Punched by an Angel
by Henry Wyckoff

A crossover between Kung Fu: The Legend Continues, Millennium, and Touched by an Angel



Standard disclaimers apply

First posted on the KFFIC-L mailing list.



Prelude

Andrew walked down a dark Toronto alley. The faint touches of winter were beginning to touch the evening air. The cold told everyone that they'd better get that coat before anyone else did. He was here for something else, and it wasn't a coat. It was a soul, a soul that he would escort to a different place.

Andrew was the Angel of Death.

"Lord. Why am I here?"

He knew that he was here to escort a soul, but this somehow seemed different. It was a feeling.

His answer was given to him when he saw a good friend of his further down the alley. A very good and old friend. An Angel. It was Valerius, who spread one very special message from God to all those who crossed his path. Valerius didn't notice Andrew because he was too busy talking with a mortal. That was the strange thing. As an Angel and especially one who had the office of Death, he was used to feeling a unique aura from mortals. This wasn't Angel or mortal. Not one of Satan's either.

Valerius waved his hands in a placating gesture. "I can understand your anger, but believe me, you don't understand its true cause!"

The man, who stood in the shadows, sneered, "Typical. You Angels are all alike. 'Trust in the Lord!' you say. 'Put your faith in the Father above!' I don't buy it."

"Why?"

The man's answer was an axe that Andrew hadn't seen since the days of Lindesfarne. The axe, at least, was visible in the light. "Because Odin has told me the truth!"

Andrew was horrified at what he witnessed next. He stood frozen, unable to act or even speak.

The mortal disemboweled the Angel with a swing of his axe and pulled out the entrails with his other hand, laughing all the time, screaming into the man's face with narrowed eyes while Valerius howled in pain and fear. This shouldn't have been happening.

A newcomer arrived on the scene. Unlike the man in the shadows, he could see this man's face. One of Andrew's gifts from God was an extensive memory, therefore he instantly knew who this man was; Kermit Griffin. The man of the dark shades and the big silver gun. One of the few dealers of death that Andrew had hope for. Kermit's reflexes went into motion as what was happening registered. His gun was out and he whispered, "You'd better lose the axe and lie on the ground, or I'll blow off your lucky charms!"

The man stepped into the light, his arms spread wide and his dark eyes staring upwards as his face looked to the ground. His smile was sinister as he seemed to stare at Kermit's eyes through the shades. "This isn't your fight. Leave me to mine."

Kermit seemed to have some inner conflict, and Andrew could guess what it was. It wasn't anger or fear, but true understanding. Mercenaries had their own code of conduct and morality that ran deeper than any mortal law. One side quickly won this contest, and Andrew breathed a sigh of relief. "Sorry. Can't do that."

"Then you'll have to fire, officer." The last came out as a spit. "You'll have to take my life, because I won't stop. Ever."

The killer stepped forward, and was rewarded with several shots to his shoulders. The axe-blade dropped to the ground, but the haft was still gripped with his right hand. He grinned through his pain. "Thanks pal. You're a sport!"

The killer fell to the ground, but still showed faint signs of life.

As Kermit made the call, Andrew knew the time was now. Sadly, he knew that this killer would remain in this world, and that it was Valerius who would see the Father. Though he could eventually place most mortals, he couldn't remember this killer. That bothered him.

The time varied, but the soul always left the body on its own. No soul was left to escort. Valerius was so dead that even his soul was destroyed.

Andrew felt stirrings of a new sensation for the first time. Fear.

He saw the killer spring back to life, despite the numerous gunshots he'd received from Kermit. Kermit had his back turned for the moment, and was unprepared for the sucker punch to the back of the neck. He fell like a sack of grain.

The killer vanished much faster than a thief in the night, just as the cop cars came.

* * * *


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