(Author’s note: This is “fan fiction of fan fiction”, inspired by the storyline created by Triond author Leafygreens as based on the MMORPG EverQuest II. In this short story we see my protagonist, Chris Alan Starbright, *en apotheosis* – as something far greater than what he was when I first started writing stories about him here on Triond.)

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“ZAPHYRE!!!” Kharm cried out in anguish as he ran to the bed. Kneeling by Zaphyre’s lifeless body, he quickly began to wave his arms, while speaking the ancient words that cast the Revivication spell upon it. Nothing happened.

Kharm felt the room begin to spin around him. That spell has never failed him in the past – never. Innoruuk refused to allow it to work this time, and in hindsight the necromancer was not surprised. Innoruuk must have been watching him and Zaphyre, hearing what was being said and how it was affecting one of his favorite priestesses. Kharm knew that Zaphyre was more devoted to the Prince of Hate, and because of that, her heart (unlike his own) was filled with incredible hate. He suspected that the only reason he was even allowed to continue to exist was because he was still useful as a companion to Zaphyre. Ironically, her love for him saved him from permanent death, the kind that had now claimed her.

No longer a true disciple and no longer needed by Zaphyre or Innoruuk, Kharm realized he was doomed, but that it didn’t matter to him. The mage felt as if half of his life had been ripped out of him, given form, and laid like some dark, unholy sacrifice before his grieving eyes.

A pale blue flash announced the arrival of Amethyst Bellatrix out of thin air. “What happened, Kharm?” But with the asking, she knew. “May the Lord of the Realms help us all! Why did she take off Chris Alan’s ring?”

“The ring?” Kharm hadn’t paid any attention when Zaphyre had taken it off, and now he realized why. He’d assumed that Chris Alan would surely protect him and Zaphyre from Innoruuk, being so near to them. Undoubtedly Zaphyre had assumed the same thing.

“*Yes*, fool!” Amethyst instantly regretted her outburst of temper, but she carried through with a gesture to the ring on the nightstand. “Unconditional aid is one thing, but unconditional protection is another.” Amethyst scowled. “She’s a *Dark Elf*, for pity’s sake! Until she surrenders to Love unconditionally, Chris Alan’s not duty-bound to protect her from Innoruuk or anyone else, unless she wears his ring. I thought that Zaphyre of all people would’ve sensed that without being told.”

The sound of heavy footsteps heralded the arrival of Slate at a full run. “What happened?” he shouted as he deftly ducked through the door frame.

“Innoruuk hast taken her spirit!” Kharm was shaking all over; his habitual warrior’s discipline was being strained to the breaking point. “May I be cursed for putting my trust in otherworldly gods!”

“Hey, buddy,” Slate said menacingly as his mighty right arm curled for a blow, “you can trash talk us *Elementals* all you want – but you keep talking about *Blondie* like that and I’ll punch you through the nearest wall.”

“*All of you, calm down!*”

Kharm whirled. Chris Alan had appeared out of nowhere, even more suddenly than he had disappeared.

[What kind of being can calm even whilst giving commands?] Kharm thought in dazed wonder. Something about Chris Alan’s latest “spell” was even more powerful than the one he had unleashed against the Daimonae.

[Prophecy Without Measure at Need,] Amethyst thought in admiration – and in embarrassment at her own outburst of temper. [You haven’t lost your touch, Undying Singer.]

Kharm exhaled. He was still concerned, still afraid, but no longer panicked. That was good.

Chris Alan knelt by Zaphyre’s lifeless form and touched her forehead with a glowing blue left hand: the sign that his Gift of Healing was being engaged. “Her spirit’s still in this Realm,” he confirmed for the sake of his friends. “It hasn’t gone to the Realm of Judgment. She can be revived.”

“So what are you waiting for, kid?” Only Slate could get away with using such familiar terms with Chris Alan. “Do your stuff.”

“Normally I could indeed, Slate, Innoruuk’s will notwithstanding – but there’s more to this situation than meets the eye.” Chris Alan stood up.

“Something pegging the ol’ Starbright radar?”

“Yes. Not even I can defy the Logic Behind All – and there’s a form of justice in this Realm that must be served, if Zaphyre’s to be revived lawfully. So the Lord of the Realms has ordained it.”

“Now *that* could be a problem.”

“We’ll just see about that.” Chris Alan turned to face Kharm. “If I weren’t here in this Realm, Kharm, and this had happened to Zaphyre, what options would you have?”

Kharm gathered his wits as best he could. Chris Alan’s words continued to soothe him, to help him.

“Of course thou knowest that I am a necromantic mage?”

“Of course – not that your necromancy would work in *my* Realm; different metaphysical laws apply there. It’s remarkable that Zaphyre was able to wield as much power as she did.”

“Noted. To the point: I couldst kill a monster or some other being and give its life force to Zaphyre. But I couldst only do that if Innoruuk allowed it.”

“Which he *won’t* in this case, all else being equal – *depend* on it. Next option?”

“I…I couldst turn Zaphyre into a minion like Fate.” Kharm found it very hard to say those words…those horrible words. “I was thinking of doing so even now, so that she couldst follow me until I found thee.”

“*Ewww*,” Amethyst said while making a face. As the original “quantum-mechanical cat”, she could be both living and dead at the same time (making it impossible for anyone but a Lightchild to kill her), but minions, zombies and the like unsettled her stomach.

“Now *that* would’ve been a burden,” Chris Alan replied nodding. “Next option?”

What Kharm said next almost broke his heart, and Chris Alan knew it. “I couldst go with Zaphyre’s body to Timorous Deep, where we were soul-bound…tie her body to mine…jump off the cliff…and never be found again.” Amethyst and even Slate was shocked to see Kharm’s eyes, usually so hard and stern, fill with tears. “Mayhap I couldst be resurrected, by the means of our own world, but without Zaphyre…”

Chris Alan sighed. No doubt it was part and parcel of being an Elf in love, but it was as if Kharm were already living the whole futile course he had been describing, and suffering every day and every mile of it, in just those few moments: doing anything he could think of to revive Zaphyre, even begging Chris Alan himself for help that he thought wasn’t necessarily guaranteed, then finally giving up when all his efforts had failed.

[Love can’t walk without Faith and Hope, my friend,] Chris Alan thought. [And that’s why I’m sent: to give Faith and Hope to those who Love. Are you yet so blind as not to see this?]

“Have you forgotten what I told you?” Chris Alan said gently, yet firmly. “Not even Innoruuk can keep you and Zaphyre from being reunited in my Father’s due time. But of course you want to be reunited with her *now*, and I don’t blame you.”

Kharm stiffened. “*Now* dost thou understand why I asked thee and thy friends to stay?”

“You just don’t get it, *do* you, little buddy?” Slate looked down like a living mountain upon Kharm; he was every inch of seven hypertrophic feet tall.

“What sayest thou?”

“Look. I don’t understand Blondie’s ‘sixth sense’ and I never will, but on top of everything else, he’s got a brain the size of a planet.” Slate looked at Chris Alan in admiration. “He’s never been outsmarted by *anybody* we’ve ever run into, and I *don’t* think your Innoruuk’s outsmarted him *now*.”

“And besides,” Amethyst said comfortingly, “all you would’ve had to do is send *me* to get him. Not even Chris Alan can hide from my Drunkard’s Walk Variant, unless he cloaks himself. It’s like a ‘finding spell’; tell me what I need to look for and I can find it, anywhere in the Metacosmos.” Amethyst blushed. “The only reason I couldn’t find *Nicholas* here by that means was the confounded way your Realm and ours relate to each other. I can’t use the Drunkard’s Walk between Realms when their relative rates of passage of time are constantly changing.”

“Enough,” said Chris Alan. Kharm found his warm, if serious smile disconcerting. How could he take this situation so calmly, god of gods though he was by Norrathian standards?

“Don’t you think I knew it, Kharm,” Chris Alan asked earnestly, reading Kharm’s mind, “when Zaphyre took off her ring? Don’t you think I foresaw the consequences of her doing so, and made it a point *not* to warn her directly of them beforehand? Don’t you think I can forgive honest mistakes, even when I myself allow them to happen?” Chris Alan’s eyes held Kharm’s as he spoke more gently. “Don’t you think that the very reason I left you for a few moments was to look for something that can help you now? And don’t you think I’m ready, able and willing to do *whatever it takes* to make this arrogant weakling Innoruuk give her spirit back?”

Kharm’s eyes widened despite himself. Never had he thought to hear “arrogant”, “weakling” and “Innoruuk” combined in the same phrase without a trace of irony.

“Wait a minute,” said Slate. “Then all you went through just now, when you knelt by Zaphyre and talked about the Logic Behind All and asked all those questions, was just for show?” He shook his head and laughed. “You are a real piece of work, Blondie.”

“Then… thou art using a *stratagem* against Innoruuk?” Kharm was amazed.

“*Precisely!*” Chris Alan grinned. “How else are we going to get Innoruuk to leave Zaphyre alone, this side of killing him – which my Lord won’t allow me to do this time around?” Chris Alan smiled wryly. “Of course, I *could* just twist his arm – *literally* – until he surrendered, but that solution lacks elegance.” Chris Alan laughed quietly. “Don’t worry; we’ll get your wife’s spirit back – and we can teach Innoruuk a lesson he’ll never forget along the way.”

“I cannot thank thee enough for helping us.” Kharm took out his magic staff, laid it before Chris Alan’s feet, and knelt before Chris Alan with his head bowed.

“You do well to reverence me, Kharm V’nae, but I’d rather not give Innoruuk a hint about what he’s up against. Please get up; we have work to do.”

Kharm rose. “What shall we do with Zaphyre’s body meanwhile?”

“My assistant Rafael can preserve Zaphyre’s body unchanged, and bring it with us, until this business is done. Are you willing to allow it?”

Kharm was more than willing. The meta-tech otherspace closet in which he and Chris Alan reverently laid Zaphyre’s body wasn’t magical by Norrathian standards, but it might as well have been. A mirror-like surface simply opened in mid-air, and when Kharm walked through it, he saw a beautifully furnished living space. The bed on which Zaphyre (now wearing her ring again) was laid made her look as if she were merely sleeping in peace. Once the closet’s door shut (as Chris Alan assured Kharm), time within the closet stopped; nothing and no one save Chris Alan or another being of his class could affect Zaphyre’s body in any way.

“Now then,” Chris Alan went on, “if Innoruuk wants to play this nasty little game, then we might as well play it by the book. First, we’ll need to find an evil monster, the more epic the better.”

“Don’t tell me; let me guess,” said Slate with a grin. “You already know where one is?”

“Why do you think I disappeared for a few minutes? I went and found a good one. He’ll do very nicely. Oh, Innoruuk won’t accept the trade, but the offer needs to be made.”

“But if Innoruuk will not accept the life force even of an epic monster,” Kharm pointed out, “what can we give him that will satisfy him?”

“Myself,” Chris Alan said calmly.

“*Thyself?*”

“Yes. No other life in this Realm is more valuable, including Zaphyre’s – not to *his* way of thinking.”

Slate and Amethyst looked at Chris Alan in shock. “You’re going to invoke the Sign of Resurrection?” Amethyst asked.

“Yes.”

“And what if this Innoruuk reneges on the deal?” Slate asked.

“If he tries, he’ll die; we’re talking about a blood covenant under the Lord of the Realms here. Really, I don’t think it’ll come to that. Innoruuk must know, or will soon figure out, that sooner or later I’ll come for him as I came for Nicholas, and will kill him just as easily – unless I’m stopped. He’ll be glad to be rid of me, just to maintain the farce of his philosophy if nothing else…and neither I nor any of you will tell him what will happen next.”

“And what *will* happen next?” Kharm asked.

“Something wonderful beyond the dreams of necromancy,” Amethyst replied with a warm smile. “Too bad the sight will be wasted on the likes of Innoruuk. It’ll be like nothing he’s ever seen.”

“Zaphyre will still have to wear my ring afterwards,” said Chris Alan, “but she’ll be safe from Innoruuk, you’ll be safe from him as her mate – and Innoruuk won’t be able to say he didn’t get a fair deal.”

“Only that he’s been outsmarted – hey, mess with the best, crash and burn like the rest,” Slate said with a laugh. “Now,” he added, ready to be up and doing as always, “where’s the monster?”

**********

Next morning, standing again in Nektulos Forest, in the Shattered Lands, Kharm was rather glad he wasn’t engaged in the melee he was watching from within Rafael Goldwing’s protective globe of n-dimensional force.

Chris Alan had picked a worthy opponent indeed: the Avatar of Hate, by far the most powerful of the Epic Monsters and one of Innoruuk’s special favorites. Kharm had thought that Chris Alan would simply overwhelm the Avatar with an irresistible pulse of Light, such as he’d unleashed on the Daimonae. But no, Chris Alan, Slate and Amethyst were fighting the Avatar hand-to-hand: Chris Alan with Shalhevetyah, Slate with Lahavyor, and Amethyst with two nameless but self-renewing diamond sabers that she’d generated out of what appeared to be thousands of sparkles of light.

Within the rules of Norrath’s brand of magic, the numerous tools at the Avatar’s disposal (stored in his Exquisite Chest, which was unfairly loaded by Norrathian standards) had very specific and powerful effects, meant to be used against other tools bearing other very specific and powerful effects. But what Chris Alan called the Logic Behind All transcended those rules, Chris Alan could wield that Logic as the Avatar could not, and so the Avatar was forced to improvise. It did him no good. To begin with, he had no idea where or when Amethyst would appear out of thin air to slash at him with her sabers, and so he was kept constantly on the defensive. When the Avatar summoned the Claymore of Pure Valor, it shattered on contact with Shalhevetyah (as all blades not made of durin or duringlass did when it struck a lit Starblade). When he summoned the Death Sonata, Blade of Eulogies, Shalhevetyah shattered it as well. When he summoned Cyclone, Harbinger of the Tempest, Slate used the golden flames of Lahavyor’s Seven Winged Lions Mode (which had supplanted its former Seven-Headed Dragon Mode) as a counter. When the Avatar activated his Chestplate of Solid Malice in hopes of imposing Crippling Hate on his foes, the Avatar learned what it was like to have the Hooded Man hit him full in the chest with a lighted palm strike. That took care of the Chestplate, and it very nearly took care of the Avatar.

So it went before Kharm’s amazed eyes, one weapon after another, one spell after another, one charm after another, until the Avatar’s tremendous arsenal was all but dismantled. No matter what the Avatar threw at Chris Alan and his friends – the Chain Necklace of Pain, the Bracelet of the Tintinnabulum, the Crimson Ascot of the Pirate, and on and on – if one of the Elementals couldn’t counter it, then Chris Alan did. Sometimes Chris Alan made it look as if he was being overwhelmed for a few moments – only to make the final crushing of the Avatar’s power play all the more stunning.

[Verily Innoruuk himself must be responsible for overloading the Avatar’s chest,] Kharm thought. [Yet the Hooded Man not only accepts the injustice, but he brushes it aside as of no account. It is as if he wishes to be seen by an unseen watcher.]

When the Avatar called upon his last useful weapon, the Staff of Limitless Growth, he played right into Slate’s hands. The Avatar’s agility, strength and size increased immensely – but even when pretending to be a mortal long before, Slate had fought and beaten many agile, strong and sizable opponents. He sheathed and put aside his sword, matched the Avatar to scale, threw the professional wrestler’s handbook at him, and thoroughly enjoyed himself doing it. Chris Alan actually doubled over with laughter as the Elemental and the Avatar made the ground shake and the trees splinter with their play. Chris Alan knew that Slate needed this kind of release on occasion, and not many created beings could give it to him.

Finally, Chris Alan had seen more than enough. “Slate, get clear of the Avatar!”

“With pleasure,” roared Slate from high above him, and he “windmilled” the Avatar over his head and body-slammed him face down, cratering the ground with the impact. “Take him down, Blondie!”

Chris Alan’s Gift of Healing had many applications, and one of them was undoing spells such as Limitless Growth. When Chris Alan’s left hand touched the ground, a ripple of blue radiance went out in all directions on the ground’s surface until it touched the Avatar, who by then had regained his feet. A pillar of blue plasma surrounded and immersed the Avatar, causing him to shrink screaming to more or less Human-normal dimensions.

“Yeah, I saw *that* one coming,” Slate remarked with a laugh as he reduced his own size to normal (for him).

“*Alpha Mode, Rafael!*” Chris Alan ordered. “Checkmate the Avatar, *now!*” And with the same kind of n-dimensional force that had protected Kharm from all danger, Rafael pinned the Avatar to the ground with transparent shackles that appeared out of nowhere.

“Hey, Blondie, that was *fun!*” Slate enthused as Chris Alan sheathed his sword and Amethyst dissolved her sabers. Quickly Slate girded himself with his own sword. “Thanks a lot!”

“No problem! It was fun watching you. Rafael, lower your shields around Kharm. He’s all yours, Necromancer.”

“Surely, his magical power is yet too great for me to overcome?”

“Don’t bet on it. In Checkmate, he couldn’t resist you if he were a hundred times stronger than he is. You may draw his life force from him at will.”

Quickly Kharm summoned Fate for the task at hand. His otherworldly friends watched (with different degrees and kinds of fascination) as Fate drained the life force from the helpless Avatar. It was a slow, painful process…for the Avatar.

“Hey, Blondie,” said Slate, concerned by Amethyst’s revulsion to the whole process, “isn’t there a way you can speed this up? This Avatar ain’t a cockroach that he should suffer just for existing.”

“I agree. Kharm, you are about to see a thing.” With that, Chris Alan stepped up to the prone Avatar, drew and lit his Starblade with one smooth motion, and pierced the Avatar’s body with it. The Avatar didn’t even have time to finish his scream before vanishing into the quantum vacuum in a flash of white light.

Fate stepped back, then rejoined Kharm and transferred the Avatar’s life force to Kharm’s body. It would be stored there in full measure, until Kharm could offer it to Innoruuk.

“Thou couldst have done that at thy will at any time,” Kharm noted with surprise.

“Yes. I decided not to; I have my reasons.” Chris Alan had foreseen that if he had disembodied the Avatar outright, then perhaps Innoruuk would’ve surrendered to him on the spot when they met – and that wasn’t what Chris Alan wanted. But he was aware that Innoruuk was indeed watching them all, and he wasn’t about to give away his hand before it was played.

“All right, we have the first bargaining chip,” Slate said. “Now what?”

“Now, we bring it and the *second* bargaining chip to Innoruuk,” said Chris Alan. “To do that, we must ascend to the Plane of Hate. Rafael, remain in Alpha Mode. Kharm, you should let Amethyst take us all to Innoruuk’s plane.”

“That would be well, methinks,” Kharm replied. “Verily Innoruuk is self-regarding. For him to meet beings that can go to and depart from his plane at their will, rather than his own, can only help our cause. But still there is a thing I do not understand.”

“What’s that?” But Chris Alan already knew.

“If thou art truly a Son of the Nameless,” Kharm asked, “how wilt thou be able to offer thy life to Innoruuk?”

“I’ll need to become what I once was: Alain Harper, the Undying Singer. I’ll be ageless, but not deathless.” Chris Alan sighed. “The most difficult part could be enduring whatever torments Innoruuk might impose on me before killing me. If he torments me for too long, he’ll simply provoke Light Without Measure At Need, and I’ll have both the right and the ability to kill him then. But ‘too long’ might be a long wait.”

“If he torments you ‘too long’,” Slate growled, “I’ll drop-kick him sky-high.”

“Just his head,” Amethyst said, “after I take it off of him.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate Innoruuk if I were you,” Chris Alan reminded them. “He’s almost in Nicholas’ weight class as a ‘magical’ being, even if he doesn’t look like much. Yes, Kharm, I already know what he looks like, and I’m sorry that I do; he’s ugly clear to the bone. At least Nicholas looked good on the *outside*.” Chris Alan shook his head. “No, I need you all to keep a clear head and a calm heart, no matter what happens. Neither I nor you can give Innoruuk what he truly deserves – not here and now; the Lord of the Realms won’t let us, unless Innoruuk crosses a certain line with me, or unless he breaks his word with me. But one way or another, Zaphyre will be restored to herself very soon.”

“Very soon.” Amethyst’s eyes widened. “The Portal! Chris Alan, what’s the delta-tee between the Covenant Realm and the Realm of Norrath right now?”

“Time’s stopped on the Covenant side, relative to Norrath – thanks to our passing through the Portal with the ring. I was wondering when you’d catch on to the implications of that.”

“Hey, that’s *right*,” Slate said. “If someone doesn’t…”

“*Quiet!*” ordered Chris Alan, using just enough Prophecy at Need to override Slate’s speech. Slate was taken aback only for a moment before nodding.

“I do not understand,” said Kharm. This “god-talk” was truly perplexing to him.

“You will when the time comes – but Innoruuk can read minds too, and we’ve already told you more than is safe. If I’m too obvious in blocking his probes from now on, then he’ll know that something’s up. Amethyst knows what needs to be done, and nobody around here but *me* can read *her* mind.” Chris Alan nodded in satisfaction: so far, so good. “Let’s leave that detail for now. It’s time to meet the Prince of Hate face-to-face.”

(Continued in THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY 4…)

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Thanks to Leafygreens for her help in understanding her characters (Zaphyre and her husband Kharm) and for the beautiful screenshots of Norrath (which I’ve framed). Amethyst Bellatrix and Nicholas Blackthorn are inspired in part by various paintings by Jonathon Earl Bowser.