Author's Note: This starts where Chapter 64(if I remember correctly) of The Van Alen Legacy left of. I picked up their dialogue in the first part of this chapter and do not claim them as my own words. Hope you enjoy! :)

Limbo

They were stuck at a stalemate, Leviathan's spear at Kingsley's neck and his blade point blank at the demon's heart. Neither moved and neither planned to. Mimi saw all this and Kingsley knew what she intended to do.

"Stay right where you are, Force." he said as he turned to see her through the iron bars that separated them. "Don't come any closer."

"Why?" Mimi cried, "What are you going to do?" But her eyes were already glistening. He knew she saw the white light already forming. She knew what he was about to do, what he had to do.

"I'm going to destroy the path. It's the only way." Kingsley said, already prepared for the inevitable. He could save the blue bloods for now, but he would be trapped in Hell for eternity. It was a sacrifice he was already ready to take.

The tears were already forming in Mimi's eyes. "Don't." she said, desperately shaking her head.

She weeps for me. Kingsley's gaze softened and he even tried a smile. "Do not cry for me, Azrael, do not waste your tears. You made your decision. This is mine." He wished he could wipe away her tears. "Sacrifice seems to be my destiny. A funny thing for a selfish man, isn't it?" He laughed. "They always called me weak back then… but maybe weakness is a strength of a kind."

Mimi pressed closer to the bars to get closer to him. He could weep at the bittersweet moment. Azrael wept for him; the fiery Agrippina who had once looked down on him was now shedding sad tears for him.

"Kingsley, I…"

He smiled his Cheshire grin and never took his eyes off her. Whether those tears were of love or of sympathy, it didn't matter anymore. He was glad to have even had an ounce of her attention, let alone those beautiful, wonderful, precious moments he had shared with Mimi. He always knew she'd choose Jack; Abbadon. It was foolish to have tried her. Once she was bonded with him, she would be stronger; she would be safe. He would not have to worry.

He called up the subvertio; the White Darkness. The ground rumbled and everything around them shook dangerously. He heard Leviathan shriek in pain. He himself could already feel the strength of the spell, a bright pain searing him.

Yet, he never looked away from Mimi. This would be the last time he'd see her.

Azrael…

With no more words spoken, the bright light engulfed them.

The first thing Kingsley felt upon waking up was the dose of extraordinary, burning pain. The subvertio had caused it, and he knew even his physical shell would not heal quickly even with his vampire ability. Leading a hand to his stomach, he felt the wetness of his wounds. Bringing his hand up to his face, his blood shone bright silver, the symbol of his eternal damnation.

For the first time he noticed that the voices of the Corruption were not with him. His insatiable desires were gone as well.

So I truly am in the underworld.

He was where he belonged and he did not have to suppress the urges, like he had for several centuries.

Only one deep desire was left in his heart.

He would never forget the way Mimi had looked at him. He would not forget her touch, her whispers or the way she held onto him, like she would never let him go, like she could not live without him. But it wasn't like that at all. Now it was him who had to finally accept the absolute truth. He'd never see her again.

When he had mustered enough energy, he stood up and looked around him. He was surely in the first circle of the Kingdom of Hell. To him, it appeared as a stretched version of the beach in Coney Island. There was a time he would visit the beach at Coney Island and drown out the Corruption's voices with the sound of the Red Bloods laughing and having fun. Sometimes it had worked, but this curse was something absolutely difficult to suppress, even with centuries of living with it.

But this was not Coney Island. It was deathly quiet and only the sounds of the ocean's waves could be heard. It was a gray, depressing knock-off.

Kingsley started to make his way down the length of the beach, limping a lot as he discovered a deep gash on his ankle. They just wouldn't heal fast enough. He hoped Leviathan was suffering just as much—maybe even more. The demon was surely already farther down in Hell.

For now, he was set on making his way to one of the existing gates leading back to Earth. Perhaps there was a way he could get through. He hoped against hope, knowing his blood would bar him from even getting close to the gates. After all, this was its true purpose, to keep the demons and Croatans at bay.

Walking was already taking forever, and he was still weak. Just as he was about to give in to the pain that was overtaking him, he saw that the beach had ended, and at the end of it was a small gate, not unlike a garden gate. He could've laughed; it looked so easy. Just a simple latch and a few steps beyond it would be home. But he knew it couldn't be that easy. Then again, he was one of the gatekeepers. Perhaps there was slight chance he had gained favors.

He moved toward it and got as close as he could to touching the gate. He put a hand on the latch, to his surprise, and tried to open it, but as soon as his hand fell upon it, an instantaneous jolt of pain coursed through his blood. It was as if fire ran through him and burned him from the inside. He gasped in pain and fell back. His wounds were raw and bled generously. He was short of breath, but he now knew he could touch the gate. Would he be able to pass through it?

Taking a moment to regain a bit of energy, he took a deep breath and tried again. As his skin made contact with the iron gate, the coursing pain came back. He tried to lift the latch, but a white fire burned him and he collapsed to the ground. It was as if his veins had imploded, his cursed blood flowing like a waterfall. He could've been good as dead then and there, weak, powerless, and hopeless.

Was there no way at all?

Kingsley knew it could take a long time before a checkpoint showed up. The head honchos of Hell had a certain temperament and could let him wander in Limbo for years.

Once he had recovered from the blood burning at the gate, he decided to go and pay a visit to the Queen of the Dead. He knew better than to ask her for a way out of Hell, but he was becoming increasingly desperate and irritable. He had no intention of staying.

He had gone up to the roadside where a sleek black motorcycle with a dark, exquisite gleam materialized. Hell was desolate and bleak, but it could be convenient.

His hair whipped against the wind as he sped down the road. For a moment, he almost forgot the pain in his wounds and the hurt in his heart. Almost.

It was as if he had driven for hours, seeing nothing except the road before him and the gray stormy ocean. He tried turning on the radio, but it played nothing but Wagner. It had been tolerable for a while, but when "Wedding March" played next, his stomach turned and he switched it off. Rain started to pour, but he sped even faster.

As the rain subsided, he finally came upon an ocean pier. It was bare and empty, but across it was a gas station guarded by two silver collared trolls. They spoke in grunts as he approached them. But he was tired of grunting; he'd done enough of that in pain.

He parked his motorcycle and walked closer to the station.

"Helda around?" he asked them as he drew nearer. The nine foot troll answered in perfect English. "Go right ahead." It gestured to the door leading to the station. He entered and took out his jack-knife sword, placing it on the counter before the she-troll could do a pat down. Without even knocking on the office door, he entered before the angered guard could catch up.

The Queen of the Dead looked far from being queenly in any sense. Her desk was filled to the brim with a mountain of files. She looked stern yet indifferent, not even raising her beady eyes to look up at him.

"I do not appreciate your barging in here, Araquiel." she said in a low voice. "What is it you want?"

"I want to go back." he stated coolly, though he knew this was a useless plea.

Still not looking up, she replied, "You know well I only deal with what comes in, not with what goes out. Unless you have something to barter or someone to claim you, I can do nothing."

The chances of either were slim. He had no soul to barter, for that was what she meant, and who would find the time to claim him from Hell? The remaining gates were still unknown and surely no one had time to think of saving him, not when there were far worse things happening above.

Yet he dared to think. Would Mimi… no, he would not go there. She was not going to waste her time saving him. Hadn't she already chosen her twin? Yes, it was useless to hope. No one would save a Silver Blood traitor, reformed or not.

Finally, Helda looked up at him and looked him once over. "I may not be able to help you with what you want, but you may prove to be useful around here." she said to him. He merely raised an eyebrow, at a loss for words after everything that had happened.

She went back to her work, but added, "I will make a deal with you, but after you clean your wounds. You smell of blood."