TUJUH ALASAN by TB's LMC RATED FRM

An unholy alliance with Evil. A life spent in pursuit of Darkness. Witness the evolution of one man from birth to the day his obsession with International Rescue began. Witness the life of the Hood.

KEMUNGKINAN (Chance)
ALAM (Nature)
PAKSAAN (Compulsion)
JUBAH (Habit)
AKAL (Reason)
GHAIRAH (Passion)
HASRAT (Desire)

All human actions have one or more of these seven causes:
chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion and desire.
~~Aristotle

KEMUNGKINAN
(Chance)

It was, one might say, pure chance that the boy was born to those particular souls he would call Father and Mother. He had an older brother, but the eldest was not seed of the same loins as he. For his mother had betrothed twice. This child, this babe with glittering dark eyes, came from the second union.

His father was born Mongolian, near Dariganga on the eastern border. This lineage gave the child a mystical ancient Chinese look hearkening back to his mighty ancestor Genghis Khan. His mother had been born in a small village near Keluang in the southern portion of the Malay Peninsula. She was of a lineage wherein the females were known as Itu Siapa Sembuh – Those Who Heal.

The baby, doted on by his mother, was feared by his half-brother. For Meor Seong was wise, an ancient soul born into a child's life. His eyes could see beyond the confines of flesh, and it was with those eyes that he saw the dark seed within his newborn sibling, a seed he knew must live, but which he also knew would cause great pain and suffering to many. He kept the family name of his deceased father Kyrano, which caused his mother great sorrow and his stepfather great anger.

Radzi Belah ignored his brother as he aged. His father taught him the ways of physical prowess while his mother taught him the magick of the ancient ones. Meor and Belah would be under her tutelage for hours, but where Meor's motives were pure and good, even as a small boy, Belah's talents and urges leaned toward learning ways in which he could use magick not to help others, but to his own advantage. As a small boy he would torture animals and sometimes even his brother. He would use his powers to steal small things from other children, or to push a schoolyard enemy into the mud.

His mother prayed for his soul even as his father beat him for shedding a tear or trying to defend his beloved mother from drunken attacks both physical and verbal. Meor escaped the senior Gaat's wrath because he was not his son, but Radzi was not to have his luck. He grew hard not only of body, but also of heart. He would not listen to his mother's pleas for his soul, nor to his half-brother's attempts to pull him away from the dark path he had chosen so early in life.

As a young man in his teens, Radzi found himself at the mercy of his mother's increasingly common weeping and his father's increasingly bloodthirsty fists. Meor had abandoned his village to other pursuits, and, truth be told, to get as far away from his younger half-brother as he could. This left Radzi alone to develop powers of the mind and tools of the practitioners. It left him alone to nurse the hatred that grew in his heart like the blackest of cancers.

It left him alone to watch their mother die.

Like Radzi, his father grew more and more displeased with the deterioration of the woman he had taken as wife, the mother of his child. She despaired at what she perceived to be the loss of her youngest son's soul and mourned him as though he were dead. One night as Radzi summoned a demon of the first order, he heard the background sounds which had become all-too-familiar: his mother's tears and his father's shouts.

Usually he would hear her voice rise against his father's. Usually he would hear his father yell even louder. Usually he would hear the harsh sting of flesh hitting flesh as his father would effectively end the rage for that night. Usually...but not this time.

This time, his mother was silenced. For the first and last time in his life, Radzi Belah's heart knew unadulterated fear. His demon by his side, the fifteen-year old made his way into his mother's chamber. His father stood over her, hands wrapped around her throat. He was shaking her. Her lips were blue; her eyes, lifeless.

She would move no more.

For all his wickedness growing up, Radzi Belah Gaat had loved one person with fierce and utter devotion, and that had been his mother, Nuraisyah. Hatred glowing in his eyes, he looked down at his father, for already he was four inches taller than the older man. His father rose to full height, glaring at his son as if daring him to utter one word.

But Radzi did not need words. With but one telepathic thought, the waiting demon entered his body. His father shrieked in fear as the teen grew taller, his arms and legs larger and stronger, his hands thicker. Radzi's body shook, mouth opening as a guttural roar echoed within the room. His father watched as thick, dark hair fell in tufts to the stone floor until his son's head was bare and smooth, as though it had always been that way.

"You...are...evil!!!" his father exclaimed, trying to run for the door.

In a flash Radzi's broad shoulders were blocking the exit. His eyes shone, almost giving off a light of their own. His face bore the hatred of one who has suffered too greatly at the hands of another, of one who has lost his last tether to humanity. Of one who has nothing left to lose. He reached one hand out, grasping the top of his father's shirt in his fist, lifting him off the floor as the older man shook with fright.

Radzi threw him across the room with no more effort than if he had been tossing an unwanted doll aside. His father slammed into the wall with a grunt, falling onto the bed atop the wife he had killed. As he struggled to his feet, his son charged at him like an angry bull, howling with fury. His hands wrapped around his father's neck, and the older man sank to his knees. He tried to beg forgiveness. He tried to beg for his life. He tried to beg his son to loosen his grip.

But Radzi Belah had lost himself to the demon within. He knew only rage and vengeance. As darkness slithered over his soul like a moving pool of blackest sludge, he felt true power for the first time in his life. He held a life in his hands. He held his fate in his hands. He held the future in his hands. The decision he made now would pave the way to his destiny, irrevocably changing his course forever.

Mouth curved into a grimacing smile, Radzi squeezed his powerful hands together. He heard the sickening crunch of his father's windpipe being crushed beneath his fingers. He heard the strangled sounds of a human body desperately seeking oxygen. He felt his father's hands claw at his bare arms and torso. And then he felt the body go limp.

The demon, satisfied that its work was complete for the moment, pushed itself up and out through the top of Radzi's now-bald head. It shrieked once with glee before shooting out of the room like a streak of black smoke. The young man, who now looked like an older, fully grown adult, shuddered as it left him, sweat pouring down his skin. It was only then that he realized what had happened. His father had murdered his mother. And he...he had killed his own father.

Silently, his face devoid of all emotion, he stepped over the man's body. It was of no consequence to him now. His father would never hurt him again. No one would ever hurt him again. He made his way to his mother's bed. Her torso and head lay still across it, her legs bent at the knees and hanging down over the edge. He sat down next to her and gathered her in his arms. He knew he should cry, but his tears had dried forever. Radzi Belah would never weep again.

He rocked her silently, smoothing her long, black hair. She had been a woman of great beauty in life. Death served, in his eyes, to make her even more so. Pulling her face to his, he leaned in and placed his mouth against her cold, blue lips ever so softly. Then he lifted her into his arms. Pulling the covers back with one hand, he laid her body gently on the bed, resting her head on a pillow. He arranged her body and robes just so, ending it by covering the lifeless shell with her favorite sheets and blankets. His fingertips reached out and closed eyelids over eyes that would never look upon him again.

She had introduced him to this world of hers, this world of magick. She had taught him how to use the ability he was born with. But now she would teach him no more. She was gone, and he knew she had gone to the place of Light...a place he would now never be able to touch. She was indeed dead to him.

By chance had this boy of mystical power been born to a man with a cold heart and a kind, loving woman of magick. By chance had he been conceived with the seed of Evil. By chance had he summoned his first order demon at the exact moment his father chose to kill his mother. By chance did that demon enter his body and give of its power, enabling him to become one who could avenge his mother's death. Chance had turned Radzi Belah Gaat into the man the world would someday know as the Hood.

But...is there really any such thing...as chance?
 

ALAM
(Nature)

Tree and bird. Animal and rain. Sky and mountain. These are the things most often thought of when one says the word nature. But we are not to speak of that mythical force humans have grown to call Mother Nature. No, this is the nature of a man whose soul has gone to darkness. It is the nature of the damned. The nature...of Evil.

Now, it is the nature of creatures to be that which they do. To become that which they practice. To yearn for that which they do not possess. So it was with the nature of Radzi Belah Gaat. After the death of his parents he left his village, never to be seen by those who dwelt there again. They cursed his name. They cursed his mother and father. They cursed even his brother, a man without blame who became condemned for no other reason than that he shared blood with the murderer, and with the sorceress who had taught her sons to use powers the villagers did not understand.

He traveled as far away from Kota Baharu as he could. He knew a great distance had to be maintained from civilization. Anonymity was, for the moment, of utmost importance. He stole food and money, looting villages where he could. During times of possession he was unstoppable, filled with the strength of fifty men his size and with an unquenchable thirst for blood. He liked to kill. To send poor, unsuspecting souls to an early meeting with the one his demons called Master.

It was the one young Belah wished to know better. His mother had taught him that if he chose to follow the ways of darkness, he risked losing his soul forever. But to Belah that had little meaning. The inexplicable power he felt when surrounded by Evil was too great to resist. Because he did not wish to resist. He wanted to feel that way all the time. Not just when he could summon his primary demon Bles*chk*cao, but every hour of every day.

And the more he practiced his magick of the underworld, the closer he came to becoming part of it. The next several years found Radzi Belah Gaat recruiting simpleminded fools who were easy to control. First extracting a promise that he could do with each man and woman's soul as he pleased, he would spend hours alone with them, learning to increase his ability to control the mind, learning to control lesser demons that would come and take possession of these slaves.

His army of men filled with evil spirits moved across the South China Sea from the Malay Peninsula to the Anambas Islands, where even more indigenous peoples joined him. On to the Natuna Islands, they laid waste to every ship and man that stood in their way.

>From the islands they sailed to the port city of Sematan within mainland Malaysia, just north of Indonesia. An invasion of no more than one hundred fifty left thousands of dead and dying in its wake. Money, gold, riches beyond comprehension became his. He could have any man or woman he wanted, whenever he wanted. And he found that sexual pleasure only increased during times of possession, a fact which turned his army, on more nights than one, into the largest group orgy anyone had ever borne witness to.

No one was safe. Men, women and children were raped, villages plundered as the army increased in both strength and size. Moving past Kuching, they tore into Simanggang, then north and east through the dense, uninhabited jungles until they reached the valley where the Rajang River split from one into two...Rajang continued to the north, and the Baleh River went its own way to the south.

Belah Gaat knew this was his destiny, for his mother Nuraisyah had told him that his name came from changing the name of the Baleh River, a female name, only slightly to form the male...Belah. To Nuraisyah, the name meant great power and life, eternal and flowing energy, even though its literal Malay translation was “split”.

His father had not cared, for Radzi had been his choice as Belah's paternal name. The name Belah had hated all his life, and had therefore chosen to forget, as he so easily forgot his past.

And so he counted precisely fifty-five kilometers beyond the valley where the Rajang and Baleh Rivers separated from one another. Fifty-five because that was the sum of his age and the age of his half-brother, Meor...one brother who had taken the road of Light...one who had taken the road of Darkness.

Numbers were powerful to Belah. Numbers and symbolism, and this newly christened sacred place, the piece of ground he now stood upon as his men and women surrounded him, was powerfully infused with both. This would be the site for his temple. A temple to honor his greatness, his glory, his acquired riches and his demon servants. His home, his hideaway...a place no one would ever find.

Many of his army died over the next year as the great homage to himself and the underworld rose toward the sky stone by stone. Belah did not choose to remain in Malaysia during this time. For it was in his nature to want more. More riches. More money. More power. More of everything he did not have. He would build up his reserves. He would bide his time. And one day, he would rule the world.

But even as he traveled the earth, even as he conned his way into the lives of others only to make off with their most prized possessions...even as he gained access to some of the most secret and advanced technology on the planet, Belah knew that his course was set. Once he returned to Malaysia, he would have no choice but to summon the all-powerful master of the ones he had used for so long. There is no gain without a price. And Belah had been gaining for several years but had, as yet, offered little in return to the Darkness.

He traveled through Asia and Europe, through Africa and South America. He made his way through Mexico and into the United States, making several stops along the way before finding himself in Los Angeles, California. It was a city ripe with evil; he could feel the undercurrent deep within his bones. Ah, there had been so many places where he had felt similar uprisings just waiting to be born. One day he knew he would return to this place, and with the power he would gain from the Master, he would rule it, as he would the world entire.

It is Man's nature to become that which he practices. It is Man's nature to covet that which he does not have. It is Man's nature to want more of something when he has been given but a taste. And it was the nature of Belah Gaat...to become Evil itself.
 

PAKSAAN
(Compulsion)

Pronunciation: kum-'pul-shun Function: noun Etymology: Middle English, from Middle French or Late Latin; Middle French, from Late Latin compulsion-, compulsio, from Latin compellere to compel Date: 15th century 1a: an act of compelling : the state of being compelled b: a force that compels 2: an irresistible impulse to perform an irrational act

It would not be outside the realm of agreeability that the human animal is very often a most self-destructive creature. Throughout his life, because of chance or by nature, he seeks to own that which he does not have...that which he wishes for...that which, rational or irrational, he feels he was born to possess. And often times this highly-developed yet foolishly simple-minded mammal will, as the saying goes, cut off his nose to spite his face.

Man is compelled to do that which will bring him benefit. To be compelled, according to commonly published theory, is to be driven or urged forcefully or irresistibly. What is it, then, that could drive a man to give up the one possession which truly belongs to him regardless stature or wealth, regardless lord or servant? That one thing that is the essence of every creature on the face of the Earth? What in the name of all that is known and unknown could compel a man to sacrifice his very soul?

He returned to Malaysia exactly one year and ten days after he had left. He returned to find his temple complete. His army...those men and women who had fought valiantly for Belah Gaat but were now little more than slaves...had slept little, working eighteen-hour days the entire year past in order to see that their master's temple would be built by the time he returned to them. For they knew the consequences of disappointing the master.

Belah was, in a way, pleased. Happiness was something he neither sought nor felt. Assuaged would perhaps be the more appropriate term. His temple was grand. The large, cavernous main room which accounted for nearly 3/4 of the building entire was adorned with curtains of darkest red velvet...the color of blood as it seeps from a body grown cold. Statues paying homage to his demons and gods of darkness were placed in locations which alone and in conjunction with each other served only to heighten the vortex of evil he had created.

There was a golden table next to a golden chair lined with deep red velvet. A dais opposite the outside entrance awaited the likeness of one who would become an unwitting ally to his brother's evil deeds. Eternal flames burned here and there throughout the room while torches lit the walls. The electrical generators would not be built for another few months, but Belah secretly enjoyed the atmosphere that firelight created in his new home. To the left of the dais was a hallway that led to the more mundane necessities such as the kitchen, the dining hall and what he called his wartime room: a planning facility that was outfitted with the latest in technology including radar, computers and sophisticated tracking and communications devices.

To the right of the dais was yet another hall that led to Belah's chambers, a vast layout of three rooms that made up his sleeping quarters, sitting room and exercise and meditation area. Accessible from the meditation area was a special chamber which could also be reached from the main cavern...a room that would become a place for special times of unity with his demons. Along both sides of his temple lay numerous guest rooms which could either become dens of sex and pleasure or prisons of pain and sorrow. Down below this first floor was an extensive array of dungeons and torture chambers...places Belah looked forward to using in the very near future.

Between the hall leading to his rooms and the hall leading to the special chamber was a stone staircase with no railing. This, Belah knew, led to the place he was now inexplicably drawn to seek out. It led up and up and up, it seemed to go up forever. Just as your feet were level with the first floor ceiling, the stairs turned sharply left. Eight more steps brought you to the second floor of the impressive structure Belah alone had envisioned within his mind. It extended upwards for what might be equal to two more stories until at last it ended in a wide-open square that was currently covered by a nearly invisible shield which could be retracted at will.

With a click heard only in his mind, he retracted the force field, allowing a pitch black sky devoid of stars to seep into this unholy place. At the center of this floor was a square set of seven steps that led up to a flat platform. In the middle of this platform was what could only be described as an abyss. As Belah neared its edge, his mouth curved into what was for him the equivalent of a smile. This fissure extended down behind the dais wall on the first floor, deep down into the crust of the earth. This was Belah's direct link...to Hell.

But he was not satisfied with merely having constructed a temple to his dark saints. He wanted more power. More wealth. More control. He wanted to rule the world. And he knew the only way he would ever accomplish such a feat was with the aid of those whose power source may have been considered by some to be the Devil himself. But not even the acquisition of wealth and power could explain to a reasonable man Belah's compulsion to do what he did next. He was compelled. Compelled by lust, by greed, by envy, by hatred. Compelled by those who had done his bidding for so long. He was their master. And they, in turn, wished him to know theirs.

Slowly, evenly, silently...the man of a thousand faces approached four large torches that hung from four slanted walls. He would stare at a torch; within seconds its tip would burst into flames. With great determination he removed his shirt and discarded it in the corner of the room. With great stealth he removed his boots and socks, tossing them atop the shirt. Feet and torso bare, he made his way up the seven steps until he stood once more near the edge of the abyss. Here now, standing so close to that which could make his every wish come true, stood a riveting example of human flesh.

Powerful muscles rippled beneath smooth, taut arms, beneath a broad chest, beneath the olive-tanned skin of his back. Black leather pants clung to the mountains and valleys that were his carved and chiseled legs. Washboard abs rippled as he breathed in and out...in and out...slowly...deliberately...in...out...in...out. His eyes drifted closed. His lips pursed tightly, another breath of air entered through his nose. Slowly...slowly...breathe in...hold...hold...hold...open mouth...exhale...slowly...slowly...expel all air from lungs...out...out...breathe out...until every atom of carbon dioxide is gone. Ah, yes. Calm. Quiet. Alone. At this moment here on the second floor of his temple...singular in nature yet one of so very many.

In the silence, a woman's voice could be heard:

You know it is time, Belah Gaat. It is time to give the last of yourself away. It is time to leave humanity behind and become an everlasting nightmare. You must sing to them now. Sing their praises. Sing your worthiness. Sing your humility and servitude. Sing...to become as one.

"Incubus and succubus: let the one true Master of all hear my plea on this night of Darkness, this night of eternal life, of sacrifice and homage to the One who does dwell in the bowels of Hell." As his prayer began, seven naked men appeared from the steps, entering a room that felt cold. Disquieted. Evil.

Four gathered at the four corners of the altar square and knelt facing their master. One stood on the side to the east, the other on the side to the west. The seventh man, nearly equal in size and strength to Belah himself, took each step slowly until at last he stood on the opposite side of the abyss.

"I have given you voice. I have given you flesh. I have given you power through me and those who serve me. In homage to the One who Is, the Hymn of the Awakening..."

The six men on the floor began to chant as Belah descended the steps. Their voices were low, their eyes staring blankly ahead as though seeing something not seen...a shadow, a wisp of smoke...there, but not. Belah lit incense and candles, and soon the room was perfumed with a precise combination of spice and fragrance he himself had developed as a gift to the demon world.

The seventh man stared down into the abyss as it began to hiss and sizzle. Belah returned to his place upon the altar top, facing his servant across the way. They looked into one another's eyes, opened their mouths and began to sing in time with the chanting slaves.

"Awake, my children," Belah intoned, his words blending into the velvety bass as his voice rose in pitch and tenor and then sailed down into depths of song that rumbled through the very hearts of those in attendance. "There is only one true path, my Master, and it is with you."

He knew what he was doing. He knew it as surely as he knew what the outcome would be. But he could not stop. He could not bring himself to think of life without power, without infinite power at his beck and call. And the only way he could get that power was to give up his humanity. As Belah Gaat stared down into the abyss, as the chanting and humming grew louder and more insistent, as invisible forces began to swirl around the room, he felt one last moment of uncertainty. But it was fleeting...gone almost as quickly as it had come.

He was ready. He was ready to be damned for all eternity.

 

JUBAH
(Habit)

Everyone knows what habits are. Habits are those things we do by rote, by need and often for reasons we do not understand. Sometimes they are good habits, like brushing your teeth after each meal. Sometimes they are bad habits, like excessive alcohol consumption. And sometimes they are so detrimental that with each time you indulge in your habit, a piece of you dies more and more.

It would stand to reason, then, that should you continue this habit, eventually you would wither away into oblivion.

A bad habit. How does something like that form? How is it that a person comes to crave something deadly so completely that the pleasures gained completely obliterate all potential consequences? In some cases the instigator is someone outside ourselves, someone who wants us to "try" something. And sometimes whatever it is we try is so addictive, so completely glorious and satisfying, that we become hooked. For life.

They were everywhere. It seemed like every minion from the depths had gathered in this place built for the sole purpose of worshipping Evil. Hundreds of them...nay, thousands sailed up from the bowels of the earth through the abyss like malevolent projectiles bent on death and destruction.

The first to fall was the man standing opposite he who had called these creatures forth. The first black mist to arise shot directly into the unsuspecting human's chest. He stiffened, began shaking uncontrollably, crying out in agony as the spawn of Satan ground through him head to toe, squeezing his organs and vessels. Cracking, crunching as ribs broke, as femurs shattered and the pelvis was crushed. Shrieking in ecstasy, the demon forced its way through the man's face, blowing the entire front of it away, splattering brains and blood and flesh and bits of bone across the divide onto Belah.

For his part, Belah did not flinch. He barely noticed the death of one who was of no consequence to him.

Others rushed into the temple like a gale-force wind. The six men placed at the altar's base screamed, terrified at the spectacle before them. They'd had no idea what was going to happen, no idea they were summoning that which could not be stopped unless it wished to be. No idea they were calling forth the very essence of the Underworld. Like frightened children, they ran in the face of that which cannot be explained. Nor can it be avoided.

Beings of Darkness circled everywhere and, finding only those unfortunate six, slammed into them with such force that they hurtled across the entire length of the room, smashing with sickening thuds into the walls. Possessive forces held them suspended, however...they did not fall. Riddled with a multitude attacking each one, it was mere minutes that passed before their souls were taken, and the men were no more.

This feeble sacrifice was not enough for the children of He whom Belah wished to call Master. They danced through the air, but did not harm the one who had enabled their freedom. Instead they flew through the walls in search of other prey, bent on stealing souls and deriving great pleasure from causing inexorable agony in the process.

Belah's primary demon, the one called Bles*chk*cao who had been with him since the beginning, drew up and up until it came to rest at Belah's left. It took on the form of a beautiful Asian woman with long, black hair flowing straight down to the floor. She was completely naked with the most perfect body ever seen by human eyes. The only thing that might have given her true identity away to an outsider, were they to look carefully enough, would be the seemingly endless depths that were her eyes.

"Radzi Belah Gaat," she said, her voice deep and melodic. In spite of the fact that he hated his paternal name, Bles*chk*cao always insisted upon using it to address him. "Anda memanggil kepunyaan atau milik saya Mahir di sini. Kenapa?" (You have called my Master here. Why?)

Belah bowed his head and placed his hands in front of his chest, palm-to-palm. "Aku hendak Dia memenjadi kepunyaan atau milik saya Mahir, Sangat Dikasihi." (I wish Him to become my Master, Beloved.) "Anda berisi ini korban diwajibkan." (You understand the sacrifice required.)

Belah Gaat looked up into her eyes. In them he saw his past, his present and his future. His future with her. With it. With the demon. As he stared into two tar pits of eternal damnation, his resolve strengthened. Only by accepting his fate, only by allowing the Great One to take him unto His own, only by losing his very essence, could he achieve all he desired.

"Yes," he replied with finality. "Yes. I understand."

"So mote it be," she replied. And just as suddenly as she had appeared, Bles*chk*cao vanished into thin air.

Only then did Belah recognize the sounds coming from throughout his temple, and from outside, wafting in through the open-topped roof. Screams. Hundreds of them. Coming, no doubt, from those who had been his followers, those who had been his army, first of looters and pillagers, and then of builders. Those who had left everything behind to follow a man of greatness, a man who had simply asked for their souls, and promised them everything in return. A man who was now allowing them to become sacrifices for his deepest desires.

The hour was at hand. He could feel a chill permeate the air. Closing his eyes, he steadied his breath and began praying aloud to the Master. The chill turned more and more frigid until his exhalations became puffs of warmth in air laden with crystals of ice too light to fall and too heavy to rise. He felt every cell of his body freeze, and yet he could move. Each hair on his body stood on end as static electricity zapped from crystal to crystal, a tangible thing that danced upon his smooth, ocher skin. He was coming. The Master was coming. Incense that had wafted so easily into the room suddenly stopped, suspended as though time itself had ground to a halt.

For it had. While the world around this temple built so far from civilization moved on, a vortex opened...a vortex stemming from the depths of Hell itself. Belah dropped to his knees. He fell forward, hands splayed out on the ice-cold stone in front of him, fingertips grazing the edge of the abyss. He dared not look up. He knew, as did all those who practiced demonology, that to look upon the Master while still in possession of your soul was to bring about a fate worse than death or damnation. To do so ended your soul's existence forever.

Belah prayed with all his might. Prayed for his greatest hopes to be realized. Prayed for that which he knew he must do. Prayed for everything he had ever wanted, and more. Prayed that the Master would accept his most humble and precious gift: himself. And to this, one of the seven Master Demons from below, he began to speak.

"Mahir, kebanyakan kudus mahir akan Kegelapan. Mahir akan hasrat dan ghairah. Mahir akan kehalobaan dan ganda. Mahir akan segenap hasrat cepat hingga saya sendiri. Mendengar objek dan kenal saya adalah kamu budak. Mengambil yg ytu dan ini adalah kepunyaan anda. Mengambil segenap yg itu saya adalah dan bagi segenap yg itu anda adalah. Saya adalah kepunyaan anda. Saya adalah bersedia."

Closer and closer it came. Closer and closer to the man it sought. Closer and closer to Belah Gaat. "Master, most holy master of Darkness. Master of desire and passion. Master of greed and power. Master of all that I wish to take unto me. Hear me and know that I am your child. Take that which has always belonged to you. Take all that I am and give unto me all that you are. I am yours. I am ready."

Face touching the floor, Belah did not need to look up to know the Master had arrived. The ice crystals began swirling about, slowly at first, then gathering speed. They stung his skin like a hundred thousand wasps, each more painful than the last. Tiny pinpricks of blood flecked his body as he felt a force lift him to his feet. Eyes closed, he shivered as the fabric of his leggings began to rip and tear, shredding itself from their taught musculature, baring not only his body, but symbolically his mind, heart and soul, for the raging beast in front of him to see.

All the Master's clutch were in attendance to witness this sacrifice. It had been so long for them, so very long since the last human had made this request. They wished nothing more than to seize the life force of he who stood before them now not as a great and powerful being, but as a simple, flesh-and-blood man who waited only for the Master to speak...and them to strike.

The physical pain he felt was something Belah could withstand with little effort. But the things he began to see in his mind...these were visions even he was unprepared for.

It is dark in this place. I know it. It is the Great Void. Why am I here? Why would the Master bring me here? What could he show me that I do not already know? What is that? Voices...voices screaming...crying out...it is not a sound with which I am unfamiliar. Why let me hear it now?

I see...I see Hell. Raging inferno, colors, complexities, too numerous to mention, I cannot...I cannot process...pain...the pain...all these souls, everything they have given to Him, to the Master...seething, burning, blackest sludge...knives, thousands of them, piercing, cutting away at my flesh.

I see not the others, but myself. It is me, there, there in the depths...stripping away everything that I am, everything that I was, everything that I could ever be. Shedding my humanity in layers, my skin peeling away, falling in strips to reveal my muscles, my organs, my flesh...flesh melting to join the mire below, melting away from my bones, leaving nothing but stark white skull and bones against a backdrop of the endlessness of eternity. Doused with the flame of Truth, the flame of Knowledge, the flame of Hatred and of Vengeance.

And now...now there is nothing left but a light...a light that shone from within the bones of rib, a light more dim than that of most mortals, yet still with the faded glow of life, of benevolence, of...of love. Dewa! The light is changing. The bones have fallen away, I am...it is my soul. It is me. I am fading. I am changing. I can feel the power grow. I can feel it even as I feel the scythe cut through me from pate to foot.

The pain...the light, what is happening? The light is turning away from white, it...it turns black. It is done. The pain...the pain...it is done...my soul...the Master has taken...Dewa, the pain, it is unbearable...no...I cannot...withstand...no...anguish...no...the pain...the pain!!! No!!!

Now suspended high above the abyss, held by nothing save the forces of Darkness...devoid of soul and, for a moment, of life itself...the ragdoll body of Belah Gaat turned slowly around as the clamor of demon hisses and shrieks, laughter and mirth filled the temple, ringing up through the roof and into a sky devoid of stars and Moon.

The Master, nothing more than a dark shadow in the midst of this melee of confusion and noise and death, hovered above the body for several moments. Two glowing reddish orbs appeared at the top of his misted form, with which he looked upon his newest servant.

"You will serve me well, my son," a cracked and booming voice declared. The very walls of the temple shook at its tenor.

The shadow leaned closer to Belah, then seemed to lay atop his body as it continued to float above the floor. And like water seeping into sand, so did the darkness seep into the body of a man who was no longer just a man. It filtered into his veins, into his heart and lungs, into his stomach and intestines, into his bones and muscle, into the marrow and indeed into each and every cell within.

Belah's eyes snapped open. For a moment he was conscious of the fact that he could not move or breathe. For mere seconds, he thought he had not survived the ritual. Then his body seized, muscles cramping uncontrollably, jerking and twisting like a puppet at the end of strings. He gasped in guttural roar, lungs screaming for air.

The Master...his Master...moved inside him, entwining itself within and churning even as spasms caused him to gasp and cry out each time they hit. This was more painful than any beating he had ever suffered at the hands of his father. More painful than the unforgettable moments in which he had watched his mother die. More painful than the first time Bles*chk*cao had possessed him. More painful than anything any man could ever imagine.

It seemed to go on forever. The demons danced and swirled about the room as the Master emerged from Belah and held his soul on high for all to see. They celebrated, singing in eerie hisses and clicks, droning and laughing as their conquered, still levitating above the abyss, fought to stay conscious. Sweat poured from his body in rivers. Every limb and muscle shook with exhaustion and exertion.

Empty. He felt...empty.

He could do nothing but shake uncontrollably as the Master and His clutch approached him. He could neither speak nor close his eyes. He could only stare into the glowing orbs and, in a stark moment of clarity, wonder what he had done.

"You are mine," the Master roared. "For all eternity, you are damned to this life you have chosen." Belah shivered and moaned, saliva leaking from his mouth, as the full impact of his loss threatened to make him scream.

"And now, I shall give you a new essence. My essence."

Belah could only watch as a dark, marble-like ball appeared in what seemed to be the Master's left hand. In the blink of an eye, a bolt of lightning exploded from the black orb into Belah's soul, held in the Master's right hand. The bolt then retracted and shot directly into Belah's chest.

Searing through him, the charge felt as though it would split his body into millions of pieces. Unable to withstand the excruciating pain of the moment any longer, Belah Gaat screamed.

And he screamed.

A low, guttural sound flowing from deep within, he cried out in agony, in despair, certain it would never end. Unrelenting torture, pain, misery. Dewa, will it ever stop, will it ever stop...

But it did.

As though no one but Belah had ever been inside the temple, the air around him was deathly silent. His last cry of pain faded slowly as electricity zapped through his body, dancing across his wet, conductive skin as though in joy over its newfound home. There was nothing to be heard now but his ragged, gasping breaths as he realized he was still suspended high above the floor.

One simple thought was all it took for him to slowly descend. As pleased as part of him tried to be about this newfound power, his body was battered and bruised and only suffering could be processed in his mind. When at last his feet touched the floor, he found he had no strength, and slowly lowered to the stone as a pitcher pours water onto a plate. He nearly melted into the floor, not a single muscle able to be used save those that twitched and jerked from time to time as they tried desperately to regain their mobility.

He was helpless. For the first and last time in his life, Belah Gaat was a helpless and broken man. He had to learn again, learn to regain his strength and use the power he could feel coursing through his veins. As he lay there, the pain began to subside. And then he felt her... Bles*chk*cao...she had come to him. He could not speak, could not address her, could not show her anything he had received. But he felt her invade him, possess him...felt her soothing him inside, moving through him.

And for the first time, he felt all her pleasures. Not just sex. That he had tasted many times. This was more than sex. Much, much more. As she carried him into the air, she caressed him everywhere...almost lovingly, as though she were still capable of an emotion she had not been able to feel in thousands of years. He felt her touch him in places he had never been touched, and came to realize what else he had gained from the sacrifice he had made.

At last when she had finished with him, when she had made the world explode and the mind see places it could not go alone, she left him for the depths of the abyss. He had never before felt ecstasy. And now that he had tasted it, he yearned for more.

So began his need for possession. So began his longing for unity with his demon. So began the habit that, over the years, would take another piece away from him...and another...and another...and another. But the union was indescribably perfect, full of more sensations than any mere mortal could ever hope to experience.

Over the years, it was something he found he could never get enough of. Possession. Complete, total, sexual, sensual, indescribable possession. Bles*chk*cao had come to him in his moment of weakness and given him a taste of what could be. And in the end, Belah Gaat decided that this was one habit he did not wish to break.

AKAL
(Reason)

"Everything has its season, everything has its time. Show me a reason and I'll soon show you a rhyme." --Pippin

Everything happens for a reason. Or so people say. Who knows if that's really true - after all, everything is an all-encompassing word. Can there truly be a reason for everything?

He didn't know. He didn't know his brother had watched his soul be taken. He didn't know his brother had watched the essence of Evil enter his body. He didn't know Meor Seong had seen the carnage the demons left in their wake. He didn't know until the next morning when he awoke cold and stiff on the hard stone floor of the upper sanctuary.

Bles*chk*cao came to him, awakening him with more pleasures of the flesh and mind. And then she told him. She told him Meor had seen. Belah cursed his half-brother and reached out with his mind. He would not allow the man to live, for he had seen that which he should not have seen. That made him a liability, and Belah allowed for none of these.

And so it was that he traveled to the mouth of the Rajang River to a tiny village where he commandeered a boat to take him across the South China Sea to Singapore at the southern tip of the Malay Peninsula. He lingered there long enough to spend one night in the best hotel suite the city had to offer. But he did not sleep. Instead, he meditated. He found his brother's mind and snuck into its deepest recesses. And he discovered that his intuition had been correct - Meor was on his way back to the village where he and Belah had been children together. Back to Kota Baharu.

Belah knew the villagers would not welcome a son of the Kyrano or Gaat households back with open arms, and could not discern the precise reason that Meor was choosing to return. No matter what he did, that part of his half-brother's mind was closed to him. And that infuriated Belah to no end. As a child of darkness, he had all the powers that came with the role, yet somehow his weaker half-brother was effectively blocking part of his mind. Belah knew the older man must have sought help in order to have the strength to do so.

And that's when it hit him. That must have been the reason he'd returned to Kota Baharu. He must be seeking assistance to strengthen himself against Belah, for he knew Belah was following him. At nearly four o'clock in the morning, Belah opened his eyes. Lips curled in a half-smirk, he laughed low and long. "There is nothing you can do to defeat me, brother. This meeting shall be our last, and I shall prevail."

Two hours later Belah found himself in Kuala Lumpur, where he visited a small shop he was familiar with. He purchased one gram of galangal root, the only sustenance he would require on the journey, and chartered a small two-seater plane which he himself flew north and east to a flat field five miles south of Kota Baharu. The remaining distance he would walk on foot.

Clad in black army boots, black leather pants and a black short-sleeved and skin-tight shirt, Belah trod through the jungle on a path he remembered from his days as a youth. He carried only the galangal root in his left pocket and a flask of water which hung from a black leather band slung over his shoulder and 'round his chest and back.

It took him an hour to make his way to the outskirts of Kota Baharu. As he'd suspected, the village was in an uproar. Every other word coming from every other mouth was Kyrano or Gaat or Meor or Radzi. Belah flinched slightly when he heard his paternal first name - a name he had not heard used by mortals in many years.

Hiding in a grove of trees near the elder's hut, Belah learned that Meor had indeed been at the village the previous day, and had unsuccessfully tried to clear his name. Though the elder was sympathetic, the people of the village were not, and drove him out of town just after dusk.

Belah retreated into the jungle where he found the clearing he had used to summon his first order demon the night his father had killed his mother. He sat upon a fallen tree and took a long drink of cool water from the flask. Then the jungle became silent as his eyes closed and he summoned Bles*chk*cao. "I must defeat Meor," he said to the voice inside his head. "And you must assist me."

"I cannot," she hissed in defiance.

"I order you to!"

"I cannot!" she cried as she left his body in one violent spasm. Air escaped through his clenched teeth as she so abruptly severed their connection.

"Explain this disobedience," he growled.

"I disobey my master because you must face Meor alone," her cracked voice responded. "This is your battle. It is not mine."

"Whatever battle I choose to send you into becomes your battle! How dare you disobey me!" Belah cried, rising to his feet atop the fallen log. "I will see that the Master causes great suffering to you! Now begone back to the depths of Hell! I shall deal with you later!"

And she was gone. Belah seethed. He vowed that as soon as he had killed his brother, he would see to it that Bles*chk*cao was taken care of properly. And permanently. Privately, though, he was glad that he'd be doing this alone. Brother against brother, as it should be. He picked up the flask and slung it 'round his shoulder and back once more. Closing his eyes, his mind reached out. His brother had not gone far. Perhaps half a night's journey and Belah would be upon him. Smiling as only he could, he continued on his way.

"Sleep well, Meor Seong," he whispered into the warm night air. "For you will not live to see the dawn."

After five hours of walking, the midnight hour was at hand as Belah approached a small clearing. In this clearing was a tiny one-man tent. In front of the tent was a small fire, and sitting next to the fire cross-legged and deep in meditation was none other than Meor Seong Kyrano. Meor's eyes opened as he raised his head and looked into Belah's dark, glittering eyes.

"I knew you were near," Meor said simply.

"Then you must also know it is time for you to die," Belah replied as he came to stand on the other side of the fire.

"Why did you do it?" Meor asked softly, rising to his feet. "Why did you sacrifice your soul to the demons?"

"My reasons are none of your concern. Why were you there?"

"I felt what you were going to do. You were going to give your soul away. You were going to dishonor our mother."

Belah seethed. "I do not dishonor her! It was she who taught me the ways of magick, brother."

"You loved her. The one person in this world who reached into your cold heart was our mother. She was of goodness and light. How can you say this does not dishonor her?"

Belah growled as he lifted the flask over his head and off his shoulder and threw it to the jungle floor. He took the galangal root from his pocket and dipped his forefinger and thumb into the powder. The pinch of root he took, he placed onto his tongue. Then he spoke. "I was born to rule this planet, Meor, and you know it. You have known of my destiny since I was born. You have looked upon me with eyes of fear from the time I could walk. How can you question Destiny? How can you not believe in Fate?"

"Our destinies can be changed, Radzi--"

"Do not call me that!"

Meor almost felt like smiling. So, after all, there was something that bothered his half-brother. Instead, he continued. "Destiny is not written in stone. You could have chosen not to sacrifice yourself."

"And you thought to stop me, which is why you were there."

"Yes," Meor replied, bowing his head. "But I was too late."

"You see? It was my destiny to take this path. You could not stop me because you were not to do so!"

"What can it give you that is more important than that which makes you whole?"

"Power, dear brother. Something you can never understand. Power that courses through my veins as though it were part of my blood itself. Power to seduce with but one look. Power to take all that I desire." As he spoke, his voice rose in fever and pitch as visions of supremacy filled his mind. "Power to rule the world. Power...to bring my enemies to their knees."

Meor could only shake his head in sadness. "You will not succeed, Son of Gaat. Not as long as I am breathing."

Belah laughed - a cold, cruel sound. "I believe I shall be taking care of that this night." Meor jumped back from the fire just as Belah charged over it. He landed directly in front of his brother. "You are no match for me."

"The power of light shall forever hold darkness at bay."

Belah roared and lashed out with his right hand, catching the left side of Kyrano's face in a flat-handed chop and felling him. Meor rolled out of the way as Belah attempted to kick him. With the gracefulness of a cat, Meor leapt to his feet, hands held in front of him, ready to take his brother on. Belah assumed a similar stance.

"I am stronger than you, Meor. Surely my size alone must tell you that."

"I do not use size and physical strength to defeat my foes," Meor replied softly.

"Then you shall die!" Belah crowed, moving in.

The battle was fierce. Belah landed hit after after hit, bruising and splitting his brother's skin. Meor struck with a stealth borne of years of training. Though Meor matched his half-brother nearly blow for blow, it was clear who the winner would be as they circled and struck, blocked and kicked, a twisted display of martial arts mastery between two who had been born to the same mother, but were not of the same blood.

Belah could sense his brother was holding back, and it angered him. He asked him why, asked him what was keeping him from utilizing his fullest potential against him. "This is not a true fight to the death," he said menacingly.

Meor's hands fell to his sides and he looked down at the ground. "It is true I knew from the time you born that you were from Evil, of Evil and would forever be Evil." He closed his eyes for a moment and raised his head. His eyes locked with Belah's. "But still I mourn your soul. This loss...your loss...is more than I can bear."

Belah frowned, his hands in mid-air as though still ready to strike. "Why would you mourn a loss that is not your own?"

"Because unlike you, my brother, my heart and soul will always be my own. And since I witnessed your deed, this heart has been broken with sadness and regret. Sadness that you felt the need to sacrifice yourself and regret that I was unable to stop you from making a terrible mistake."

"I have made no mistakes. This is my life as it was meant to be. You know it as well as I."

Meor dabbed at the trickle of blood coming from his cut lower lip. "It is not too late, Radzi Belah. My brother." He took one step closer to the larger man. "Give up the union with your demon master. Come back with me. This act is not irreversible. You know that. We can retrieve your soul. But only together. And only if you wish it so."

As Meor reached his hand out and placed it on Belah's arm, he saw for a fraction of a second a flicker of something in Belah's eyes - regret, perhaps? Longing? Indecision? Meor could not tell. "Even if you were to die in the process of regaining your soul, it would be a better fate for your soul to cease existence than to live in this way."

"I cannot die, my brother. I will never die. I belong to the Master now."

Once more Meor saw something in Belah's eyes. What could it be? Could Meor actually convince Belah to give this up? Whatever it was he saw, he did not have the chance to ponder it. In one swift move, Belah swung his leg out and took Meor's feet from beneath him, using the arm Meor had touched to land what seemed to be a deadly blow to his brother's head.

Meor did not move. Belah looked down at him. Bile rose in his throat but he quickly pushed it down. He didn't like the feeling he was having. Obviously some force of good was attempting to sway him from doing what he knew he must. There lay his half-brother defenseless, just waiting for death to take him. One more blow and he would be gone.

Belah whirled around, his back to his fallen brother, and raised his arms to the heavens. "I summon thee, Demon of Darkness, She who dwells far below. I have defeated my enemy with strength of my own limbs. You must come to me now!"

Kyrano moaned and moved his head as he tried to open his eyes. Why was he still alive? Why had Radzi not finished him? Then he heard an awful sound that took him back to that night in his brother's temple - the screeching, howling hiss of a demon rising. He could hear Radzi's cry of joy as the demon neared him. It took every last bit of strength within him, but Meor managed to pull himself to unsteady feet. Reaching into his robes of darkest blue, he pulled forth a sacred dagger which had been blessed by the powers of Light some days past.

Raising the dagger high above his head, Meor prayed for strength and guidance to do the only thing he felt could be done under the circumstances. He had to kill his half-brother. He had no choice. There would be much pain and suffering to come if he did not. Dizziness caused him to wobble, but he managed to gather every last ounce of his will and launch himself toward his brother's back.

The point of the dagger came nearer and nearer Belah's body as Meor sailed through the air. When it was mere inches away, however, his resolve failed. Meor let out a great cry of anguish and dropped the dagger to the ground. He simply could not kill. His body, now in motion, could not be stopped and he landed on Belah's back, where he wrapped his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist.

At that exact moment, Blesh*chk*cao rose from the earth and entered Belah through his chest. Neither she nor Belah had counted on Meor’s body being against his brother's, and in an instant the demon tore through its master and straight into the unsuspecting Meor. The older man screamed in agony. He had never felt the presence of a demon within, and the pain and torture were almost too much for his weakened body and mind to handle. Belah whirled around, tossing his brother off his back. Meor was stiff as he stood in front of Belah, his body trembling, his eyes wide. Sweat poured from his body as he fought to rid himself of the evil his brother had summoned.

"I order you to leave him now!" Belah cried, his anger and ire at full force. "Leave him! I command you!"

Bles*chk*cao, though enjoying the torment it was inflicting upon a vessel of Light, could not disobey its master. It rose up through Meor's pelvis, his stomach, his chest, his neck...up through his face where it shot out of his forehead and right into Belah's.

But something went wrong. Terribly wrong. The demon moved so quickly that somehow it left something behind. Something within Meor Kyrano's mind...a small piece of it which, now that it had been seperated from its entity, could not be retrieved. Belah shook with fury as Meor sank to the jungle floor in a heap. He looked down upon his brother and realized he could see into his mind with more clarity than ever before. Slowly his fury abated as Bles*chk*cao swirled inside of him.

"I have lost a piece of myself to your enemy," it hissed.

"He must now die," Belah replied as he picked up the dagger Meor had dropped.

"No," the demon said. "He will now be of greater use to you. You must allow him to live."

"No!" Belah argued. "He is a liability."

"No longer. No longer a liability. You can use this link I have created for you."

Suddenly Belah became interested. "How?"

"Think, Radzi, think. You can get information from him in the future. He will provide you with something you would not otherwise have. He will be inside that which you desire the most. He will assist you. Unwillingly."

Belah considered her words carefully. She made a good point. Whatever it was that had happened, however it was that a piece of the demon had been left behind in his half-brother, it could be used to his great advantage. And Bles*chk*cao seemed to know something about the future - seemed to be telling him he would need Meor for some reason down the line.

And so Radzi Belah Gaat let the dagger fall from his hand. It landed next to his brother's body. Belah looked down at him one last time. "You have not heard the last from me, my fallen foe. Do not think you have rid yourself of the brother you so despise. The day will come when you and I shall meet again." He walked to the edge of the clearing, then turned to where Meor was beginning to stir. "Farewell, brother," he spat. Then, a small, evil smile gracing his face, he disappeared into the thick overgrown jungle, and into the night.

Everything has it's season. Everything has its time. Good. Evil. Demons. White magick. Everything.

And everything happens for a reason. Belah journeyed away from his sacred temple intent upon destroying his half-brother. But in the end, he did not. Be it Destiny, Fate or something much less omniscient, Meor Seong Kyrano had lived to see another day. But the reason he had done so would not become clear until many years later.

 

GHAIRAH
(Passion)

It might be said that passion is the root of all evil. It could also be argued, however, that evil is the root of all passion. Passion for something implies a deep-seated desire...passion means that you want something so fiercely that it becomes all-consuming. At times, one would suppose, the passion may be pure. But in many cases it is not. Perhaps it can be spurred on by wanting that which another has, whether it is to hurt them or for simple physical age-old reasons of lust.

Whatever the driving force of a passion, it can become overwhelming, both to the one feeling it and to the one on the receiving end. And like it or not, passion can sometimes kill.

Five years passed. Belah purchased slave after slave so that they numbered by this time in the hundreds. From each of them he extracted a verbal promise that their souls belonged to him, to do with as he pleased. In that way, he could continue appeasing his demon master and legions of demonic followers without worry. He worked at learning more about the dark power he possessed, how to use the skills and supernatural abilities it gave him. Belah continued to enjoy unholy unions with his demon as well as other lesser ones. He was fulfilling his destiny, and had almost everything he wanted.

He had been keeping tabs on his brother. Meor had married, a beautiful American woman named Serena. Her hair was darkish blonde, her eyes large and blue. Her skin, though not porcelain, was fair; her features almost noble. Meor had met Serena in the States and they had kept in contact for a year as he traveled abroad. Finally Serena, for reasons Belah had yet to determine, traveled to India, where Meor was living at the time. The two were married and soon a child was on the way.

Belah became very interested not only in Serena, whom he found most alluring, but in the baby she carried in her womb. He knew instinctively it was a girl, and began thinking of ways in which he could use his infant niece to his advantage. He was nothing if not an opportunist, and a child of his half-brother could so easily be used to manipulate him.

And then there was Serena herself. The more Belah watched her through his brother's eyes, the more his passion for her grew; partly because she belonged to his sworn enemy, and partly because he was still physically a man, and she was an exquisite specimen of womanhood. And she was a manipulative one as well. Serena used men like most women used handkerchiefs - she used them and used them before tossing them into the wash, leaving them there for the next poor woman who came along.

It was during Serena's pregnancy that Belah discovered, with no small amount of surprise, that his father had been holding out on him, his mother and everyone he knew in the years before his death. The senior Gaat had become involved in heavy black market trading schemes between Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia and the United States when Belah had been but nine or ten years of age. Because of these liaisons, during a slave-buying trip to Singapore, Belah found himself having dinner with one of his father's old partners.

The partner truly had little intention of giving Belah anything. His aim was to get his ex-affiliate's son, who by now was a rich and powerful man in his own right, to use his considerable connections and wealth to further strengthen his illegal business. Belah wanted none of it. He knew such a partnership would be dangerous for him at best, potentially unprofitable at worst. He declined the man's invitation, only to find himself at the business end of several automatic weapons upon leaving the restaurant.

It took less than three minutes for Belah to dispose of the man's thugs and get him to promise he would turn over all assets to Belah within the hour. By the time Belah Gaat left Singapore, he not only had sixty-five more slaves, he had ten million more dollars for his coffer. Highly pleased with himself, the next time he meditated upon his brother Meor, he discovered him in the middle of an argument with the six-months pregnant Serena.

She argued with him for hours. Apparently she had known of the black market dealings of Meor's stepfather. That was one reason she had married him in the first place - not only existing wealth, but anticipation of reaches beyond her wildest dreams. She had researched other avenues of wealth and discovered, somehow or other, that Gaat's ex-partner had lost everything to Belah himself, a fact which she threw in Meor's face and chided him for. She urged him to go after his half of the money, stating it was rightfully his.

Belah liked this woman.

But Meor Seong was not of the same blood. He did not desire riches or fortunes. He had inherited it, but had not desired it. His wish was for a simple life, spent perfecting his skills and, now, protecting himself and his family. Serena railed that if Meor would not see Belah about the money, then she would. Meor was able to convince her to wait until after their daughter was born, but he knew deep down in his heart that his daughter's birth would signal the end of his marriage.

And Belah's eyes nearly glowed with glee. The child would be born in only three months. Knowing what he did of Serena, he doubted the witch would wait long before seeking him out. And when she did, he would be waiting.

Belah awoke at two o'clock in the morning. He had allowed his connection with Meor to remain open these last few days because Serena's due date was drawing near. And now, he felt activity. The time had come. Serena was in labor. Belah opened a window through which he could look as though he were Meor himself. And he waited. One hour passed. Two hours. Belah was in no hurry. Three hours. Four. Six. Nine. Eleven.

And then the doctor entered the room. It was time for Serena to deliver. Belah lay on his bed, closed his eyes and let his mind clear. Then he focused on one thing: his niece's birthplace - the hospital in Sri Lanka. He felt himself rise above his body and was soon looking down upon it from high in the air. All at once he found himself speeding through time and space so fast he couldn't make heads or tails of what he was passing.

He enjoyed astral projection very much. It was a freeing sensation, and it enabled him to go anywhere he wanted, be near anyone he wished to be near. It had afforded him many opportunities for blackmail, for gaining secrets and other ways of increasing his wealth and power. Yes, it was definitely one of his favorite tools. Suddenly he found himself hovering above and just behind his half-brother, who was seated on a chair next a hospital bed. In the bed lay Serena, looking decidedly unkempt but no less beautiful than always.

One nurse stood at the other side of the bed, coaching Serena through the ritual of childbirth while the doctor waited between her raised legs. The tiny, dark-haired head of his niece was just beginning to crown. Nearly as soon as Belah's spirit arrived, Meor gasped and rose to his feet. He could see him. He could see him as clearly as if he were actually there. But no one else in the room could. Meor couldn't risk speaking to his brother now. Not when his daughter was about to be born.

Sick in his heart, Meor turned back and grasped his wife's hand as the baby's head emerged. This was soon followed by the rest of her tiny, beautifully perfect body. The doctor allowed Meor to cut the umbilical cord and cleaned the baby girl before placing her on her mother's chest. "She is so sweet, Meor," Serena said softly, her eyes full of wonder at the tiny life before her. "So very sweet. What is the word for sweet in Malay?"

Belah laughed. "Tin-Tin," he said, and watched with glee as his brother's back stiffened.

"Tin-Tin," Meor said so softly Serena almost couldn't hear him over the baby's cries.

"I like that. It's different. I think I'll call her Tin-Tin. Tin-Tin for sweet and as her paternal name. And Noel, after my mother, and as her maternal name. Tin-Tin Noel Kyrano. Welcome to the world, little one."

The spirit of the innocent baby's uncle rose above the bed to get a better look. She was small and helpless now, but she was valuable. Meor had made a grave mistake conceiving a child. Belah turned to face his brother and said, "Guard her well, Meor Seong. Protect her if you can."

Meor laid a hand on his daughter's back and glared up into his brother's eyes. Belah looked at his niece once more. "Goodbye, Tin-Tin. We shall meet again." And then he was gone.

Watching as the nurse took his daughter to weigh and swaddle her, tears filled Meor's eyes - tears which his wife, the nurse and the doctor mistook for the joys of new fatherhood - but tears that actually resulted from knowing his daughter was not safe. She had never been safe, he realized, from the moment she was conceived. He had been a fool to think his life could be lived normally, that he could have the family he had always wanted. He couldn't. He shouldn't have. Not with a half-brother as powerful and evil as Radzi Belah.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as the nurse handed Tin-Tin to him. He looked into half-closed eyes and a tiny mouth that mimicked and practiced at sucking on a tiny thumb. "My daughter," he said softly so the others could not hear. "I will do all in my power to protect you. All that I am, I will use to that end. Tin-Tin...my child...will you ever forgive me for bringing you into this life?" He handed Tin-Tin to her mother and silently left the room.

Will I ever forgive myself?

It had been before Serena had become pregnant when Belah went after Meor's fortune - one he owned by birthright, as one son in a long line of princes. Indirectly, through his vast contacts in Malaysia and abroad, he’d managed to take control of Meor's assets and accounts. One by one, he took every penny that belonged to his half-brother. Everything gone in less than a year. By the time Meor realized what was happening, just months after Tin-Tin's birth, it was too late. He had been tricked, and lost his entire inheritance.

Belah had been right about Serena. His niece was just barely nine months of age when one of his servants brought a message from the nearest village. Serena Kyrano requested an audience with him at his earliest convenience. He laughed as he read the message. Laughed and laughed. Though Serena had not truly loved Meor, his unfortunate brother had always loved her deeply. But when the money disappeared, so did his wife. She longed for the riches she had grown used to. And so she had sent the message to her brother-in-law.

This was the perfect opportunity for Belah to strike out at his enemy. The perfect opportunity to complete his revenge against the man who had been a thorn in his side since he had first learned the ways of magick. He would have Serena for his own, and he would watch his brother suffer for the rest of his life.

She came to the temple three days later, arriving in a helijet at a small village twenty miles away. She was met by two of Belah's guards, who ferried her the remaining distance in a four-wheel off-road vehicle. Belah knew she'd spent the last of what had been left of Meor's money on that helijet ride, fully believing she'd be a wealthy woman soon.

He spent the first day wining and dining her, making her envious of the vast wealth so prominently on display within the walls of his temple. Brutality may have sometimes been the means to his ends, but Belah was nothing if not sophisticated and, when necessary, rather charming. It didn't take long for Serena to notice his body, either. Belah was not overly tall, but at six feet, one inch, he was not a small man, and the power that dwelt within drew women like moths to a flame. Perfectly sculpted muscles adorned his large frame. Broad shoulders tapered to washboard abs, on down to chiseled legs, rippling with strength and power.

Belah could read Serena almost as easily as a book. She had decided by Day 2 that she would abandon her husband in favor of his half-brother, who could give her everything she had ever wanted, everything she had desired from the time she was young. Male slaves would be at her beck and call whenever Belah could not satisfy her, and she would have more money than she could spend in a lifetime.

Even as her passion for Belah and his wealth grew, his plans unfolded for Serena's future. He felt his brother's heart was heavy. Soon, his first attack against Meor since they parted ways in the jungles of Malaysia would begin.

Serena thought to seduce and dominate Radzi Belah Gaat for her own personal gain, but still there was nagging doubt about leaving her husband and child. For his part, Belah sought to own Serena Kyrano. But in order to do so completely, even though he had slept with her the night before, he knew he had to show her the pleasures he could give her that no other man, not her husband or any of her lovers, could ever offer. He knew that would seal the deal. She would be his.

And so it was on the sixth night since her arrival that five female slaves bathed Serena in rose-scented bath waters. They carefully washed and combed her long, dark blonde hair. Such beauty required little enhancement save the flowing white robe of silk and sheer material the women adorned her with. Feet bare, Serena shivered from the slight chill in the air, wondering for only a moment as to why it should be cold in the heat of the jungle when before it had not been so.

One slave girl led Serena up the long stone staircase to the right side of the sanctuary on the main floor. Up and up they went, step by step. When at last they reached the top, the girl bowed and scurried back down as though frightened. Serena wondered what awaited her this night - wondered what was on this mysterious second floor which she had not yet seen.

Blazing torches lined the walls, casting dancing shadows throughout the room. She took a few more steps and gasped when she saw the raised altar in the room's center. There were seven manservants in attendance, all of them completely naked. Given what she had witnessed in her handful of days within the temple, this did not surprise Serena in the least. Four of the men stood at each of the four corners of the altar on the floor. Two were at the western and eastern sides and the seventh stood atop the altar facing her direction.

She didn't see Belah anywhere. The man at the top of the altar beckoned her forward. Incense filled the air, mixing jasmine and sandalwood, rose and musk and a variety of scents Serena couldn't place. She walked across the cold stone floor, wondering what this was all about. She took the seven steps up to the altar top and stared into what she could only describe as an abyss. It was dark and endless, but she swore she could hear strange sounds coming from within. She looked up at the naked manservant, who was himself an excellent specimen of manhood, but he did not look back.

What was going on here? What was this all about? Meor had told her over and over again that his half-brother was the very essence of Evil, that he was a dangerous and heartless man. Yet Serena had never been afraid, for her confidence in her own charms and wiles far outweighed anything any man in her experience could have tried.

But she had never before encountered a man such as Belah Gaat. And now the naked men, the torches, the incense...and the strange crevasse in the floor, splitting what looked like the largest altar she had ever seen right down the middle. What could it mean? What did Belah have in store for her? Some of his magick tricks? Meor had told her of Belah's affinity for black magick. She had seen some of her husband's white magick and found it tiresome and dull. She didn't expect much more from the man she intended to seduce into marriage before the night was through.

Belah ascended to the second floor and stole up to the altar. He had to admit Serena looked exquisite. This union he was planning would indeed bring great pleasure this night. He walked up the steps until he was standing just behind her. Reaching a hand out, he laid it on her arm. She started and whirled to face him.

"Belah! You surprised me!"

"You would do well to watch your back in this place," he replied, smiling so as to put her off guard regardless the words he chose to use.

"Watch my back?" she echoed, her voice sultry. "Whatever for, Belah? You don't frighten me."

He gave her a knowing look and came to stand next to her on the raised altar. "Perhaps I should." She frowned, but didn't have a clue what he was talking about. It was only when he raised his hands in the air and the men surrounding them began to hum that an uneasy feeling grew in the pit of her stomach.

"What are you doing?"

"Silence!" he growled. She was taken aback, but far too curious to run. And then he began to sing in a way she had never heard a man sing before. His bass tones filled the chamber, rumbling through her like an earth tremor. She watched his face and sensed a change in him. Suddenly he wasn't the same man she had gotten to know these past few days. Not the same man whose bed she'd shared. He was somehow...different. “Mahir, kebanyakan kudus mahir akan Kegelapan. Mahir akan hasrat dan ghairah. Mahir akan kehalobaan dan ganda."

She shuddered. Though she had never bothered to learn her husband's native Malay, she knew the word "mahir" meant "master." Perhaps her desire for riches did not warrant whatever she was about to witness. Perhaps this was not a good place to be. For the first time, she doubted herself for coming here, to this place deep within the jungles of Malaysia, trusting the man her husband had called the seed of Evil.

Belah could sense her thoughts, sense her hesitation. But setting her emotions at ease was neither his forte nor his desire. All he wanted to do was feel his demon within him, and share that experience with this woman of beauty, share it to increase his own pleasure. To hell with what it did or didn't do for her. As Serena was soon to find out, Radzi Belah Gaat cared for no one but himself.

The heat within his body grew even as room temperature dropped drastically. Belah was vaguely aware of Serena shivering next to him, but as the humming rose to chanting and the chanting rose in volume to burst through the open roof into a starless sky, his only thoughts were of his latest demonic triumph. Prt*lan*chu was a mostly male demon who rarely took the female form when he formed at all. Bles*chk*cao had been banished after leaving a piece of herself behind inside Meor. The Master's gift to Belah in return for taking her away was Prt*lan*chu.

And with him, Belah had found newer heights of pleasure such as he had never before experienced. He wanted that again. He wanted that now. And he wanted it while having sex with Serena. His passion for her body combined with his passion for what only a demon could give him. Those passions together made him more powerful than he had ever been. At the age of twenty-six he was at the height of his sexual fervor and the powers of darkness only made it stronger, deeper and harder to stop.

"What's going on?" Serena asked when Belah stopped singing, her voice louder to rise above the song of the other men. "Who are these seven?"

Belah, his eyes lit so brightly they almost seemed to glow, turned to face her. "The One known by many names - to me, Sangkancil, to you, Satan - has seven sons. Each of these men represents one of the Seven, and are meant as sacrifices for my Master."

Serena visibly blanched. "Your master?"

Belah grinned...an evil, frightening sight at best. "Yes. My Master is of the highest order among the seven sons of Sangkancil. He is the most powerful of them all. His followers number in the tens of thousands. The Master's army will come this night to take the seven virgin men as an offering in exchange for what is to occur."

"Belah?" Serena said, her voice trembling. "What exactly is going to occur?"

At that moment, the men stopped singing. There was a crackling and hissing sound coming from the abyss. Serena looked down and saw that instead of being dark, it was lit from below, fiery reds and oranges and whites. What looked to be flames began to creep upwards, then small blurs of darkness appeared far, far below. As she watched, her eyes grew wider as the blurs grew closer and larger. Up and up they came, faster and faster until at last one was close enough for her to see it.

Serena screamed.

The winged beast rose from the depths in a hail of sparks and balls of fire. Its skin was dark gray and leathery. Not a single strand of hair adorned its body. Its eyes were black as coal, its mouth large, grimacing, and full of jagged teeth. Horns sat upon its head and its fingers and toes were long, pointed and clawed. This was, by far, the most frightening, horrid creature Serena had ever encountered. At last it became clear to her that her husband had been right. Belah was an evil man, and one not to be trifled with. For the forces of Darkness were with him.

The demon approached the man standing across the abyss from Belah and Serena, grabbed him in his claws and carried him away into the night. The man's terrified screams deafened the woman who stood transfixed, immobilized by fear. Belah took her hand and raised it along with his up toward the heavens. More demons came forth, each similar to the first but with their own recognizable differences, so as to be distinguishable from one another. Belah began to chant once more.

As she watched, a demon far larger than any to come before rose slowly from the abyss. It snarled at Serena, who was too scared to scream, too scared to move. Then it turned its attention to its human master, who had opened his eyes and looked like someone who was about to experience something long-awaited, something far more pleasurable than any mind could ever imagine.

"Enter me," Belah commanded.

The demon growled fiercely, then closed its eyes and threw its head back, letting out one long, loud, gutteral roar that rocked the temple to its core. Right in front of them, it suddenly vanished, leaving behind only a black ghostly form with red, glowing eyes. It hissed and darted forward, slamming into Belah's body full-force. Serena's right arm, hand still held firmly in Belah's, felt as though it were being electrocuted. Vibrations rumbled through her body and she shook as though plagued by seizure.

White robes whipping around her in a breeze that came from nowhere, Serena could hear the other men screaming around her, and heard those cries become more faint as the demons carried their prizes away into the night. When she looked at Belah's face, he seemed to be both far away and somehow watching something that was going on inside his own body at the same time. His face bore a look of pure rapture as his body trembled. She looked down at evident arousal and tried to pull away. But his hold on her was strong. She wasn't going anywhere.

Slowly...slowly...Belah's body began to rise. Soon his feet were no longer touching the floor. Soft moans were the only sounds he made. Serena continued trying to pull away, trying to escape something she did not understand. But as he rose into the air, he took her with him. Soon they were suspended high above the chasm. Serena could feel the heat on her bare feet. As much as she wished she could flee, she somehow sensed that if she let go Belah's hand, she would fall to her death.

And so she watched as he opened his eyes, pulling her around to hover in front of him. He grasped her other hand as well, and a current flowed between them like nothing she had ever felt. To her surprise, it felt good. Something seemed to move inside her, stirring her, awakening senses she never knew she had. In her mind she could see herself naked, and without a movement her robes simply fell away from her body, fluttering slowly into the abyss and out of sight. Belah's clothing was soon to follow. She barely noticed as it, too, drifted from his body and fell below.

He pulled her to him and kissed her so fiercely that blood trickled down from the corner of her mouth. She was taken. She was possessed. Her mind was not her own, nor were her actions. He inserted himself into her so hard that they tumbled end over end twice from the force. As he ravaged her body with his, he was too far gone into his special place of ecstasy to notice the change.

First her hands went limp in his. He did not feel it. Then her lips stopped moving beneath his. He could not tell. He slammed into her time after time after time, the glorious feelings and images stirring within his mind and body causing him to cry out in pure, unadulterated joy. When at last her entire body ceased movement, he was already reaching his climax, rising far above and beyond the earthly plane to a place sought by so many, known by so few.

It was only as he began to slide down from this peak, only as Prt*lan*chu left him through the top of his head, that he realized something was wrong with the woman he had wanted to share this experience. His body shaking, his mind only half-returned, Belah released her hands and watched without feeling as she fell to the floor face-down with a thud, her head resting on one side of the narrowest part of the abyss, her pelvis and legs on the other side.

Possession had been too much for her. She had not been prepared, which in and of itself was no cause for holding back, but her soul and character obviously hadn't the constitution he'd thought. Though the heat coming from below would have been searing, she did not move. He had achieved his pleasure, he had traveled to the furthest reaches of the unknown...he was sated. But she? She was dead.

Belah snorted in disgust at the ravaged body of Serena Kyrano lying across the chasm. There hadn't yet been a human counterpart who could withstand the pleasures given by creatures of the night. In spite of the high hopes he'd had, it looked like this one, the mother of his niece, was no different. "Weak woman!" he spat as he floated away.

Was there no one who could match him in these times of exquisite unity with the unholy legions at his command? Was there not a single being upon the earth who could share the pleasures of the flesh with the pleasures of the mind? Belah Gaat was not looking for a mate. He was looking for an equal. Male or female, it did not matter, though in his realm of existence women were far less robust than men.

He knew his greatest passion had yet to be realized. And he wondered that night in the silence of his rooms, was that yet another prize he had forfeited the night he gave his soul to the Master? Would he spend this life searching in vain for one he could not have? Was it his destiny to never know complete fulfillment with another human being?

He rolled on his side and opened his eyes, watching the shadowy form that shared his bed. You forget, Radzi, the shadow hissed. You are no longer human.

Passion can consume you to the point of no return. Passion for things can lead to false passion for people. And false passion for people never ends well. One man's passion can so far outweigh sensibilities and thought that he takes away from himself that which he most desires. And man is, at the end, left wanting. To temper your passion is to have learned your lesson well. But to allow it to forever consume you, regardless the cost, can only lead to unhappiness.

But such is the way of man.

 

HASRAT
(Desire)

To want. To long for. To crave. To yearn for something or someone that pleases you. Man will sometimes go to any lengths to possess the object he craves. It does not matter who gets in his way. It does not matter who is hurt in the process. As long as he fulfills his deepest desires, man seems to be happy. But not everything is as it seems.

Meor knew his wife was dead. As the years passed, he could never tell Tin-Tin how it had really happened. She didn't need to know the awful truth. Instead, his story was that she had died in the great floods that plagued India before Tin-Tin was a year old. He spoke with sadness when she would ask after Serena, sadness that her mother had betrayed them both, and that his half-brother had taken her from them so easily.

That she had left them with nary a thought did not surprise Meor. She was born of a wealthy family and he knew deep down she had only married him for the riches he was to inherit as one in a long line of princes. When the money left, so did she.

His daughter grew, blossoming and flourishing in a small village called Khorugh in Tajikistan, very near the border of Afghanistan. He was hiding. Hiding from his half-brother. Hiding to protect his daughter from the evil she didn't know existed. And as far as Meor was concerned, it would stay that way.

However, as careful as he'd been, as much as he had worked to erect a wall between his mind and that of his brother, Meor soon discovered that the best laid plans of mice and men do so oft go awry. He awoke in the wee hours of the morning of Tin-Tin's tenth birthday. Awoke to a feeling of dread. And he knew exactly what was causing that feeling.

He was there. Radzi Belah had found them. Meor stole through his darkened home to Tin-Tin's bedroom. When he reached out to open the door, he found the knob glowing bright red, and so hot he couldn't even touch it. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach. His brother was in there. With his daughter. Anger and fear rose within him, and he summoned the forces of Light from every corner of the universe, begging and pleading for his daughter's safety and the expulsion of her demonic uncle.

Meor could feel the darkness threaten to overwhelm him, but he stood his ground as white magickal beings entered his body, filling him with their power. Suddenly the door was blown off its hinges as a great wind whipped through the home, threatening to overturn all that resided within its walls. Belah emerged from the bedroom, his young niece in his arms. Meor saw that she was unconscious, but unharmed. It infuriated him that Belah had her, and he launched an attack of wills at his brother.

Demon fought seraph. Darkness fought Light. The powers of Evil were hard-pressed to defeat the powers of Good. Meor Kyrano fought the fiercest battle of his life, struggling to wrench his child from the arms of her captor. Lightning flashed and thunder roared as each man, possessed of an opposite force, attacked one another time and again.

In one final effort, Meor hurled one of the seraphs from his chest and straight into his brother's. Belah's demon emerged from his body with a loud hiss and cry of pain, and Meor saw his chance. He darted forward, ripped Tin-Tin from Belah's arms, and ran like the wind. Belah was left alone to force the seraph from his body, a painfully excruciating process for one who has no soul. By the time he and his Prt*lan*chu succeeded, Meor Seong and Tin-Tin were long gone. Belah had lost this battle. But it would not be long until his next attack upon his brother - an attack designed to gain everything he had ever desired.

Belah Gaat, now well-known throughout the world as arch-criminal "The Hood" thanks to his ability to disguise himself perfectly, bided his time. He had more than any man in the world: the finest possessions; nearly a thousand slaves upon which he could live out every fantasy and evil known to man; power and abilities beyond the imagination; and the highest forms of technology ever invented.

Well, almost the highest.

He decided he needed more. In order to fulfill his destiny and take over the world, he would need high-tech firepower. He therefore went on a worldwide search to find the best and brightest minds of science the Earth had to offer. It was in England during these years of searching that he discovered a teenager who called himself Hiram Hackenbacker. The young man was, to put it simply, a geek.

But as Belah sat disguised in the lecture hall at Cambridge University listening to the man-child stammer through his presentation, he realized that the mind behind those horn-rimmed glasses was nothing short of the greatest genius ever to live. He tried twice to kidnap the scientist, but his plans were thwarted both times. Afterwards, the man went underground, and no matter what he did, Belah could not find him. It would not be until four years later that he'd discover this genius again. And the technology he sought would be within his reach at last.

Belah had been in frequent mental contact with his brother - strengthening his ability to break through the barrier Meor had so expertly designed after his failed attempt to kidnap his niece. Slowly, piece by piece, he gained more and more access to Meor's mind.

But the only way in which he could completely break through was by somehow bringing his brother to life within his temple. And so he sent for the finest sculptor in Malaysia, and accompanied the man to Qatar, a peninsular country off Saudi Arabia. Together they found both his half-brother and his niece ten miles south of the coastal city of Al-Khawr. Once again, Meor had tried to hide. Once again, he had failed.

He sensed that Belah was near, and was mystified when he did not attack, but remained nearby for less than a day before retreating. Meor feared greatly for his daughter's life, and did the only thing he felt he could - Tin-Tin at his side, he traveled to the capital city of Doha and placed a vidphone call to a man he had met only two years before on a tiny island off the southern coast of Myanmar in the middle of the Mergui Archipelago group of islands. A man who had been in need, and had found care and comfort with Meor and his daughter. A man who was great and influential. A man of goodness and light.

The man's name was Jefferson Tracy.

Within six months, the dais in the center of the temple's great room held a darkened bronze statue in the likeness of Belah’s half-brother, whom he had taken to calling by the name of his father's house, Kyrano. He found that putting his brother's paternal and maternal given names out of his mind desensitized him to the blood they shared, and made his task of reaching Kyrano's mind that much less arduous.

Kyrano had agreed to come under the protective wing of Jeff Tracy in exchange for running the house and grounds of the new Tracy home. But try as he might, Belah could not discern the location of this home. During one night of extreme duress, however, Kyrano revealed a secret to Belah that would ignite a desire so deep within his being it would consume his life ever after.

Jeff Tracy, the billionaire who nearly rivaled Belah in his wealth, and his five sons, who had disappeared from public life, together with the genius who had almost belonged to Belah himself, had formed an organization called International Rescue. Their purpose: to save lives where local rescue teams could not. Philanthropy disgusted Belah to no end.

It was only when Kyrano revealed how International Rescue was going to do so that Belah realized his dreams were now within reach. They had a fleet of the most sophisticated, technologically advanced machines known to man. The craft were years ahead of their time, using power sources, metals and intricate, top-secret designs and mechanisms that hadn't even been invented. Belah's time had come. Victory was near. Soon he would rule the world, and all those who dwelt therein. All he had to do was wait for International Rescue to become operational.

His wait, though it seemed interminable, was not a long one.

Week after week, Belah mentally attacked his half-brother. Week after week, he was told the organization was not yet ready. Then, frustrated at his lack of progress, Belah struck yet again. This time, Kyrano reported that International Rescue was ready to start operating at a moment's notice.

Ready. They were ready. Now all Belah had to do was be in the right place at the right time, and he would have access to machines for which he had only seen designs through his brother's eyes. All he had to do was create a potential disaster, and he knew success would be his.

It was for these reasons that Belah found himself at London Airport disguised as a mechanic, attaching a bomb to the landing gear of the finest, most advanced commercial airliner ever built - he wanted to make sure the maiden flight of Fireflash was one that would bring International Rescue on the scene. He had been so intent upon devising his plans, so fixated on getting what he discovered were called the "Thunderbird" craft where he wanted them, he didn't even realize he was endangering the life of his own niece.

Even if he had known, however, he would not have cared. Losing a potential soul to control was nothing compared to what he would gain if he succeeded.

Fireflash took off. He called London Tower and told them there was a bomb on board. He watched as the great plane flew by the tower, no doubt to be x-rayed. He could hear her circling above the airport, and waited patiently in his truck. Closing his eyes, he contacted his half-brother once more. To his enjoyment, he discovered International Rescue had deployed. The lead machine called Thunderbird 1 was on its way.

Belah smiled. Before too long a shrill whine greeted his ears -- the whine of engines on Thunderbird 1. He listened to the tower's transmissions with the ship's pilot and realized that police were going to be stationed near the craft to guard it while the man, undoubtedly one of Jeff Tracy's sons, set up a Mobile Control unit high in the tower itself. Belah left his truck, made his way to a nearby police cruiser and killed the officer sitting inside. He then donned the dead man's uniform, seated himself behind the wheel and passed the time setting up a tiny camera behind the badge on the policeman's hat.

It was so easy. So damned easy. Masquerading as a police officer, Belah slipped inside the cockpit of the most magnificent machine he had ever seen. He took picture after picture, dreaming of the day he would have machines even better than this, to do with as he wished. That was when disaster struck. Somehow, his presence within the cockpit was discovered, and soon a swarm of airport police began chasing him. Belah sped from the scene in a stolen squad car, and succeeded in losing the fools. He had what he'd come for.

Ego outweighed any sense of self-preservation, and as Belah drove, he contacted his brother's mind. "I have won, Kyrano. I have won and you have lost."

He was surprised as hell when Kyrano replied, "Not while Jefferson Tracy is alive."

Belah soon discovered what his brother had meant. Within minutes, a garish pink Rolls Royce was hot on his tail. He realized Jeff Tracy must have sent whomever it was after him to get the photos. It was on a rarely-used road that his car hit a rock and careened over the side of a cliff, crashing to the canyon below. In the seconds as it flew over the edge, Belah vaulted from the car and levitated just out of sight of the pink car that had stopped above him. He congratulated himself on his escape. When the police cruiser exploded, however, the shockwave slammed Belah against the cliff wall. In a moment of panic, he lost his levitational power and slid down the cliffside, being stopped only by a protruding tangle of tree roots.

And he lost his pictures. The impact had damaged the camera he'd concealed in his policeman's hat, and the film popped out of the front, lost to the rays of the sun. He cursed his brother. He cursed International Rescue. He cursed the pink car and its driver. And he cursed Jefferson Tracy.

Retreating to his temple to nurse a wounded ego, Belah stewed and plotted, scheming as to his next move. He contacted his brother again late one night, and was infuriated when Kyrano had the nerve to say, "Your Master will never be powerful enough to make me do your bidding."

"You have only the weak forces of your laughable white magick! They are no match for the power I possess!"

"You are wrong," Kyrano said, his voice like a pounding in Belah's mind. "I am safe here. You will not have me or my daughter."

Belah gave a great roar of anger as his brother's mind closed to him. Not only had he failed in his mission, but now he felt a new strength, a new power within his brother...a power that surrounded and protected him and those with whom he lived. A power Belah knew would take every last bit of his wit, guile and supernatural ability to defeat. He walked to the dais and raised his hands. A beaded curtain opened to reveal the statue of his brother.

“You think you can defeat me, Kyrano. You cannot. One day I shall prevail."

Belah projected himself at his half-brother, forcing his spirit to partially merge with Kyrano's in order to see through his eyes. The experience was painful and exhausting, but for one brief moment he saw the face of the man who now protected Kyrano. The face of Jeff Tracy. The face of his new enemy. Belah's lips curled into an evil grin even as he felt his brother's spirit push his away.

"Desire will drive me to succeed. But patience will see it made so. Enjoy your life while it is still yours to enjoy, Jefferson Tracy. For the day will come when I will be your master.”