by Bob Gansler
# 0 - Dec 99	Deceit and Death: Endgame or Opening Gambit?

Previously: Shang-Chi, son of the insidious Fu Manchu, was drawn back into the games of deceit and death by the terrorist Argus. After having been exposed to a deadly poison, Shang-Chi's only hope was Fu Manchu's Elixir Vitae. After battling the forces of Fu Manchu now led by Shadowhand, Shang-Chi acquired the Elixir and was apparently returned to full health in body and mind.

The air outside of the ancient Scottish keep was troubled. Frigid blasts of wind slammed into the cold stone walls. Dark clouds blanketed the sky, keeping out any light from the stars or the full moon. There was not a soul to be found outside of the walls. Inside of the walls, there were two. However, that might not last for long.

Inside of a sparsely decorated bedroom, Black Jack Tarr kept an uneasy watch over his longtime friend and associate, Sir Denis Nayland Smith. Tarr thought about how the passing of years had finally caught up with Smith. When Tarr first began working with Smith in the British intelligence agency MI-6, Smith had already been a seasoned veteran in the 'spy game', having been working in the trade since before 1920.

Now, well over a century in age, Smith laid peacefully in his bed. His skin still had its slightly golden tone. The sparse white hair on his head was straggly but the goatee was neatly trimmed. His body was covered with three thick blankets. A fire roared in the ancient fireplace. Smith, when conscious, was constantly complaining about the cold, and Tarr did all he could do keep the old man comfortable. Smith would not listen to Tarr's suggestions that he take up residence somewhere else than an old drafty castle.

Smith had objected and objected vigorously. Stormhaven was the closest thing that he had ever had to home since he was a boy. Having joined the British foreign service at a young age, beginning with a position as a commissioner in Burma, Smith activities had taken him around the world a few times over. Most of the travel had been in pursuit of the Devil Doctor who had been his life's work, the diabolical Fu Manchu.

His desire to was take his last breath in the place that he considered home. Tarr finally gave up arguing with Smith. There was no changing Smith's mind. He was stubborn, but Tarr could not hold that against him, for Tarr would acknowledge himself to be stubborn as well. Tarr had resigned himself to looking after Smith in these last days. It was the least he could do for the man who had saved the world from the schemes of Fu Manchu many times over.

Tarr went over to stoke the fire a bit. It was already much too warm for his tastes. Sweat was beading up under his bushy mustache. However, Smith wanted it warmer, and Tarr was willing to put up with the discomfort for his old ally. It hurt him to see Smith so weak. Sometimes Smith could not even summon up the strength to open his eyes when he was awake. Talking was very difficult for him as well, so most of Tarr's conversations were one-sided.

Content that the fire was burning well once again, Tarr sat down next to the bed and unbuttoned the top of his white shirt. A slight flicker of Smith's eyelids told Tarr that Smith was awake once again. Tarr sighed. Smith was getting weaker every day.

"I see you're awake again, Sir Denis. How are you feeling today?"

Smith wheezed a few times and then softly whispered, "Tip-top."

Tarr had to smile. Despite his infirmity, Smith tried to keep up a brave face. The man, whose entire life had been marked by struggle, was once again struggling for his own life.

"If you say so," Tarr replied.

Reaching out weakly with his right hand, Smith grasped Tarr's arm. "How is everyone?" he gasped.

The question took Tarr by surprise. Smith had not asked for a long time about their associates. Tarr thought that perhaps Smith did not want to be reminded of many years had passed fighting by their sides.

"I'm doing fine, Sir Denis. A few bones creaking here and there," Tarr replied.

A slight smile crossed Smith's lips. "Good … Others? Shang, Leiko?"

"Oh them." Tarr sighed. Smith really did want to know about their old associates. Tarr had almost hoped that Smith had forgotten about them. None of them had come to visit since Smith's health had started its decline. If Smith had not been able to remember them, perhaps it would not hurt him.

"Well," Tarr began. "Shang and Leiko are living together and running Freelance Restorations since you signed it over to them. However, the way I hear it, Leiko's been working on some undercover assignment. Really deep cover. I don't know where she is, and I don't think Shang does either.

"Meanwhile, Shang-Chi's just being hanging out, doing that Zen thing of his and trying to achieve balance. The people inside of MI-6 that still talk to me say that's been all over the world lately. I think he's finally come to grips with the death of his father, that blasted Fu Manchu."

The mention of the name created a frown on Smiths' face. Tarr noticed it immediately. "Chin up, old boy. You outlasted him. Fu Manchu is dead and you're still here. Yeah, I know, he's come back before. But it's been so long, and he hasn't turned up. I think he's really dead - of old age and the fact that his whole bloody Honan retreat fell on him."

"Then there's Fah Lo Suee," Tarr continued. "She's running our old agency MI-6. She took the Dark Angel, Mia Lessing, with her.

"Clive decided to go back into the intelligence service. He's now some high-ranking paper pusher and technically Fah's boss. I wonder how much control Reston really has over her. Probably not much."

Tarr's last comment brought another slight smile to Smith's lips. It gratified Tarr that he was able to bring a little joy to Smith's last days. Tarr leaned back with his hands behind his head. He began to think of all of the adventures that he and Smith had shared over the years. Had they really been in the espionage game that long?

Those thoughts were disturbed by the sound of the corner window creaking open. Tarr reacted instinctively, reaching for the revolver kept inside of the drawer of the bedside night stand. His thumb cocked back the hammer as a lithe shape dropped from the windowsill and onto the floor. Tarr's eyes recognized the intruder a split-second before he would have pulled the trigger.

"Chinaman! Bloody hell. I almost blasted your brains out!" Tarr let the hammer slowly go back into place. Neither he nor Smith would have been happy had she shot their old ally, Shang-Chi, neither would Shang-Chi for that matter.

"I am not 'Chinaman'." He wore only a red kimono and sandals.

"Right, sorry. I didn't know you didn't like that name anymore. OK, then. Shang-Chi, I almost blew your bloody head off!" Black Jack put the gun down and rose from the chair.

"I am not the Rising and Advancing of Spirit. I am Xan-Chi, the True Spirit." He clasped his hands together and bowed slightly.

"Whatever. Did you have some kind of Zen revelation or something? You'll always be the 'Chinaman' to me. You done with your world-traveling and come to join me in this deathbed vigil? And why didn't you come in the bloody door?"

"I did not come to observe Smith's dying but rather his death." His face was stern.

"Now hold on there a minute, Chi." Tarr stared at him crossly. "Sir Denis may be going, but he's still got a lot of fight in him. The Grim Reaper isn't going to take him easy."

"The Grim Reaper is not the one he has to fear." Xan-Chi's face changed from an impassive look to one of bloodthirsty and murderous intent.

"What do you mean? Oh Lord, he has to fear you!" Tarr pointed at Xan-Chi and shook his fist. "I knew it. That bloody Elixir Vitae of your father's messed up your mind."

"His life nears its climax as old age overtakes him, but he must not be allowed to die of natural causes. For the iniquities that he has visited upon my father, for the irreparable damage he has done to the cause of the Order of the Golden Dawn, that peace must be denied him. I, Xan-Chi, must kill him."

"Like hell you will." Tarr thought about going for the gun, but that might give Xan-Chi the chance to attack Smith. Instead he vaulted over the bed and came right up to the intruder. "Not if Black Jack Tarr has anything to say about."

Xan-Chi lashed out with strike to Tarr's throat. The move took Tarr completely be surprise. The large brutish man staggered back a few steps as his hand went to his throat and he gasped for breath. "Attacking first?" Tarr gasped. "The Shang-Chi I knew never did that. He always held back and sized up his opponents."

"I am not that Shang-Chi." He assumed another offensive pose. "I do not need to gauge your abilities. They are inconsequential. You will fall regardless."

Tarr regained his composure and advanced with his fists up. "I may not be a spring chicken like you, but I did pretty well against you in the past." He began with a quick jab but Xan-Chi caught the fist in his hand. Tarr followed with his other fist but Xan-Chi caught that one as well.

"Pretty good reactions, Chinaman," Tarr taunted. "Expecting this?" Tarr thrust his head forward and knocked heads with Xan-Chi. The move was unexpected and the contact dazed Xan-Chi and made him release his hold on Tarr's hands.

Some blood dribbled down Tarr's lip. He had bitten it as his head had smashed into Xan-Chi's. "Not so easy, is it, Chinaman?"

"On the contrary." Xan-Chi came flying at Tarr like a whirlwind, his body spinning quickly. Tarr tried to anticipate with which limb and from which direction Xan-Chi would strike, but he failed. Xan-Chi's right foot buffeted Tarr's head while his left hand drove into Tarr's solar plexus. Tarr doubled over in pain.

Xan-Chi strode towards the prone form of Smith. He waited a moment, as if to decide how to eliminate the aged agent. His hand darted out and grabbed one of the pillows from the bed. He lifted the pillow over his head, ready to bring it down to smother the life from Smith.

Just then, Smith's eyes flickered open. He had heard the battle raging before, but he could not summon the strength to do anything. Now, hearing that Tarr was down, he could. His eyes peered into the assassin hovering above him. He saw the rage in the Oriental's eyes, he saw the mouth curled in rage, he saw the jagged scar on the face.

"Not Shang-Chi!" he whispered.

Xan-Chi brought the pillow down onto Smith's face. He was not surprised that the old man did not struggle to push the pillow away. He pushed down and figured it would not take long to asphyxiate Smith.

Then a gunshot rang out and Xan-Chi's eyes opened in amazement. He looked down to his left side. He had been shot! Smith's trembling right hand was holding Tarr's revolver. Somehow he had summoned the strength to reach over, grab it, and fire it. Smith's hand drooped and the gun fell out of it.

The gunshot focused Tarr's senses once again. Though he was in pain, he rose to his feet. "Damn you, Chinaman!" His hands darted out and he grabbed the dazed Xan-Chi by the collar. Reaching down to his last reserve of strength, he hurled Xan-Chi across the room and into the window though which Xan-Chi had entered.

The window shattered and Xan-Chi plummeted the forty feet to the ground. Tarr staggered over to the window and saw the lifeless body of Xan-Chi lying on the ground. Then he turned back towards the bed. Smith's arm hung over the edge of the bed and his head was turned unnaturally to the side. He rushed to the bed and grabbed Smith's arm. He checked for a pulse but there was none to be found.

"I'm sorry, Sir Denis. I failed you." Tarr cried. He took Smith's arm and folded it over his chest. He did the same with the other arm and closed Smith's eyes.

"Games of deceit and death". That was what Shang-Chi had called their business long ago. Back then, Tarr thought it was just a cute euphemism for the spy game, but today the phrase hit home. That was all that it was - a game, a game where no one could be trusted and always ended in death, one way or another.

"It's over. Do you hear me world? It's over." Tarr slammed the window shut. It was just too much for him. He would head down to the local pub and call the police. Then he would have a drink in Sir Denis' memory, and maybe a few more. Then he would get on a plane headed for somewhere far away. He was done with this life, it was time to start another.

Xan-Chi lay motionless on the ground. Then slowly and painfully he rose. The fact that his body was riddled with broken bones did not matter. He put the pain aside and began to limp away from the castle. "No, it is not over. It is only beginning."

NEXT ISSUE : Time has passed and insidious schemes are in motion once again. Who will be drawn into the macabre plans?

KUNG FU WRITING

Welcome to the beginning of Master of Kung Fu here at Marvel Dark Lore. This #0 is intended to set the stage for a regular Master of Kung Fu series which will debut after the completion of the Bloodrise Limited Series.

For those of who have Marvel Special Edition #15 (the first appearance of Shang-Chi and Fu Manchu), you'll notice that this story parallels that one. I even paraphrased some dialogue that I thought was appropriate.

I'll be reworking some of my previous Kung Fu work to fit in with the MDL continuity, and then I'll be launching into all new stories featuring Shang and the gang.

Bob Gansler
07-Dec-99