Vertigo awoke in a world she didn't recognize. She tried to catch her breath, collect her thoughts. What had happened? Where was she? The last thing she remembered was flinging herself into the void that was Lanicrus, trying to die.

She reached out and pinched herself. Obviously, that hadn't worked. Not too far away lay her sword, Gryphonforcer. She made a move to pick it up, almost out of habit more than anything else but stopped short. Her finger made shadows over the sword, like creeping spider's webs.

She breathed, and realized she could see her breath. She took a look around. The land beyond was cold--green but barren somehow, like an eternal winter blanketed the place. She furrowed her brow.

Was this place familiar? Had she been there before?

There was no time for any more thought. Her head whipped around in time to see a gigantic machine bearing down on her, impossible large, shaking the earth with each stomp of its clawed foot. Her hand went to her sword, but she didn't summon its power. Not yet.

The black metallic skin gleamed in the wintry light of the world. She drew herself to her feet. She was exhausted, but the familiar adrenaline rush of battle urged her on. She leveled her sword and adopted a ready stance.

Before she could react, shafts of light fired from behind her pierced the machine's skin. The machine's engines whined, and it sank to one knee. Before she was conscious of moving, she was moving, and she split the head of the machine with a mighty overhead cut. She stepped on the machine, putting her weight on one foot and backflipping away.

She sheathed her sword as she landed. A smile played across her lips. She had beaten it, and she hadn't had to use the sword's energy. She stood up, brushing dirt off of her platinum white armor. She heard the sound of hoofbeats and turned behind her.

"My Lady," the pale-skinned, blond haired leader said. He holstered his weapon--some sort of crossbow, Vertigo thought--and regarded her. Vertigo regarded him too. He was beautiful, almost fragile.

His bearing marked him as a prince, and the medals on his uniform attested to some sort of battle prowess.

The advisor on his left seemed to disdain her almost at first sight. "This forest is no place for women," he sneered, keeping his weapon drawn. "Don't you know there's a war on?"

"Svarog," the prince said, sidling alongside him. "Mind your tongue. The woman obviously knows how to handle herself--she disposed of the war machine with no trouble."

"Anyone can be lucky," Svarog sneered. His craggy scowling face was that of a general who lived for battle and little else. "My lady, our kingdom is at war with the Machine Empire. If you value your life, you'll leave the fighting to us, before you find yourself in the grave."

"SVAROG!" The prince yelled. Svarog stiffened as if struck. "I will not hear you belittle this lady. Perhaps you should have spent equal time learning your manners as you had on war."

He gestured, and Svarog's horse slowly walked to the back of the column of soldiers. They were fighters all, Vertigo observed--their armor was cracked and dented, even the prince's armor. Apparently they had been on the losing side of this fight for a long time.

"Your bearing marks you as a warrior," the prince said, gesturing to Vertigo. "But I've not seen your kind in this kingdom."

"I'm not sure where I am," Vertigo said, careful and guarded. "I was somewhere else, and then . . .then I was here."

"I see," the prince said. "However, stranger or not, you have saved us and Adamov of Russalka is a man who honors his saviors appropriately. Who might you be?"

Veritgo bit her lip. "Call me Vertigo," she said. A cold breeze caught her silver hair, and it billowed around her. She felt cold. She could summon the sword's power, but for some reason, she didn't want to.

"You're cold," Adamov said, undoing the clasp that held his cloak. "The weather of Russalka is not very forgiving, I'm afraid. Take this, I would prefer you not freeze before we return to the castle."

"The castle?" Svarog bellowed incredulously. "My Lord--"

"Not another word, Svarog," Adamov cautioned. "She will be welcomed."

He rode to her and offered her his hand. "Please," he said. "I would be honored to have you dine with us tonight. Russalka is not a place to be in by yourself."

Vertigo took his hand, resolving to play this by ear. She mouthed the saddle behind him, wrapped in his cloak. A slight smile played across her lips--it was still warm from his body. Just like when her father used to wrap her in his coat.

"What's this?" the cold, emotionless voice said.

"Old memories, I shouldn't wonder," the machine's cohort said. "Apparently this memory has some strong emotional investment to survive his death."

The first machine's head swiveled up, looking at the body before them. The body of Prince Adamov hung before them, crucified in a machine that looked to be both womb of life and wheel of torture. Cables snaked to his body--the parts that were intact, at any rate.

"Old memories or not," the first machine began, her blue hair swaying off her shoulders. "I want this one ready. I wonder how the remaining Russalkans will respond, seeing their precious Prince Adamov re-built as one of us?"

"What happened here?" Vertigo said, surveying the barren landscape. It wasn't just the winter, or the war. Something about the land was dying, like a cancer eating it alive from the inside.

She was holding on to Adamov, arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

"Several things," Adamov replied. There was genuine pain in his voice--it was killing him to see his land like this. "For one, our sun began to die. See?" He pointed upward. "Even now it burns itself out, like a dying candle. The day I was born, our scientists noticed that the sun was slowly dying. They say by the time my heir comes of age, our land will be dark, and eternal winter will blanket it."

"That's horrible," Vertigo said. The land where she had been born had always known sun. She remembered all the days a child she had spent, playing in the sunshine as her father made swords for their people.

"If that were all," Adamov said. "Then yes, it would be merely horrible. But soon after I came of age, another threat emerged."

"The Machine Empire?"

Adamov nodded. "They slaughtered my father and his entire court when they tried to sue for peace," he winced at the memory of it, his pale blue eyes moistening. "Can you imagine?"

Vertigo looked away. Actually, she could--because she had done it herself. It sounded exactly like what she had done to a cadre of warriors in a world far away from this one. Taken them by surprised and assaulted them without pity or mercy.

Her face flushed. Why remember that now, she wondered?

"In any case," Adamov continued, focusing her attention back on. "I have made a vow--despite the troubles our world faces, I will not allow us to give in to despair. For Russalka to regain the light, we must fill our hearts with determination and optimism, not rage and vengeance."

Brave words, Vertigo thought. But the way he said them--with the same conviction that Darken had. She furrowed her brow again. There it was--feeling, in her, for these people. Where had that come from?

Her thoughts went to the sword. It was sheathed behind her, ready, should she need to draw it. Ready should she need to call on its power. But she didn't want to.

"You're addicted," Darken had said. And he had been right. Addicted to a power she had been drawing on for years, even since the murder of her parents. Ever since all sense had left her life.

The years since then were a blur in blood--battle after battle, war after war. She had never conquered any land--she preferred only to fight on the front lines, possessed of some berserk battle-lust that had been the only thing she had ever felt.

It had been one of those battles where she encountered Phoenix Romanova. She was a goddess, and Vertigo had made it her life's ambition to defeat her. It was near impossible, she had known, but it gave her a goal.

Until, of course, Phoenix had met Darken Blackangel. Darken was a paradox to Vertigo. What did he have that made Phoenix love him? He wasn't a god (though he had the look of one, she thought) he wasn't incredibly powerful, what was it?

She had taken his measure in battle, and he was tough--he had more raw talent than anyone she had ever battled. But he was still just a mortal.

A mortal who beat her, she reminded herself. Tricked her and spirited her away to nothingness for a time. When she had come back, improbably enough, she fought alongside Phoenix and Darken to stop a monster he had herself created, and that had led her here.

She looked around. The column passed through the outer wall of the castle, past frightened-looking peasantry and guards. She could feel Svarog's eyes boring into her back. He didn't like her, for some reason. Perhaps he recognized what she was.

She was glad someone did. She wasn't so sure anymore.

"There," the metallic creature said, gazing at what had been Adamov. "I've repaired his eyes. Improved them, even."

"Arachnus," the blue-haired machine said. "Why are we wasting our time? He's beyond dead--our machines ripped him apart. Why is it so important to revive him?"

"Because, my dear Krenna," Arachnus replied. He drew himself up, the giant spider's legs raising him aloft. His razor-toed feet floated, suspended above the ground as he moves close to Adamov's body. "Why waste our resources trying to conquer Russalka by force when we can send Adamov as our viceroy, our voice?"

"I see," Krenna said. "With Adamov to speak for us, further battles will no longer be necessary?"

"We can only hope," Arachnus said. A large assembly injected green fluid into Adamov's body. His chest began to rise and fall slowly, and he began to spasm. He coughed out the excess green fluid, it ran in a glowing green stream from his mouth.

"Disgusting."

Adamov refused to let Vertigo out of her sight. He gave her a tour of the castle. It was palatial despite the obvious damage of repeated machine attacks, but no sight on the tour prepared her for the inner palace.

The first thing she noticed was the hot wind. The second thing was the blaze of color. Most of what little she had seen in Russalka was the colors of winter. Grey and white, mostly. But this was different.

"Welcome to my dream," Adamov said. "After the war is over, I hope to re-make Russalka in this fashion."

"How is this possible?" Vertigo asked. She had never seen greenery like this anywhere. On the other hand, it wasn't as though she had been looking. "I thought your sun was gone."

"It is," Adamov said. "But my people have a gift, and it's that gift that the Machine Empire covets."

"Which is?"

"Magic," Adamov said, lifting a strange golden stone above them. "The Machine Empire is a race of science. They don't understand magic, but they want to."

"Why would they need that?"

"Because the Machine Empire wants to be the great power in this world," Adamov said. " And make no mistake--they're very close." He put the stone down. "But if they were to understand the concepts of magic, even at the most basic level, they could export their tyranny to other worlds, and I don't want that to happen."

Vertigo nodded. She was staring at a flower beside her. It was beautiful, almost transparent, but when the light came upon it, it shifted colors, too rapidly to focus on one, but just enough to provoke a different mood in her.

"Do you like it?" Adamov said, walking closer to her. She flinched a bit--a reflex, she thought. He moved beside her and clipped the flower. Before Vertigo could stop him, he threaded it into her hair.

"You're very beautiful, Vertigo," he said, stroking her face. She tried to move away, but something stopped her. Her hand went over his.

"Adamov, I--"

"What?"

Vertigo looked into his eyes, deep and mysterious. "I . . .I don't know who I am. I'm s-so lost . . ."

"Shhhhh," Adamov said, taking her into his arms. Before Vertigo knew what was happening, they were kissing. Her mouth explored his, and she felt something she hadn't for a long while. She felt free of the bloody tide she had rode upon, she felt like . . .

. . . she felt like the young girl she was before. Dreaming of a simple life with her family, with a husband one day. Of children, of a family, of a life with sanity.

"Adamov. . ." she said softly as he kissed down her neck. Her hands explored him. She couldn't help but think of Lanicrus, and how she had loved him, and what he represented to her.

Adamov was nothing like that. When Lanicrus had touched her, he had hurt her--his body was like razors, so every touch brought pain. Adamov's every touch was gentle, his every word whispered in her ear.

Vertigo eased him down, throwing his cloak on the floor and placing him on it. She leaned over him, unbuckling her sword.

She kissed him tenderly, moving her body over him. Adamov felt his passion for her rise. He felt a sense of nervousness--he had never been this close to a woman before. But there was something about Vertigo he found compelling. He wanted to save her, somehow. He didn't know what she was running from, but he wanted to save her from it.

She seized his wrists, holding him fast.

"Please," she said. "Not here. Not like this."

"Why not?" Adamov said. "It is just a beautiful here as anywhere. Just as you are. Do you. . .not want to be with me?"

"That's not what I mean," Vertigo said. "There are things you need to know about me, and I don't want to say it here. Is there someplace we can be alone?"

Adamov smiled. "I think I can find us a quiet place."

* * *

Arachnus looked in Adamov's eyes. They weren't blue anymore--decomposition had set in, and necessitated their removal. His new eyes--which would improve his vision to phenomenal degrees. They looked back at him glassily, black with red highlights.

"The poor fragile creature," Krenna said. "First he was killed before we found him, then that explosion ripped his body to pieces. He must be in great pain."

"He is," Arachnus said, his hands adjusting the metal settings for Adamov's eyes. "He just doesn't know it. I had to extract most of his nervous system--these operations tend to go better if the subject isn't thrashing about in agony."

"True true," Krenna said. "How much longer? I'm getting impatient."

Arachnus examined Adamov. "Well, there's still the brain to do," he said. He walked to the table with his implements, producing a bone saw.

Adamov sat on the edge of his bed. Vertigo sat next to him. In his two hands he held hers as she told him the truth--minus a few details, of course, but the main points. She stammered and wept, but tried her best to explain. Tried to paint a picture of her heart for him with her words.

"I understand," he said simply.

"Do you?" Vertigo said, turning away from him. "Do you have any idea what it's like, knowing you've done things you can never forgive yourself for? And you don't even know why?"

"No," Adamov said, wrapping his arms around her. "But my father did. He tamed this whole land in the most brutal way possible. The people hated him, and his name is cursed in our history. That's why I tried so hard not to be like him, even in war."

"I know," Vertigo said. She was touching his hands. "So gentle."

Adamov turned her around and kissed her deeply. She felt herself opening to him, physically and emotionally. He was so gentle--yes, that was what she loved about him. So pure.

She began unbuttoning his shirt. Her fingers splaying over his chest. Her hands trembled only a little, but she felt surer now. She was a little amazed that he had no hair on his chest, he was that young, it seemed.

His hands went to the clasps on her armor. There were many of them, but he patiently and gently undid them. He jumped at the sounds of her armor plate falling to the hard floor, but soon shook it off.

She kissed down his neck, her hands roaming freely over him, her senses drinking fully of him and wanting more. She couldn't help but wonder in the back of her mind whether this is what Phoenix thought about when she touched Darken (they HAD to have done it once--goddess or not, it would have been a shame for that to go to waste) He was so strong, but so smooth, his skin pale, like finely chiseled alabaster.

He had reached her undershirt at last, which was a lucky think--his fingers were getting tired of undoing buckles. He gently unlaced her white bustier, and very slowly let it drop to the side of the bed.

Vertigo let out a gasp as his fingers encircled her breasts, his fingers like feathers dancing on her tender flesh. She sighed hotly, her head swimming with emotions she had no name for. Desire, she had heard it called once. She really didn't want to waste time naming it, she just wanted as much of it as she could handle. And then a little more.

They kissed again, as Adamov went lower, down her throat, down her chest, talking her nipples between his lips, his tongue teasing them very gently, as if testing her reaction. Her hands went to him, lacing through his hair, holding him fast to her.

"Ohhhh!" Vertigo gasped, finally pushing his shirt off of his shoulders. Her hands went lower, and she chided herself silently for not being able to undo a buckle without looking at it. She manage to unfasten his pants, after minutes of trying.

It's so hard to think, Vertigo thought. It's like my thoughts are swimming, and nothing hangs together. Adamov, she thought, please . . .let me drown in you. I've never felt this way.

The rest of their clothes were quickly shed. From the chrysalis came a butterfly, from two souls came love and desire. Adamov opened her senses like a blooming flower in the sun. Her body was his to do with as he would, and he made the most of the opportunity.

Vertigo had tears running down her face by the time he was done. She couldn't help it--the feeling were so new, so intense. She pleaded silently for more, for everything he could give her.

He seemed to hear her thoughts. He lay her further back on the bed and parted her legs, never taking his eyes off of her, gently stroking her hair as he prepared her for their mutual pleasure.

"A-adamov," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I've n-n-never done this before. Please." She looked up at him, crying for real this time. "Please don't hurt me."

He kissed her, planting his lips on her. Then he brushed his lips against hers, a brief signature. "I would never, could never, hurt you, sweet Vertigo," he said. "And I haven't done this before either. Have faith in me, my love, as I do in you."

She let her fingers play across his back. She was aware of him now--she felt him in every part of her, like he was filling her mind. He moved to her opening, like a butterfly towards a flower. Her stomach trembled with anticipation.

Then, slowly, but surely, she felt him enter her. He went slowly, carefully. She tried to relax, to allow him all the way, but there was still the fear, still the want--the need--to hold him there.

He pushed even further, and Vertigo felt pain. Her fingernails dug hard into Adamov's back as he pushed through. Vertigo clenched her teeth, tears streaming from her tightly shut eyes.

"Vertigo," Adamov whispered. "Are you all right? Should we stop?"

"N-no," Veritgo said slowly. Her hands were on his hips. "Not now . . .not ever."

A loud moan escaped her as she pulled him all the way in her. The feeling was exquisite, pleasure and a little pain at equal measure. And was it building? She could feel it, like a song deep in her heart, growing louder.

Adamov worked slowly but strongly, being more careful as Vertigo become more aggressive. They were both sighing in unison, now more one than two. He could feel his own climax building.

They both met one another in an exultation of joy. Neither could describe it, could process the feeling within them. So they did the only thing they could--held each other until the feeling subsided. Finally, they drifted off to sleep.

"This is taking forever, Arachnus," Krenna said, bored. "These fragile flesh machines can't be worth this much trouble, can they?"

"That is why you cannot comprehend what it is I do," Arachnus said, using a fine tool to re-seal the cut made to Adamov's skull. It disappeared seamlessly, leaving nothing, not even a scar. "We machines are much like them--more ordered, more logical--but they too are machines."

"They are nothing like us," Krenna said.

"They will be, in time," Arachnus said, injecting more of the green fluid into Adamov.

Vertigo dreamt. She dreamed of being alone, in the dark. She could only see herself, as she seemed to be glowing from within. She was dressed as she had been as a child. She began to get frightened--she had never liked the dark at all.

"You're alone," a voice--her voice--called out. Another version of her--the version in full battle armor called to her. Vertigo stared, it was like looking at a reflection of herself. "Like you were always meant to be. I can't understand why it's so hard for you to see that."

"I used to be alone," Vertigo said. She was surprised at her confidence. "I don't have to be."

"Yes you do," her reflection said. "Do you think Adamov really loves you? Do you really think anyone could? No. The only thing that loves you is this."

Her reflection drew her sword, and held the tip at her.

"You can feel it, can't you?" Her reflection said. "The power that suffuses the blade, the power that has sustained you when you should have died, the power that allowed you to stand against gods."

"I was addicted to it," Vertigo said, looking away. "Power is nothing without a soul to direct it?"

Her reflection laughed. The sound was like broken glass being ground.

"Your soul is dead," she said, moving closer. "It has been ever since you first drew the sword."

"That can't be true," Vertigo said. She felt sick--like her world was being displaced. It made her want to cringe. "My soul isn't dead--Adamov saw something in me. . .that must means something. . ."

"It means her wants you," her reflection answered back. It put a hand on her face. "He wants this--your body. Don't confuse that with love."

Vertigo looked down. "I don't want this anymore! I . . .want . . .someone to love me."

"It's not meant for you," her reflection said. "You're meant to slay demons and murder angels--to bathe in warm blood of your victims. To make your life the eye of a hurricane of war. That's all. You will never know love--you can't, because all the love you ever felt died with your parents!"

With that, her reflection plunged the sword into her, and Vertigo woke up.

She gasped for air--it was a cold shock to her lungs. She looked around. Adamov lay beside her, smiling peacefully, his hand around her waist. She very carefully got up and left the bad, looking for her sword.

It lay on the floor, under her clothing. She hefted it. She could feel the steady hum of the power within the blade. It was never meant for her, the sword. The spirits her father bound into the sword's steel were meant for an owner of like temperament.

She was almost tempted to draw it, or to throw it out the window.

Until, that is, Svarog burst in with a full division of troopers.

"He's awake," Krenna said.

Adamov tried to speak. He couldn't. The green fluid was choking it out.

"Be calm," Arachnus said. "Let the chemicals work their way through you. Breathe."

Adamov breathed. He tried to see, but found his vision different. Tinted red. His thought felt different as well. But all of him felt.

How could that be? Adamov wondered. How could he still live? How could Vertigo have done what she did to him?

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" Adamov demanded, fastening his robe . "Svarog, what are you doing?"

"Move away from him," Svarog hissed at Vertigo, weapon drawn. "You MURDERER!"

"Svarog," Adamov said. "You have ten seconds to say what this is all about or I ill cut you down myself."

"Our clerics have found out who this woman truly is," Svarog said. "She has crossed dimension after dimension, starting wars, killing thousands, tens of thousands for all we know. Her name is known on battlefields throughout the known worlds."

"Is this true?" Adamov said.

Vertigo nodded, her hand still on the sword. It was humming even more now, tempting her. I can fix this for you, she could hear it saying, buzzing in the back of her mind. All you have to do is give yourself over to me.

Adamov looked at her, then at Svarog. "If that's the case, Svarog," Adamov said. "Then why is she here?"

"Look at her, majesty," he replied. "She stands there, while you sleep, sword in hand, ready to cut you down. It's obvious she is a mercenary employed by the Machine Empire."

"That's enough," Vertigo said. Her hand tightened around the sword.

"Svarog, if what you say is true--"

"I SAID THAT'S ENOUGH!" Vertigo said, drawing the sword. The flower Adamov had tied to her head fell to the floor. There was a flash of purple fire, and she was clad in her armor. She held her sword out at Svarog.

"I am so sick of you," she said. She jammed most of the blade into his jest before anyone could react. Svarog slumped to the floor. "I should have done that when I first saw you."

"Vertigo," Adamov said. "Please . . .don't do this."

"Don't do WHAT?" Vertigo said. "I tried to change, but I can't, because my past will follow me around everywhere? Well then, why not live as my destiny ordains?"

Svarog looked up at her, blood pouring from his mouth, and laughed. "You stupid little girl," he said slowly, spitting the words in her face. "You're not going to live to see your legend. I'm going to make sure of it."

"Explain," Vertigo said, pressing the tip of her sword against his throat.

"I . . .have dropped all our defenses," he said. "The Machine Empire should be beginning it's assault on the castle walls now."

Sure enough, explosions began to rock the castle walls.

"SVAROG!" Adamov said, drawing his sword and pointing it at his neck. "TRAITOR!"

"No," Svarog said, gasping. "I . . .saved us. Better . . .to be . . .killed . . .by machines . . .than to lose everything . . .because of her."

Adamov cringed at his death-rattle and watched him fall to the floor. He went to his window to see the Machine Army assaulting his castle, burning the city, and burning the outer part of the castle.

"Defend the castle as best you can," he instructed his soldiers. "Try to get away from the city. Save as many as you can."

They exited, and Adamov stared at Vertigo.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Vertigo closed her eyes, fighting back the tears. "I know," she whispered. "I wish it could be different."

"So do I," Adamov said. The explosions were getting close.

"I love you," Vertigo said.

Adamov went to her and kissed her. "I love you too," he said. "And it wouldn't have mattered to me what you had done."

A gout of flame burst in through the window. Not much time now.

"Vertigo," Adamov whispered. "One last thing. I don't want to see this--I don't want to see my kingdom die. Please . . ."

Vertigo took him gently into her arms. "I love you," she heard Adamov say.

"I love you too," she whispered, jamming the made into his heart. Adamov stiffened, then slid down her body as she removed the blade. The look on his face wasn't shock, but a kind of peace.

Vertigo allowed herself a tear for her lover. Then, with a motion of the sword, she cleaved the walls of the dimensions and was gone.

"Where am I?" Adamov said. It hurt to talk.

"You are with us and of us," Arachnus said. "You will be called Nightscream, as you are like a living shadow in the light, a scream against the fall of night."

If Krenna could have rolled her eyes, she would have.

Arachnus unleashed him from the bonds and Adamov walked out, slowly. He seemed to have forgotten how to walk. He wobbled a bit, and reached out a hand to Arachnus, and before Arachnus or Adamov knew what was happening, Arachnus fell over, quite dead.

"What?" Adamov said, walking towards Krenna. "Please . . .help . . ."

He got close, and she fell over dead.

He stopped, and looked at his hands.

What had given him this touch of death?

He finally, after killing most of the Machine Empire, made his way to the castle--or rather, what remained of it. He walked to his garden, oblivious to any of the other destruction. He was pleased that the garden had survived--it had grown uncontrollable since he had last been there.

He walked to it, carefully, slowly lifting a flower to him. The same type of flower he had tied in Vertigo's hair so long ago.

Before he could breathe its scent in, it died in his hands.

Adamov wanted to scream, but couldn't find the voice, so he cried instead.