"Yes," Romanova said, throwing her arms around him. "Yes I will."

Darken felt an odd sense of exhilaration and terror, of hope and fear taking wing. He lifted his face to hers very delicately and kissed her. Her lips welcomes him inside her mouth, her arms tensing, holding him tight to her.

His hands traveled slowly up and down her back. Hers did the same, finding a spot between his wings. Darken started kissing down her neck, tenderly but insistently. His wings encircled her, gently sheltering her.

Romanova slid her fingers inside his robes, her gentle fingers caressing his chest, making his heart pound. She let out a soft sight as Darken continued his urgent kissing of her. His tongue very gently caressed the edge of her ear. Her fingertips splayed over his chest, and he let out a ragged sigh.

"R-romanova," he breathed. She looked at him, her violet eyes deep and full. He opened his mouth to say something, but she put a finger to her lips.

"Shhh. . .don't say anything," she took his hand and led him to her bedroom. Then she stopped, trembled a bit. Darken put his hand to her shoulder.

"What is it?" Darken asked her. Romanova put her hand on his shoulder.

"I-i've never done this before," she whispered.

Darken held her close to him, his wings encircling her. "Do you want to?"

"Yes," she whispered slowly.

He began removing her robe, her skins seeming to glow in the light of the room. Maybe it was just her natural skin tone, Darken though. Maybe the energies within her manifested themselves externally. He didn't know, and really didn't care.

"Romanova," he breathed. "You're so beautiful." He placed a hand on her trembling skin. "So very beautiful."

His hands roamed all over her body. She began tugging at his clothes, dropping his robes, his tunic, and finally his pants. Romanova started caressing his smooth white skin in earnest.

"You're very beautiful too," Romanova said. She pressed herself against him, feeling the warmth from their nakedness. She could feel him, already excited, pressing against her. Her earth was pounding already. There was so much she wanted to say, to do, but how to ask?

Darken cupped his hands around her breasts, his fingertips caressing her nipples. He began kissing the soft skin between them, kissing and caressing. His wings started running up and down her legs, up her back.

"Ooooh," Romanova breathed. Her hands fluttered down his chest, down between his legs. Her fingers delicately reached for it. shyly, tentatively. Then she took him in her hands and began to stroke him, slowly at first, but then fur urgently.

"Mmmmm." Darken's eyes fluttered half closed. He had never felt this way before. Her gentle touch on him was only making him want her more. He ran his hands down her body, slowly parting her thighs, his fingertips running slowly up and down her folds.

"Romanova," Darken breathed. "I love you."

She let a small moan escape her lips. "I love you too."

He slowly picked up and laid her on the bed. He used his wings to hold her thighs open. His lips rubbed against her center, up and down, slowly and softly. She moaned, a wordless plea for him not to stop--ever.

Romanova was gasping for air. She had never felt this before. It felt like there was a fire inside her, and it only seemed to get stronger as he continued to rub his lips up and down her. She never wanted him to stop. She needed him to not stop.

Darken slowly slid his tongue between her folds, slowly but insistently moving deep inside her, finding her center. He connected with it hotly, slowly circling it with the tip of his tongue.

"AHHHHHHHHHH!" Romanova cried, gasping. Her fingers ran rapidly through his hair, holding him close to her. She had never known pleasure like this, never even known she could feel this way. She started bucking her hips up to his mouth, wanting to feel more.

Darken breathed in her heat, her pleasure. It was like the kiss of a warm spring day, one he never wanted to end, ever. He held her legs open with the tips of his wings. Even the strength of them paled next to her pleasure. Her muscles were pushing hard against them.

"Darken. . .," Romanova breathed. "Darken. . ." She was urgent now, her breath coming in short gasps. Darken pressed his tongue to the tip of her center and she felt her release rip through her like a hurricane. Her hips bucked--once, twice, three times--and she moaned loud and long.

Darken raised his face, looking into her eyes. Her body was shining, a patina of sweat over her.

"Romanova," he said. "I love you."

Romanova took his hands in hers, switching their positions. Darken landed on the bed, Romanova hovering over him. He relaxed, letting his desire take him where it would. Romanova's soft hands encircled him, feeling his hardness throbbing between her palms. Darken gritted his teeth. He wanted her so badly, as he had never wanted anyone before.

She wasted no time--her passion was as equal as his. She let her center rub p and down the length of him, and her slid inside her, slowly and easily.

"OHHHHHHHH!" Romanova cried. She felt herself filled to the hilt with him. It was pleasure and pain in equal measure, and she wanted more. Instinctively, she began to move on him, back and forth, her breath becoming sharp, then gasps, then moans.

"Mmmmaahhh. . ." Darken held her hips as she worked over him. He could feel her inner muscles gripping him tightly, hot and firm, drawing the pleasure from him. His own hips began to buck up inside her, wanting to give her everything, to somehow conduct the ecstasy he felt into her, like lightning jumping from one pole to another.

She leaned over him, closer now, still pumping her hips. She felt a fire in her belly, felt her muscles beginning to lose all control. More than that, she could feel Darken's reactions. A sound escaped her lips. Moaning, sighing. Both at once--she didn't know.

Darken started kissing her nipples, lapping at them as she moved back and forth on him. He felt the familiar fire seething in him, felt her climax approaching as well. He kept trying to concentrate--make it last--but he couldn't.

Romanova felt him trying to resist. She didn't want him to. She couldn't wait any longer. She started working harder and faster. She leaned even closer, her hair tickling his shoulder. She kissed his ears, panting, pleading, her voice nearly gone.

"D-darken," she breathed. "Please. . .please. . .I. . .can't. . .h-hold it b-b-back." The rest of her plea coalesced into a soft whining moan. That was all he could stand. Darken held her close, finally letting loose. His release was so intense he felt as though he were flying, his heartbeat a loud snare drum in his ears.

"DARKEN!" Romanova screamed. She felt a thousand different emotions and reactions, each complete unto itself, each one linked, a chain of pleasure. She made a few more thrusts--more of reflex than anything else, then collapsed on Darken's chest.

Darken couldn't say anything--he was totally out of breath and energy. So he let his actions speak for him, putting his arms around the small of her back and holding her close. She looked at him, smiling, her violet eyes shining like stars.

"I love you Romanova," he said, his voice earnest as his soul. He wrapped his wings around their naked bodies, a soft blanket for their dreams to fly on.

"He's hideous," Kirone said, regarding the pale metallic beast before them. His tail thrashed with life, his red eyes reflecting nothing but hate. "How could it have gone wrong, Monstructor?"

"Vertigo's chaos fires seems to have imbued our soldier with more power than we initially maybe have realized," Monstructor said, adjusting his glasses. "He is no longer technically a clone of Darken Blackangel, more an opposite. . .an anticlone, if you will."

The beast's left eye, nothing really more than an cybernetic assembly sent out a red beam of laser light to Monstructor's chest. The monsters' lips pulled back, revealing a fanged smile.
"I. . .am no one's clone," the beast said in a mechanical rasp. "I am Lanicrus. What I am is far beyond your mere understanding. I am the unliving alive."

Vertigo clapped her hands to her chest. Kirone looked at her, a cutting glance if ever there was one. She almost looked like a happy parent. They were bonded, it was true, but she had a fear, a feeling she could not name, but with Lanicrus around, Vertigo was even more of an unstable element, despite Kirone's attempt to control her.

She would have to watch that.

Vertigo walked to him. Lanicrus seemed to tower over her, every muscle in his body tensed, ready to unleash death on her. She tentatively reached a hand out to his cheek, caressing the cold metal that was his face. Lanicrus let her, the glow of rage never seeming to leave his eyes.

"He's so beautiful," Vertigo said.

Kirone glowered. "You make me sick, Vertigo," she said flatly. She turned to leave the chamber, Monstructor following behind her. Kirone stopped him outside the door.

"Watch them," she said. "We are well pleased with Lanicrus, and we don't have to worry about his loyalty," she said. "But Veritgo's power is greater than we suspected. Watch her. If she does anything that could jeopardize our plans, see to it that Lanicrus finishes her quickly."

"Mistress," Monstructor whispered. "Why make her end so merciful?"

Kirone let a thin smile play over her lips. "Look at her," she said plainly. "She twisted enough. Life is her punishment. Death is sweet release from her insanity."

Kirone turned around, wrapping herself in her cloak as she did. She walked the long, echoing halls of the Skyshadow, ruminating on things as she did.

She had found this ship, this ancient weapon of war while she raised her first army. She had carefully studied the ancient books, which told of the Nine Worlds War and the sky ships that were used to move across the spheres.

The ships needed no gates--they created there own, by puncturing the walls between spheres. Most of them were gone now--they had been for ages. A few were still held by techno-pirates, but this one had slept under the rocks of Ladon.

Her army had recovered it, dug it up, and inside she had found innumerable pieces of ancient technologies inside. With this ship she had nearly conquered all seven of the spheres. Until Darken stopped her, wrecked the Skyshadow and exiled her here. Destroyed the gates. Trapped here on her home sphere.

But she would end that. By force or by subterfuge. She remembered a dream she had often had. Darken, broken and helpless before her. She would watch as his wings were broken. She would as his precious Eagle Clasp was broken under her heel. She would watch him lose all he had gained.

She entered her chamber of meditation. Scattered around her were the ancient books. Histories, tomes, grimoires. Most of them had been stolen from that fool Kael's temple. Most, but not all. There were still gaps in the histories, gaps she desired filled. Secrets yet to be revealed.

Stepped to the center of the room, upon which was inscribed a circle of runes and hieroglyphs, a circle of power. She began to relax, letting her mind wander. She thought about Kael's library, about what knowledge that wasn't in her collection. What other spells were there to learn? What other ancient machines could there be, seeded on the various spheres?

She thought about what Monstructor had said, about the extent of Lanicrus' power. Her smile widened, showing her fangs. She already had a prefect test of Lanicrus' power then. And, of course, a way to expand her own personal power.

In Nycheladra, the sphere of the angels, there exists no natural land mass. Everything is sky. The angels who dominate this sphere have crated instead massive flying fortresses, cities, which defied the power of gravity, which pulled everything to the sun center of their sphere.

The smaller fortresses, the Gravity Pagodas, were castles constructed for members of the Imperial Court. One of those pagodas looked over the Imperial City. The angel looking over the city frowned with what he saw. His red uniform, bedecked with medals of service to his kings gleamed in the brilliant light of the eternal day. His reverie was interrupted as the door to his chamber slid open.

The blue-uniformed soldier entered the room humbly, quickly removing the golden helmet that signified him as one of the personal Imperial guard. His wings folded behind him, unobtrusive and out of the way, in practiced military fashion. His hair was gut tightly, in contravention of the usual styles.

The solider bowed, but his captain waved the gesture off.

"Bardiel, you need not bow to me," he said, a voice deep and full with the richness of command. "We will not stand on ceremony today."

"But, Lord Sandalphon," Bardiel said. "I-it is not right to disregard protocol--"

"In this case," Sandalphon said, reaching for a a gold goblet from a nearby table, "I believe it is. Sit. I will provide us some refreshment."

Bardiel sat at the great round table between them as Sandalphon found another glass and poured the contents of a bottle from the table in them. The liquid seemed to shine, even in the daylight, with an inner glow.

"Please," Sandalphon said, gesturing to Bardiel. "Help yourself."

"My lord," Bardiel began, "I'm not sure I-"

"I want you to be at ease," Sandalphon said. Like all members of the Imperial Court, Sandalphon had no wings as such, rather his wings were formed by the Regency Flames, supposedly passed down from Phoenix herself. To even see one of the Imperial Court was a matter of high honor. To drink with one. . . "You see, we have things to discuss. The Empire is in crisis, and it is dependent on us to set it to rights."

"I don't understand," Bardiel said, taking a sip of the liquid. It was sweet, like warm milk and honey. He took another sip. "Have we not rebuilt our forces from the crisis with the hate plague?"

"Yes and no," Sandalphon said, a smile forming on his face. It was so contrary to the military sneer of command he usually wore it made his face seem to be cracking. "We are back to strength, yes, but not with the sort of troops I would wish to have."

He stood up and gesture to the window. "Look around you, Bardiel. Imperial City has become a way station for every race, not just the angels. King Matariel sits and takes counsel from interlopers. There is talk in the air of a permanent alliance between all the spheres.

"To some people's eyes, that must be wonderful. Dozens of races, living in harmony, all speaking with an equal voice," Sandalphon said, the smile gone from his face. "But there are some who think differently."

Bardiel finished the cup. Sandalphon gestured for him to have more. "There are some who say that each sphere should remain alone and sovereign. There are some who say that one race--our race--should step forward and assert our control. There is no problem before us that the Celestial Empire could not solve by asserting our order over the Spheres."

Bardiel stopped drinking, putting his cup down with an audible thud. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, Bardiel," Sandalphon began, turning to him. His eyes seem to sear into his eyes. Bardiel suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "I'm saying I want Nycheladra for the angels only. I'm saying I want our people to extend their influence over all the spheres. I'm saying I want Matariel and all his allies from the other races forced from our cities."

"That's treason!" Bardiel said, standing up boldly. "How can you, a member of the Imperial Court, say this?"

"Because our people have a destiny," Sandalphon said, trying to sound reassuring. "We are touched by a higher power to go forth and take the spheres for this power."

"I will not be a party to this," Bardiel said coldly. He poured his drink over the table. It gathered in a pool at the center of the table. "I will not support a war against our King."

Sandalphon smiled. "Oh, there will be no war, my friend," he said, his voice having a slight laugh in it. "Night does not fall all at once, you see. No, destiny tells us we must move slowly, gradually, and that is how we will move."

"What makes you think I will not stand against you?" Bardiel said, his voice now raised to it loudest pitch.

Sandalphon laughed. "Because you will not tell anyone. Because you must follow my orders no matter the case. But mostly because. . .I have just poisoned you."

Bardiel stopped, the tension leaving him suddenly. "You've. . .what?"

"That drink?" Sandalphon asked, gesturing to the empty cup. "It's poison. One of the most virulent in the spheres. Deadly to angels. The plant it's from grows in the sphere of the Fallen, and strangely enough it's harmless to our bastard race."

Bardiel felt his throat closing. He tried to breathe and couldn't. He reached for his throat.

"Yes," Sandalphon said in mock concern. "It must be quite painful. Still, it's a testament to your soldier's training that you survived this long. Most angels die after a single drop."

Bardiel dropped to the floor, gasped for a few seconds and died. Sandalphon knelt at his side, removing his Eagle Clasp and his sword.

"I'm sorry Bardiel," he said, standing back up. "I had hoped you would be a true patriot, I had hoped you would help me. I see it was a foolish hope. Still, your sacrifice will not be in vain."

"You enjoy hearing yourself talk, don't you?" a cold voice, very close to him said.

Sandalphon smiled. "We aren't all as quiet as you, Yrouel."

The wall beside him shimmered, warped. Suddenly, there stood beside Sandalphon another, clad in red and black, his features obscured by a darker, sinister version of the helmet Bardiel worse. At his back were a pair of bat wings, most unlike an angels, but he was an angel all the same. His name was known to few people in the Imperial Court, but those who knew him knew him as Yrouel, the Angel of Fear.

"A pity about him," Yrouel said. His voice was like the scraping of steel against stone.

"Yes it is," Sandalphon said. "I will see his family is looked after and he is given a burial worthy of his service."

"Compassion?" Yrouel said. "To one you just murdered?"

"I had hoped it wouldn't be necessary, Yrouel," Sandalphon replied bitterly. "Bardiel and I have fought many wars. We saved each other's lives many times during the Dragon Wars. We were close friends. Of all the people I thought would follow me into even Taruga itself, he was one.

"But there are no place for friends in what I plan, I suppose," Sandalphon said, the mantle of cold command returning to him. "If our people are to achieve the destiny that has been written for us, there will be many more sacrifices, of friend and foe alike."

Yrouel nodded. Sandalphon looked in his eyes, trying to discern some sort emotion behind that helmet. He could find none.

"Find the Blackangel," he said. "I think I much prefer dealing with my foes, much rather than my friends. Deal with him. Without that accursed half-breed urging our people on to mongrelize with the other races, our task will be much simpler."

Yrouel nodded, climbed to the window and flew off to seek his quarry.