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The Risks of Glory, chapter 3 of 8

Disclaimer: Legal stuff, don't own characters, haven't made any money, this is for entertainment purposes, no profit earned, lawyers go away. –kisses-

POV: Shifts Perspective

Spoiler Alert: There are tidbits from past episodes and Spanderverse: stories.

Notes: Tenth story in the Spanderverse-universe, following “Hospital Visits”. Everything from the television series through the defeat of Adam also occurred as depicted, in the Spanderverse.

People’s thoughts are depicted in italics. You’ll find emphasis depicted with an underline.

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The Risks of Glory

Ch 3 – Another Falls

 

Verona, Italy – The Order of St. Lucian Nunnery

 

The entry vestibule of the nunnery stood open to the elements. Not only had the heavy oak door been torn from its hinges, but the solid stone archway had tumbled as easily as a child’s blocks. From inside were the screams of women, some barely older than girls. They’re yells bounced off of more stone walls within. Blood covered most of the floor along with a few scorch marks from magic blasts that had done no good.

 

Standing deep within the citadel, was a blonde woman with a limp perm. She was wearing a tight fitting silk dress of royal blue and pumps of dark gray. A hair band and belt matching the color of her shoes completed her simple ensemble.

 

Around her, short grayish/brown-skinned and bumpy looking men and women attacked the humans with enthusiasm. There were two dead monks from Glory’s cadre of ‘helpers’, but she paid no mind to them at all. Instead her focus was on feeling the place, listening to its history and all of its dark secrets. They radiated from the walls and floor and whispered through the corridors. They told her things she wished to hear, like the fact that her little runaway Czechs had been here. Those naughty, naughty boys with their Key-stealing ways; she’d have to punish them when she finally caught up with them.

 

Glorificus heard from the walls that the person she really needed to speak to was the Mother Superior. She’d be in the fortified basement, of course. Glory looked irritated; she was already sure the woman would be chanting away to herself, trying to summon some weak-assed magic to delay the Beast. As if! Religious people! They were supposed to be all helpful, and instead they defiantly stood in her way at every turn. It was enough to make a girl cranky.

 

Striding across the room, she completely ignored the chaos and blood letting going on around her. The Sisters, for the most part, weren’t a concern. Whether they escaped or were killed here and now wouldn’t make any difference to her, and ergo, wouldn’t make any difference to the world. At least in Glory’s estimation: her worldview only stretched as far as her own wants and desires. Right now, she desired to speak to an old, chanting woman.

 

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Mother Superior stood before a small fire burning in a pit built into the stone floor. Above her, the sounds of her novitiates and nuns fighting for their lives and losing sounded. Her eyes streamed tears for their loss and she fervently hoped that some of them would find their way to escape. She wasn’t able to help them, however. The terror that she truly didn’t believe would come, even after her encounter with the Monks from Brno, had arrived. She would die in minutes and she didn’t even have time to pray for her own deliverance nor for those who’d been under her charge. She suddenly realized what Elder Samuele had gone through in his last moments. The flesh trying to convince her to run away and leave her duty unfulfilled while her soul berated her for her fear, despite knowing she was about to enter the Kingdom of God. Her mind was torturing itself with the knowledge of what was occurring above her and her heart broke in two at the realization that like the Order of Svratka, the Order of St. Lucia would now fall. She wept bitter tears for her dear friend’s pain and for her own, but she did not let it interrupt her chant.

 

Above the fire there levitated a simple crystal ball. It was the sort commonly used by witches and seers the world over and held no special powers in and of itself. However, through the Nunnery’s magic, it linked with a similar crystal hidden in a forgotten set of suites in a hidden corridor deep in the Vatican.

 

Within the crystal ball, the Mother saw a man in a medieval military styled uniform. The man’s face was lightly scarred and his eyes were as hard as flint. They carried the righteous fire that the Mother had always hoped burned in her own eyes. The fire of the faithful; the Wrath of God which would allow them to defeat this darkness that had descended upon the world, even if she was not here to witness it.

 

“Mother,” Gregor of the Order of the Byzantium Knighthood greeted her. His expression was questioning, but his tone remained flat and free of inflection, cold.

 

She nodded her head once, “The Beast has arrived. We have failed. It falls to you now.”

 

From behind the Mother’s shoulder, a slim arm reached. A hand with well groomed nails painted shiny silver reached out past her to snag the crystal ball. Within, Gregor’s face showed just a hint of shock and fear. The Mother Superior’s own face was a mask of terror. Her breath was frozen in her lungs, her throat closed off in a spasm of horror. She tried to move, to scoot away from the devil-in-woman’s-form, but found her self frozen in place.

 

The Beast smiled at the figure in the magic vision. “Hello, Gregor. Good-bye Gregor,” she said sweetly before crushing the ball in her fist.

 

“Hello, Sweetie,” she turned on the old woman. “Now I just bet you’re familiar with two human monks who came through this way. They’d be oh-so-high, kind of attractive in a ‘we can’t get laid’ sort of way. They would have had a Key with them, or maybe they only mentioned where they hid it? Any of this ringing any bells, Pasticciotti?”

 

“Bitch-devil! I tell you nothing!”

 

“Devil? Oh, no sweetie. You’re not giving me the credit due.” She reached out and pinched the old woman’s chin in the palm of her hand. Squeezing her fingers together against the flesh until the woman had no choice but to cry out in pain, Glory felt bone crack.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to keep destroying you little human’s houses of worship. Just tell me about my Key, cream cake. It’s such a little thing, and it’s not like it’s here, so you really don’t have to defend it. Just tell me…,” her voice took on a plaintive, whining tone.

 

The Mother’s eyes leaked more tears than before, her nose running. She hurt, and the Beast could do so much more. And yet, even now, she never once was tempted to help the Evil Whore. Summoning the courage that comes from a lifetime devoted to a higher power, she hocked up a mouthful of spit and flung it into the Hellspawn’s face.

 

Glory released her in shock. She stood for a moment, wiping at her face. Her features became filled with anger and disgust and she grabbed the Mother Superior’s hair and yanked her painfully across the stone cobbles of the floor. Bringing her up to kneel before her, she stared into the old woman’s eyes and saw nothing but resolve. It angered her even more than the spit that there was no more fear in the woman, only steely acceptance.

 

“Fine. I’ve gotten bored with this whole game anyway. If you can’t be helpful in one way, then you’ll be helpful in another.”

 

The Mother Superior screamed as Glory’s fingers seem to phase through her hair and skin and skull deep into the recesses of her brain. Light swirled around the old woman’s head and the young woman’s hands. It took only moments and then Glorificus stood again, leaving the old nun’s body to fall twitching to the floor.

 

Behind her, Glory heard her monks dragging some wimpy, sniveling thing into the chamber. She turned and gave them a dangerous smile.

 

As soon as the pretty young girl in the novitiate outfit saw the Mother Superior drooling on herself, she went into hysterics. Glory watched in amusement for at least a full minute as the woman spent her energy trying to break free of her repulsive little monky’s hands and back away from the spectacle babbling on the floor. Begging for mercy in Italian, she pleaded to be let free.

 

“Just tell me what I need to know,” Glory intoned, also in Italian. “I want my Key.”

 

The young woman continued to stare at the Mother Superior and babbling for mercy. It was just dull and she was wasting Glory’s time. She stepped forward and grabbed the little mouse by her chin, squeezing painfully to get her attention. She then stopped and loosened her hold, trying to place an approximation of a comforting smile on her face.

 

“I’m looking for my Key, or the men that know where it’s at. Just tell me… before I get impatient.”

 

And the nun-in-training did. She spilled the details, what little she knew, of the Brothers who had visited. She didn’t know anything about a Key, but the Nunnery had given them traveling funds and sent them to Rome for a trip to America.

 

It took a little coaxing for the distraught girl to come up with the name of the destination, but as she revealed where the monks of Brno were headed, Glory erupted in a dazzling smile.

 

“Pack our bags, boys. We’re going to America! And guys? Make sure I get a First Class, Non-stop flight, alright?”

 

“O-of course, Your Beautiful Effervescence,” Grono answered before rushing off to find a phone and a directory.

 

Glory took no notice. “Knowing how cheap these religious orders are, we may be able to get there before them. I’d love to see their faces when I meet them in the Sunnydale airport. Just before I put my fist through them.”

 

“A-and what of the nun, Your Glowing Magnanimousity?”

 

Glory turned toward the young woman. She seemed surprised to find herself with the young ladies face still clutched in her slim hand. With a flick of her wrist a loud snap echoed and reverberated throughout the chamber.

 

“What nun?”

 

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End Ch 3

 

Tags: btvs, buffy, fanfiction, harsens-rob, spander, spanderverse, the risks of glory
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