But I was far more comfortable with a gun in my hand than a calculator. I would rather be in a brutal full-contact fight than fill out a 1040. The glowing line of the prophecy exploded as the ax hammered home.

His very name taken from

The weapon of his fathers

Owen. An obsolete piece of Australian scrap. A cheap stamped sheet-metal 9mm bullet hose. But it had kept my father alive while he had stayed one step ahead of the communist patrols.

Given a quest by the crown

To defeat an impossible foe

The Elf Queen had spoken to me. Dreamer. One last thing. Ya'll got a mission. Don't screw up. Or we all git dead. This here is serious, and I ain't just funnin’ ya… As Queen of the Enchanted Forest, I order ya'll not to fail. Kill the bad 'un, or it's all over. I had accepted her quest. It was my quest to stop the Cursed One that had landed me half-dead on this altar.

Possessor of visions

My brave friend Trip, now probably dead. You talk with ghosts. You see visions. You even managed to turn back the clock. Explain that if it isn't a miracle.

Leader of men

Earl Harbinger, smoking, trying to hide a slight smile, confident in his wisdom as the most experienced Monster Hunter in the world. I’ve got three Newbies that seem to think you're their leader. Trip, Holly and Albert would follow you anywhere. Whether you know it or not, you're a leader. That's good enough for me.

Ally of dark forces

The Wendigo loomed in my mind. Billowing skins under an antlered skull. Special Agent Franks, still in mud-covered armor, snapping his hand to his forehead in a salute of honor.

Friend of monsters

Skippy and his tribe dancing and rejoicing. A mighty werewolf tearing with fang and claw as he battled the undead.

The line of text shattered in the darkness.

I knew now.

The artifact spun, shrieking, casting off insane energies, piercing screams inside my head from the trapped souls within its prison. It was not just a key. It was a manifestation of all that was bad. It had been forged by a being of unnatural law. Placed here as a tool of invasion. Held in place, waiting for that one mortal with the will to use it. The Old Ones were patient. They were smart. They had steered their pawns into place, taking thousands of years, and generations of human toil to bring this meeting about. It recognized me. It welcomed me. It called out to me.

I called back.

The priestess shrieked out an alien command. I was fully engulfed now in the whipping black energy. Lord Machado swung the weapon. The ax blade descended, screaming down toward my unprotected chest.

"No."