The first was pop the claws of his right hand, and jam them into the wall of earth suddenly growing up beside him. The second thing he did was reach out and snag Amaranth as she fell, grabbing her by the arm.

"Motherfucker!" She shouted angrily, and he didn't know if it was aimed at him or the Jean things, or both.

He heard gunshots off to his right, and looked to see Marcus had grabbed onto the lip of the chasm and was hanging on with one hand, shooting down with the other. He didn't see the other Jean thing, but he wasn't concerned.

The chasm they were hanging over looked fathomless, and there was subtle but rapid movement in the dark, exactly what Marc was shooting at. More of those squid things? He couldn't quite see them yet, but it was a good bet.

Ammy cursed again, then said something in Latin. Logan had no idea he knew Latin, but it sounded like she had said, "Burn like the sun."

She must have, as fire suddenly erupted across the bottom like a tornado of flames, and there was screeching, like a combination of bird cries and dentist drills. "Fuck this shit," she snapped, and grabbed Logan's leg before saying something in that indecipherable language she had used before.

Logan stumbled in shock as they were back on solid ground again, a couple feet away from the rift. He retracted his claws and headed for Marc, leaving Amaranth to do her thing. She didn't his protection - they probably needed hers.

"Grab the arms," Marc warned him. "Ain't got gloves."

"I know - I'm not a moron," he groused, grabbing Marc by his arms and pulling him up.

"These wankers are startin' to piss me off," Amaranth snapped. "Where the fuck's Bluey?"

"Who?" Logan asked, looking around for yet another surprise opponent.

"Bluey," she repeated, giving him a dirty look. "Ya know, the redhead."

Marc did the slightest of double takes. "You call a redhead Bluey?"

"It's probably an Australian thing," Logan said dismissively, pretty sure it was. Or Amaranth was color blind.

She said something in the strange language again, and made a sweeping gesture with her hands, and Logan could feel something pass by him, like a sudden gust of hot wind.

And in that moment, Logan saw a different world.

The clutches of palms and vines surrounding them, green and lush, were suddenly dead things; grey and skeletal, the trunks of the trees were deathly spikes that surrounded them like a cluster of giant daggers; the vines twined around their bases were so brown and sere they were virtually black, and ready to crumble away into dust at the slightest breeze.

The dirt itself was dead; it wasn't brown, it was grey, like ash, like stone. The grey reached towards the horizon and infected the sky, making it a washed out hue, the color of bleached bones. Only the dinosaur shapes of the oil derricks - towering in the near distance, the metal gleaming like knife blades - still moving in their slow, rhythmic pounding, were any sign of life, and they were dumb machines.

"Holy fucking Christ," Marc gasped. "Is this what Santo Marco really looks like?"

Even though he didn't know, Logan found himself nodding anyways. "Yeah, I think so." It was dead - it was completely dead. The entire country, and everything in it. The energy had been drained out of everything. In its desire to feed itself, the reawakened gods had sucked the life out of everything - from the people to the insects to the bacteria in the dirt. Holy shit.

"This is what happened to Ethan Casey," Logan said, thinking aloud, as the blasted landscape revealed itself to them. Ammy had thrown a spell that had pulled the veil off all their eyes. "He was probably the first one to investigate what the drill hit - he was the supervisor, wasn't he? And when he went to see ... they took it all."

"Took it all?" Marc repeated curiously. It was probably just his choice of phrase. "His energy, you mean?"

"Yeah. I wondered how that looked. I mean, if he just keeled over, they'd assume he had a heart attack - what's the big deal there?"

"He didn't just keel over," Jean said, behind them. Separated from them by the chasm, and still cowering among the stalks of dead trees, they knew she was the "good" one. "He was completely desiccated. He went from Human to mummy in a few seconds. They were too eager for sustenance."

Marc grimaced. "I bet that made the rest of the crew piss themselves."

"While they were alive, yes," she agreed.

Amaranth suddenly turned and glared at Jean. Her eyes weren't exactly glowing with energy like he'd seen Bob's do, but it was a close thing. "You cowardly slag," she accused, stomping towards the edge of the rift, bare feet still managing to kick up clouds of dead grey dust. "You let it happen. You were afraid of what they might do to you, so you hid behind your bloody seal, and let them drain everything they could out of everything else. What would you have done if no one ever showed up?"

"War forever, over a piece of dead ground," Logan suggested bitterly. He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. It made a perverse sense, didn't it? Humans did it all the time - why not demi-gods too?

"It was bullshit, wasn't it?" Marcus asked her. "Bein' "bound' to the earth around here. If we remove the seal, will she not only get you, but the surrounding area too?"

"We belong to much of the land, " the Jean thing responded blandly. Her eyes were riveted on Ammy in what could be called abject fear.

"How much?" Marcus asked, a suspicious tone creeping into his voice. "From here to ... the Pacific?"

The Jean thing said, "All the land is ours, ocean to ocean."

"Fuck," Logan muttered. They were bound to the land - it just had no respect for currently imposed political boundaries. And why would they? That was more Human shit. And with the seal removed, they could finally reclaim all their land - and everything on it. That was a scorched earth policy the Army would have envied.

"How did the oil company not know this?" Marcus asked, looking around at the blasted, death scarred landscape. "They knew Casey was drained like a pint of beer at the Saint Patrick's Day parade. Not everyone was immediately killed - someone lived long enough to get the message to HQ. Why didn't they report this to someone? Why not pull out?"

"Oil, baby," Jean said, but from the opposite direction. The bitch was back. "Oil is a precious commodity - people are expendable."

Ammy turned her gaze to the evil Jean. "Want some more whoop ass, honey?"

"They kept coming back for the oil?" Marcus asked, just seeking clarification. He was radiating disdain like heat.

Jean ignored Ammy, and focused on Marcus. She was smiling, almost gloating. "We cut a deal. We have no use for oil. It's dead animal residue, and we need life. So they gave us life for the residue. Fair trade. I think you'd call it a oil for food policy."

Marc's posture said it all. His spine stiffened, arms hung loose at his side, even though his grip on the handle of his gun was so tight his knuckles were starting to turn white, and there was some danger the gun would shatter in his hands. "They sent you victims in exchange for oil shipments?"

"Didn't you intercept those e-mails, detective?" Evil Jean taunted him. "It was more than a fair trade. They're getting the best part of the deal, and they know it."

"The new virgin sacrifice," Logan groused. "The employee sacrifice."

"We like mutants most of all," Evil Jean said, with a leering grin. "But they're running out of ways to supply us."

"Are you through yet?" Ammy asked savagely. Apparently it was impossible to intimidate her; the best you could do was piss her off even more.

Evil Jean finally turned her impossibly deep and empty black eyes on Amaranth. "Ah, witch. So you have the taste of Bob on you, and you think you can take us? One of us, sure - but not all."

It was then that Logan had to blink rapidly, in hopes of clearing his vision. No, he seemed to be seeing it right - there were seven identical Jeans, in skin tight leather and amply exposed cleavage, behind the original evil one.
They had identical haughty stances, arms crossed over their chest, a single hip thrust out to the side.

"There's three of us," Amaranth countered, unfazed. "If you haven't noticed, these two guys are fucking maniacs."

"Was that a compliment?" Marc whispered to him.

Logan could only shrug. It was possible.

"But you aren't strong enough to give them your protection at equal measure, Bob-bette," Evil Jean number one said, continuing to leer at her. "I'd say you're outmatched, sweetie. And blue hair is so 1979."

"It's my natural color, idjit," she replied. "And more like '99."

Logan looked over his shoulder to see if other Jean was willing to chip in, but she was gone. Ammy was right - she was a coward.

It was then it felt like he had a massive head rush, but in reverse - like his throat had been cut again. Logan collapsed to his knees, unable to stop himself, and found that Marc and Ammy had done the very same thing. He could feel the heat draining from his body, and straight into the ground.

The ground. Ah shit.

The eight Jeans gave them all smug grins, as Logan realized the ground was indeed a vampire, as long as they were in control; as long as it was an extension of their body. "You'll be a great meal for all of us. Who gives a fuck about the seal? The oil company will be back soon enough for more crude, and we can use one of them to remove it."

Amaranth put her hand on the ground and said an incantation, and Logan could feel energy thrumming  beneath them. Evil Jean chuckled. "Nice try, hon. But not enough."

And the more tired and cold Logan felt, the more he feared that was true.

17

But of course she didn't. "I don't think she's gonna," Logan offered, fighting to keep his eyelids open. "She's a chickenshit."

"I've noticed!" She snapped, slapping her second hand to the ground. She was definitely pouring it on - whatever it was - but it wasn't enough. Of course they hadn't shriveled up like prunes yet and were still conscious, so she was staving them off, but she was losing the war in increments.

Logan attempted to gather his forces and stand - or if not stand just pop his claws, lunge at the first Jean, and hope to hell she was at least partially corporeal - but he couldn't do it. She knew what he was trying to do, and wouldn't let him.

Suddenly, he heard Ammy's voice in his head; faint, but mostly audible.*I'm gonna give you a big power boost in a minute* she sent *Make it count*

How, he thought, but he got the sense that she was gone or just couldn't hear him. It wasn't proper telepathy but some kind of mystical form that was limited in range and scope.

Logan closed his eyes, pretending to lose the battle but just gearing up for it. Maybe the corporeality of the main Jean didn't matter as long as he had some of Amaranth's power to give him a shove over the top.

It was then that he got the strangest feeling.

Familiar in a way he could not name, it was not Ammy's doing - he knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. He'd felt this before ...

"What the hell was that?" Evil Jean said, an edge of panic in her voice.

Logan opened his eyes, and found that Ammy was looking around too. Only Marcus hadn't picked it up - whatever it was.

"The pipeline is gushing, while here we lie in tombs. While on the corner, the jury's sleepless. We've found your weakness, and it's right outside your door," someone sang, and then, standing beside them, was Bob.

He looked the same as always - too handsome for mere words, with artfully tousled golden brown hair, perhaps a little longer and shaggier than the last time he saw him - dressed in a skintight red t-shirt and black leather pants, with leather biker boots with lots of silver buckles on them. Tres kinky. The only real change was his eyes - he'd gone into full battle mode already, so there were no pupils, no whites; they were a pure, glowing cobalt blue, bleeding thin capillaries of energy out beyond his eyelids.

"I'm back," he told them, giving them a Cheshire Cat smile. "And you're fine."

Just like that, the energy stolen from all of them seemed to rebound, and it was another head rush as it filled them all in a sudden gush. Maybe he'd given them back more than what was stolen from them.

Bob then made a gun of his thumb and forefinger, and pointed at the auxiliary Jeans behind the main one. "And you're mortal."

The seven of them all seemed to stagger, grabbing their heads as if he just shouted in their ears, and the main Jean looked so ashen and scared Logan was waiting for her to barf while passing out. But she just started backing up, wide eyed, reeking of fear.

"Where do you have to go?" Bob asked casually, voicing just what Logan thought.

"W-we didn't kill your blood," Evil Jean stammered, clearly trying to fight back her panic. "We didn't kill your avatar - "

"Not for lack of trying," he pointed out. For every step forward, Evil Jean took two steps back, but she still didn't seem to be getting any farther away from Bob. "And what's with the Jean guise? You need to be comfortable with your own look, Xhal - Cosmo is full of shit, ya know." He then snapped his fingers, and all the Jeans suddenly became ...

... oh fucking Christ, what were they?

Their skin was the mottled, fermented grey of putrescent flesh. Although humanoid in shape, their limbs and body looked swollen, like heated sausages about to split through their skin. In place of hair they had small, multicolored feathers encircling their bulbous grey head, and their facial features were soft to the point of being non-existent. Their eyes were like dark holes in their skull, swirling with a maroon energy whose source he could not place, and all wore around their waist something that looked like the skin of a massive green snake, so it was impossible to say if they had any sex or not.

"No wonder they decided to look like Red," Marcus commented.

Yeah, they wouldn't win anyone's beauty pageant, would they?

"Things are not as they were, Bob," Evil Jean - now, in Logan's mind, Evil Sausage thing - said, clearly trying to think of a skin saving alibi. "It's a different age - "

"One that you belong in, most assuredly," Bob agreed, nodding. "Which is why I can't let you. You understand."

"We won't let you send us back," she/it insisted.

That made Bob pause, and the smile on his face was silkily menacing, like that was one of the most blackly funny death threats he had ever heard. "Hate to tell ya this, mate, but even if you did get Arthur Anderson to cook the books for ya, eight halfs will never equal one."

It took Logan a moment to get what Bob was saying, but he did. Eight demi-gods - if that's what they were - would never equal one full god. No wonder it was so scared of him - it was gone. The moment Bob showed up, it had no chance at all. He almost felt sorry for it.

They had all recovered from the sudden energy flood and stood - Ammy ripped her arm out of Logan's grasp when he tried to help her stand up - and Logan popped his claws as he sneered at the seven former Jeans. Their empty eyes glanced about nervously, and they took a step back.

"What up man?" Marcus asked, the tone in his voice suggesting he thought he'd lost his mind.

"They're mortal now," Logan told him. "Remember? Bob made 'em mortal."

"Oh yeah," he agreed. Marc gave them a leering grin that made them take another step back.

"Wanna piece of this?" Logan asked Amaranth, but too late - she was already storming over towards them. So he and Marcus rushed the rest of the swollen sausage men, who were apparently helpless without their demi-god powers.

"You can think it, but you'll never do it," Bob warned the former evil Jean. Bob was more than recovered, Logan realized - it was like he was reenergized. He could feel the power Bob was giving off from here, like he was exciting all the electrons in the air. No wonder they were so damn scared of him.

Logan sliced through the torso of one of the sausage guys, and once he pulled his claws out, he had to repress a shudder of revulsion. They were made up of flesh that was half dead and half reptile; it was grey and sinewy, and hung in strips from his claws like torn cloth. They ripped apart easily, like they were made of old, rotting meat. No wonder they needed the life force of others so badly.

"Wonder if the venom works," Marc said, grabbing a sausage guy by the arm. It immediately froze and keeled over, toppling like a statue. It hit the ground with a dull thud, and didn't move. "Yep, guess so."

Ammy had grabbed one by the head, and was now repeatedly ramming her bent knee into his face; he could hear the breaking of its bones. No magic until she beat the living shit out of at least one, apparently. If she was representative of Aussie women, the next time he went there, he was going to wear a cup. It was possible ( probable ) she was this way because she was a itch, a demi-god, a Bob relative, or some combination thereof, but you could never be too careful.

Some of them tried to fight back, but it was pointless, and the fight was over far too soon. A few slashes from him, a few kicks in the face courtesy of Amaranth, and a few vicious right hooks from Marc, and the former Jeans were in pieces on the dead ground around them. The only one still standing was their former Alpha Jean, still cowed by Bob's high intensity gaze. It looked like it wanted to do something, but realized it's options were exactly bupkis and nothing.

"I don't want to go back there," it insisted, but in a sort of hangdog voice, as if it had started to accept it was inevitable.

"You can't be here," Bob told it, not unkindly. "It's not your world anymore."

"But we were doing so well."

"There are always gonna be Humans with fucked up priorities. I'll send some of 'em to ya if I can, okay?" Bob was being strangely kind to them. Logan wondered why.

It crossed its swollen grey arms over its bloated chest in a strangely nervous gesture, and said, "Couldn't you just replace the seals?"

Bob gave it a disappointed look, like it should have known better. "Ta ta, Xhal. Be good now." Bob made a sort of dismissive hand gesture, and reality seemed to bend around Xhal, swallow him whole. It swallowed the parts of all his friends, apparently, because when they looked around, they were no longer calf deep in their remains.

Bob then let out a huge martyr's sigh, sagging dramatically, and said, "You can stop hiding now, Xhos."

The second, kinder but fundamentally useless Jean, appeared, still lurking nervously behind the jagged spear of a dead tree trunk. She was still in Jean guise, so Bob hadn't removed it from all of them. "I tried to scare them away," she said pathetically. She even gave Bob a sad puppy dog look, but he didn't think she was faking - she was honestly at a loss for what she was supposed to have done.

"I know. Would you like to go home now?"

She nodded, and what looked like genuine tears sparkled in her eyes. "This isn't my world. They don't love us here anymore; they don't heed our calls."

"It's a new age," he commiserated sympathetically.

"Will you put the seals back?"

Bob shook his head. "Nothing that fragile. I'm gonna lock the door behind ya, okay?"

She nodded vigorously, and seemed mollified by that. "Thank you."

"Live to serve," he deadpanned, and Jean seemed to disappear behind the tree for good.

Amaranth walked over to him, feet slapping the dead earth, and when he turned around to face her, she kicked him in the shin. "Ow!"

"You buggery bastard! You've been gone for too long, you fucking larrikin!" She snapped, then seemed to tackle him with a bear hug.

Bob put his arms around her, and said, "Aww sweetie, I told you'd I'd be back. I'm sorry." She buried her face in his chest, and he kissed her on the top of the head. "It's okay, Ammy. I'm back for good."

"Until the next disaster."

"Naw. I got a lot of beings who owe me now. I'd say I'm here for a good long while."

"Better be," she agreed, pulling away from him. She sniffed and wiped her arm across her eyes. There was no fucking way she was crying, was there? He didn't think Amaranth was capable of crying.

Bob kept ahold of her arms, and looked her over carefully, just like he was her dad ... okay, great great grandfather. "You okay, hon?"

She nodded. "I was just about to kick their arses when you spoiled it."

Bob nodded back, trying not to smile. "I'm known for my bad timing. Ah well, you'll get 'em next time."

"What? No way - I ain't gettin' outta bed 'cause some of your iffy mates get in a kafuffle with some goddos who're madder than cut snakes."

Marcus leaned over and muttered, "Does she always talk like this?"

Logan shrugged. "All I know is she curses a lot."

"Are those Australian curses?"

He really had to think about that. "I ... don't know."

"Wanna head back?" Bob asked.

"Do I?" She scoffed. "Fuck yeah. This place is a heap, and I'm knackered."

"Then go on." He gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. "But don't tell Hel I'm back yet. If she finds out I didn't visit her first, she'll kick my ass until it's concave."

She nodded, almost smirking at him. "You and your relationships."

"I'm just askin' for trouble, aren't I?" He agreed, giving her that Cheshire Cat grin again. "Night, sweetheart."

"Stop gettin' yourself nearly killed," she shot back, then seemed to disappear into thin air. Logan had no idea if Amaranth had teleported herself, or if Bob had sent her back home. Did it matter?

Bob then looked at them both and grinned, holding his arms out wide, as if he expected a hug. "Hey Logan, got any sugar for me?"

Marcus laughed, and Logan just glowered at him, which made Bob laugh. Apparently his near death experience didn't make him any less of an asshole. "Can the bad jokes," he snapped. "How about telling us what the fuck just happened here?"