The Other Face of Evil
by Viking

Darkness descended quickly over the Devil's Kitchen cemetery as the sun set. From its dying rays, shadows from the eroded headstones and crypts lengthened as a foreshadowing of the moment when they would disappear into the absolute blackness of night. Behind a massive tombstone of black slate, recently promoted Captain Joe Wojoski of the Patriot City police force and junior officer Ralph Turner waited uneasily.

"Are you sure about this?" Captain Wojosky asked of Ralph.

"Absolutely, Captain," came the earnest reply. "A lot of guys on the force didn't take to well to your cracking down on graft. It was only a matter of time before somebody started to put it all back together again. So when some of them said they were meeting to hatch a new scheme, I knew you'd want to be there to see it."

"But here?" grumbled Captain Joe. "A cemetery? On Halloween?"

Ralph shrugged by way of response.

Captain Wojoski sighed, and returned to observing the rest of the graveyard. What Ralph had said was not unexpected. Over half of his precinct had been on the take before the truth had been abruptly exposed by the masked vigilantes known as Direwolf and Cold Iron. And though Joe couldn't fire all of those officers without crippling the force, he'd cleaned house as best he could and the manpower shortage was mitigated somewhat by forthright new recruits like Ralph.

And Ralph was right, on more than one count. Captain Joe knew that someone would try to collect on the sly again, and he definitely wanted to be there to crack down on him when it happened. He wondered which corrupt officer would be showing up tonight...

Joe's musings were cut short by a sharp blow to the back of the head. Ralph Turner stood silently above his unconscious body as it hit the ground.

Captain Wojoski came to suddenly as he felt a rope dig into his neck, hoisting him upwards. Realizing that his hands had been tied behind him, he struggled roughly to his knees, and then to his feet. Looking upwards, he saw that the other end of the rope had been slung over the branch of the lone oak tree in the cemetery's corner. Joe's suspicions were sadly confirmed as he saw that Ralph was the one pulling at the other end.

The young officer paused his labors. "Well, it was like I said, Captain. It was only a matter of time before somebody started to put it all back together again."

Joe silently cursed at having been taken in. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Who put you up to this?" he spat at Ralph.

"I'd save my breath if I were you, Captain," replied the treacherous rookie. "Let's just say that someone pointed out that this is just the way to send a message that the graft is alive on the force again." He gave another hearty pull on the rope, and Captain Wojoski's feet left the ground. "Alive and kicking," he noted grimly as he secured his end.

Captain Wojoski struggled to avoid panic at his predicament. Fortunately, the noose had been tied amateurishly enough that it hadn't broken his neck, but strangulation still seemed like a strong possibility. Joe lifted his legs in a desperate attempt to bring his bound hands underneath his feet and in front of him. He was momentarily startled as Ralph unexpectedly pitched forward, clutching his chest. A tangled maze of shifting colors swam before his eyes, and Joe wasn't certain whether it was due to the constricting rope around his neck. Captain Wojoski heard a tortured scream, which changed from something human to something decidedly less so. And what Joe saw next, he could not comprehend.

For the second time that evening, Captain Wojoski blacked out.

Elsewhere on the streets of Patriot City, Minute Man and Alche-Miss stood watch. All members of Freedom Force were patrolling the streets that evening, watching over the young trick-or-treaters throughout the City. It afforded no small share of amusement, as well - nearly half of the costumed children had chosen to dress like members of Freedom Force. Minute Man felt sure that wherever El Diablo was, the fiery hero was keeping careful count of how many were dressed in versions of his blue, yellow and red uniform.

"So just why did you pick to patrol this part of the city?" asked Alche-Miss of her partner as their booted heels clicked on the pavement.

"It's a part of the city that we don't visit often enough," answered Minute Man. "Justice isn't served best where it's prettiest, but where it's needed."

The southern sorceress put her hands on her hips and frowned disbelievingly at the seemingly canned answer. "Sugar, this is the Devil's Kitchen. Are you sure that you're not hoping that Direwolf will show up so you can make a scene?"

Minute Man went rigid, and put on a forced smile as he waved to a passing group of children and their chaperones. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said under his breath.

Alche-Miss rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh. Sure. Let me know when you have a better story to tell."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sounds of another one, apparently between two children who were approaching from an alley.

"...I still don't know why you didn't want to dress up as a member of Freedom Force! Minute Man and the others are the coolest guys ever!" The voice was young and unabashedly cheerful.

"Naw, Direwolf's way cooler than any of them. And he could kick Minute Man's butt in a second, too." This voice was slightly older, and more streetwise.

Minute Man saw the pair round the corner. Though both of them wore masks, they still showed enough of a physical resemblance that marked them as brothers. As their conversation had suggested, the younger of the two was dressed in imitation of the blue coated sentinel of Patriot City. The other had donned a leather jacket, black T-shirt, mask and gloves to look more like Direwolf. The miniature Minute Man gaped in open admiration as he saw his idol before him. His brother looked skeptically at the pair, as if thinking that somebody's parents had chosen to dress up for the holiday as well.

Alche-Miss couldn't suppress a giggle. "Oh look, Minute Man, aren't they cute? A junior Minute Man and Direwolf, side by side, fightin' crime together!"

"Wow! Minute Man and Alche-Miss!" cried out the idealist of the brothers. "This is so cool!"

"Aw, come on," countered the skeptic. "There's no way Minute Man would show his face in the Devil's Kitchen."

Minute Man bristled faintly at the insult. "I assure you that I'm the genuine article, young man. And as I told my companion here, justice isn't served best where it's prettiest, but where it's needed!"

The young Direwolf looked dumbfounded for a moment. "I take it back," he said. "Only the real Minute Man would say something that corny."

This time, Alche-Miss laughed out loud. "Looks like they've got the attitudes down pat, too!"

"C'mon Frank," said the young Direwolf to his brother. "We're gonna miss out on all the trick-or-treating if we stick around here. And I told you that there wasn't any party at the cemetery tonight!"

"But Jason," sulked the younger brother, "it looked like someone was starting to put up decorations! It looked like a real body that he was hanging by that tree!"

Minute Man snapped to attention. "What did you say?" he asked urgently.

His youthful mirror image smiled broadly and pointed down the alley. "It's just a block that way, Minute Man!"

The patriotic paladin ripped off a salute to the children before taking off down the alley. Alche-Miss followed closely behind.

"I still think Direwolf could kick your butt!" called out the elder brother from behind them.

Minute Man and Alche-Miss raced down the alleyway towards the graveyard, their stomachs knotting with dread as they saw the distinct form of a body dangling from the tree. Minute Man vaulted over the gates and charged towards the tree. Alche-Miss murmured an incantation then rose into the air and floated over the rust-eaten wrought iron fence.

"By the Goddess!" she commanded, and an eldritch bolt of force issued forth from her hands and cut through the rope from which Captain Joe Wojoski swung. Minute Man caught him as he fell, and laid him carefully on the ground.

A quick check for pulse and breath showed the presence of neither, and Minute Man instinctively fell to performing CPR to resuscitate the fallen officer of the law. His diligence was soon answered by a sputtering cough as Joe's eyes blinked open.

"What happened? Who did this foul deed?" cried Minute Man, his voice awash with concern.

"Much as I'd like the answers to those questions myself, I think you better give him some time to recover first," came a severe voice from behind.

Minute Man was on his feet instantly, brandishing his titanium staff, Patriot. The voice was unmistakably Direwolf's, and the sight of the formidable avenger in the shadow of the tree, his hands jammed into his coat pockets, confirmed it. "Stand back, vigilante!" commanded Minute Man. "This officer has suffered a terrible shock, and doesn't need you to add to it!"

"This officer is my friend," rumbled Direwolf. "I'm probably a much more familiar sight to him than you are."

"A likely story," retorted Minute Man. "I find it highly suspicious that you just happened to show up as we were in the process of rescuing him!"

Direwolf suppressed a growl, though his shoulders lowered as he hunched forward, the attack posture of a hunting wolf.

"You saved his life, so I'll let that one pass," he said flatly. "But for your information, I found out only recently that Captain Wojosky was investigating the possibility of another bribery scandal within his precinct. He and I both take that pretty seriously. You'll find that I have a surprisingly good relationship with the police force in this area."

Alche-Miss had since floated over to the scene and landed. "Now why can't you boys play nice like the other trick-or-treaters?" she drawled. "Besides, it looks like our friend's tryin' to say something."

"Glad... you're here... Direwolf..." croaked Captain Wojoski. "You too... Minute Man..." he added belatedly as the hero cut his hands free.

Direwolf took a bottle of water from one of his coat pockets and helped Joe down a few sips.

Minute Man looked a little chafed at being addressed second, but Alche-Miss showed no sign of affront at not being mentioned at all. She knew that every word was torture for the man.

"Don't talk too much, sugar," she advised soothingly. "Just stick to the key concepts, and we'll fill in the rest."

Captain Joe blinked and nodded. "Ralph Turner... did this..." he rasped.

Direwolf let out a sigh as he shook his head.

"One of the new guys on the force," he explained. "He seemed awfully earnest. Joe was hoping he'd be a good seed for the group. So was I."

Joe coughed twice, and then continued painfully. "He's changed... not human anymore... got two faces..." Unable to say more, he wheezed and massaged his throat.

"A two-faced crooked cop," said Minute Man gravely. "Sounds like another unfortunate encounter with Energy X."

Minute Man closed his eyes in concentration, and then looked to Alche-Miss. "Mentor will be here shortly in the Freedom Flyer - we need to get this man to a hospital. Then we'll see if the Freedom Fortress computers can provide us with any information on this new villain. A surge of Energy X would certainly have been noticed." Turning to Direwolf, he added, "You'd better stay out of this. We'll take it from here."

Direwolf was ready to snap a retort, but felt a weak tug at his leg from Captain Wojoski. He knelt beside his friend, who whispered weakly. "Don't let him... bait you... Follow... Turner's scent..."

Direwolf frowned in puzzlement, and then realized that he detected an odd, faint odor in the air, reminiscent of rotten eggs. Then he suddenly remembered a lesson from his mineralogy class.

"Sulfur," he thought to himself. He gave a final glance at Captain Joe, and then looked back to Minute Man and Alche-Miss. "You'd better take good care of him," he muttered darkly before leaping over the wall of the graveyard and into the night.

Direwolf plunged through the alleyways as he followed the sulfurous smell. Whatever had happened to Ralph Turner, it apparently had given him extra mobility as well, as the trail led up walls and over rooftops and back down into the alleys towards the decaying heart of the Devil's Kitchen.

"Nothing I can't follow," thought the dark crusader as he wrinkled his nose. This would be one chase that he would be glad to end, as the continued exposure to the scent of rotten eggs was causing his stomach to rebel.

Finally, the unmistakable scent of sulfur began to grow stronger, and Direwolf silently welcomed the mixed blessing. His senses on full alert and his adrenaline flowing, he rounded a corner, there to find...

...A shopkeeper, on a ladder. Scrubbing rotten eggs from the front of his store.

Direwolf cursed quietly. The traffic that had passed by the egged store left at least half a dozen sulfurous trails to follow. Direwolf slouched, partially from the loss of adrenaline and partially from the nauseating stink that the shopkeeper was valiantly trying to clean away.

"I say, young man, are you lost?" A resonant baritone voice, tinged with a strange European accent, addressed him.

Direwolf looked over his shoulder towards the shopkeeper, who descended from his perch. He took a closer look at the man, who was comfortably into middle age with a graying and receding hairline.

"Not exactly," he answered absently, wondering in vain where his quarry might have vanished to. "I was looking for someone, but he seems to have lost me," he admitted with chagrin.

"So much for my reputation as a hunter," he thought ruefully.

"Well, why don't you come into my shop and tell me about this person over a nice cup of coffee?" The shopkeeper gave a nice, grandfatherly smile. "Perhaps I've seen him pass by. I see a lot in this neighborhood."

Direwolf sighed. He didn't like the thought of Ralph getting away, but he really didn't have any other good leads at the moment. "Sure, old timer. Uh, just what is your name, by the way?"

"Volker Hilfgaart. And you must be that hero I read about in the papers - Direwolf, yes?"

"The one and the same," came Direwolf's rueful reply. "Though if you've been reading about me in the papers, particularly what Mister Jagger says about me, I don't know why you'd be inviting me in for coffee."

"Bah - a lot of those so-called journalists don't know the good that you do around here in the Devil's Kitchen," responded the shopkeeper amiably, gesturing for Direwolf to enter his store. "This Halloween prank is the only trouble I've had since you started patrolling this area. We should all be so lucky."

Volker paused as he got a closer look at Direwolf's old aviator's coat. "That's quite a garment you have there," he remarked. "Made in the early 1930's, I'd wager. It no doubt belonged to a hero of his time. I'm sure you do him justice by wearing it now."

Direwolf took a closer look at the store front as he approached. It was an old-fashioned bookstore, by the look of it. Various signs proclaiming "Amazing Stories!" and "Tales of the Mysterious!" were propped up in the windows. Direwolf wondered why he hadn't noticed it before.

"You seem a little... out of place, here in the Devil's Kitchen," he noted. A brass bell above the door jangled musically as they walked in. Volker motioned Direwolf towards a large, padded chair that was no doubt present for the convenience of readers. It had a solid, oaken frame, Direwolf noted with relief. He sat down carefully nevertheless, hoping that his mass wouldn't cause the chair to give way.

"I find the atmosphere rather appropriate for the books I sell," replied Volker with a slight smirk as he retrieved a coffee pot and poured its aromatic brew into a pair of china cups. "Riddles, mysteries, tales of the unknown and forbidding... Setting up shop in the Devil's Kitchen adds a tantalizing thrill that my customers seem to enjoy. But you're at least partly right... I am a long way from home." The shopkeeper gave a wistful sigh.

"Germany?" Direwolf ventured.

The shopkeeper's smirk returned. "Minnesota," he replied. He handed Direwolf a cup, and took a seat opposite the hero. "But enough about me - you were in hot pursuit of someone nefarious, unless I miss my guess. What can you tell me about him?"

Direwolf realized that he didn't have much of a description to go on, but he related the past events as he understood them. Volker listened attentively, his brows creasing as Direwolf explained Captain Wojoski's near hanging and Ralph Turner's suspected, but ill-defined, transformation.

The elderly bookkeeper set his cup down carefully on a table beside him. He stood up, and walked over to an unmarked bookcase in a shadowy corner of the store. He traced a yellowing fingernail over their bindings until he reached the tome that he was searching for.

"I've no doubt that your adversary was transformed, though I doubt that it was due to this... Energy X that Minute Man referred to," Volker murmured. "There are still things beyond this world that are also beyond the mortal ken, though fortunately they occur rarely enough that most people never have occasion to see them."

Direwolf shifted uneasily in his seat, discomforted by the old man's cryptic statement. "What are you saying, exactly?" he asked.

"I'm saying that this young officer was both foolish and unlucky to a spectacular degree," Volker answered. He reseated himself, pulled a set of half-rimmed spectacles from his breast pocket which he placed over his nose, and opened his book. After flipping through a quarter of the volume, he pointed at a disturbing image. "This officer has allowed himself to be possessed by a demon. A Janus demon, to be precise."

Direwolf was at Hilfgaart's side in an instant, peering over the old man's shoulder. The picture displayed a vaguely humanoid beast with a hunched back and twisted limbs, its splayed fingers sporting claws as long as its hands. Most disturbingly, the beast's head was at the end of a long, serpentine neck, with a wickedly grinning face on both front and back.

"The Janus demon," narrated Volker, "so named after the Roman god represented by two heads placed back to back, so that it could see in both directions at the same time. A cunning and devious adversary known for trickery and deceit, it may be summoned to this world by an act of foul treachery carried out in a place of the dead on a night of mystical significance. A shapeshifter, it may adopt forms powerful to attack its prey, or innocent to avoid detection. In all its guises, however, the Janus demon always has two faces as a testament to its duplicitous nature. When summoned, the Janus demon reeks of the foul odor of its home, which it will seek to disguise at first opportunity. At first comparatively weak and disoriented, it will gather its strength until it may hunt down and drink the blood of a hero to fully bind itself to this world, after which it may roam free to terrorize at its whims..." He peered up over his glasses to look meaningfully at Direwolf.

The masked avenger scoffed, half disbelieving what he had just heard. "Come on Volker, am I really supposed to believe a ghost story like that on Halloween?"

Volker stared relentlessly at Direwolf. "You already have seen strange enough things to become a hero, young man. Is it so big a leap to presume that there are forces other than science and technology to account for the unknown?"

Direwolf paused and closed his eyes in concentration. He had a very good point. The sorcery of the Alche-Miss sprang instantly to mind. So did that of the Silver Scarab. He began to wonder if what Hilfgaart was saying had any merit.

"Okay, suppose I believe you for just a moment..." he began as he opened his eyes, but Volker was no longer in his chair. Direwolf was stunned, wondering how Volker had gotten up without him at least hearing a tell-tale creak of the floorboards. Nevertheless, the old man had apparently made his way to the counter, where he lifted what looked like an old medical bag which he proceeded to fill with odds and ends.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" he asked incredulously.

"Coming with you, naturally," Hilfgaart answered. He pulled a tattered trenchcoat and hat from a nearby stand and proceeded to put them on. "You're going to need help with this, I think."

"Mr. Hilfgaart, that's very nice of you, but I really don't think this is the time for you to play Van Helsing," Direwolf countered. "That thing looks way too dangerous for someone... well..."

"For someone old and frail like me?" queried Volker. "Then I should be quite all right. The Janus demon is seeking the blood of a hero, my good man. I'm just helping out as a... temporary sidekick, yes? What interest could it possibly have in me?"

Direwolf was at a loss to argue with that logic, but still felt profoundly uncomfortable at the thought of putting the old man in harm's way. Volker cut him off before he could attempt a new argument.

"Look, you're a bright young man, and if we had a couple of hours to kill, I could teach you all the intricacies of demon-hunting," explained Hilfgaart. "But I get the impression that we don't have that kind of time, which means that you'll need someone on hand to give advice on a moment's notice."

"Besides," added Hilfgaart with his familiar smirk, "if you leave me alone here, I might just go on some foolish hunt for the Janus demon myself. Who knows what could happen to me then? You wouldn't want that on your conscience, would you?"

Direwolf let out a sigh. "You can tell me what you know on the way. Let's get going."

In another part of the Devil's Kitchen, Minute Man and Alche-Miss also searched for the transformed Ralph Turner. To their puzzlement, Mentor had informed them that no new flare of Energy X had been detected on the Freedom Force sensors. Nevertheless, he had dedicated the computers to monitoring the Devil's Kitchen area.

Formidable though the monitoring system was, however, searching for a transformed policeman was no easy feat on Halloween. The members of the force that they did see looked perfectly normal, and looking for something abnormal among streets of costumed passers-by was like looking for a needle in a haystack. From atop one of the apartment buildings, Minute Man sighed in frustration as he kept watch.

"No sign of our fugitive of the law," Alche-Miss called out as she descended from the skies and landed next to the stalwart sentinel. "You sure that telling Direwolf to stay out of this was a good idea? From what I understand, he's pretty handy at tracking down people that don't want to be found."

"I've told you before, we don't need the help of that vigilante or his methods," replied Minute Man gruffly. "We work within the law!"

"Suit yourself," responded Alche-Miss. "But remember what they say about pride going before a fall. Be careful you don't trip."

Minute Man didn't respond to the verbal barb. Something had caught his attention. Alche-Miss followed his gaze, and immediately spotted what he was looking at.

Among the colorful personas on the street was a man in a garish harlequin jester's costume, the red and yellow patches bright in the street light's glare. Several clues made him stand out markedly from the rest of the crowd - he was far too tall to be a young trick-or-treater, yet he wasn't accompanying any children as a guardian. Most importantly, the mask he apparently wore bore the smiling visage of a comedian on the front, and the weeping guise of a tragedian on the back.

"Seems worth checking out," Minute Man insisted. "Be ready to flank him if he makes a break for it."

Alche-Miss hovered into the skies once more as Minute Man leaped down to the streets below. Paying no heed to the cries of wonder at his dramatic appearance, Minute Man purposefully made his way through the crowd towards the gaudy jester. As if sensing his approach, the jester sauntered away, sashaying through the crowd like a dry leaf on the cold October wind. Noting that Alche-Miss was marking their progress from above, Minute Man followed the jester's trail as he darted into a dark alley.

"Okay, pal, how about taking off that mask?" Minute Man asked of the figure in the shadows. The mournful tragedian's face regarded him silently as the figure hunched away. Minute Man tightened his grip on Patriot and advanced cautiously, fully expecting the stranger to turn around and launch an attack at any moment.

Though prepared for a fight, Minute Man was nevertheless surprised when the jester launched itself backwards upon him. In a horrifyingly fluid fashion, the creature's joints reversed themselves in mid-flight, its fingers lengthened into claws, and its eyes came alight with a harsh red glare. Minute Man barely brought his titanium staff up in time to ward off the monstrosity's slashing attack. Unrelenting in its assault, the fiend somersaulted over Minute Man with a mighty leap and kicked backwards, striking him solidly in his backside and sending him sprawling to the street. The jester's limbs reversed themselves to face forward once more, and its grinning face transformed into a fanged maw as it descended upon the prone hero.

From her vantage point, Alche-Miss hastily called out a prayer to the Goddess, and launched a bolt of mystic force that knocked the creature away from Minute Man. Minute Man quickly took the opportunity to spring to his feet and face the demon, which snarled ferociously as it looked from hero to heroine.

The monster sprang past Minute Man again, faster than the eye could follow. It sank its claws into one of the apartment walls and cocked its head, regarding Alche-Miss with one set of eyes and Minute Man with another. With a guttural laugh, it leaped again, launching itself further down the alley. Minute Man raced after it, though he knew he couldn't keep up with the creature as it bounded from dumpster to dumpster.

"Alche-Miss, don't lose sight of him!" he yelled desperately. "We can't let him get away!"

Alche-Miss shuddered as she watched the creature's progress through the maze of alleyways.

"Now I know why my cousin was always afraid of clowns," she thought to herself.

In another alleyway, Direwolf impatiently waited for Volker Hilfgaart to catch up with him. Having gotten used to high speed rooftop chases at breakneck speeds, Direwolf found the old man, albeit a brisk walker, to be a painfully slow companion.

"You must not be so impatient!" called out the elderly bookkeeper. "You must realize that you cannot hunt this adversary as you would an ordinary thug. You cannot sneak up on a foe which - quite literally - has eyes in the back of its head."

"So you've said," grumbled Direwolf, wondering if this thing really could shrug off being hit by a thrown car. He and Cold Iron had been practicing that tactic with some of the hulks that they found in the Kitchen. "Well, how do you propose that we find this demon?"

Volker paused thoughtfully. "Hmm... I suppose I would first start by seeking out Minute Man and Alche-Miss," he suggested.

"What?" cried Direwolf in disbelief. "Look, you might not realize this, Mr. Hilfgaart, but Minute Man and I aren't exactly on the best of terms. He specifically told me to stay out of this, if you must know. Besides, if the two of us stay apart, we can cover more ground anyway."

"You're still thinking too conventionally!" admonished Volker. "And your prey is a most un-conventional hunter! It needs to find a hero - preferably a solitary one that it can ambush. Apart from each other, you give the Janus demon a choice of targets, so that it may pick the battle of its choosing! Whereas together, you leave it with no option but to fight the battle of your choosing."

As much as he hated to admit it, Volker's logic made sense yet again. "But that means it could go after any hero, anywhere in the city," he reasoned.

"Ah, fortunately we have a bit of luck there, my impetuous friend!" noted Volker. "Until the Janus demon has fed, it can only travel a limited distance from the place from which it was spawned. The rest of the city is quite safe, for the moment."

Direwolf wasn't much comforted by that thought. Cold Iron was a self-proclaimed protector of the Devil's Kitchen, and was as much of a loner as Direwolf. He was about to voice this thought, but froze suddenly as he heard a series of crashes growing steadily closer.

"Looks like we might not have to find Minute Man after all," he growled as he turned towards the source of the disturbance.

"Try to get a hold of it, if you can," whispered Volker as he rummaged through his bag. "But remember - it moves with preternatural speed."

"He's not the only one," countered Direwolf, then concentrated on the task at hand.

Hunched forward, Direwolf scanned the alley. Even with his heightened senses, he was surprised when his target appeared at the opposite end in a blur. It still bore a resemblance to a twisted jester, but its limbs had lengthened as it had made its escape from Minute Man and Alche-Miss to facilitate its leaps. The creature now stood at a gangly seven feet tall.

With a casual swipe of its arm, the demon batted an adjacent garbage can towards Direwolf and Volker. Any doubts that Direwolf had about the creature's strength were dispelled as it saw the speed with which the refuse bin hurtled towards them. He quickly shoved Volker out of harm's way and threw himself to the side as the impromptu missile flew by, garbage scattering in its wake.

Direwolf quickly righted himself, but he had lost sight of the demon. It was no longer anywhere to be seen in the alleyway. He tensed in the eerie silence for several seconds, hoping to detect some trace as to where the demon had hidden. That smell of rotten eggs...

The hairs on the back of his neck rose suddenly, and he instinctively spun around and looked upwards. The Janus demon had managed to clamber to the fire escape above him unnoticed, and was now leaping down upon the dark avenger.

Direwolf braced himself for the impact, throwing his arms in front of himself to shield his face from the creature's talons. In a small mercy of fate, Direwolf's mass increased reflexively to absorb the shock as the demon slammed into him. Even so, he was forced back a step by the impact, giving the creature time to advance once more in a flurry of slashing attacks.

Fortunately, Direwolf's hardened skin was tough enough to deflect most bullets. He caught the blows on his forearms, which stung but did not penetrate. However, the demon pressed its attacks with unnerving speed and accuracy. The thing was so fast, it was almost like fighting Bullet. Direwolf surmised that the creature was strong and fast enough that it could likely claw through even steel like a buzzsaw through soft pine.

Direwolf didn't plan on standing around idly to test that hypothesis, however. Keeping his left forearm raised to shield himself against the demon's relentless onslaught, he snapped forward with a right hook, just like Joe had taught him, with the full weight of his body behind the punch. He hit the beast's chest, knocking it backwards. Before he could follow up with a grab, however, the creature had already launched itself forward again. To Direwolf's surprise, however, the demon leaped past him and barreled into Volker, who had just pulled an atomizer spray bottle from his bag. The pair crashed into a pile of garbage bags in a tangle.

Horrified, Direwolf threw himself at the heap of refuse into which demon and shopkeeper had disappeared. Hearing an unearthly screech from underneath the trash, he plunged his hand within and clamped it around the source. Maintaining a firm grip, he withdrew the struggling form...

...to find himself holding a terrified Volker by the throat.

Direwolf almost let go out of shock, but he remembered Volker's warning of the demon being a shapeshifter. Keeping his arm extended, he concentrated on the scent of person he was holding. In addition to the stink of garbage was an out-of-place sweet fragrance. This had to be the demon. Direwolf snarled and tightened his grip around the duplicate's throat.

"Unhand that poor man, you vigilante!" came an outraged cry from behind.

Direwolf's stomach sank as he recognized the voice. He tried to think of a quick explanation that would convince Minute Man of his intentions, but the only thought circulating in his head was, "Man, this doesn't look good..."

Direwolf turned his head to address the leader of Freedom Force, just in time to receive a furious blow from his titanium staff on the chin.

Lights swam before Direwolf's eyes, and the world got that underwater look. Minute Man was definitely not pulling his punches. Momentarily stunned, Direwolf lost his grip on the Volker lookalike and tumbled backwards. The double turned around, revealing a duplicate face that was grinning fiendishly. Letting loose a hideous laugh, the Janus demon bounded down the alleyway, disappearing quickly into the shadows.

The real Volker hastily extracted himself from the trash heap. "Hold your attack, Minute Man! This has all been a terrible misunderstanding!"

"That's for sure," muttered Direwolf as he shook his head to clear the spots of color still dancing in his eyes. He wiped away the blood that was now trickling down the side of his mouth from Minute Man's attack, wincing as he touched the sensitive bruise that it had left. He knew it wouldn't last, but it sure hurt right now.

Minute Man eyed Direwolf suspiciously, but made no move. "Just what's going on here?" he demanded, his staff held at the ready.

"Peaches and Cream!" called out the Alche-Miss as she caught up with the group. "I just can't leave you two bad boys alone now, can I?"

"My humble apologies, my dear Alche-Miss," interjected Volker, "but neither of them is truly to blame. The Janus demon delights in causing such havoc."

"Pardon me, old timer, but come again? Did you say a demon?" asked Alche-Miss skeptically.

"As incredible as it sounds, I believe him," noted Direwolf. "He's managed to call its moves pretty accurately so far."

Minute Man shook his head and was about to speak, but Direwolf cut him off. "By the way, Minute Man, I'm guessing that the Freedom Force computers didn't show a new reading of Energy X, did they?"

Taking Minute Man's frowning silence as an affirmation, he turned back to Volker. "Though I thought you said that you shouldn't be in any danger from the demon."

"Obviously, I am not," responded the bookkeeper.

"As you can see, I've scarcely suffered a bruise. The Janus demon's object was to sow confusion, or it could no doubt have slain me on the spot. Of course, it underestimated the threat that I posed," he added, holding up his atomizer spray.

Direwolf regarded it with puzzlement. "Just what did you spray it with?"

"Holy water," answered Volker, with a twinkle in his eye. "Mixed with a substantial amount of Chanel Number 5. A suitably exotic smell in the Devil's Kitchen that you should have no problem tracking it now."

As if simultaneously coming to the same realization, three questioning sets of eyes turned towards Alche-Miss.

"You're in luck, boys," she remarked sardonically. "Tonight my companion was Mister Yves Saint-Laurent."

After a hasty discussion, Minute Man and Direwolf had come to an uneasy truce in hunting the Janus demon.

Direwolf had let Volker do most of the persuading. Minute Man seemed to have a surprising amount of respect for the elderly, and Alche-Miss was quickly impressed by Hilfgaart's immediate familiarity with the Goddess of the East.

Volker had assured them that the holy water he had used on the beast would force it to retreat for a while to regain its strength, though it would recuperate quickly. And Direwolf had to admit, following a trail of Chanel Number 5 perfume was remarkably easy and considerably more pleasant than sniffing for burnt sulfur. Still, he was positive he knew who the demon's next target would be.

Cold Iron considered himself the self-appointed protector of the Devil's Kitchen, and was every bit the loner that Direwolf was. Direwolf was certain that Cold Iron's armor would protect him from the brunt of the demon's attacks, but it also made him ponderously slow, and practically a stationary target next to the demon's speed and agility.

Direwolf didn't know what he dreaded more - facing the demon again, or watching the first meeting between Minute Man and Cold Iron.

"Talk about an explosive combination," thought Direwolf, wincing at the thought.

The trail that the heroes followed became progressively familiar to Direwolf - this was definitely Cold Iron's patrol route.

With his enhanced senses, Direwolf was the first to hear the sounds of battle from ahead. He instinctively leapt to the rooftops and broke into a run.

"Direwolf!" cried out Minute Man. "You can't just go charging in without a plan! You don't know what form the demon may have taken!"

"Don't worry," Direwolf called back. "If a blue-coated avenger charges me with a titanium staff, I'll know it's just you saying hello."

Direwolf's desire to get to the battle first was more than a desire to make sure that Cold Iron had immediate backup. The armored avenger was a little less likely to become confrontational with Minute Man if there was a familiar face present. At least, that was what Direwolf hoped.

Still, Minute Man and Alche-Miss were not about to hold back. Volker was already urging them ahead, saying that he would catch up shortly. Minute Man was easily able to follow Direwolf's lead, and showed signs of catching up. Alche-Miss was the slowest-moving of the trio, but her ability to levitate guaranteed that she wouldn't lose sight of them.

Direwolf arrived to find the battle going much as he had feared, with Minute Man right behind him. The Janus demon, still bearing a faint resemblance to Volker, had once again transformed its limbs to give them deadly claws and talons. It stood on top of the armored giant's shoulders, its talons digging into the plating and holding it fast. Cold Iron and the demon had been grappling with the giant hammer that Cold Iron favored, but the demon had just managed to yank the weapon free with a savage twist. From its perch, it proceeded to slam the massive mattock repeatedly into Cold Iron's chest.

Minute Man reacted first, hurling a Minute Missile directly at the demon's head. His aim struck true, and the monster was momentarily disoriented. Direwolf followed through by borrowing one of the demon's earlier tactics, and he flung a nearby trash can squarely at the demon's chest. Disoriented and with its talons locked into the black steel plates of Cold Iron's armor, the demon was unable to dodge and was knocked loose. It tumbled across the weed-choked empty lot.

The Janus demon still retained enough agility to land on its feet behind Cold Iron, however, and proceeded to slam the hammer into his backside, throwing the Devil's Kitchen guardian to the ground.

At that moment, Alche-Miss floated over the battlefield. She swallowed hard. From a distance, the prone form of Cold Iron looked startlingly like Man-Bot, and the image of him at the demon's mercy filled her with dread. With an impassioned plea of an incantation, Alche-Miss called upon the Goddess to banish the demon from their presence. With a frustrated howl, the demon faded away, leaving the hammer to clatter on the street.

The first thing Direwolf did was leap to Cold Iron's side and help the armored man to his feet. "Come on, metal butt. It doesn't hurt that much."

"What the hell was that thing, Wolf?" Cold Iron's voice echoed inside his helmet. He looked in wonder at the long bright scars torn into the black anodized armor.

"A demon," answered Direwolf, not knowing any better answer than the simple one. "And it would really speed things up if you took my word for it."

Direwolf didn't imagine that a seven-foot tall armored giant could shrug, but somehow Cold Iron managed it. He reached down to retrieve his hammer. "Fair enough. So are we facing more of those monsters, or was that it?"

"There's only the one, but it will be back," noted Minute Man imperiously. "Our best tactic is..."

"When I said ‘we,' I wasn't talking to you!" Cold Iron interrupted hollowly, pointing his hammer at Minute Man for emphasis. He turned back to Direwolf. "Just what were you thinking, bringing the Man and his prom queen date down here? You going soft or something?"

Direwolf heard Minute Man inhale sharply, and he suspected that Alche-Miss would have some choice words as well. The situation had the potential to go downhill very quickly. He plunged ahead as best as he could.

"Iron, this really is not the best time to take verbal jabs at Freedom Force," explained Direwolf wearily. "Trust me on this - we're going to need to work together to put this thing down for good. If we don't, it's going to play hit and run with us until it picks us all off, one by one."

"A masterly summation, Direwolf," called out Volker as he stepped out of the shadows. "I could not have put it better myself."

Cold Iron glanced at the old man for the first time, not knowing what to think. Volker simply gave an amiable wave. Cold Iron shook his head and took another long look at his scarred armor before responding to Direwolf.

"Don't tell me - you wanted to go trick-or-treating and had to bring your father along?"

Direwolf growled deep in his chest and narrowed his eyes.

"Hey," interjected Cold Iron. "You only said I shouldn't take pot shots at Freedom Force! You didn't say anything about yourself."

Upon Volker's insistent pleas, the group proceeded to put the empty lot as far behind as possible while discussing further tactics.

"But Hilfgaart," asked Minute Man, "why did we not wait for the demon to reappear and coordinate our attacks from there?"

"If all we wanted to do was kill it, that would have been an option, yes," noted Volker. "But banishing the demon while saving the human that it's possessing will be a little more difficult."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Cold Iron, who had not yet learned of the creature's identity. "You're saying that thing was human?"

"And he will be again, if we do our part," continued Volker, pulling one of his books from his black bag. "There is a ritual of exorcism for just such a purpose. Unfortunately, it requires an item that I don't normally have in stock."

"Just what would that be?" asked Alche-Miss, not certain that she wanted to hear the answer.

"A sliver of bone from a deceased holy man," answered Volker. "Your typical devout priest would serve nicely."

Alche-Miss suffered an involuntary shudder. "You mean we need to go back to the cemetery?"

Volker nodded. "It's strange how these things have a habit of coming back to the beginning, yes?"

"Now just wait a minute!" interjected Minute Man. "You're talking about exhuming a person's corpse without permission from the authorities or the deceased person's family!"

"Yes, well, demons have a nasty habit of being inconsiderate in allowing for due process and procedure, and our options are rather limited with the time that we have," noted Volker somberly. "If we had any other options, I would suggest them. But we only have two, and one of them leaves us with a corpse, the other takes a bit of unused bone from someone who dedicated his life to helping others."

Minute Man simply hung his head in silent acquiescence.

Direwolf broke the silence. "Okay, so we need to get to the cemetery and dig up a priest, as horrid as it sounds. How long do we have before this demon catches up to us?"

"Not nearly enough," explained Volker. "The spell that Alche-Miss used is but a temporary one, and you have seen the speed with which the demon moves. We could not possibly reach the cemetery and find what we need before it finds us. Which brings us to our second difficulty. Someone needs to volunteer to delay the demon and lead it back to the cemetery."

Minute Man stuck his chin out defiantly. "Not a problem, Hilfgaart. I'll handle the demon until you're ready."

Direwolf shook his head. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Minute Man. None of us are fast enough to dodge that beast's attacks. But I can sense it coming, and I'm solid enough to take the punishment that it can dish out without sacrificing the speed I'll need to get back." He shrugged apologetically at Cold Iron. "No offense, big guy."

The armored warrior simply gave a derisive snort.

"Besides, Minute Man... I'm going to be focused on staying alive so someone with excellent tactical sense is going to be needed to coordinate the counter-assault once the demon gets back to the cemetery," Direwolf added. He took a deep breath and swallowed.

"And you have a lot more experience at that than I do," he finished.

The forthright admission, completely devoid of sarcasm, caught Minute Man and the others off guard. Minute Man rallied quickly, however, and gave a somber nod. "All right, lad," he said gravely. "You've made your point. Just don't get yourself killed out there."

A trace of cockiness returned to Direwolf's face. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," he remarked dryly. He shoved his hands into his pockets partly to show his typical stance of nonchalance, and partly so the others couldn't see how much they were shaking.

"Well?" he prompted. "You better get going."

Alche-Miss gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"For luck," she insisted.

The rest of the group nodded silently and resumed their trek to the graveyard. As Direwolf faded from their view, Alche-Miss whispered to Volker. "That doesn't seem like the Direwolf I remember. Has he been stealing a page from your book?"

"He's a most promising young man," noted Volker sagely. "And making me proud in more ways than you could imagine."

Later, in the graveyard, Minute Man sketched out a quick plan for the group. There had been a few tense moments over who would be responsible for unearthing the corpse, but harsh reality settled the matter. Alche-Miss needed to study the ritual with Volker's help.

Hilfgaart remarked on the situation. "When I was but a young lad and embarked on my first adventure, much like this one, my mentor gave some very sage advice to me. ‘There are two types of men in this world,' he said. ‘Those who have knowledge of demonic entities, and those who dig.'"

Minute Man would never shirk from an unpleasant task, and there was no way that Cold Iron was going to risk looking squeamish in front of the Sixty Second Sentinel. So the two of them found shovels in the groundskeeper's shed and set to their silent work. They rapidly found an effective way to coordinate their work. Minute Man broke up the ground so that Cold Iron could life the large chunks free with his augmented strength. Far more quickly than anyone had expected, the pair hauled the dirt stained pine coffin from the earth. Cold Iron wrested the lid away, and Minute Man gingerly picked an ivory fingerbone from the withered corpse with a grimace. Volker took it from him gratefully.

"And not a moment too soon," he called out, gesturing across the graves. "Our promising young man returns!"

The sounds of combat had been growing for some time - crashes, snarls, and the occasional impact of something large and metallic. Direwolf had discovered that Volker was right - the demon could in fact shrug off being hit with a car. Direwolf leaped to the cemetery fence and landed in a crouch. He didn't stay in place long. The Janus demon landed right behind him. It was obvious that the running battle had not been easy on the young man. His shirt hung in tatters and his jacket bore the stains from several gashes that the demon had caused. For its part, the demon had adapted to Direwolf's rock-hard skin, as its claws had lengthened and broadened until they had merged into a set of sword-like blades. The blades gleamed dark red with spatters of Direwolf's blood.

Direwolf stumbled as he reached the iron gates, his teeth set in an exhausted snarl of rage. The battle had obviously taken its toll on him.

Minute Man nodded to Cold Iron. "As we agreed?" he asked.

"Just like you planned it, Blue Boy," Cold Iron answered.

Hefting one of the shovels like a javelin, Cold Iron hurled it at the demon as Minute Man sprinted over the grounds. The Janus demon, too intent on its apparently downed prey, failed to notice the impromptu missile until it was struck full in the face. The distraction gave Minute Man the few precious moments necessary to close the distance to Direwolf, and provide him with a much needed reprieve.

Fueled by the presence of so much heroic blood in its birthplace, the Janus demon fought with berserk fury. Minute Man was forced on the defensive almost instantly, and he silently marveled at how much stamina Direwolf must have had to withstand the demon's punishing blows. The demon was an engine of destruction.

For several seconds, Minute Man was able to keep up with the frantic pace of the demon's deadly melee. Then, snarling furiously, the demon's neck suddenly extended past Minute Man's guard. The Janus demon sank its fangs viciously into the patriotic paladin's shoulder. He cried out in surprise and pain. Minute Man brought his staff down repeatedly upon the monster's body in an attempt to free himself, but the creature refused to detach. Ignoring the blows, the Janus demon drank the hero's blood that spurted from the wound.

"Hope you enjoyed your last meal," intoned Cold Iron, who had been given enough time to catch up to the ferocious battle. His hammer glowed with a blue nimbus as he aimed it at the feeding demon. A short but powerful blast of frost erupted from the hammer's head, encasing the demon in ice.

Surprised by the unexpected attack, the demon spat out Minute Man's shoulder. Before it could bite him again, Cold Iron grabbed the wounded hero and spun, shielding Minute Man with his own body. The impact of the thing's head on his back jarred them both as they stumbled clear. Another blast of ice locked the head in position.

"You're up, lady!" Cold Iron shouted.

With the demon immobilized, Alche-Miss was able to safely approach. The priest's fingerbone had been fashioned into a talisman by Hilfgaart, which Alche-Miss dangled in front of the monster's frozen, snarling visage as she chanted the incantation that he had taught to her.

A blinding flash of light surrounded the demon as it was driven from Ralph Turner's body. An infernal wave of heat washed over its icy prison, melting it instantly. When the glare faded, the unconscious form of the treacherous officer in a tattered blue uniform lay motionless in a steaming puddle.

Silence descended as the exhausted combatants wondered if the night's ordeals were finally over. Minute Man and Direwolf exchanged mute glances of fresh appraisal. Though the rift between the two was not yet closed, a new measure respect had grown in the mind of each.

"Well done, everyone," announced Volker as he produced several rolls of gauze and clean cloth from his bag to bandage the wounded. "I can't remember how many years it has been since I've had an adventure like that one."

"Well, I hope that I never have another adventure like that one!" exclaimed Alche-Miss.

"We should all be so fortunate," remarked Volker. "But should you ever decide that your need to know more of the inexplicable exceeds your desire to avoid it, do not hesitate to visit my store. You have quite a natural talent for this yourself, my young dear."

Volker pulled a simple business card from his bag and passed it to Alche-Miss, who looked slightly stunned at the advertisement under the circumstances. "Is there anything that you don't carry in that bag of yours?" she asked.

"It always has what I need," he answered. "The virtue of careful preparation."

Later that evening, the brass bell in Volker's bookstore chimed again as the aged bookkeeper stooped inside. He replaced his tattered hat and coat on their stand, placed his ubiquitous bag on the counter, and set about reorganizing its contents. He withdrew a blood-drenched cloth that he had used in stanching the gash in Minute Man's shoulder, and carefully set it in a bowl of water to soak. Methodically, Hilfgaart withdrew the contents of his bag and replaced them on the shelves beneath his counter. Finally, he pulled out a yellowed parchment, which he set next to an old-fashioned writing quill and ink bottle. He placed his half-rimmed spectacles over his nose, sat down at his counter, and moistened the quill with ink. The parchment was a list of sorts, and Volker Hilfgaart checked off its contents as he read them.

"The blood of a hero, of purest intention..." Check.

"Who has kissed the lips of a strangled man..." Check.

"Struck down another of noble heart in a moment of blind rage..." Check.

"And disturbed the eternal rest of a man of the cloth..." Check.

Smiling serenely, Volker Hilfgaart tossed the parchment into the air, his eye on the bowl that was now filled with red liquid. The parchment floated lazily before it spiraled downwards and landed in an empty wastebasket. With a sudden flare, the parchment burst into flames, leaving nothing but ash.

"The virtue of careful preparation, indeed," murmured Volker.

The End...