I'm not familiar with American rating systems, but just like both parent 
series, some scenes in this fic contain excessive gore. You have been 
warned. I'm guessing there should be a newsgroup or so suitable for X-
files fanfiction and would appreciate any clues on that matter. The same 
goes for title suggestions. I've tried to made this accessible to fans of 
either series - if there's a reference you don't understand, you probably 
don't need to.

As always, any and all comments are appreciated (thark@swipnet.se), and 
"http://home1.swipnet.se/~w-10956/creative/fanfic/" for my other crap.

I shouldn't be posting this for a while yet, I guess, but I just ran my
head into a (concrete) wall, and I feel like I need some comments.
Here goes...

                        The Path Through Darkness
                              (unfinished)

  The night was shrouded in fog, and the moon nowhere to be seen. A 
perfect night for criminals to go about their business, which was just 
what they were doing.

  The car slid smoothly to a halt outside the building, and officers Smith 
and Johnson cautiously stepped out. While not exactly slum, this was 
certainly not one of Washington's finest quarters, either. Most houses 
were comparatively low, averaging two or three stories, and this one, at 
two, was no exception. It was in size somewhat larger than the average 
family villa, but with a flat roof. Grafitti obscured the gray concrete 
walls, and though the few windows were all intact, most of them were 
cracked.

  "Antiquaries," a faded sign proclaimed, above a wooden door. The door in 
question, about as run-down as the rest of the house, had a small window, 
and most importantly, it was slightly open.

  Johnson was a tall man - almost 6'6" - with short, blonde hair neatly 
slimmed backwards. His muscular limbs were obvious even through the 
uniform. "Stay outside in case he makes a run for it," he quietly 
whispered to his partner, unholstering his gun.

  Smith nodded, doing likewise. While no bad specimen, he was a lot less 
impressive than his partner, though almost as tall. A full brown beard 
covered his facial features and a pony-tail hung from his neck.

  Slowly pushing the door fully open, he peeked into the building. Dark, 
even more so with windows far-between, and not even a moon to light the 
place up. He took out his flashlight, and it snapped on with a soft 
crackle.

  Despite still being in business, the word that best describe the story 
was "dusty". Various items of a supposedly antique nature were occupied a 
number of tables and shelves. Bronze statues, old books, wooden masks, and 
a myriad of other things, in no detectable order.

  He could now hear a soft noise, perhaps footsteps, suddenly followed by 
a loud crunching sound that made him hurry his steps, and a faint light 
could be detected under a door, probably leading to some sort of store 
room. He proceeded onwards with slow, catious steps, gun held ready and 
primed.

  The door opened inwards, and Johnson pushed it open with his left hand, 
standing with his back against the wall on its right side. This provoked 
no violent response, but he could hear a soft voice from within, muttering 
some inaudiable word - probably swearing.

  He decided he could risk it, and quickly turned around, stepping into 
the opening. "Police, Freeze!" He pointed the gun at where he presumed the 
perpetrator would be.

  The storage room was quite large, though most of that space was left 
unoccupied. More items were stacked on shelves against the sides, and 
there were a few open crates scattered about the floor. A lightbulb 
hanging from the ceiling near the center of the room lit it dimly, 
creating an eerie atmosphere.

  Almost in the center of the light stood the man Johnson had heard - or 
boy, more like. He didn't have time to do any detail-studying, but noted 
that the boy was most likely of Asian descent, and in his late teens, 
wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. As the police-man entered, the 
boy was just stepping away from a body on the floor.

  The body ... corpse ... was ... Oh god. Johnson quickly willed himself 
to look up from it, concentrating hard not to think of the horrible sight. 
He aimed the gun properly at the boy, who was edging towards a window at 
increasing speed. "I said freeze, motherfucker!"

  As the boy seemed not to notice, or care, he sent off a shot. The loud 
bang of the weapon broke the omnious silence, but simply whizzed by, not 
stopping the boy from turning to run.

  Johnson fired again, and, as, the boy gained momentum, again. This time, 
he didn't miss. The bullet tore through the suspect's right leg and into 
the concrete wall on the other side. Blood cascaded from the wound, 
painting the filthy tile floor crimson red, but the boy didn't stop, and 
the fourth bullet impacted heavily with the back of his chest, causing him 
to cough up a gout of blood just as he broke through the window, the 
crashing of the glass further increasing the noise and chaos.

  As the boy landed on the grass on the other side and, judging by the 
sound, sprinted off, it took Johnson a few moments to bring himself fully 
back to his senses again, and when he reached the window, it was already 
too late. A trail of blood was the only trace that remained of the 
criminal.

  He turned back towards the room, and couldn't avoid seeing it, the 
corpse, again. This time, with no distractions, all he could do was to 
bend down to the floor, his throat hurriedly pushing out what had once 
been a jelly donut.

  The vomit mixed with the blood in an unhealthy red-greenish pool.

                                  * * *

  As Scully entered the dimly lit office, she noted her colleague slowly 
paging through a magazine. He had a slight smile on his lips as he skimmed 
the glassy publication, stopping every now and then to read an article 
that caught his attention.

  "What are you reading, Mulder?" she asked, her voice betraying that she 
wasn't *really* curious.

  He folded the magazine and threw it across the desk so she could see the 
title. "Yogeki," he said, and a flashy logo indicated that such was indeed 
its name. On the shiny red cover was pictured some sort of strange 
monster, or alien, or whatever, vaguely kangaroo-like, with large, staring 
blue eyes, and a long snout, a short tongue hanging out at the end. 
Headlines indicated a tabloid content - "Bug-eyed Monster" ... "Woman's 
Ghost in Tokyo" ... "UFO Landing in Northern Russia".

  Scully frowned. "Never heard of it," she told him, voice disinterested.

  "I'm not surprised." He smiled warmly. "It's published by a small 
company in Hong Kong - Yogekisha, a name which, I've been told, means 
something along the lines of 'Monster Hunters'. Mostly, it's just as bad 
as you think, but there are a few articles worth reading, especially those 
written by a certain Yakumo Fujii."

  This caused her to raise a curious eyebrow as she sat down in the simple 
chair opposite him. "How so?"

  The answer would have disappointed her, were she not already used to 
this. Still, she let out a sigh, as if wondering whether her partner would 
ever grow up. "Well, he's certainly no experienced journalist - the 
language is sloppy, to say the least, and his English is flawed - but some 
of his observations somehow feel very *real*, and I wouldn't be surprised 
if most of them really are true. Take this one for example." Reaching for 
the magazine, he opened it, pointing to an article. "Killer Toad-man. The 
guy has terribly bad luck." Mulder grinned at this. "Shame about the fuzzy 
photo, though."

  He seemed to sink into the magazine again, studying the blurry black-
and-white representation of what was supposedly a monster, but jerked up 
when he realized what he was doing. "Anyway, what's the matter?"

  She put a folder down on the desk, rotating it so that he could read 
properly. Mulder immediately opened it, encountering a gruesome photo of a 
thin afro-american man lying on a tile floor, his limbed twisted in 
unnatural angles, blood splattered all over the place. His torso was torn 
open by three deep, parallel cuts, extending to the floor beside the body, 
and most of the man's entrails had floated out through them. Not much 
remained of the head that made it possible to identify as one, brain and 
skull smashed into the floor. "This is the matter."

                                  * * *

 The Japanese boy cautiously peeked in through the glass doors of the not-
quite-aptly named "Hotel Grand". It could have been a lot better, but it 
could also have been a lot worse. The dark hall was more or less dust-
free, and though not expensive-looking, the brown wallpaper was at least 
firmly attacehd to the walls.

  The only visible light came from the reception; a soft lamp on the worn 
wooden desk lit up the pages of the book in which the night clerk - a 
small, black-haired man, with an almost uncomfortable rat-like look - was 
currently deeply engrossed.

  He pushed the door open slowly, to avoid giving off sound, and sneaked 
inside, crouched almost to the floor. Luckily, his dark hair and jacket 
concealed him well and he only had to concentrate on treading carefully.

  Painfully slowly, he finally, undetected, reached the shoddy stairs 
leading to the second floor. This presented a problem as the boy was 
forced to stand upright. He winced slightly as the pain in his right leg 
made itself felt, but steeled himself, and carefully ascended to the first 
step.

  He'd gotten a lot better at this sort of things during the last few 
years, but the gun wound would be bothering him for a while yet, and the 
fact that the aged stairs weren't helping much made itself obvious as a 
loud *creak* broke the silence almost visually about halfway up.

  The boy froze for a few seconds, his heart suddenly deciding that the 
throat seemed like a nice place to reside at.

  Silence, interrupted only by the occasional turning of a page, descended 
again, and the boy had to stop himself from breathing out audibly as he 
turned his head to see the rat-like man still sunk into the book, 
oblivious of anyone's presence. He really wanted to avoid uncomfortable 
questions, especially as he was quite aware of his imperfect English.

  He continued up the stairs, managing to avoid any further interruptions, 
and continued down the dark hallway somewhat less cautiously than before, 
relieved now that he was hopefully out of earshot.

  His eyes quickly adapted to the near-total darkness present in the 
hallway when no moonlight seepeed in through the window in its far end, 
and he soon found the right door, softly knocking three times in quick 
succession.

  Hurried footsteps scrambled from within, and only a moment later it was 
opened, as expected, by a girl about his age. Though different, she too 
was obviously Asian in origin. Her dark brown hair descended in a thick 
ponytail down her back, and two thinner strands just before the ears. She 
wore a pair of light blue pajamas and there was something cute - cuddly -
over her features. Her large, friendly eyes showed deep concern.

  "<I->" she began, but he hushed her with a finger to his lips as he 
entered the room. "<People are sleeping.>"

  The room was about average-sized, and there was nothing notable about 
its features. A simple lamp, lit, hung from the ceiling, the wallpaper was 
the same brown variety as in the rest of the building, and a rag-rug hid 
part of the wall-to-wall carpet, which was clean but nothing else. Two 
sturdy beds with plain white bedcloth occupied corners of the room; one of 
them had, judging by the slight disarrangement, recently been sat it.

  "<You shouldn't have waited up,>" the boy told her, comfortably speaking 
in his native Japanese, as he walked across the room to his bed.

  The girl, however, didn't listen much, noticing only all too well his 
limp and improvised bandage. "<Oh, Yakumo,>" she said, her voice near 
tears as she hugged him tight. "<What happen?">

  "<Oh, err...>" Yakumo scratched the back of his head, clearly 
uncomfortable with the situation, though he didn't mind her affection. 
"<It's nothing, Pai.>"

  That comforted her somewhat, until she noticed the black leather jacket 
he folded on the bed beside him, or rather, until she noticed a large, 
round hole, edged by a dark red substance that could only be dried blood. 
"<Wha- What happen?>" she asked, her eyes large and scared.

  "<Well,>" he told her, in his most reassuring voice, "<This cop arrived 
just as I was checking whether the other guy had made off with the thingy, 
and he managed to hit me twice before...>" Yakumo trailed off as he 
noticed her eyes widening even further. He scratched the back off his head 
embarassedly. "<Guess I better start at the beginning.>"

                                  * * *

  After letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, Yakumo took a few moments 
to memorize the layout of the place, just in case. Shelves. Table. Front 
desk. Stairs. Storeroom door. Windows. Since neither him nor Pai had found 
it when they visited the store earlier, the compass-thing Mrs. Huang had 
sent them to get was probably in the back room.

  He'd been surprised to find the front door already open, and even more 
so now that he could detect a faint light seeping out beneath the (closed) 
doorway leading to the storage area he had intended to search.

  Fearing that there was no time to loose, he quickly approached the door, 
and sent it open with a fierce kick.

  Time froze for a few moments.

  Inside the room was not only crates and shelves, but also two men. Both 
had dark, almost black skin, and despite thin limbs, they were 
frighteningly tall, especially compared to the short Yakumo. With dark 
green coats and shaved heads, even identical tatooes, four vertical white 
lines, adorning their foreheads, the only thing to tell them apart was a 
cloth-covered package one of them held.

  Unlike him, neither of them seemed surprised, and the other man turned 
to face Yakumo just as the one with the package began calmly walking 
towards the room's only window.

  Yakumo hesitated for a short moment, and the man seemed to concentrate 
hard, eyes clothes, his forehead wrinkling. Just as the boy was about to 
spring forward, intending to catch the man with the package, he relaxed 
again, opening his eyes. His tatoo, and a spot on each forearm Yakumo 
could only presume held a similar marking, burst. Skin and cloth was 
pushed aside, splattering a few drops of blood on the dusty floor, leaving 
room for long, two inches thick tentaceles to wriggle out, of "wriggle" 
can be used to describe something that is almost istantaneous.

  The new limbs glistened with a thin coat of blood and goo, and short, 
sharp metallic claws snapped at their ends, above what had to be mouths. 
Despite almost two yards in length, they swayed above the ground without 
problems, in a disturbing, unnatural way, giving the impression of a boxer 
circling his opponent, waiting for an opening. The man, or whatever he 
was, smiled calmly, his shallow, grey eyes not betraying any emotion.

  Time now growing even more precious, Yakumo launched himself at the 
obstacle, aiming for the man's - monster's - head with a flying kick that 
would kill any normal man, just as the other one quietly, as if nothing at 
all was going on, unlatched the window and opened it.

  The kick never got through, as two of the slimy appendages snapped taut, 
one of them wrapping around the out-streched leg and the other taking hold 
around Yakumo's leg. He was thrown to the side, his momentum turning 
against him as he crashed into the concrete wall, his back miraculously 
surviving the impact.

  "Kuso!" the Japanese boy grunted as he slid down the wall to assume a 
fighting stance, this time waiting for his opponent to make the first 
move. "<That hurt, motherfucker!>"

  If the monster heard him, it didn't in any way reveal that, just 
continued to eye him for a few moments, tentacles once again swirling. 
Then, taking a few swift steps towards its opponent, one of them drew back 
... and lashed out towards Yakumo's gut with blinding speed.

  They boy, though, hadn't spent most of the last four years honing his 
strength, skills and reactions for naught, and sidestepped the "punch", 
grabbing the extended limb in a vice-like grip. He yanked it hard, 
throwing the unprepared monster towards him, and struck out with his other 
fist, hitting the thing's face.

  The combined, opposite forces produced a satisfying, crunching sound, 
and blood trickled from the abomination's nose as the impact reversed the 
direction of it's flight. It crashed into one of the open crates, causing 
it to fall over, and the sound of glass breaking reverberated through the 
room as a stream of irreplacable old hand-mirrors fell out.

  Despite its fragile exterior, though, the thing obviously wasn't beaten 
yet, as it used the tentacles to push itself to its feet again, not 
showing any signs of being affected by the fight beyond the blood slowly 
dripping from the broken nose.

  Yakumo crackled his knuckles, noting that the one with the package had 
not only gotten away, but also for some reason closed the window it had 
climbed out through. The remaining monster grunted illegibly, the first 
sound it had made during the entire encounter.

  It sent all three appendages towards him, intending to grab the boy, but 
he evaded them all by rolling forwards, rising again just in front of the 
monster. Dangerously close if he gave it time to send the tentacles back 
again, making an easy target for a crushing hug - but he didn't, as a 
powerful uppercut once again sent the thing flying backwards, crashing 
through a shelf full of bronze statues, some of which fell to the floor, 
bending or shattering.

  It landed in the middle of the room, but this time, he didn't give it 
time to rise. "<Come forth, Touchau!>"

  At his shout, the floor-tiles were split apart at three separate places 
as invisible claws cut through the body of the unfortunate monster, 
spilling its guts into the dim lamp-light.

  Yakumo stepped up to the lifeless body, a sight that would have turned 
his stomach if he hadn't been forced to see it far too many times already. 
The tentacles had somehow mysteriously disappeared, and no evidence 
remained that they had ever existed, other than the holes they had created 
in the dark green coat the monster wore.

  _Never hurts to be sure._ He raised his leg ... and pushed it down, 
hard, crushing the man's head under his sturdy boot. Blood and brains 
stained the black leather. _Gotta check if the thing's still around..._

  He was interrupted in his musings as the door crashed open again. 
"Kuso," he swore, just as a shape appeared in the dark doorway. "Freeze, 
Police!"

  Realising that the situation could prove difficult to explain 
satisfactorily, Yakumo decided not to stay around.

                                  * * *

  The daylight made obvious how bad the mess really was. Not only had 
blood splashed all over the storage area, porridge-like grey brain-
substance distustingly mixing with it near where the body had been, but 
glass fragments were scattered in a wide radius around the over-turned 
crate, and bronze statues (who appeared to be of Scandinavian origin) had 
rolled across floor near the shelf with the body-sized hole. Someone had 
even impacted with one of the concrete walls heavily enough to leave 
permanent marks in the white painting.

  "Over here, Scully." Mulder was currently hunched down right below the 
lamp, a frown on his face as he appeared to poke his fingers into the 
worst mess. The body, thankfully, had been removed.

  "Ewww." Despite her medical experience, she had to briefly turn her head 
away from the grey-red mix. The stench didn't help either. "What is it?"

  "Well, nevermind that we haven't found any weapon around here, and 
officer Johnson said the suspect was empty-handed." He ran his finger 
briefly along the length of one of the three deep cuts. "Not only does 
this cut - which is surprisingly wide - go through the floor-tiles, it 
also extend almost over an inch into the concrete below. No matter what 
tool used, that would require enourmous power."

  Scully nodded, noting that her partner was hinting at something but not 
quite catching what. "Yeah?" 

  "According to the officer, though, the person responsible is a short, 
asian boy in his upper teens."

  "I'm sure there's a good explanation. This guy might've been killed long 
before the officer arrived on scene."

  Unconvinced, Mulder scratched his chin, mentally noting that he was in 
need of shaving, badly. "There's something familiar about this. I'll have 
to check it up when we return to the office."

                                  * * *

[Eep. I forget a continuity note. More ranting in the next realease; but
basically, it pretty much ignores continuity of both series.]

---
Ronny Hedin, thark@swipnet.se, http://home1.swipnet.se/~w-10956/
     "If you meet Bhudda on the net, put him in your kill file."
      Important read: "http://www.vvm.com/~dpressne/notcool.htm"