Kirone slept alone, in her modest quarters in the palace. It was comfortable enough, she supposed, though she found the contours of the Angel's beds hard to get used to. They had to be this way, of course, because of their wings, but even though she had her own pair, she hated the ungiving nature of them.

She had been trapped now, in this strange form for nearly five months. It happened when the Angels had held her prisoner. Something had happened--it was difficult to remember now, but one moment she had been herself and then she had been someone else. A new body, wings, no trace of her there.

To make matters worse, the face she now wore was that of Maryna Cyclade, the late. The only person Kirone had ever killed by her own hand. It had been more than two years ago now, but all the same, as clear as yesterday.

That was truly the source of her conflict with Darken Blackangel. Ever since then, he had been relentless in stopping her, even going so far as to unite all the races in opposition to her, something that Kirone had never been able to do.

It galled her. They had both been born to fulfill a prophecy, that one born of two races would unite all of the people of the Spheres. Kirone had considered it her birthright to rule, and ever since her youngest year had been preparing herself.

And now, she was close, close to reclaiming the power that belonged to her, ever since the disaster with Lanicrus had robbed her of her influence.

She dreamt she was alone in darkness, surrounded by it. But this darkness was not like that of her native Taruga, this was not darkness brought about my absence of light. This was something else.

The darkness seemed to be moving over her, touching her, like a lover's caress. And even stranger, Kirone felt herself welcoming it. She tried to look around her, and found it impossible.

"I'm sorry," a voice said. She suddenly found herself bathed in green light. "Is this better?"

The man who had said this stood before her. He was young, tall and very beautiful. His skin was pale and white like hers. His long blue-green hair fell straight over his shoulders and his green eyes seemed piercing and inviting at once.

"Who . . .are you?" Kirone asked.

"You know me," he said, moving closer. Kirone noticed that behind him, the living darkness she had felt over her. "You have always known me."

Suddenly, the cloud of fog over her memory lifted. "Garuda Azazel," she said. "You did this to me, re-made me in her image."

"It was only as a way to allow opportunity to find you," Garuda said, his voice calm and beguiling. "Without that illusion, Sandalphon would never have freed you and put you where you are now. Is that not right?"

"Yes," Kirone said. "I guess when you put it that way, yes. But why am I so important to you? This is the second time you've visited me in a dream. Is that what this is?"

Garuda laughed and moved closer. "Rest assured Kirone," he said. His white-gloved hand stroked her cheek. "This is no dream. Could I do this, were you dreaming?"

Kirone felt her body tremble, deeper than fear, as though she were being changed. She caught a glimpse of herself reflected in Garuda's silver armor.

"I'm . . .myself, again," was all she could say.

"Aren't we all?" Garuda said. He ran his hands through her red hair. "I've come to help you, Kirone. I've come to help you fulfil your destiny."

"How could you know about that?"

"I'm a god," he said, gently running his hands over her face. "What I don't know is inconsequential. Suffice it to say that I have seen you from afar, and in seeing you, have found . . .much . . .to appreciate."

"But why me?"

"Because there is no one else who can do it, is there?" Garuda asked, his hands stroking her shoulders. Kirone hadn't been conscious of it before, but she found herself moving to get all she could from his touch. I felt so good. "Trust me, Kirone, there is more to what I offer than mere favor."

"Give me power," she said, reaching her hands out to touch him. She felt her body aflame, with an impulse she could not name, or control. "Give me what I need to unite all of them under me."

"You will have that," Garuda said, his eyes fluttering closed. "You will have that and more, Kirone. But I feel responsible for your sadness. Tell me, lovely one, what can I do to make it up to you?"

He had her in his arms now, kissing softly on her neck. Kirone had never been this far before--love meant little when what you craved was power. But she found herself responding to him. A soft moan escaped her.

"I want . . . " she tried to begin, but found the words dissipated like fog. She concentrated, despite herself. "I want . . .the illusion over me gone."

"That wouldn't be wise," Garuda said, removing her clothing. "But I will grant you control over it, along with more of my power, if that is what you wish."

"Yes," Kirone breathed. She ran her hands through his hair. Garuda was letting his fingertips, so delicate, glide over her snow, white skin. He traced lightly over her breasts like an artist would.

"You may take all of me you wish," he said. "For so long have I been without love, so long have I watched from afar. I . . ." Garuda very softly lapped at her nipple. Kirone felt a shock go up her. She had never been touched like that before, and she regretted not having the experience.

"I love you, Kirone," he said, breathlessly, kissing a line between her breasts. Her hands roamed over his now-bare chest, exploring him. She was careful not to cut him--her claws were very sharp, and she wanted this to be gentle.

Garuda let out a soft sigh. Kirone traced a line down his chest, between his legs. He looked very young for a god who'd been imprisoned, but it didn't matter. She wanted him, had to have him now. Her blood boiled with need for him.

She found him and started to stroke him, following more instinct than anything. She found him ready, and larger than she expected. He continued to kiss her breasts while his hands explored her thighs.

Blood of my ancestors, she thought. This is no intoxicating. This desire, him. I need so much more from him--I want to take all of him into my senses.

She went faster on him, wanting to bring him to his peak. She could feel him throbbing with readiness for him. Yes, she thought. That's right. I want you to feel exactly the way I do now.

"Kirone," Garuda panted. He was now kissing her stomach, his hands tracing the lines of her back. "Kirone . . .please . . ."

"No," she said. "I don't want to rush this . . .I've never done this before."

"I know," he breathed. "Neither have I . . ."

Garuda lay her down. She could feel that familiar cushion of darkness, still caressing her. But it felt different now. It felt more welcome. Almost as welcome as Garuda's attention to her. He was brushing his lips between her thighs now, breathing softly. She unconsciously bucked her hips up to him, craving his sweet mouth where she needed it most.

But Garuda would not be rushed. He instead took the tip of his tongue, and with frightening precision, traced the outline of her folds. Every gentle touch fired her desire for him that much more.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" She breathed. My god, she thought. If he doesn't do more soon I'm going to die . . .

As if in answer, Garuda gently scythed his tongue up between her folds, parting them gently, until the tip of his tongue rested against her center. She ground it against him, his tongue against that hard bud was driving her insane.

He began lapping it faster and faster, his strokes chaotic, unpredictable. Kirone felt her muscles contracting and releasing. Her hips bucked wildly and she was gasping and screaming with delight.

"Ohhhhh," she panted. "G-Garuda . . . n-now . . .please . . . Want you . . N-need you . . ."

"Not yet my love," Garuda said calmly. Even his voice was urging her on. She was climaxing uncontrollably, his tongue piercing deeper inside her. "I don't want to rush this, sweet Kirone."

She took hold of him as another climax ripped through her. She stroked him harder now, gripping him waiting for the first moment when she could truly satisfy herself.

Garuda slid his tongue in and out of her, in essence making lover to her with his mouth. As he explored her, his lips very softly massaged the jewel at her center.

Kirone was wild now, hips bucking, sweating, and crying out with need for him. Tears were streaming down her face. She tried to think, but couldn't--not in the face of the firestorm of lust she felt now. All she knew was she had to have him.

Garuda rose up from her thighs, pulling her body against him. Before she knew what was going on, he kissed her, hotly and deeply. Unconsciously, she rubbed her body against him, still rubbing him.

"Now, Garuda?" she asked, near begging. P-please?"

"Yes," he breathed, kissing her again. He sat at the edge of their erstwhile bed, and Kirone threw her leg over him. She guided him against her, to the source of her heat. The tip of him caught her in the center, and a shock of desire ripped through her. Very carefully, she let him inside her, kissing his face as she did so.

It hurt a lot, but Kirone was past the point of caring. All she knew was that even if the power never came, this pleasure was gift enough. She felt him break her maidenhead and she contracted tight around him.

Garuda nearly lost control, but he steadied her, placing his hands on her hips and sinking her down on him. He let out a soft moan as he slowly buried himself in her to the hilt.

"GARUDAAAAAAAA!" She screamed. She clenched him tightly, then slowly began her rhythm. Fast and frenetic and wildly she went up and down on him. Garuda tried to touch her, but she slapped his hands away from her.

"N-no Garuda . . ." She breathed, her eyes focused on him. She kissed him. "You're mine now . . .I want all of you . . .G-give me all of you."

Garuda held her tightly, not wanting to break the connection. She tore into his flesh with her claws, leaving hairline cuts in his back that closed almost as soon as she made them.

"Kirone," he panted with desire for her. "Do want it? Do you want all that I am?"

"Yes," she said gruffly, still working on him. "Yes, I want all of it. Please . . .I can't stand it anymore, Garuda. Give me all of you!"

Garuda moved his hair away from her neck. Kirone was upon him before she even knew what she was doing. She plunged deep into his vein, drinking of his blood, already hot with desire.

It triggered Garuda's climax and hers as well. They held each other so tightly that Kirone felt her bones would crack underneath the strain. But she held on, undaunted, drinking the blood of a god.

Garuda lay back, still inside her, holding her close to him. Kirone continued to drink his blood. Then darkness passed before her eyes . . .

. . . And she awoke in her palace room, on the uncomfortable angel's bed.

She tried to gather her thoughts. Had it all been a dream? It had felt so real. And so wonderful. Her eyes swept over the room quickly as her hands patted her naked body.

She stopped.

Naked, she thought. But I wore a gown to bed . . .

She looked to the side of the bed. The gown lay, discarded there. She got out of bed and went to the mirror. She was so shocked she almost fainted.

She was herself again. Her hair was red, as it had always been. She felt behind her back--no wings. She opened her mouth--sure enough, there were her fangs.

She remembered the dream--or whatever it was, and thought of her wish to be able to control the Maryna illusion. She tried to will it to happen.

She looked in the mirror. There was Maryna, staring back at her. She willed herself back to Kirone.

And she was herself again.

Blood of my ancestors, she thought. I am myself again. But was that a dream? And how was I able to do it so easily, without having to cast the spell?

She noticed a trickle of black blood off of the corner of her mouth, she wiped it off then looked at it on her hands.

Then she looked in the mirror, smiled, and sucked it off her finger.

Darken let them carry Tralesta to the temple without questioning them further, though something in his mind told him he should have.

They lay her down in a spot in the main hall of the massive temple and watched as Gailion looked over her. She was a Fallen, which was obvious, but she was not, surprisingly, a vampire. It had been a while since he had seen one.

What was shocking was the silver tines in her forehead. They were machines, so Gailion had said. She had the equivalent of a gate inside her. It was a very unique, but very dangerous thing to have. It was unique because she was able to cross dimensions any time and anywhere.

It was dangerous, Gailion had explained, because it put her body out of phase, causing a phenomenal strain. Like now.

Gailion watched over her, using some sort of heal spell--Darken wasn't quite sure which. There was a soft pink glow over her, and then she seemed to sleep for a time.

Gailion walked over to the three of them. "She will heal," he said. "In time."

"Okay," Darken said. "I'm glad. Now with all due respect master, who is she? You've been evading that question since she literally dropped out of thin air."

Gailion looked at the Liandra and Darken. "Tralesta is no one you would know. She is, however, someone you know well," He took a deep breath and said it. "Her name is Tralesta Darknova."

Darken's eye narrowed. His left eye started to glow with bright light. "Darknova?" Darken asked, "You would bring her here?"

"Master," Liandra said, angrier still, but quieter about it. "You know what Macabro did to us, now you bring her here?"

"She's not Macabro," Gailion said, as though that should explain everything. "Her brother was twisted by his vampirism, she chose a different way of life. I should know. I trained her."

"You've been training the Fallen?" Darken asked.

"I have been doing more than you might imagine," Gailion replied calmly. He sighed a bit. "Darken, Liandra--I am sorry I haven't told you this until now. Kael and I have been organizing something. Ever since I returned from Taruga, Kael and I have been training, planning, and gathering information for this day. We are working to stop the fulfillment of a prophecy forged since before time began

"Long ago, before out world was born, there were a race of gods, merciless and cruel. Four of them lived here, before what was here now . . .was. They were the gods of Despair, Torment, Rage, and Corruption. Their power cannot be measured by our minds in this time, they live quite beyond our magnitude.

With the birth of our universe, new gods were born. They made war on the older gods and imprisoned them within the soul of the first world. So long as it endured, the universe would be spared their evil."

"Wait a moment," Darken said. "The ancient texts said the first world was split into nine millennia ago. Soon after, it was reduced to seven. Now six."

"That's right," Gailion said. He was rather proud of his student at this moment. He would need his quick wits if her were to succeed in his role in the prophecy. "The bonds are weak now. Aspects of them move along the Spheres, but they cannot bring their full power to bear on us. But there is a way. Four keys, scattered along the four worlds can shatter their bonds and unleash them onto this world, and then the universe."

"But who would want to do that?" Liandra asked. "Who would know that much about the time of the ancients?"

"The Seketha," Gailion said. "They are a hive race--memories from incalculable millennia exist forever in the minds of each individual. They were awakened before your were born Darken. Awakened by a renegade angel. The same one who killed your father."

"Traumiel?" Darken asked. 'Didn't he die too?"

"There were six of us who went into Taruga to find the source of the evil," Gailion said. "They are the key. Traumiel and your father both perished. Soon after, so did your mother."

"Who's left?" Darken asked. He was curious, but a little angry. Why hadn't Gailion told him this before?

"Myself," Gailion said. "Elita Miral, and Sandalphon. Sandalphon is the most curious of the survivors."

"Why is that?" Darken asked him.

"Because," Gailion said. "I saw Sandalphon struck dead. But that he is alive, and ruling the angels . . .that means something, doesn't it?"

Sandalphon tried to dream, but found sleep to be a slow slide of nightmare images. Most of them were familiar to him, other were more esoteric and unexplainable.

He felt himself dying, on Taruga. Traumiel, wild with rage and madness slashes him from shoulder to hip with his axe. He can feel the warmth of his blood, flooding out of him in great torrents. Death is a cold shock to him, and all he can do is fall to the stone floor of the temple, now wet and sticky with his blood.

He remembered himself being dragged away, by the Seketha. He remembered their removing his organs, one by one, all the while still awake. He remembered the cold isolation of the cocoon they wove around him.

Then his memory failed him, and he woke up again, on the floor of the temple. He returned home, a conquering hero, thought dead, but through miraculous odds, returned to them.

He remembered the border skirmishes, the honors and titles, getting his wings removed and replaced by the flames of regency.

He remembered a similar experiment that cost him the life of his beloved Israfel. He watched himself watching her consumed by the flames of regency, but not dying.

His eyes snapped open. There was no shock, there was nothing that jolted him awake from his dreaming. In truth, he had never been certain he had not been dreaming. Not since he . . .

Died?

I live in a state of decay, he thought. I am already dead, and this is just a dream, a final nightmare before the darkness of death.

"This is no dream, Sandalphon," a voice in his head said coldly. Sandalphon felt the words like cold knives in his brain.

"Why did you do it?" Sandalphon murmured. "Why did you make me go on living?"

"You had your part to play," the Seketha whispered in his mind. It loomed over him, large and ugly, it's green eyes burning into his. "Just a Traumiel did. He led to our awakening, and brought you to us. Just as you have, in you turn."

"Kirone," Sandalphon said. "Is that what all this was about? You wanted her? You wanted HER?"

He sat up, his hands reaching for the Seketha. The Seketha extended his bony fingers. Sandalphon felt a large hand around his heart, squeezing very gently, threatening to burst it like a grape.

"Your life belongs to us," it said, firmly, the words so forceful in his mind they hurt. At least he could feel something, he thought. "And you will do what we ask. It is time. Get the keys, that we may unleash the Destroyers."

"Elita . . .is working on that," Sandalphon said, near-paralyzed with pain.

"Too slow," the Seketha said. "Our time is short, our patience shorter. The weapons in the other tower are ready. Diplomacy does not accord to our dictates."

"All right," he said weakly. He felt the pain vanish. The Seketha spun around and walked away.

"Wait," he said. The Seketha stopped. "I just want to know. Why me?"

The Seketha looked at him regarded him almost curiously, if such a thing were possible.

"Did not all of your life you dream of power, of title, of honor?" The Seketha asked him. "Your desires made it easy for us to use you. In a way, you should thank us. We have given you all that you ever dreamt of. You should thank us."

A shadow passed between them, and the Seketha was gone. Sandalphon looked up at the ceiling of his bedroom. He wondered if he were still alive, and had he ever really stopped dreaming.

Darken sat on the ledge he had looked over many times as a child. He was thinking of everything--of what Gailion had said, of what it meant. But most of all, he was thinking about his house.

He had wanted it to be a place removed from destiny's hand, but apparently that wasn't going to happen. Matter of fact, he had never known anything but the current of destiny.

It had started when we was younger, when Liandra was changed into a vampire and ravaged by Darknova. That had been his first meeting with Kirone, the first inklings of the many times they would cross paths.

Darknova tried to turn him, too. But he died as a result. Dragon blood was anathema to vampires, and even though Darken was only half, it was enough to destroy him. Tragically, it was not enough to save Liandra's sight.

But he found a way to atone for it, finding her the twin fairies that were her eyes. He had even found his first love, Maryna Cyclade.

But Kirone had taken that from him too. Ripped her throat out before his eyes and left her to die in front of him, while she put her plans in motion to conquer the spheres.

And as a result, he had met Phoenix. Love had come later, but not soon after, it brought it's own trouble, when Vertigo came to find Phoenix. Then the two of the teamed up, created Lanicrus and had nearly killed him.

He had survived, and with Phoenix and Vertigo's help, had destroyed Lanicrus. All it had cost them was one Sphere, destroyed by Lanicrus in a bid for more power.

He sighed. The pull of destiny always seemed to be on him, keeping him from what he really wanted. He drew in his knees and rested his chin on them, and sighed again.

He wanted an uncomplicated life. In his house, with Romanova. He wanted to wake up by her side, cook her meals, and keep her happy. Some days he wasn't sure how you kept a goddess with infinite power entertained, but he would try.

He smiles a bit, the wind blowing his black hair from his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Liandra.

"Hello, little sister," he said. "Couldn't sleep either?"

"No," she said. "Despite Gailion's assurance, I'm not comfortable about having that woman here."
"Neither am I," he said, standing up. "I was just thinking about that, you know--when we were young."

"You too?" Liandra asked.

"Yeah," Darken said. He embraced her, wrapping his wings around her tightly. "I love you, little sister. I haven't said it often enough, but I want you to know it now."

"I've always known that, Darken" she said. "What's troubling you enough to say it now?"

"Just a feeling," he said. "Nothing's the same anymore, is it?"