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GODS of War 2: Spartan Reborn

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This story is No. 2 in the series "Alexander, God Protector of Mankind". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: Xander gets more than a shiny new nickel after the events in my first fic "GODS of War: Ascension" (director's cut version)

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Multiple Crossings > Xander-Centered > Theme: Halloween(Past Donor)gunsmithFR18516,582107833,0539 Sep 0626 Feb 08No

Chapter 4

God(s) of War: Spartan Reborn


Began: 9-6-05

Status: ongoing.



Summary: Xander goes through some changes, finds some truth, meets new people, goes places, and starts screwing up some of the unhappy “Powers That Be” and their plans. Hears them cry “mommy”. Oh yeah, he also gets a few weapons that scare the shit out of everyone. Generally, “almost” everything scripted after the Halloween episode flies out the window and gets rearranged Xander-style!



Disclaimers: I do not own anything except for the plot. All characters belong to their respective owners except some original characters, items, and mythologies created solely for this story.



//No Gods or Demigods were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction – at least not much, but I can’t say about the demons though – they generally get their ass kicked all over the place//


This chapter is dedicated to O.V. -- you shall be missed, you crazy bit-ca.


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Previously:


“Time to get some sleep.” The Watcher advised the young warrior, trying his level best not to laugh as Xander reluctantly placed the photograph of his niece back down on the table Giles had from where he had retrieved it earlier. “We leave before the first light of dawn to sneak you onto the base and aboard the blackbird.”

Xander lay down to get some sleep, unaware of the true scope of his current adventure. While elsewhere, one of the modern day legendary figures thought to be long gone was already on his way to get re-acquainted with his former stomping grounds.

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And now......

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The more Lara Croft spent time with Clairbourne and his aide, her unease grew. From the moment she landed and met with the Grecian expert, the man had done nothing but obsess and speculate about the things they would find in the ancient superstructure that had appeared out of nowhere in the desert. A healthy dose of interest on certain things, are well and good, she surmised, but the man’s attitude bordered on the fanatical. It would only be a matter of time the three of them will be against each other instead of working together.

And to top it all off, she felt as if she was being followed, but she could never tell or notice who. She never felt any danger from the person who was supposedly shadowing her, and that itself puzzled the hell out of her. Usually, once that happened, she would be running and with her twin pistols blazing in either direction. Instead, she felt oddly comforted.

What the bloody hell is going on? She asked herself in frustration.

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The disguised man the world formerly knew long ago as Henry “Indiana” Jones, Jr., breathed a sigh of relief as Lara Croft stopped looking around like a caged animal when she thought no one was looking, as she tried searching for her “tail”. He was holding the evening paper in front of him, discreetly watching them via the grand dining hall mirror from where he sat – in plain view of them - just a few tables down from where she sat in the swanky restaurant they were having dinner in. While Lara was good at what she does best, he was simply better. After all, experience comes with age.


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Somewhere over the mid-Atlantic: passing sub-orbital flight and flying slightly over mach 2:

Xander tried to familiarize himself with the current drop procedure he had been briefed on, remembering the events a few hours prior him being mashed into a converted payload “bin” that had never once used actual “living and breathing” ammunition. When both Giles and he had arrived at the designated area to meet on the outskirts of Sunnydale and Los Angeles, they were both greeted by a man who introduced himself as Dirk Pitt, saying that he will be helping them “insert” Xander into the re-commissioned and upgraded blackbird that was “donated” to the NUMA institute as a gesture of thanks.

The insertion itself had gone off without a hitch, since the pilot was also in the “know” regarding why Xander was going. The only thing that proved a bit difficult was having the newly muscled teen squeeze into the payload launcher that wasn’t exactly built for human ammunition. It was a daring and all-together insane plan, but it proved to be the only way the young warrior could hide as the payload bays were heavily shielded. As a parting gift, Mr. Pitt provided Xander with a collapsible one-man stealth glider that acts like a “flying sled” once dropped from a high altitude. It would be worthless from the ground up, but on the way down it was a different matter. With it, he would be able to control his descent and navigate his drop towards the target destination before a ‘chute was ever required.

Satisfied that he had checked and re-checked procedures and equipment did he just realize that something was wrong, he cursed as the green light went on, notifying him it was time to go. Wincing to himself, he unclipped one part of his gear and hit the release, jettisoning just below atmospheric re-entry.

In the cockpit, the pilot froze in complete shock while he was arming the remote cameras to start taking high resolution aerial photographs of the site. Camera one had a clear shot of his rapidly retreating “payload”, and what he saw would stay with him for the rest of his life.

“WHERE THE HELL IS HIS ‘CHUTE?!?”

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Xander fell at almost the speed of sound as gravity exerted its pull, the wind howling and vibrating against the protective gear he wore as he tore through the darkened skies. He let himself fall the rest of the way until he hit a little over 30,000 feet and activated the glider, the wings extended from the sides and the airfoils engaged, jarring his rapid sonic decent violently, the wings nearly tearing themselves off their housings as it strove to override his insane plunge. Using what little control he had, he started aiming the portable craft towards the formerly mobile land mass that was home to some of Olympus’s more dangerous treasures.

And while the darkness was able to hide him from sight, he muttered another curse, loudly, as he nevertheless miscalculated his trajectory; which was the temple grounds.

“OH SHHHIIIIIIITTTTTTTTT!”

The one-man drop glider hit the side of the mountain at an excess of over two hundred and seventy miles per hour, creating a good sized crater with a loud bang, dirt kicking up into the air.

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When the young man awoke, only a few minutes had passed, such was his newfound resilience that - other than his dirty and disheveled appearance - he was remarkably unscathed. “What a rush.” He said to no one in particular.

And while he looked hardly worse for the wear, the same could not be said about the glider and the helmet he wore, the crash had rendered them completely useless. He felt something fall down his face, thinking it was dirt, he moved to wipe it – and found out he ruined one of his contact lenses that would hide his unusual eyes. He vowed to keep spares around his person the next time he went out. He wiped his hands and got rid of the other one and donned the diving goggles he had acquired. For a moment, his unearthly eyes dimly lit the cave until the goggles covered it. Darkness no longer held him in fear since his new eyes can make the blackest of night, seem the brightest of day. Not even the black tint of the goggle lenses impeded him.

Taking stock of the rest of his gear, finding them more or less still useable, he began to make his way out of his entry point. Looking around, he discovered that his impact actually buried him in an “artificial cave”; probably something the mad architect did not get around to converting into a room. He was proven right when he came to a half-finished stone arch a ways down from where he crash-landed.

And he also found an abandoned wooden chest with a cache of ancient weapons nearby; going through it, he found a huge double-bladed battle axe and two short swords in excellent condition in spite of its age and the dust lying around. The atmospheric condition of the area he crashed through must have been stable enough to preserve them. Strapping the axe and one sword onto his pack, he held the other sword at the ready as he strode forward to explore the area some more, hoping to find a way up.

He never saw the conveniently placed chest fall apart with sudden extreme age and rot the moment he was out of sight. He never saw the entrance he made when he crashed repair itself.

Nor did he hear the foreboding laughter that would have sent any sane man running for the hills echo in the darkness.

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Meanwhile:

The man the world once knew as Indiana Jones cursed as he lost sight of his niece once she boarded an unmarked private plane that was headed out for the structure. Somehow, he got the impression that they might have in inkling that they were being tailed. Either that or the sense of urgency to get to the ancient structure was palpable within them as well.

Whatever the case, he flipped open his cell phone and made arrangements of his own to get there.

“Isaac,” he began, as his assistant picked up on the other line. “Get me the fastest and most discreet transport you can find that will take me near that thing in the desert. Say what? Hawk's younger brother and Santini's daughter are in the area? Oh, so they were called in to investigate as well? Good, get me in touch with them and let them know if they won’t mind an extra passenger.”

Approximately thirty minutes later, if one were to really listen closely; a barely discernable howl akin to a wolf’s was heard ghosting its way out of the city slightly below the speed of sound.

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On board the latest incarnation of the highly classified stealth combat helicopter designated “Airwolf”, St. John Hawk switched the mighty copter to disengage its active cloak once they were out of the city as he steered them towards their target in the desert whilst turning on electronic surveillance jamming.

“So,” John began, “What brings you out of hiding? I thought you worked behind the scenes nowadays. I find it surprising to see you heading for the hottest spot to be right now.”

“A promise I made to an old friend.” Indy replied, as he looked around the interior of the helicopter. The new wolf looked to be as hot as the original. “How’s the new Lady handling?”

“She’s a working like a dream come true.” Santini’s daughter gushed from the Ops station. “She’s equipped with a real active cloaking device, improved shrike missile deployment bays, her chain guns have been modified with a smart laser designated targeting system, pulse cannons straight from area 51, which includes an experimental neural flight control system, the only system we haven’t tested right now on her maiden flight is what we call the ‘switchblade configuration’.”

At the mention of the new system, John’s grinned turned feral as he spoke. “For which we shall be testing right now.”

“By all means,” Indy smirked at the note of anticipation in the other man’s voice. “Please do.”

Feeling much younger than he really was at that moment, St. John Hawk began readying the final shakedown test of the new Airwolf.

“Engaging Switchblade Configuration, countdown is in five seconds.” Dominic Santini’s daughter announced from Ops. “All systems are green, Switchblade is ‘go’.”

“Lowering shield visors.” John called out as they all lowered their helmet visors. “Switching to neural flight mapping system, Switchblade Configuration in Five, Four, Three, Two, One; engaged!”

The new Airwolf accelerated to its original predecessor’s former top normal cruising speed of mach 1 plus, and “shifted”; only powered by the aftereffects of its after burners and inertia, the main rotors disengaged and folded rear-wards, while parts of the tail end section of the helicopter split and moved themselves closer towards the main body of the airborne machine; forming short wings, then short, side stabilizer fins emerged from each side of the front fuselage. The boosters ignited once again as its flight reached into the higher supersonic spectrum. Externally, the new configuration drastically changed the outward appearance of the stealth copter into a sleek stealth plane to accommodate its higher speeds. The look itself made it seem more at home in a science fiction movie than real life, it’s trademark howl growing into a more pronounced high-pitched whine as it sliced through the air at an even more accelerated pace, attaining a faster velocity than its original predecessor had ever achieved whilst re-entering cloaked mode as it rapidly caught up to Indy’s quarry.

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TBC.....

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Author's Note: A thousand apologies to all who have waited for so long for an update. Writer's block is part of the reason why this has been delayed. Another was due to me having no decent PC with MS word. And just as I was about to start over, another thing happened. And that is because the person who has given me the inspiration to write this piece passed away last year. A part of me just about gave up continuing this story and its been a long painstaking path uphill to the keyboard again. I keep seeing that person every time i review the earlier chapter, especially since I couldn't have finished the first story of this series without her help. Hopefully, in time, writing this will be a bit easier as time passes. Thanks for all of your patience and interest in this story to help keep it alive. Until next time....

The End?

You have reached the end of "GODS of War 2: Spartan Reborn" – so far. This story is incomplete and the last chapter was posted on 26 Feb 08.

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