Warren Murphy: Father to Son

A year ago Remo had suffered terrible burns over most of his body. This was worse. There were blue blotches and oozing red sores. Patches of necrotic-tissue colored arms and neck with hideous splotches of black.

It looked as if Remo had wept tears of blood. The streaks below his eyes were dry now and beginning to flake.

He was filthy, covered with dirt and grime. His fingers and knuckles had bled profusely at some point in the very recent past and were now covered in scabs.

Yet through it all, Chiun sensed a strong heartbeat and powerful, working lungs. A great stillness suffused Remo's being. There was no sense of contagion coming from him. Whatever had happened to Remo, he had sloughed off the worst effects. His body was healing.

"Why am I here?" the being who possessed Remo demanded. "Did you summon me from my slumber?"

"My lips are not worthy, Supreme Lord. I would not defile your name to speak it, wretch that I am."

Chiun sensed the approaching presence of two men. He shot a glance back at Harold Smith and Mark Howard. An angry hand waved them to halt their approach.

The thing that wore Remo's face looked back to the House of Many Woods. His features seemed to soften visibly. A contemplative frown settled around his mouth.

"This was my home for many years," Chiun said sadly. "If the Supreme Lord wishes to claim it for his own, he may have it, for without an heir I no longer have use for it."

The words pained him. He had so much to tell Remo, so much now to discover in himself. But his revelations were nothing without his son to share them with.

The red-flecked eyes narrowed as the being within Remo considered Chiun's offer. At long last he spoke. "I'll put up with everything else, Little Father, but if you think I'm living in this dump, you're nuts." Chiun felt hope soar on fluttering wings.

"Remo?" Chiun sang joyfully.

"Do not address me, worthless one, " boomed the voice that was not Remo's.

As soon as he finished, he spoke again, this time in a voice more familiar.

"Yes," Remo's normal voice insisted. And again he shook his head.

"No," Remo said, louder now. He looked to Chiun, a puzzled expression on his face. The fire still burned within his eyes. But they were Remo's eyes. Though the fire came from another, it was his own to command.

"It's me, Chiun," he stated firmly. "But not me."

And a lopsided smile cracked his face wide, for the doors had been flung open and he at last understood. He had been given a moment. A glimpse of his future.

The fire came from within, from a primordial place that Remo had always known was there. It was right, and it was him and now, after all these years, he finally understood.

With a new strength-one that he owned but was not entirely his own-he spun back to the House of Many Woods.

"Time to kick some squatter ass," Remo Williams said.

INSIDE THE MASTER'S House, the man with the Asian features sensed the men approaching. At first he assumed they were representatives of Kim Jong Il's government, for the rumble of tanks was nearly upon the village.

But then the heartbeats came into his sphere, first one, then another. Men trained in Sinanju. Unmistakable.

There wasn't shock or fear. Just another twist in the tangled knot of madness.

"They dare come against me?" he asked the wall. "Don't they know that I'm the mighty Nuihc? Nuihc the Unbeatable?" He turned to the blond-haired shadow in the corner. "The battle has come to us. You will do as you were trained to do, dog. Stay close and defend your Master."

And even as the order was being issued, the lips of the other man moved in perfect time with those of the Asian.

"COME OUT, come out or I'll blow your house in!" Remo called from the front walk of the Master's House.

The Master of Sinanju was at his side. They had instructed Smith and Howard to stay back near the village.

"Are you well enough for this, my son?" the old man asked from the corner of his mouth.

"Couldn't be better," Remo said.

The truth was, despite his appearance, he felt good. Better than good. It was like a puzzle piece had been missing from his life all along and he hadn't even known it.

When the door opened and Nuihc appeared, Remo wasn't shocked. Chiun had quickly filled him in about the blood on the shore and Pullyang's method of execution.

The Dutchman appeared through the door, as well. With Jeremiah Purcell in tow, Nuihc descended the steps.

It was an odd sight for Remo and Chiun, to actually see their two greatest foes in the same place. Through the years their battles with both men had always been separate. They had never before seen the two false Masters together.

"I miss the days when dead people had the decency to stay dead, don't you, Little Father?" Remo said loudly.

"Be on guard," Chiun whispered in a voice so low only Remo could hear. "For I am forbidden by tradition to raise a hand against the son of my brother."

"Okay, I'll take Nuihc, you take Purcell."

"Very well," Chiun replied hastily. "But the Dutchman's life must be spared. Remember, your spirits are intertwined. If he dies, so, too, will you."

Remo seemed about to say more, but there was no time.

Nuihc and Purcell stopped on the path. Only a few yards separated the pairs of combatants.

"Welcome to my village," Nuihc said.

"Love what you've done with the place," Remo said. "A few too many burned buildings and dead bodies for my taste, but I guess that's what you get when you hire a rubber-room reject as your landscaper."

The barb was directed at Jeremiah Purcell, but it was Nuihc who reacted. A small twitch at his thin lips.

"My son is not to be underestimated," he said coldly.

Both Remo and Chiun took note of the word. From what they had learned from Purcell, Nuihc had never thought of the younger man as anything more than a weapon. Purcell's feelings for Nuihc as father had never been reciprocated.

"You don't belong here, duck droppings," Remo said.

"You are welcome to try to remove me," Nuihc replied. "But this time can I assume that our mutual teacher will adhere to the dictates he claims to hold dear?"

"I will not kill you, wicked one," Chiun answered. Nuihc grinned. So, too, did Jeremiah Purcell. There was something wrong with the smile-with everything. The Nuihc arrogance was there. But the rest was off.

Remo had no time to question.

"Welcome to your doom, white mongrel!" the Fallen Master of Sinanju cried out in triumph.

And in a blinding instant, Nuihc was off the worn path and in the air, teeth gritted in a mask of a hatred so primal that it defied the very grave itself.

SMITH AND HOWARD HAD taken refuge behind the facsimile of a burned building. The CURE director's heart was in his throat as he watched Nuihc's first attack.

An uncoiled toe flew for Remo's throat. Smith was certain that it would register. But at the last moment, Remo seemed to fall in with the blow. His body bent back and Nuihc flew over, rolling and springing back up.

As Nuihc jumped toward Remo, the Dutchman vaulted at Chiun. The blond-haired man circled the elderly Korean on the frozen earth beside the path. No blows registered as the two combatants circled each other.

Above, the sky began to shimmer. A cloak of swirling purple flooded the inverted bowl above the planet. Smith's worried gray eyes were directed on the heavens. "Purcell," he breathed, awed by the supernatural display.

Mark Howard was squinting at the battle. "There's only one of them," he announced all at once.

Smith tore his eyes from the roiling sky. "What?"

"There's only one guy there, Dr. Smith," Howard repeated excitedly. "It's another illusion."

Before Smith could stop him, Howard was scampering out of hiding and running toward the Master's House.