Chapter One: Lion of Judah

Meet Erin Winter, cocky, headstrong warrior, and her best friend Mira Griffin, a closed off young lady who knows more than she's telling...

The line to the Lion of Fire Club was long that night, multitudes having gathered under the fluorescent lights to get a chance to see, or better still, to bet on the results of the fight that was rumored to happen in the well lit halls of the exclusive fight club. Few were getting in, only those willing to part ways with some cash or those waving their gold and red tickets to get in. So it was that a mysterious figure walked up to the bouncer, and he, having to squat to see in the shorter figures eyes, let the strange person in without payment of any sort, merely waving forward the man who had been assigned to meet and show around thier mysterious benefactor.

This was only the first of many steps that would lead Erin Winter to her destiny.

The proud, gaudy club that specialized in an almost gladiatorial type of competition was overcrowded, yet still cool, the expensive top-of-the-line air conditioning units working at double time to keep it that way. Despite the sudden resurgence in popularity of midevil weapons-- due to the banning of conventional firearms-- the club was rarely so popular. The vast majority of the patrons were there tonight for the challenge rumored to have taken place.

The owner had apparently challenged a top ranked swordsman to come and defend his claim that the God of Israel lives still by fighting against ten men at once in an open arena. It would be just like an true old-fashioned brawl, except all weapons would be blunted and covered with red paint to mark a hit.

That was the finale, however, and before real challenge was fought ought, several other, less prestigious fighters had to proceed with the regular, officially sanctioned and judged tournament matches.

Erin Winter sat stoically throughout the tournament matches, face giving nothing away about who she was or why she was there. At least, it wouldn't if it could have been readily seen under the covering hood of her dark cloak. She knew the matches were being taped, and that the tapes would be distributed to all ranked fighters by the next day, but she couldn't help but study the men rumored to be some of the fiercest challengers for the top rank. Looking at their little skirmish, she almost laughed at the thought. The top spot was already claimed, and they wouldn't be the ones to take it. Not on her watch, anyway. She sat back in her seat and waited until the end, and then through the next few fights, anticipation blossoming in her chest as the time of the expected challenge loomed nearer and nearer.

***

Mira was dreaming again. They weren't ordinary dreams, the kind that are there one moment but gone the next, fragile as soap bubbles. They were strong dreams, the kind that truly meant something, but like most things in dreams, they were a mystery soon forgotten in the monotony of her life.

She was never herself in those dreams, never in control. It wasn't her body, and she never had a clue what was going on as she dreamed, only what she saw and heard and touched and felt. They were always so real... there was something so captivating about them, something almost... natural. But what?


***

It was almost time. The last battle had been waged, and the winners had been exactly who Erin had thought it would be; the underdog for each win, the young Texan had netted quite a profit. If the last fight of the evening turned out the way she expected it to, she would drain several loan sharks dry and be able to help some of the families tormented by the extreme poverty that most suffered from in this day and age.

A ripple went through the crowd. Here came the owner of the club, coming to make the challenge they were all there to see.

The owner, a tall, refined British man by the name of Walter Frithen, raised his arm for quiet, stilling the smattering of respectful applause that had crept into being when he walked onto the sandy arena floor, and said in a soft voice that resonated through the large club, "I make this challenge. To those with even the slightest vestige of faith left in them, to anyone who believes that their religion is not dead, who wish to show us all that they care at all, come down, and fight ten of my champions. Should you win, you will receive the portion of the entry fee set aside for such a time. Should you lose, you shall suffer only the shame of utter humiliation."

Not a soul stirred. Erin was about to get up to go and fight as she had agreed to, when a young man, heavily muscled with a tall build, vaulted over the arena wall and into the loosely packed sand, announcing in the most audacious way that he would take the challenge. Erin merely snorted and sat back to wait. The boy was about to be crushed.


***

The dream had started the same way as it normally did. She had awakened into a scene that was already going on, her body moving and acting without her control or understanding. Mira didn't understand, and it made her afraid.

As always though, she experienced a new scene as soon as she got over the disorientation that comes with finding oneself in another's body. The first thing she noticed was the pain. Her entire left side was hot and throbbing, and when her hand moved to the wounded area of it's own volition she saw the long cut on her arm, previously unnoticed through the sudden blur of pain.

Her arm stopped moving. Apparently the owner of the body hadn't noticed the dripping cut either, but the examination stopped when she felt a presence around her, a presence that seemed somehow... familiar.


***

Many challengers had come and gone, each one faltering under the onslaught of ten well-trained men. The most that any one challenger had been able to defeat before succumbing to the tide was two. She chuckled and got to her feet, only to be stopped by her guard. "You don' have to do this, ma'am. There's still time ta back out."

"We've been over this, Chad." She sighed. "And it's too late to back out even if I wanted to. Your concern is touchin', but we both know I can do this."

Chad merely nodded and stepped back. Erin smiled as she made her way down the arena steps. He wouldn't let anything serious happen to her if anything went wrong.

She heard the crowd as she stepped on the soft sand of the arena, both laughing and gasping. Based on what they'd seen, she didn't stand a chance.

Walter Frithen smiled and announced, "Ladies and Gentlemen, are you in for a show. Our next challenger is none other than Erin Winter, the most critically acclaimed swordsman, or should I say, swordswoman, since Hunter Frost. What do you have to say, Miss Winter?"

It's an honor to be here tonight," She began. "But one thing's been botherin' me. Your little contest seems a bit... lopsided, to be honest." She paused, waiting for the murmurs of the crowd to die down before continuing. "You see, I don't feel that ten people are enough to show you the meanin' of faith. How many more've you got?"

Walter suggested a few numbers, and at each increase Erin again protested that the number was too small. When he at last hit one hundred, she smiled, popped her knuckles, and threw off her heavy cloak, saying, "That'll be perfect, thank you." She rolled her shoulders a couple times before drawing a gleaming silver blade. " I'd like to begin now, please."

Walter laughed. "You can't go in with that, my dear."

"I know," Erin retorted. "This goes to whoever can take me down."

She was brought a painted sword as the men appointed to fight her trickled from the arena doors. For a brief moment everything was still, then in a single moment it began. The fight, if it could be called that when one faces one hundred, was over within ten minutes. Erin had not even one fleck of paint on her.

"There is a God in this world!" Erin thundered as the crowd stared in shock. "He is not dead, He is still watching, and HE WILL NOT BE MOCKED!" She continued in a whisper, "The Lion of Fire is home to the Lion of Judah on this night."

She sheathed the blade that was to be the reward of her defeater, swirled her dark cloak onto her shoulders, and walked from the building to the applause of a solitary man, her godfather, Walter Frithen.

***

"Are you okay?" The familiar unknown voice asked Mira. She felt as her mouth opened to answer, but before it could the voice interrupted. "Never mind. I know you're not okay. But it wasn't your fault. You couldn't have done anything more than you did. You did your best.

Mira's mouth clamped down for a moment as a single tear escaped from her eyes. Not bothering to wipe it away, she turned her head down and to the side. "You saw what happened, right?"

"Yeah"

"Then you know that's not true. Look, I just want to be alone right now. I promise I won't let myself bleed to death." She said, attempting to smile but failing miserably. "I join up before y'all get back to camp. Don't let anyone wait on me, it's too dangerous to wander at night, even for Thomas."

Mira heard as that voice whispered it's assent and felt as it faded and faded and faded. Then it was gone. Her uninjured left arm rose, and, to Mira's astonishment, her hand caught fire, quickly pressing down on the long cut. A sharp cry was wrenched from her throat and she was forced out of the dream, waking up with a bone-chilling scream.