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*** IF YOU ARE UNDER 21 YEARS OF AGE, PLEASE CLOSE YOUR EYES AND HIT ALT-F4
AND LEAVE NOW... IF YOU ARE OVER 21 AND REALISE THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN
FANTASY AND REAL LIFE, READ ON AND ENJOY!!! ***

NC-17, Contains script of a violent and erotic nature. Rape is a fantasy,
anyone who even considers doing it for real should be put on the wrong end
of the Witchblade itself. Any characters and events involved in this story
are purely fictional, and are based on a comic called - Witchblade. There
is also a TV series that aired in America called Witchblade, and is based
on the same concept. However, the comics are far superior to the TV show,
which quite frankly sucked. This is definitely some of the darker stuff
I've written... Maybe I'm moving in a different direction. If you haven't
read any copies of Witchblade (TopCow Comics), I recommend you do so.
Michael Turner, the artist is amazing. Please send me comments on this
story, and if you like, I can send ya chapters 2-4 which have been written.



Witchblade: Vengeance, Destiny And Punishment Part 3 (no sex)
by Miss Pezzini ([email protected])

The Franchesco Mansion, New York, 5.30pm

Sara walked on towards the mansion. The Witchblade already was beginning to
shrink back into its hibernating state. She walked towards a large fountain
in the middle of the grand driveway. As she made her way round it, the large
wooden oak doors to the mansion opened. Two men in black suits came out,
their hands behind their backs. They stood at the top of a long but shallow
concrete staircase leading up to the door. They waited.

Sara approached calmly, her weapon now asleep on her wrist like some alien
wristwatch. She proceeded up the stairs until she was halted, and stopped in
front of the two men. One of the men cleared his throat.

"Erm.. may we help you?" He leaned forward slightly.

"NYPD," Sara flashed her badge, "I have some questions for Jackie Estacado."

"I'm sorry, but The Don or his son, doesn't want any visitors tonight." The
man continued, "Perhaps you should go back to the station and arrange a
meeting with him through his lawyers."

"Look, I don't have time for this. Just tell him Detective Pezzini is waiting
for him outside."

"Maybe, I didn't make my self clear, lady." Both the men began to reach
into their jackets, when suddenly the front door opened. Ms. Boucher walked
through.

"Ms. Boucher, good evening Ma'am." The two men pulled their hands out of
their jackets, and greeted her.

"A problem?" Ms. Boucher asked.

"This is Detective Pezinni, she has asked to speak to Mr. Estacado."

"Then let her see him. He's out the back playing tennis." Ms. Boucher was
well aware of who Sara was. Sara's friend Lisa was a model in BOUCHER
Agencies. They had met on previous occasions, at parties and so on. She was
also well aware that she was a cop, a good cop. She knew it would be in the
best interests of the Mafia to let this one slide this time. After all,
nothing bad had happened recently. Nothing the Mafia had done anyway. Her
raven stare met Sara's. She glided past her, and walked down the stairs
towards a blacked out Cadillac which had just pulled up. The driver got out
and opened the door to the back seat. He took her briefcase and closed the
door behind her. The black rear window hummed down slowly.

"Treat her nicely boys," Ms. Boucher smiled as the black window retraced
itself. The car pulled away.

Sara turned back towards the two men who had parted themselves.

"Please, this way..." One of the men bowed and motioned his arm towards the
open door. Sara, confidently, but cautiously proceeded into the Franchesco
mansion. Its not like cops haven't been in there before, it's just, it was
always on official police business, with lots of publicity which the Mafia
could not afford mess up. A large amount of their funds came from legitimate
businesses within the city. A large amount of their funds also came from
drugs and weapons, but the press did not know any details about that. Sara
walked through a long hallway, with pictures of past Italians on the wall,
the two men following behind her. She could hear the faint sounds of an
orchestra in the background. She came to a reception area, where two more
guards stood, one of them standing next to a metal detector. It was the only
way through.

"Ms. Pezzini, please, this way." She walked through the detector obviously
setting it off. The guards switched off the beeping quickly. "This way..."
The two guards who greeted her at the door lead her through the massive
mansion...



NYP Department, New York, 6.00pm

Chief Joe Siry was pondering over some photos from the mission gone "bad
apple". He stroked his furrowed brow, he looked frustrated and tired. All
afternoon he had been wondering where Sara had run off to and what the hell
had happened that night. He held his head in his hands with his elbows on
the table. He stared blindly into the heap of photos, his focus slowing
loosing itself. His eyes gently closed...

***WHAAM!!***

"Jesus!" The chief was suddenly awoken by the door to his office crashing
into some filing cabinets by the door, "Jesus Jake, what the hell are you
doing here?"

Jake stood in his doorway, his short matted blonde hair a mess. He was still
dressed in his patient gown from the hospital. His muscular arms and thighs
clearly visible.

"Chief I need to speak to you," Jake demanded. He stumbled into the office,
making his way over to the water fountain in the corner of the room.

"Jake, c'mon, I need to speak to you too, but you're in no shape to be outta
bed son."

"Chief, this is important. Where's Sara?" Jake gulped down more water.

"Jesus, look at you Jake, you lost so much blood the other night, no wonder
your body's telling ya to drink." Siry sighed, and help Jake to a chair.

"I'm ok, where's Sara?"

"She's fine. I saw her this afternoon. She's got some leads on your case."

"What the hell happened last night? Who got to me?" Jake was puzzled. He
could not really remember much from the night before. Siry put his hand on
Jake's shoulder.

"You're damn lucky you hit transmit on your radio. Hell, we had no idea what
was happening, all we could hear was your sorry ass gurgling in your own
blood. We sent in S.W.A.T. to fish you out." Siry explained. Jake raised his
eyebrows in amazement.

"Oh yeah, thanks for that by the way," Jake turned to face Joe, "But what
about Sara, what happened to her?"

"I'd like to know jus' as much as you do son. We have no idea. S.W.A.T.
stormed the penthouse you targeted on suspicion of an officer in danger. Of
course when we get there, the place is empty. Damn clean too... not even a
god damn spliff." Joe walked over to his desk, and grabbed a photo from the
top of the pile. He turned back and handed the photo to Jake. "So, who the
hell is this?" The photo showed a man dressed smartly talking to a group of
shady individuals.

"Erm... well that's Sven Gryphyn. He's the guy we're after. I'd sure like to
know if Sara saw him. Based on some intelligence we received last week, he
was due to be staying at his apartment, down town, until the weekend was
over." Jake chugged down more water.

"Look, Jake, I'll take care of this. I'll find Sara, I'll get to the bottom
of all this." Joe wanted Jake to go to sickbay or get back to hospital.

"No chief, I'm fine, I can handle this!" Jake shouted and rose quickly.

"Jake! Listen to me! You go out there in your state and you won't see
tomorrow, ya hear me?!!"

Jake knew he was right. He calmed himself and sat down. "I'm gunna put
Kinelli and Sinclair on the case right away."

"Aww c'mon chief, Kinelli and Sinclair?! You can't trust those two rookie
assholes to follow up a case like this!" Jake rose from his seat again,
obviously angered once more.

"LOOK JAKE!, I said I'd handle it. Besides, they're good cops, and you know
it."

"But SIR!.." Joe interrupted him mid sentence.

"Jake, son, I know how you feel about Sara, hell the whole station does,"
Jake hung his head, and looked down at his feet, "But you're going to have
to let this one go this time. We have people that can take care of it. Good
people." Jake sat down again in defeat. He knew it was the only way. He felt
faint-headed. His vision started to blur, and his world began to swirl.

"Chief, put Jensen on the assignment too..."

"Ok, ok..." The chief caught Jake's head as it flopped back. He called
sickbay.



Dutch's Apartment, Downtown, New York, 6.00pm

The place was a mess. There was smashed glass and china over the floors, the
sign of fine antiques being casually discarded or knocked over. The drawers
were all pulled out, with their contents radiating across the floor. The
police had left, and they had left a huge mess behind them.

Dutch stood at the entrance to his home. He was a tall handsome man, with a
large but athletic build. His muscles where clearly visible through the
ironed white shirt he was wearing, his rippling chest almost busting out of
it. Dutch stroked back his longish blonde hair back past his ears, (kinda
like how a girl would, but not.)

He picked his way through the broken glass on the floor, trying to salvage as
many of the antiques as he could.

"Shit...." He picked up a very rare aborigine carving which had been
decapitated. He put it aside. "Aww, what!" He looked at the broken pieces of
Napoleon's Sword that had been displayed proudly above his fireplace. He put
it aside. Nothing he could do about it now. He moved on. "Oh...my...god..."
He just stood there in astonishment. At his feet, his X-box was smashed to
bits. A moment of silence...

He didn't really care... he could buy it all again anyway. He made his way
over to his study on the south side of the apartment. The window was open,
and the blinds were blowing briskly in the upper currents of the city. Less
than 24 hours before, he had a tripod with a sniper rifle pointing out of it.
He closed the window, and began picking his way through the countless papers
on his desk. He sifted through it quickly. He found what he was looking for.
It was a small old notebook, with strange markings on its spine. He knew the
police would have no interest in it, the pages were empty. Dutch's mind was
focused. He had a destiny to fore fill. He wasn't lying when he told Sara
their meeting was no coincidence. He put the book in his back pocket. Under
his jacket he carried two USP silenced pistols. He checked them for
ammunition, chambered a round into each, and left the apartment.



The Franchesco Mansion, New York, 6.15pm

Sara had followed the two men, who had walked quickly and quietly through the
grand mansion. The place glowed with the finest Italian furniture, the whole
place smelled of polish and wax. They approached another large wooden door,
which was already open. The men proceeded inside, and Sara followed suit. The
room was filled with gentle classical music, people standing about and
sitting down chit-chatting about their lives. A man holding a plate with some
champagne bowed to Sara.

"A drink?" Sara shook her head. That was the last thing she needed, her
senses dulled. The two men she had been following stopped, and pointed her
through the center of the room, where a long blue carpet lead to some doors
which were wide open, leading outside. The setting sun's beams shining
through the doorway like a golden beacon. She walked on. Heads started to
turn, conversations stopped as she made her way to the door. She could hear
whispers and laughter from drunken women.

"Oh my, another one of Danette's girls?... " A rather attractive
Italian lady whispered loudly to her friend.

"I see the pickings are slim these days..." Her friend replied. The girls
laughed and carried on with their conversation, until they realized most of
their husbands and boyfriends had their mouths open, staring quite silently.

"Sal! Stop doing that!" The lady who spoke kicked her husband in the shin
under the table. Another girl exhaled in disgust.

Sara tried to ignore the guests and the whispers, < remember, you're here to
find answers > she thought. Once outside, she found herself standing on a
large red tiled patio. She looked ahead and saw a brilliant green garden,
beautifully designed, with colors bright and welcoming, and with a large
tennis court at the bottom.

"You're better than you were last week Mr. Estacado." An exhausted looking
middle aged gentleman with a slight belly gasped out with his hands on his
knees.

"And you're worse than you were last week, Ben." Sara walked up to the edge
of the court, and watched the play unfold from behind the wire walls. Jackie
Estacado noticed she was standing there, and motioned over to his opponent to
discontinue play for a moment. He walked over to her, and put his hands on
the wire.

"Ms. Pezzini, It's a pleasure to see you again. I didn't know you were
coming," Jackie smiled, showing off his perfect set of white chompers. "If
you had called me in advance, I would have prepared for your coming."

"That's ok Jackie. Look, I know we haven't spoken to each other since the
last time we met," She tailed off... remembering her last encounter with this
man.

~ ~ ~

Antonio's Pizza House, New York, April, Last Year

The Witchblade knew the strength of will in its new master. There was no
doubting that. It knew that Sara would never give up, until her body was
beaten and useless. During a series of incidents that the NYPD have
classified as "The Family Ties" Sara and her weapon had been tested to
their extremes.

It was a grey day, the rain poured down heavily, and the winds blew with a
bite. The Yakuza were angry about something, and they were taking it out on
the Italians. Sara had got foreword about an attack at Antonio's Pizza House,
in Downtown New York. It was the Don's favorite diner, and the Yakuza were
taking no prisoners. They attacked with huge force, rockets smashed through
the windows, explosions shattered glass across the room. Yakuza juves on
motorbikes made hit and run passes with machine guns at the people inside.
Sara was the only one that could stop them, her and one other. As bullets
raced towards her, the Witchblade instinctively covered her in hard thorny
amour. The Witchblade threw balls of fiery energy back at her attackers. It
wasn't enough. The Yakuza attacked massively. Rockets were exploding all
around her; she had taken several direct impacts already. The Witchblade had
grown to an enormous size, growing like a tree rooted to the floor. It spread
upwards, and lined the ceiling with its spines, reinforcing the dark green
amour getting thicker and thicker. She couldn't stand anymore... her body was
being broken.

Suddenly, she glimpsed in the corner of her eye, black shadows moving towards
her. The shadows got bigger, creeping themselves from the corners of the
room, now filled with dust and fire. Then out the shadows, roaring and
unbearable screeching and screaming, came the creatures. They were of all
shapes and sizes, they were as black as the shadows that spawned them, and
they all had huge muscles and sharp fangs and claws with evil glowing green
eyes. They attacked the Yakuza. Bullets ripped into the creatures, who
thundered madly into the hail storm. Some slumped, screamed and died, falling
with huge crashes. Others, so big, the bullets from the machine guns did
nothing to them, and found their targets. They ripped the men from their
bikes and cars, tearing them apart, limb from limb. It was madness.

Sara's Witchblade released her from her chitin shell. She fell, exhausted
and beaten. Suddenly, she was caught. Strong muscular arms held her, her
Witchblade getting smaller and smaller, leaving her clothes ripped to shreds.
They hung loosely off her slim body, exposing everything. Her body glittered
with perspiration. It rolled gently down her body. Her top was completely
torn apart by her armor. Her small brown nipples stood stiff in the cold
breeze that now blew through the cratered open wall in front of them. She was
too tired to care. She felt the person who caught her throw his large vast
black cape over her, wrapping her close to his body. The man felt her warmth
against him. He held her tight. She had never felt so safe in her life.

"Thank you for protecting my family," the mysterious man whispered to her.

"Wha... who are you?" Sara was drifting off; she would be unconscious any
second now. She looked into his eyes. He ordered the creatures to keep
attacking. His face was covered in armor, his eyes glowing green like those
creatures. "What are you?" Sara murmured and passed out.

"I am, The Darkness..."

~ ~ ~

The Franchesco Mansion, 6.30pm

Sara breathed in and looked up at the deep brown eyes of her savior.

"I don't think I have thanked you yet," Sara said quietly, her eyes breaking
contact.

"It is I that should be saying thank you, to you. I owe my life and the
lives of many of my family and friends to you." Jackie stared at Sara. He
remembered the beauty he saw that night. Once again, it stood before him.
"So, what can I do for you, Ms. Pezzini?"

"Actually," Sara cleared her throat and changed the tune of the conversation,
hoping to get some answers quickly, "Do you know of a Sven Gryphyn?" Jackie
stepped back from the fence, and moved towards the opening. Sara followed
him; they both stared at each other as they finally met at the fence opening.

"Dutch? Best Hitman 2003? I've heard of him. He doesn't match up to me
though." Jackie smirked as he put a hand on Sara's back. "Please, let's go
talk about this somewhere else. My father has this whole place bugged." Sara
agreed, and followed him back towards the room with the guests. Jackie
stepped through the door first. Instantly, the noise of greetings flooded
the room.

"Oh Jackie, you look absolutely wonderful!" An older lady patted him on the
shoulder.

"Hey Jackie, cutie, when you going to ask me out baby?" A younger pretty girl
laughed.

"Hands off ladies, Jackie and I are involved!" Another younger, crazier girl
stood in front of Jackie and hugged him jokingly.

"Ladies please," He smiled at all the attention. His arm trailed behind him;
he walked further into the room, finally guiding Sara into the room behind
him. There were quiet gasps of shock, as the guests saw them holding hands.
Sara looked around uncomfortably. Jackie turned his head back to Sara, and
smiled.

"C'mon, we'll go somewhere quiet."

"Sure, let's go" Sara replied. They ran through the remainder of the room,
smiling all the way.

    

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