Cassus Finley relaxed his sore bones in his rocking chair, listenin to the faint news station just audible below the loud hiss and crackle of static on his radio. "In the wake of the Mount Saint Helens eruption, search and rescue continue to search for survivors, with fifty-seven claimed already by the volcano. Cleanup crews, and volunteers estimate two-hundred-fifty homes destroyed, and the county has confirmed forty-seven bridges, fifteen miles of railroad, and one-hundred-eighty-five miles of road completely destroyed by the violent force of the mountain..."

"Weren't right what happened to them poor bastards." Cassus Finley squinted, staring into the shadow of the great Juniper in the center of the crossroads. "Funny seein' you there, considerin'a last time I seen you, yer head were rollin' round my boots."

Bane steps out from behind the Juniper, overgrown in his clothes; tatters clinging weakly by straining, and split seams. His eyes narrowed at Cassus Finley. "You."

"Who else'dya expect?"

Bane drew a police revolver on Cassus, who laughed his dry, papery laugh. "Oh, sure. That's just a little'un ain't it?" Cassus Finley reached for his shotgun, cocked it in a single hand, and trained it on Bane.

Bane feigned left, and then right, but Cassus Finley's reflexes were too fast, even after the last ninety-two years in exile.

"Now, I know this here sweet piece o'wood'n'iron ain't goina much do ya harm, but yer another thing comin' iffin ya think I'll lay down an' die. Kilt yer sorry hide once. Thinkin', well, 'kin prolly do it again."

Bane smiled. Before he could move, the old (they're called cowboys) cowboy moved impossibly fast, flickering out of his seat, onto his feet, firing a round of buckshot.
The shot tore through Bane's ruined shirt, disintegrating the fabric, and lodging in the bloodstained kevlar vest beneath. The force from the shotgun threw Bane onto his back, but to his satisfaction, did no true damage. He say straight up to see the old cowboy flicker from his place on the porch, and through the shabby screen door of his tinderbox of a cabin.

Bane retrieved his police revolver, and climbed to his feet. He ran for the door, when the second blast sent it splintering out at him, knocking him onto his back. "C'mon in iffin you can, you sunnova bitch!"

Bane say up, and pulled the splinters, and shards of dry wood from his body. He shook his was sharply. That urgency that came in his previous encounters did not come with the old man.

The cowboy. (The outlaw - he's an outlaw) "Shut up."

Bane was on his feet, running for the door again, and he saw a bright flash of light as the butt of Cassus Finley's shotgun connected between his eyes. Bane collapsed, dropping his police revolver, covering his face with his gloved hands, the leather splitting over his enormous fingers. He heard the metal clatter of his police revolver as Cassus kicked it away. "Won't be needin' that, ya stupid git."

Bane groaned, feeling warm blood flowing from the split skin between his eyes even as it healed shut, leaving a scar across the bridge of the healing bone in his nose. He smelled coppery blood in his nostrils, and pulled his hands down over his face, smearing the blood down to the bottom of his chin. He stared up at the outlaw, and past him, on the mantle of the old man's hearth, two very familiar weapons, and something else, set over the twin pistols.

Bane's eyes widened, and his expression turned to rage. Cassus Finley grinned, glancing over his shoulder. "Oh! Ya like that, dontcha? Took me a souvenir from our last encounter. Y'know. The one you lost."

Bane stared at the polished piece of skull, the faceplate of his once self, and he screamed, kicking Cassus' feet out from underneath him.

Bane rolled onto his side, and pushed himself to his feet, drawing his long bladed dagger and thrusting it into the outlaw's belly. Cassus Finley flickered out, reappearing behind Bane, and grasping his head in hands nearly large as Bane's. He snapped Bane's neck with an effortless twist, and Bane collapsed onto the rough log floor of Cassus Finley's cabin.

"Ya jackassed cud chewin' acorn calf, I made you." Cassus Finley stamped a heavy, worn boot on Bane's throat. There was a sharp crack. "You think yer still that thing on the mantle? Shit, yer jist a pale shadow o'power, ya addle headed bed-fagot."

Bane felt the bones in his neck shifting, and the numbness in his limbs turned to agony, burning, then tingling.

Cassus Finley turned away from Bane, taking heavy, deliberate steps toward the mantle. His picked the polished bone faceplate up from the mantle, turned and tossed it at Bane.

It landed on his chest.

Bane moved, raising his hand, and placing it over the polished bone faceplate. His eyes welled up, and something rose inside him - an emotion he was unfamiliar - as a solitary tear beaded from the corner of his eye, and ran down his temple into in a thin stream into his shaggy, dreadlocked hair.

"I bellied through the bush, and kilt the devil myself." Cassus Finley drew the twin pistols, custom wonders of his time.

Perfect creations in his time.

A familiar shadow crossed his face, one not since he gunned down his comrades for a few measly satchels of loot, which in the end were lost while he battled the Emim that would become Bane. "It's my time again."

Cassus turned and found himself face to face with Bane. Bane struck him over the side of his face with the polished bone faceplate before Cassus could displace himself.
The outlaw cried out in pain, and surprise, tumbling to the floor, his twin pistols in hand.
The old man recovered in a tight roll, taking cover behind a dusty looking rustic couch made from boughs and branches.

He rose up from his cover, firing his revolvers.

Bane felt the impact in his vest, each round hitting with the force of an earthquake, leaving gold slugs embedded in his armor. By the time Cassus Finley's smoking guns were empty, Bane was flat on his back, bleeding from grazing wounds along his neck, and cheek where the outlaw pulled his shots.

He had to have those guns.

Cassus Finley stared at his pistols. Fired for the first time since he last fought this monster.
He stared down at Bane as the creature in men's flesh as it struggled to right itself.
He pushed with his mind, and Bane screamed, pressing his hands to the sides of his head.

"Ya see? I made ya... an' no worse for it, these damnable infernal gifts come-a-floodin' to me."

"...and I made you." Bane grimaced, shaking his head, and pushed himself up, leaning on his palms, the polished bone faceplate falling to the floor beside him. Bane shudders, and coughed up a mouthful of blood.

Cassus Finley flicked out, and reappeared beside Bane.

He knelt, and put a heavy hand around Bane's throat. "Ya see? Yer not right, monster. Weren't a thing natural 'bout ya. Ya belong dead."

"Arrogant old man." Bane drew his short dagger and plunged it in the outlaw's throat, sawing the blade deep into the man's throat to the bone.

Cassus Finley's eyes went wide with surprise, and he flicked out. Bane lunged to his feet, spinning on his heel, and thrust out the blade as the bleeding outlaw reappeared with Bane's blade planted in his chest to the hilt.

Bane tilted his head as the outlaw slid off his blade, and hit the floor with a wet grunt.
His body shook as he propped himself on his side and spat a mouthful of blood on Bane's splitting boots. "You lose."

Cassus Finley collapsed under his own weight, coughed out a short laughter, and died.

Bane stared down at the old man's body. His clothes would fit nicely, but Bane would just have to find something less bloodied... less died-in.

✟ ☧ ✟

Police were already on site with a perimeter set when they arrived. Polovatski followed the Griffords' car, and parked behind them along the side of the crossroads.

Polovatski noted with a deep setting dread the overgrown juniper in the center of the crossroads, and how - without even knowing why - the responding officers avoided the tree.

"L.C.! Over here!" Detective Fallon's high voice called from the old cabin on the side of the road. He stared at the cabin, unable to shake a thick sense of danger. The same sense he always had when on the tail of a suspect.

"Fallon! Get away from there!"

"L.C..?"

Polovatski drew his pistol just as the wall splintered outward in an explosion old, dry old wood.
Bane landed on the side o the yard out of the busted cabin wall into a crouch, his fists planted on the cracked earth, and crabgrass, a thick faded brown-black leather duster draped over him.
He looked up, his eyes peering through the the polished bone faceplate of his former self - his true face - masking the face of his enemy, the boy who without effort imprisoned Bane in his cast off compulsions.

Polovatski aimed his pistol, drawing Bane's face into the sights. He took a breath, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened.

"Oh, fuck me..." Polovatski dropped the cylinder open, and loaded six new rounds into the empty chambers, cursing himself for dumping his ammunition onto the captain's desk. Petty argument, and banter cost him an opportunity. More than that.

Bane rose up to his feet slowly, his newly acquired duster cascading off him as he did. Bane drew his new pistols, newly loaded, and began firing.
Behind Bane, from the porch of the ruined cabin, Detective Alexander Fallon fell into action without thought, drawing his own service weapon, and squeezing off shots. His six rounds landed in a loose cluster across Bane's left shoulder. Bane turned, training the custom revolver on Fallon. Polovatski aimed his own pistol, and fired, striking Bane in his left hand. Bane howled from beneath his mask, dropping one of his two pistols. The hole in his hand bled profusely, slowing as the wound sealed itself, leaving a fresh scar. The responding officers on site began firing, but Bane shrugged off the hail of bullets, dodging what he could, and taking the force from what he could not.

Randall, and Samael Grifford stood back, away from the action, single file behind Detective Frederick Polovatski as he fired, emptied his weapon, reloaded, and fired again.

The gunfire ceased, and Bane still stood. He knelt and recovered his second pistol, as police began reloading their arms.

Bane's were already loaded.

Detective Fallon took cover in the doorway, as police scrambled behind their cars, opening driver, and passenger doors for cover.

Detective Polovatski reloaded, and trained his revolver on Bane. One of the officers, Polovatski was not sure which, shouted through a bullhorn.

"Drop your weapons now, or we will open fire!"

"Shit." Polovatski kept his weapon trained on Bane.

Bane dropped his pistols to the ground, and put his hands up.

"This isn't going to go well." Samael Grifford's voice carried toward Polovatski. "You saw the tapes from the substation. He's going to kill them to the last man."

"I know."

"Order the sergeant to pull those officers out."

"...and say what? He's a monster, and he's going dismember them?"

"Tell them you're sending me."

"Are you insane?" Randall Grifford grand his brother's sleeve.

"You are the the last of The Order, your honor. He has to be stopped."

"I am your brother. You don't get to walk into a fight you know you'll lose."

Samael pulled his sleeve away from Randall's hand. "Sometimes we kill them. Sometimes they kill us. He doesn't want them, he wants us. You sacrifice a pawn to protect the King. Detective order them to stand down."

"Detective do not not make that call."

"Randall get off your fucking pedestal long enough to save these people."

"You're a fucking idiot, Sam! Don't you do this."

"If I rush in there, they're going to shoot him. They'll shoot me. We will all die here today, and that fucking monster will live, and kill, and break the Balance. You know what will happen."

Randall Grifford ignored his brother. "Detective Polovatski, if you make that call..."

"You can have my badge. All units stand down, again, all units stand down. Judge Samael Grifford is going to negotiate."

The officers looked visibly relieved.

"You see? They knew. Those men knew what was coming. I've made my peace. You, brother. You resurrect The Order. Bring us back, and take out those traitorous motherfuckers in the church."

"You just kill that thing so I can kick your ass, you stupid selfish bastard."

"See you on the other side, your honor." Randall pushed his brother away, and stepped out from behind detective Polovatski. He carefully removed his long coat, and dropped it to the dusty crossroads.

Bane slowly turned to face him, putting his hands down.

"All units, stand down and return to the station. Do not engage hostile."

Samael Grifford kept his pace, a slow deliberate stride, drawing twin daggers. "You. You will answer for your crimes."

Bane's bright green eyes narrows beneath his mask. He tilted his head, his shaggy dreadlocked hair hanging to one side.

The police earlier on the scene were reluctant to leave, but under direct orders, acquiescent. Slowly the squad cars pulled away until only Bane, Samael, Randall, Clayton, and the two detectives remained.

"I'll have your head for this, Loose Cannon."

"That's fair."

Samael Grifford stopped two yards from Bane. "No weapons."

"No weapons."

Samael tossed his blades behind him, and rushed forward. Bane rushed headlong into Samael. Samael ducked, and Bane toppled over him, landing flat on his back.

"I think he means us to leave." Polovatski inched toward his car. "We need to go."

"You go, you coward."

Clayton placed a gloved hand on Randall's shoulder. Randall did not shrug it off. "Your honor... I will stay. You get the hell out of here. I'll back Samael."

"You know what this means, Clay. Think of David, and Em."

"I am. Detective, take Judge Grifford, and go. If he refuses, detain him."

"You incredulous shit. I'll not make an emptiness of your family."

"Your brother's right. Go and rebuild. I have this."

"No."

"Your honor?" Clayton removed his duster, and handed it to the white haired Judge Grifford. "Tell Emily I went for the Honor and Glory of The Order. Give my coat to David."

Bane and Samael traded blows, and for the time, Samael appeared to have the upper hand.

"Are you all fucking insane? You know you can't win this."

"We have to try or we may as well all offer our heads. Detective, escort the Judge. I'll meet you there when this is over."

"You're a shit liar, Clay."

"It's been an honor, Judge Grifford."

✟ ☧ ✟

It was only Bane, Clayton, and Samael, now.

Bane held Samael Grifford by the throat in one arm. Grifford struck him hard at the elbow, and the wrist, but to no avail. Bane held him higher, and Clayton rushed in behind him, thrusting his long blade dagger between Bane's shoulders. The blade pierced through Bane, and protruded from his chest. Bane turned, and struck Clayton with Samael, dropping the latter onto Clayton as he did.

Samael coughed, holding his throat with both hands. He regained his bearing as Bane struggled to reach for the dagger Clayton plunged into his back to the hilt.

"We've got one shot at this... let's make it count. On your feet Samael. On your feet!"

Samael rose up, shaky, but to his feet. His voice was hoarse, and eyes bloodshot. He leaned on Clayton for stability. "We get him off balance... cut the motherfucker to pieces..."

Clayton watched Bane push the protruding blade in his chest backward, reach behind himself, and pull the long dagger out from his body. He shivered, and dropped the blade to his feet. Bane turned to face Clayton, and Samael.

"We have one chance, Clay. Make it count. He's a clumsy fighter... relies entirely on his strength." Samael pushed himself off Clay, and cracked his neck, and back. He stretched his arms, first the left, then the right.

"...yeah, just his strength." Clayton darted left, wide. Samael went right.

Bane stood his ground, taking a low stance, one foot forward, knee bent, one foot back, knee low. Clayton cut in sharply, darting in at Bane's right side. Samael arced around, rushing Bane from behind.
Clayton closed the distance, and dropped into a slide as Samael leaped for Bane's exposed back. Clayton slid into his legs, trapping Bane's between his own as Samael's force pushed Bane forward. Clayton rolled, pulling Bane forward.
Bane caught the ground with his palms, rolling with the forward momentum, and trapping Clayton's legs with his own.
As he rolled forward, he released Clayton, throwing him. Samael rolled backward, away from Bane, recovering to his feet, skidding back along the dirt road as he did.

Clayton landed hard on his shoulder, and felt his collar bone crack beneath his weight, the wind leaving his lungs with a sharp hiss.

Bane stood between the two, Clayton and Samael equal distance from him. He looked between the two of them, and turned to face Samael. Samael charged in again, and Bane matched him. As the two collided, Bane captured Samael in his arm, rushing for the Juniper in the center of the crossroads. He flung Samael toward the tree.

Clayton rolled onto his back in time to see Samael collide with the tree. There was a brief black flash, and Samael was gone.

Bane smiled beneath his mask, the one true piece of himself, the accidental totem created by Cassus Finley, and the completion to the thing he would become. He was neither Jonathan Walker, nor was he the creature once he was. He was something else. A monster? Maybe, yes. A monster. A killer? If there ever was a killer, it was he, and none more powerful, or brutal. Not since his creation had he ever known free will... and perhaps fighting the will of the dead boy failed time, and again... but to recreate himself? To become more than some mere man, and more than the Emim... to become Bane.

He would obliterate everything Jonathan knew and loved, and when the slate was clean, the compulsion from the remnants of the dead boy would stop, and he would be only Bane.

He turned, and saw Clayton Walker on his feet, his right arm hanging low at the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Jonathan." Clayton drew his short dagger. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you... that I allowed you to become this thing, when all you needed was time."

"Jonathan Walker is dead."

Clayton frowned, fighting the tears welling up in his eyes.