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Feeling the sting on his cheek, Cyrith was angry and elated at the same time. Angry because he still didn't have any cheese, along with the fact that he had just been slapped. And elated since he could pay back his tormentors. The ninjas, however, were in a state of panic. They knew what Cyrith could do, some of them even sporting the bruises he had given them. Without warning, they ran out of the room.

This left the now worried Girl Scouts, which Cyrith flew into without abandon. He decided to use their own tactic against them, and was singing a ridiculous song he knew from a child. It had to do with annoying creatures with TVs in their stomachs, and an antennae on their head. After pounding them flat into the ground, he turned to Larry, a bit sheepishly.

"Sorry if you wanted to fight them. I guess I got carried away." One of the Girl Scouts twitched, then moaned in pain as her instrument was shoved deeper into a place it shouldn't have been.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The leader of COWS was watching as the last surviving Cheesemason walked into his lair....ehem. He meant fortress. "So, old man. You found my portal room. Impressive, no? Anyways. I imagine that the reason you are here is to stop me from obliterating the world. And after that, you intend to give back the world's supply of cheese. Stop me if I err from the path of truth, Father."

Motel parking lot, Demannu, the same place it was the last time we checked

"You're under arrest."

Maro looked around wildly, but all of his exits were covered by the police. Stalling for time, he asked "On what grounds? I haven't hurt anyone." He looked around, looking for some weak spot in the circle.

"You are trying to open a portal to hell, start a war, and let a demon take over the world. I call that grounds," the man in the red shirt said impatiently.

"Thanatos has thousands of worlds. One more won't make any difference."

"Who told you that Thanatos had thousands of worlds?"

Did that matter? "The High Priestess of Thanatos told me. Why?" He thought of the powers given to him. There weren't many he could use without the great demon's presence in this realm.

"Just curious. Are you going to come quietly?"

"Will it save my village if I do?" Summoning demons was impossible until he finished the circle.

"Better than it will if you don't."

"Look, what's your name?" But he could jinx a weapon. He wasn't really sure how guns worked, but a jinx might work on them.

"I'm Groundwalker, from Mishap Mercenaries."

"That's a strange name." A jinx only lasted a few seconds, but those seconds would be enough.

"That's a strange thing to say to your arresting officer."

"Look, Groundwalker," Maro said, taking a step backwards, "I'm very sorry, but there are lives at stake here. You," he pointed at Joel's gun. With an unobtrusive wave of his hand, he cast his curse on the weapon. "You're just doing your job, but my village is going to burn unless someone does something now." He took another few steps backward. Groundwalker raised his gun. Turning, Maro saw two officers marching towards him. Raising his right hand, he called forth the second power of Thanatos.

Jets of fire streaked from his fingertips towards the two police. Both of them jumped away. Behind him, Groundwalker swore, realizing that Maro had messed with his gun. Raising his other hand, he aimed twin fans of flame at the police cars on either side of him. Both caught fire. Briefly he wondered why everyone ran away from the cars, rather than trying to put out the fires before the cars burnt up. He stopped wondering; running took too much energy for him to think.

Maro managed to get out of the danger zone before the cars exploded. He knew Groundwalker would come after him, but now Maro had a head start.

The leader, Cid, started to laugh. It wasn't a very friendly laugh, and it didn't hold any mirth. "Oh, poor, delusional Father. You really think that after what you put me through that I would join you? You never listened to me, only doing what you thought you thought was best for me. Even after I told you I didn't want it.

"You raised me on the belief that the Cheesemason creed was a good one, but after being force fed cheese for 16 freaking years, it got tiring. Cheese in breakfast, cheese in lunch. Cheese in dinner. Cheese for a snack. Cheese for dessert. It was cheese day-in and day-out.

"When I wanted to see more of the world, and get out from under your thumb, you went berserk and transferred my inheritance onto Clyde. I was angry. No, I was pissed. That was when I decided to set up COWS, just to directly oppose you. And no, I didn't want Clyde to die, but his death was an added benefit to my plan.

"Now, you come to my fortress, and demand that I follow your plans, just like you wanted me to all those years ago. I'm sorry Father," Cid pulled a rifle off of the table next to him, a fresh magazine in the clip, "but I can't take your offer, so I will make one of my own. You agree to give up the Cheesemason way, and admit that you were a horrible father, and not only will I stop the portal, but I will let you walk out of this fortress with your life and a message that Clyde had before he died. Or, you can die where you stand, the summons continues, and this precious world that you love will be overrun by the Bovine from Hell. Take a pick, because my trigger finger is itchy."

Brian grinned, and leaned back.
"Man, I mean, Yesh, it IS a plan, or to be more precise, three plans. I mean, don't be mad, but I still need ya to pick ourt one of the three, or give me a definitife order on how to mix the three. I mean, no objections, homes, but I kind of want to do it by the book, and since you have the seniority on that operation, you shopuld pick the plan, so you cannot blame me for everything. "
He leaned back, and grinned, as a silvery ball of nanites flew on his outstretched hand. It slowly shivered, sending ripples over the survace, untill it jumped on, and disappeared in the power outlet.
He looked up at the figure.
"Well, I kind of have duplicated your records on that matter, and have taken the freedom to fix and research some of the most prominent leads out of the blade. So, just as a kind of lead, update the security on your share of the network, hombre. I mean, it was allmost like you wanted me to read the files....."
He sighed, and looked at the ceiling.
"So, since the damage has already been dealt, here are my most prominent guesses.....I mean, I had to acess some pretty crappy data from the so called library, but whatever, I mean, it is not as if I have been stealing it from you, right?
So, according to De Miscreras Collection of letters, a blade that very well fits the description was last seen at the seance under the placca di Verde, In sevilla, spain. Apparently, some kind of occult gathering had high hopes that the Blade would take out one suspected chaosmonger in the ranks of the inquisition, but was kind of diusappointed when their appointed champion could not meet the high standarts of 500 Inquisition footsoldiers. So, as far as I am guessing, it is really nice footwork here, and prolly where most amateur datajockeys and console.cowboys would have kicked the bucket, but hey, you have me on your side, right?
The next link was relatively easy to find. basically, in 1985, a small sample of the vaticans handwritings was auctioned off, also a kind of diary of an inquisition foortsoldier....Luckily enough, he describes the raid, but just under the name of the place, so the Placa di verde raiod, as to speak. so, we can trace back the soldiers regiment, we get to know that his regiment was a sub-order of the teutonic knights, which had a very good connecrtion with the vatican, and an own building ibn the church state,where they deposited findings from suspected heretics.
So, fast foreward to the year 1783.... Flash in a thunderstorm hits the vatican, burns down an entire chapter, was seen as the wrath of god, so the stuff was just down there, and they built over it. So, fast foreward to the year 2006....
Lucciano di Catto, professor of the harvard college of architecture, has to spend a few hours at the rome international airport, telling the guys there why he has a 1 meter 60 blade, and here I quote, Of greenish metallic design, reminiscent of a so called german Bastardschwert, which is a sword a little too long to be a one hander, but just right for adding a second hand, in his private Belongings. Basically, he tells them that the blade is a birthday gift for his son, and that he bought it from a street vendor. Well, either he was very demented, or a liar, because the son of said dgentleman died a few years ago, and he had worked his entire stay in rome in the excarvation, or archeological restauration of some caved in area of the vatican, which, big surprise, apparently met right there in the middle where the old house stood, you know, biiiig coincidence.
So, here is where it gets really interesting. basically, a few month after, di Catto is found dead on a beach in scotland, big swordlike wound in the belly. Well, if you think this is interesting, check this out....."
He grinned, and stretched a little more. he was basically able to feel the tension building up in the body of his comrade.
"His banking accounts are regularely clear, but not if you compare them with the official expenses payed by Harvard. basically, he has 48 Trips all around the world, which relate to his job as an archeology professor and a specialist in old roman architecture, but only 45 ordered by the university. The crossreference on these shows that on each trip, his luggage included a big heavy bag, filled with archeological goodness, just large enoughj to hide a bvig sword in it. Call it a hunch, but on all three trips, he stayed for a while, and then went back. So, here is the kicker. The first adress is relativcely unnormal, a building used by the yakuzza, where he was hired to go over the antiques collection of a boss as a consultant, and lo and behold, he reccieved about 50 times the salary common for such jobs.
Second trip was two days afterward, under a false name, but renting the car at the airport with the same credit card, to the fair city of Rio de janero, where he did the same job for a business consultant, who is supposed to be into, and I quote an unofficial report, in equal shares the occult and cocaine. Good mix, don't you think?
third trip, and now it is very interesting, is twoards moscow, where he meets with a nice gentleman from an oil company, who wants him to make an estimate what is needed for digging up an old roman house. basically, as far as I understood some of the notes, it is planned as a publicity-stunt. "
he looked at the guy again, this time wondering if he could make the connection on his own.
"So, to complete the circle, three days after that one, he is dead. the problem is, the company that insured his private collection noticed that a long blade, similar to a scottish Claymore, is missing, but that was only after the gents old cleaning lady informed them off it. So, I sincerely hope you have some right clues of your own, because if you don't, you are hunting for a uspected murder weapon. So, any questions remaining? because if not, i have a little thing for you: could you shout my name in praise, while I leave the room planning to ruin a financially secure multinational corporation? I mean, sometimes, I just need to feel like darth vader in such missions, you know. "
he looked foreward at the guy, grinning madly, and preparing to leave.....

((Just wondering if you got my PM Requirem?))

((I did. Unfortunately, we've basically gotten the whole thing figured out right now.))

Riku was going to kill whoever suggested this hairstyle. His normally eye-length black hair was slicked back in a wierd style, dyed red. Even if it was to conceal his identity, he thought he looked stupid. Apparently, so did everyone else around him. The somewhat nice clothes he had on didn't help, either; he looked like he belonged in an emo band. It also exposed the Chaos markings on his face. On the bright side, a pair of shades concealed his red eyes, making him look somewhat normal. He was also carrying a USP pistol, as he couldn't conceal the katars.

As he walked down the busy Spanish street, he looked at the directions he had been given. Apparently, someone had forwarded him an email, saying they had information on the Emperium Blade. He had the strong feeling that he was walking into a trap, but the fact that this person knew about the sword and it's nature was worth investigating. If anything else, he could discover how this person had obtained his email.

He stopped at the adress, a small house lodged between two restaurants. He walked up the steps and went to knock on the door, but it creaked open slowly, as if opened from the inside. Wierd, but okay, he thought as he walked in. The inside looked normal; a small hallway with a set of stairs to the side, leading upstairs, and a kitchen at the end. As he walked forward, the door slammed shut behind him, and he turned to face it, pistol drawn. The laser sight fell on an elderly man, who raised his hands slowly. Riku lowered the pistol, then holstered it.

"Ah, you must be Rriku," the man said with a thick Spanish accent. "Please, come with me." He shuffled down the hall past Riku, who followed reluctantly. They walked into the kitchen, where the man began to pour iced tea.

"A drink, perhaps? It is very hot outside, you must be sweating like a pig." He handed the drink to Riku without waiting for an answer.

"Uh, thanks," Riku said, and sat down. The man poured himself a drink, then sat down across the table. "So, are you the one who contacted me?"

"Yes, I am. Me llamo Estevan. It is a pleasure to meet you. Now, about the blade, yes?"

"Right," Riku said, taking a sip of the tea. It tasted sickly sweet, but he drank it anyway. "You have information about the Emperium Blade, which I am interested in buying. I am willing to pay up to $1 million dollars for it. It would make a very good addition to my collection, being as rare as it is."

The man smiled, then began to laugh. "Oh, but Mr. Kitai, I didn't bring you here to find the blade, I brought you here to kill you." Suddenly, Riku began to choke, and white foam began coming out of his mouth. He fell to the floor, writhing as he slowly asphyxiated to death. "You see, that tea was laced with cyanide. You just drank a lethal dose. So sorry it had to come to this, but my master cannot have anyone finding that sword." He got up, and began to walk towards the stairs. "Goodbye, Mr. Kitai."

Riku managed to slip something out of his belt; a small needle with an antidote for any poison, a Kitai Clan specialty. He jabbed himself in the leg, and the fast-acting antidote began to erase the cyanide from his system. When he could finally breathe, he rolled onto his knees, coughing. He stood up, and after regaining himself, ran up the stairs. He kicked open a door, but had to duck as a knife came his way. He drew the USP and fired at the man, hitting him in the arm. The man staggered back, howling in pain, and backed into an open window. Riku heard a lound thud, then screaming below as the man hit the street three stories below. He ran over to the window, looking down. Two cops below looked up and spotted him, then drew their guns and charged towards the door.

"Ah, s**t," Riku said aloud as he heard them coming up the stairs.