Punched by an Angel
by Henry Wyckoff
A crossover between Kung Fu: The Legend Continues, Millennium, and Touched by an Angel
* * *
Frank took in all the carnage without a second glance. It was in a strange way almost sterile and controlled. All the violence had taken place in a localized spot, and the blood hadn't left that invisible circle.
Peter whistled, "You take a look at that. All those bodyguards were probably killed at once. All in a tight circle too.'
Frank nodded, "The killer spun in a circle and cut open their hearts in one swing." He knelt and touched one of the corpses. The gash almost formed a large smile on each of their chests.
"Frank, are you all right?"
"Yes." His eyes focused. "It was him. He came for answers and when he didn't get his answers, he became enraged. Fritz was taken apart piece by piece because the man wanted to see him suffer, as he suffers. But his anger was at Fritz."
Peter tilted his head, "What makes you think that?"
"The patrons were allowed to leave, even though they called the cops on him. The bodyguards were swiftly killed because they got in his way, but Fritz took a lot longer to die. See the bits and pieces lying around? Fritz was allowed to defend himself, but he didn't have a chance."
Something seemed out of the ordinary to Peter. "Fritz pulled out that sword. How many people carry swords nowadays?"
Frank nodded, touching the sword.
He swallowed with difficulty, shaken. "Fritz wasn't your ordinary Satanist. We might want to do a background check on him."
"You'll get no argument from me." Peter's agreement wasn't quite as innocent as it seemed. He didn't know how to explain it to Frank, but he'd had the distinct feeling that Fritz lived in the same world as his father and the Ancient. Fritz had had this otherworldly touch to him. "Frank. Our killer seemed to be targeting the saintly. What if we're looking in the wrong direction? What if he doesn't care about one religion or another, but is looking for all kinds of charismatic people? What if he treats a blatant member of the Church of Satan in the same manner as a Catholic priest or a . . . " the thought just hit him, twisting his guts, "Shaolin priest?"
The thought had not occurred to Frank before, "There might be something to that. It would certainly explain this attack."
Peter's cell phone rang. "Caine here."
Kermit's voice was a little frantic. "Peter! Get over to Saint Andrew's Cathedral right now!"
"Why? What's going on?"
"I met up with the killer again. Turns out that he's quite a nutty conversationalist named Latro. It's a long story, but the short of it is that some guys tried to get both of us with a drive-by. You're not going to believe this, but he got shot in the chest, without a vest, and got back up. He then proceeded to blow off the heads of the two gunmen and the driver with a sawed-off musket and vanished in a puff of smoke."
"Come on, Kermit! It's kind of hard to believe that a man could get up after being hammered with an assault rifle, even with a vest."
"Get your ass down here and see for yourself!"
Peter hung up and looked at Frank. "It looks like Kermit just can't stay out of trouble."
* * *
Latro had nearly fainted from the loss of blood. His skin was nearly dead-white, and his breath came in labored gasps as he crawled down one half-hidden alleyway after another.
A moment later, his heart stopped and his lungs stopped their pumping.
A moment after that, Latro's eyes opened wider than most would imagine possible, especially for a dead man. A silent scream escaped his lips and his body flopped in a near-epileptic seizure. Lightning seemed to flash from his wounds, and when it died down, so did his seizure. The last thing he noticed before he closed his eyes once more were two ravens perched on a trash dumpster. If he had looked a little longer, he would have seen a man wearing a trenchcoat, perched on the dumpster next to the birds. The man wore Lennon-style wire-frame sunglasses and carried a spear, leaning across his shoulder. A patch was over his face.
By the time an employee of a nearby shop came out back to dump some trash a moment later, all he saw was this blood-soaked guy on the ground. The kid dropped his trash in shock and ran back into the shop, screaming, "Get an ambulance!"
* * *
Peter and Frank looked at this new carnage. Peter was shaking his head, "It almost looks like we have another Terminator on our hands. Did he talk like Arnie?"
Kermit also shook his head, "No. If anything, he's probably from the States. He could come anywhere from Washington or New York City. But now that you mention it, he probably thinks he's the Terminator. The guy's a nutcase. He told me he wouldn't stop killing Angels until God talked to him in a voice he could hear, but he was all conversation with me. Even shook my hand and introduced himself. If it wasn't for the drive-by, he might have even described all the murders." He kicked a rock down the sidewalk.
Peter got another call. It was Nicky. "Hey, Peter! Remember me? It's your favorite pal from the morgue, but you wouldn't know that, since you just send corpses to me through second parties --"
"What is it?" Peter wasn't in the mood for this right now.
"You know that background check you had me do? Well, I got some information for you! Fritz, Valerius, and all our other victims have no official identity -- no prints, dental records, or anything else for that matter. We knew they were alive because they were such high-profile figures, but officially, they were never born! And get this! These people should never have been alive in the first place! No cavities, no degradation of the lungs -- even non-smokers get that, no skin damage. It's like these guys came straight from the factory."
This was too much for Peter. "Look. Meet us down at Saint Andrew's Cathedral. There's been a drive-by. You might come in handy."
Peter looked at Frank and Kermit, "You're going to be in for a shock. Our murder victims never existed."
"Huh?" both of them asked.
Peter relayed what he'd learned.
* * *
The ambulance reached the alley, and the medics were pretty shocked at what they saw. The man had spilled enough blood to come from a cow, and the guy was still breathing. His skin was white as linen, and his eyes sunken in. He was muttering something in some Scandinavian language.
One EMT called in to dispatch. "We have a young John Doe. No ID. He's been shot multiple times with a gun, and needs immediate attention. Who can take him first?"
In the meantime, as a needle for a blood typing got stuck in his arm, Latro's eyes opened. All he knew were that two guys were blocking the sun and sticking him with needles.
A few moments later, he was staggering down the alley while he heard the hissing from the radio. "This is dispatch. Please acknowledge. Do you copy . . . ?"
* * * *
|Previous Chapter||Punched/Angel Main Page||Pacific Main Page||Next Chapter|
|Main Page||My Fanfiction||Henry's Fanfiction||My Favorite Links||Webrings I'm On|