(Sorry about the hiatus everyone, I caught pneumonia and lost my writing mojo for a bit. Better now.)

6:20pm, Sunday September 8th, 2019

(Again)

His name is Aaron Kosminski and his hunting grounds are the fog choked streets of Victorian London, his victims the tarnished women in stained petticoats who trade their bodies for a few grimy coins. They disgust him, and he murders five of them before sinking back into the hellish shadows of the polluted city that coughed him up. He is never caught.

His name is Herman Mudgett, and he owns a hotel that doubles as a shrine to murder. There he leads over two dozen people to their deaths and carries out horrific experiments on their bodies. He will confess to twenty-seven murders. He will be convicted of nine. He will be hanged.

His name is Ted Bundy, and Belle Gunness and Yang Xinhai. He lurks in every civilization, every society from one end of history to the other. He has lived a hundred lives and taken thirty times that number. His name is Boy and he is Frankenstein's Monster made grotesquely real. Murder has been bred into his DNA. The blood of a hundred killers flows in his veins, their voices chitter in his head. They peer out of eyes that see the world in a fractured, kaleidoscopic swirl of madness. He does not know peace but he does know obedience, and loyalty, and devotion to a cause. The cause is death, and his loyalty is to the Commission.

That is all he knows.

They have sent him to kill five people for reasons that are unimportant. They gave him their brother's face to wear, and if he were capable of such autonomous thoughts he might be insulted at the implication that he needed to resort to such subterfuge, but he is not. The thoughts in his head are of a far more primal, far more gruesome nature.

The plan, the plan, had been to target the woman Vanya first. Strongest and least disciplined of the siblings, she posed the greatest threat to him. Her power to change sound waves into kinetic energy - with catastrophic results - meant he would need to be fast and quiet. He'd found her in the kitchen, soft and doe eyed and so very small...the voices in his head gurgled and gibbered, his hands itched to fit themselves around her tiny throat.

The plan had been to lure her close using her brother's likeness, snap her neck and be done with her. Simple, easy. The Boy found simple plans to be the best.

But before he could do any of that he has first to deal with the small matter of the intruder who's appeared in the kitchen with them and is clearly there to compromise his mission. He's tall and lean and young, possibly younger than the woman, certainly no older. He stinks of time travel, of crossed timelines and oblivion. If there is something familiar in his face Boy doesn't dwell on it. Spend long enough traveling through history and eventually everyone looks vaguely familiar. What really catches his attention (what really pisses him off) is that the man's holding a Commission briefcase, and The Boy can tell with an animal sort of instinct that he isn't there on behalf of any Commission order.

How dare he.

The Boy snarls, baring teeth like an animal. The woman starts, confused, eyes going from the stranger to him and back again, widening as she sees the briefcase. "Five!" she shouts a warning, the man glances at her and that's when The Boy attacks, phasing through a wormhole to the stranger's side. He will kill this impostor, finish his mission and bring his disembodied head back to the Commission.

There is a brief moment of blindness when traveling through a wormhole, one side to the other. The Boy has always referred to it as the saccade, and it lasts approximately one half a second. This is rarely long enough for anything significant to happen, particularly when a target is gaping in shock at the empty place he used to be. This time however it means that when The Boy crosses the vortex, there is a gun waiting for him on the other side.

He's been anticipated, stepped directly into the line of fire and the man doesn't wait the hair's breath it would take for The Boy to warp away. He pulls the trigger with the methodical calm of a professional killer, and no one is fast enough to dodge a bullet; not even him.

Distantly he hears the woman scream. There's a rush like wind before a hurricane and it flattens the hair against his forehead as as it passes him by. The man however gets hit full in the chest, bearing the brunt of her enormous power. It throws him backwards and there's a familiar, satisfying thud of a body hitting a wall. The Boy glances down; he's bleeding, the bullet having passed through his side. A fraction of an inch more and it would have hit his liver. He watches in fascination as a dark stain spreads across his clothes, lovely deep red.

Then the woman is there, hands fluttering in panic, reminding him of broken-backed kittens and other useless, twitching things. "Oh god Five are you okay-!" her voice cuts off has he grabs her by the throat. What pain he feels doesn't break the baseline threshold, and thus is ignored. Bullets or not, there is still a mission. There is always a mission. (There is only ever the mission.) She stares at him wide eyed, uncomprehending and as he starts to squeeze the confusion turns to panic and fear.

It looks good on her and he smiles appreciatively.

He's barely started enjoying himself when he feels the frayed-nerve sensation of a portal opening near him and hands like steel clamps grab him from behind, prying him off the woman with perplexing strength. "Vanya! He's not your br-" Boy silences him with an elbow to the jaw, and it's clear he's going to have to kill this man before he can finish the business that brought him here. He growls, grabs his knife and attacks.

Klaus hits the stairs running, the commotion in the kitchen and the sound of Vanya's scream sending adrenaline pumping through his veins like a cocaine high and he nearly breaks his neck on the way down, falling the last couple of steps to the bottom. He gets to her first, the others piling up behind him, panic causing them to trip over rugs and their own feet and each other in a mad rush.

He's expecting masked intruders with guns or men in dark suits with briefcases. Threats, tangible and real. But there's only Vanya there on the floor, pale and shaking, her eyes brittle and over-bright. She's distressed, hyperventilating, and he knows too well what can happen when she gets like that. (She's better, so much better now but still, you didn't shrug off something like the world coming to an end.)

Moving at a speed that would have made Five proud he's at her side in an instant, checking for blood or broken bones or bullet wounds (none, thank god). He throws his arms around her and pulls her small body against his, feeling the rataplan thunder of her heartbeat. It had to be the Commission; what else could frighten her this badly? "Shhh, shhh," he says, trying to calm her down because there was every chance she was a danger to them all right now too.

"Where are they? What's happening?" Luther's bulk fills the doorway and Allison comes forward, glancing first at Vanya and then at Klaus, a question in her eyes. He shakes his head at her helplessly.

"F-Five," she rasps, giving him a splintered look and Klaus feels his heart drop into his shoes. Not again. Not fucking again. "Where is he?" At least he wasn't helpless this time, wasn't lost inside his head, wasn't laying weak and unprotected his childhood bed, too far gone to keep from being taken.

But he wasn't well, either.

"Vanya," he says, giving her a gentle shake, and Luther steps forward, hunkering down in a subconscious bid to make himself smaller and less imposing.

"Where's Five? What's going on?" he asks, urgency in his voice.

She shakes her head, which doesn't help them at all. "He's not-" she loses the words and her hand goes to her throat as she coughs. On a gut instinct Klaus tilts her chin up and knows exactly what he's starting at. It's not bad, not so very bad and it could have been a lot worse (boy does he know about that), but that isn't the point. Someone had laid their hands on his sister and Klaus finds himself reacting to that about the way he suspects most brothers would.

"Who did this!?" Who would have gotten close enough to do it, is what he really wants to ask. And where did they go, because Klaus would really like to have a chat.

At least one of those questions is answered by a crash from the floor above, and then a gunshot, and then two more. Klaus takes a quick inventory of his siblings and of course Five is the odd man out.

Sounds like they found him. He can only hope they found him in a mood to fight back. (It certainly sounded like it.) He doesn't bother to share any of that insight with the others because they're moving already, following the distinctive sound of their brother's deadly brand of chaos.

Klaus stays where he is, keeping Vanya tucked protectively against his side. "It's okay," he says soothingly. "It's going to be okay."

Vanya shakes her head at him and starts to cry.

Diego skids to a halt at top of the stairs, knives out and breathing hard and the smell of ozone is so strong he can almost taste it, the air still hazy with the after-shimmer of spacial portals opening and closing in rapid fire all around him. Whatever's happening, it's intense. "Everyone stay behind me," he calls back, knowing damn well he's going to be ignored.

As predicted Luther doesn't acknowledge this, just charges past like a red-sighted bull, looking for Five or Five's enemies or something, anything that can tell him what the hell's going on. There's another rapid burst of gunfire, this time on the floor below and they all exchange brief, tense glances before thundering back down the steps. It occurs to Diego that Five is trying to direct the fight away from them, and it's working, for now. But Five only had so much energy, could only jump so many times. This was the kind of thing that had broken him in the first place, that started his rapid slide into mental disintegration. Diego grips his knives tighter and doesn't give a shit about Five's martyrdom. He's not going to let his brother destroy himself all over again.

"We should split up," Diego says as they reach the bottom of the steps and the sound of gunfire moves away again. Luther looks at him like he's nuts.

"We don't know who's out there," he argues. "How many there are, what they're doing here-"

Diego cuts him off, because they don't have time for this. "They're here to kill Five," he says flatly, "probably us too. You notice every time we get close the fighting moves off? He's keeping them away from us. But we both know he can't keep that up forever. What if some of them are still alive when he gets too tired to jump?"

Luther considers and starts to nod in reluctant agreement when the air shimmers and shifts in front of them, stretching like a rubber band and their brother stumbles out, breathing hard and weakened with exhaustion. He pitches forward and they reach out in tandem, grabbing for his arms. "Woah! Five, it's okay-"

Diego uses knives like an extension of himself, and his talents go beyond preternatural aim. He understands them on an intuitive level, in a way he could never put into words. He knows how the body moves with a knife in it's hand, knows instinctively all the minute signs of a surprise attack; the subtle shifts in weight, the way the muscles gather at the shoulder as the arm coils with energy, ready to strike. He can very nearly sense the presence of a knife and that's how he knows what's about to happen.

He doesn't think about it and that's a good thing because if he had he would have hesitated, and Luther probably would have died. He just shoves his brother away, a warning on his lips. "Watch out!"

In the Luther-sized space his brother had just occupied a knife slices through the air, arcing around in a graceful, deadly half circle and coming back towards Diego. But he's already moved out of the danger zone, his own knife up and he's staring at Five in shocked incredulity. "What the hell!"

Five doesn't answer, he just attacks and the only thing Diego can think is that the firefight was too much, that Five pushed himself past his limit again and this time there was no slow erosion of the mind, no long kiss goodnight. Just a quick, irrevocable descent into...whatever this is. This deadly madness. Diego doesn't think Five is seeing his brothers, just targets that need to be eliminated. He moves back, ceding ground to his mad sibling. He doesn't want to have to fight his brother. (Not like this, this isn't like the fights he has with Luther. This is real; Five is trying to kill them and Diego doesn't know how to make him stop.)

Five tries to warp but all that comes of it is a pathetic sizzle, brief light curling around his hands only to dissipate again. At least they didn't have that to worry about, though Five was dangerous enough without it. He's also injured, entire right side of his body red with blood and it's throwing him off his game. Even so, a Five who's in kill mode isn't someone to tangle with. The problem is Five is a lot stronger than he used to be or should be or could be or whatever, and about the only one of them who stands much of a chance right now is Luther. "Pin him down!" Diego shouts as Luther throws himself into the fray but he isn't as fast as Five, and he's trying not to hurt. Five has no such reservations.

The knife flashes, tearing through fabric and opening a trench along Luther's chest. Not fatal but messy and painful and Luther falls back under the onslaught as Allison steps up, ready to rumor Five into unconsciousness if that's what it takes. She catches Diego's eye and he nods at her.

She hesitates, weighted down by the memory of all the times she's had to break the vow she made to herself, all the times she's had to imprint her will over Five's own but Luther yells "Do it!" as Five raises the knife again and she inhales.

"I heard a rumor you weren't going to hurt anyone!" she shouts, and Five freezes, mouth still twisted in contempt. Luther scuttles out from under him and Diego darts forward, grabbing him under his massive arms and hauling him backwards.

Five's teeth clench, his muscles straining against Allison's power and if looks could kill, their whole family tree would be on fire. His face ripples, emotions Diego can't identify (and some he doesn't want to) passing over his features. He starts to lower the knife, stops, clearly at war with himself or the Suggestion or something...Diego glances at her and Allison gives a small shake of her head; she doesn't know what's happening either.

"Five?" Diego chances and his brother's eye focus on him, furious and tormented. "My...name's...not Five," he snarls, breaking free of the Suggestion and lunging forward again, striking fast as a serpent. Diego isn't expecting it; as far as he knows no one's ever thrown off a Suggestion before. (He didn't think it was possible.)

He doesn't have time to defend himself.

He'll spend a long time afterwards replaying the next sequence of events. Usually while drunk.

What happens - remarkably - is that he doesn't die. There's another shimmer, a coruscation of electric blue and a man is there, throwing himself in the way of Five's deadly attack and blocking with his own arm. "Get the fuck out of here!" he shouts at them, and his appearance only enrages Five more, sends him into a near apoplectic fit and he literally foams at the mouth, rabid and feral and - as far as Diego can tell - completely psychotic.

The two tear into each other and it's impossible to say who might have the advantage. Their movements are fluid, near perfect mirrors of each other and it's more like watching a complicated bit of choreography than a fight. They seem able to anticipate each other's moves, parrying, thrusting, whipping around one another with deadly focus, the air between them filled with knives and death. If they had other weapons, they've been lost. Diego doesn't throw anything because he's not sure he could hit the right target even with his power, they're moving so damn fast.

Weirdly, he's not even sure who the right target is.

The thing about fighting for one's life is that it all comes down to instinct; lizard brain responses and core human nature, and at the core of each of the Hargreeves' was an instinct to protect their siblings from everything but themselves and each other. Diego's lizard brain should be telling him to help his brother. It isn't, and that is exactly the wrong way for things to be, like he'd gone to sleep and woken up in some Bizzaro World where up was down.

Luther gets up and starts forward but Diego stops him with a hand on his shoulder. "Wait."

"He needs us!" Luther says, and that might be true. The man's gotten the upper hand for the moment, using Five's obvious injury against him. But Diego hadn't seen anything of his brother in the boy's eyes. The stranger on the other hand...

"Five!" Luther shouts, and the man glances over. Five doesn't. Five uses the moment's distraction to try and bury his knife into his opponent's heart. It almost works, only that strange precognition saving him, causing him to twist at the last moment and the knife to sink into his arm instead. The man grabs him, pulling him close even as he falls to his knees. They collapse together, the man rolling on top of Five, who's furious struggles grow steadily weaker.

Now they're moving, the three of them darting forward and pulling the two away from each other, both of them covered in blood. Five has the handle of a knife sticking out of his throat, and he glares at them with hatred burning in his eyes as he chokes to death on his own blood, feet thumping uselessly against the floor. The stranger just looks exhausted. And familiar.

Diego doesn't have a chance to tell Luther not to be stupid before his brother grabs the man by the throat ("You son of a bitch!") fist pulling back, ready to make mince out of his face. Behind them Allison is weeping softly.

"Luther-" the man rasps, blinking up at him with hazel eyes Diego would recognize anywhere. Or anywhen.

"Let him go," Diego orders, but Luther doesn't answer because Luther's just lost a brother, and he's never very sharp when he's grieving.

"He killed Five!" he shouts, and Diego has about as much chance of stopping a speeding train as he does Luther's fist but he tries anyway, grabbing onto his arm with his whole body.

"This is Five! Luther, stop! It's Five, look- look at him! It's Five!" He says it again and again, because sometimes you had to beat Luther over the head with an idea before it'd take hold.

It takes a bit for Diego's words to penetrate through his brother's anguish but eventually Luther looks, and Luther sees. Ten years or so makes a difference, but not so very much of one. Not to the people who know you. Not to family.

"But-" Luther drops him, glancing back at the still body of a very dead boy, then back again. "How..." Allison sinks to her knees next to them, reaching out. "Five?" she asks, tears still streaming down her face.

There's no one else it could be. The last traces of baby softness are gone, features cut and angular, but they're Five's features and if Diego squints he can almost see the boy in the man he's become, just like he could almost see the man in Five's thirteen year old self. It's the eyes that really get him though. Eyes were supposed to be windows to the soul. Five's eyes are like portals to another world. But they're familiar in a way the other Five's hadn't been. (And really, of the two of them this Five wasn't trying to kill them, so that was a pretty strong point in his favor.)

"What the hell's going on?" Luther says, confused and hurt and with nowhere to channel his grief, grief that might not even be necessary now, but that he felt all the same. "How are you- alive? Older? What..."

Allison has questions of her own. They all do. About a million of them. "If you're Five then who's that?" she asks, very deliberately not looking at the body who's blood was filling the hallway.

Five closes his eyes, wincing as he shifts into a more comfortable position. He's bleeding but Diego isn't ready to administer first aid just yet. He wants to understand first. "We're- he is Five, and so am I. But we're not your Five. Not the Five you remember."

Diego considers that for a couple seconds. "Yeah that doesn't answer shit. Try again."

"How many of you are there?" asks Luther, sounding bewildered.

"Five, I think," he answers and Luther rears back, stunned.

"Including him?" Diego asks, indicating the boy.

"Four."

"Four of you?" he says, and doesn't make a snarky comment because now just wasn't the fucking time. "You're like what- from different timelines?"

Five's mouth twitches in an almost-smile of appreciation. "Good guess but no. The same people from different timelines can't interact. Or they shouldn't. Causes all sorts of problems."

"Then what the fuck?" Diego asks, out of ideas.

"It's a long story," Five says, sharing a look with Luther and something passes between them, some private communication and Luther relaxes the smallest bit. He looks up at Diego again. "How much do you know about clones?"

End Part 2 of 'The Chronos Saga'. Part 3, 'Fire and Blood', is available as a WIP