks to a winged nightmare, I have prepared not to return seeing that next man that bears the girasol shall not be so easily undermined. I fear, though, that this same winged nightmare is the only one capable of bearing His greatness back to the light, or to the shadows. Thus I sent you my Phurba, may it protect you from harm as it did me. Use it well, my dear and god speed...
Master Tulku
Margo vaguely remembered what Lamont had told her about this Phurba. He had said that it was three-edged living knife, a living knife at that, which disliked Him in ways that were frightening. Thus is why He had taken it back to the holy man. But, if this object of protection was now in her possession, it meant one of two things. There was no longer a safe haven for The Shadow upon his return... If there was a return, Margo silently thought to herself as she closed her eyes for but a moment. But, in that moment a feather had fallen on top of the covered Phurba, which caused the living knife to shudder in fear. Sighing, Margo recovered the box without a thought.
Thus, Margo did not find the feather, until the next morning when she decided to a better look at this Phurba. A feather that was big as the knife itself, but it was darker than shadows dipped deeply in abyss. She careful plucked it from it resting-place, as if it was made of crystal. Only upon closer inspection, Margo could barely mark well-scribed silver marks upon the feather's veins. Fearful and yet curious, she found a handy magnifying glass and took it to these marks, almost to drop the glass itself. For there was more scrolled script that Margo had begun to recognize for its handwriting.
And as to your question, Miss Lane.
They call me Jwin...
They who? Margo wondered. To her frightful surprise the words appeared as though they were being written from beyond.
'Tis better that you not know.
Upon this reply, Margo dropped the glass, allowing it to shatter
upon the oaken surface of the desk. She sank into the desk chair, and was
lost in thought. Thoughts that involved not only who, but possibly what
this Jwin was. The only clues she had were the mark and the feather. Two
things, which would have given Margo's curiosity a terrifying, answer of...
A Fallen Justice.
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