A/N: Resurrected from the archives and so completely rewritten it's practically a different story. Please enjoy!


THE MANTLE

The figure stood alone in the weapons hall, gauntlet pressed to the grinding stone. It scraped and churned and sparked against the ridged blades, releasing an odor he found almost comforting. Imperceptibly he shifted his arm. Fresh sparks brimmed from steel.

There was no other he could charge with this task save himself - a task he both loved and loathed - the quickening of armor that balanced death on its edges. Shredder snorted in disgust. The thought that one of his clan should do this was absurd, considering they had not been able to capture but a glimpse of his foe for over three months - three months he had spent sipping a bitter tea as his grip grew ever tighter - fruitless on his vendetta against his nemeses, but stronger on the crime syndicates infesting New York.

An unexpected break in his misfortune changed everything. His nostrils flared at the idea of his revenge, at the sweetness of their downfall when he finally tasted it. To prove that no-one made a fool of The Shredder. That even without victory, he was in control. The humiliation throbbed deeper in him than he expected.

'No matter' he thought 'With her I take care of both itches at once.'

The sunlight had long since hollowed out from the vast building, leaving it at cold shell on the city's fringe. As the night had set in, only a few of his most trusted remained guarding the perimeter. Rarely he saw anyone at all. Tonight would be different.

The clicking of approaching footsteps echoed on stone.

"Saki-san?"

She had arrived.

"Come."

He did not turn. He switched off the grinder, waiting as the spinning stone came to a whirring halt.

The clicks stopped short behind him. In a heartbeat the newly sharpened blades were at her throat. The visitor gasped in shock. His black eyes bored into hers, within moments deciding her fate.

"Good." he whispered.

With a flick of his hand, he cut the belt that held her trench closed. It fluttered open. His eyes pulled downwards. Patent leather heels rested firmly apart upon the floor. His gaze slid lustily back up her slim legs, feeding on the pale curves bound in tight leather, over the concave line of her stomach, and up to where a stout corset had hoisted her breasts toward him.

At his obvious delight, she relaxed a little. The straight line of her shoulders readjusted as she dipped her head to catch back his attention.

"I received your note."

The Shredder lowered his blades, and sensing his permission, the woman held out her immaculately claw-tipped hand and let a piece of paper flutter to the floor. It swiveled in the air like a lost bird, before landing face up. On it a photo that matched herself. A photo of a woman caught in a very compromising situation. A photo of a woman with a secret.

Written on the back was an address and the invite in Shredder's unmistakable elegant scrawl:

I request your services for my truce.

"I am pleased that you made it."

"If the terms of this truce are to be trusted, how could I say no?" she said.

A fraction of a smile, then the reply without a trace of doubt : "You would not."

"No. Perhaps I wouldn't." The young woman's eyes looked over his shoulder at the fortress wall where weapon upon weapon lined up. There were so very many.

Without waiting for her question, he answered.

"Look well. There are more than ten hands to every weapon you see. Even the greatest warrior would struggle against those odds. Even five."

"Four. Four, now." she whispered, to herself mainly, the gentle words a stark contrast to her appearance.

Saki offered a slight nod, addressing her with an unexpected familiarity.

"Yoshi was an honorable opponent. He trained his pupils well."

She lowered her eyes, hiding her tears.

"He was much more than that. He is greatly missed."

"You have my condolences."

The warmth in his voice was sincere. The woman had heard that Saki was charming in person. Now she could believe it.

"How did... did you find out... how I was connected to them?"

At first he said nothing, thinking of the fortunate coincidence in which she had been spotted emerging from the sewers in the presence of his former enemy's students. Within days of tailing her and discovering her other secret, a new plan had hatched in his mind. A way to get his revenge. It's potency deepened by the day, his sexual interest piquing to the point he found himself lusting and daydreaming endlessly for her. Leather on metal. A woman to take the illusion of power, much like the mantle of The Shredder itself.

"I have my ways." he spoke at last.

"And am I to believe this will grant them amnesty? That the fight against them will finally be over?"

He chuckled, the sound bitter and patronizing.

"I have far more pressing concerns in my empire than old battles."

"P-Please. I need your word."

The Shredder tipped his head.

"You already have it. Your friends shall be safe. As I have instructed, you are free to perform whatever specialty your services entail. But make no mistake. It is you that I will break."

Light radiating from the nearby sconces flickered a dark shadow of his bladed form onto the stone wall behind him. The Shredder. Charming or not, there was no forgetting who she was talking to.

"You won't." she said with a soft defiance, "Believe me, you won't."

A brutal grin sliced his face. He stepped closer to her, close enough for her to feel the heat of his body. He stroked his hand down the length of her torso. She shivered. Out of disgust or flattery she could not say. From his sharp jaw to the cut of his heavy battle suit, he was not without a terrible beauty.

"By the time I'm finished with you, young lady, you won't know what to believe."

"They cannot find out." she begged in a shaky voice, "About any of this."

'Submitting so easily?' he pondered. Perhaps she would not be so fun after all.

"It shall be honored."

At his assurance, a flitter of relief passed over her face. She gave a slow nod of agreement.

"Well, then," she said smoothly, reaching out to rap her nails on his chest-plate armor, "First things first - Get to your knees and strip down to something more befitting of a lowly slave."

He fell to his knees with a thud.

"As you command, Mistress O'Neil."

She removed the crop latched to her side, striking it in her open palm. The dull throbbing in his groin grew to a roar.

"Oh," she added, almost as an aside, "and just be aware - the safe word is 'turtle'."

...