Legal disclaimers: I don't own Lara Croft or the Tomb Raider franchise, these belong to the Eidos computer company, I'm just borrowing them for the purpose of telling this story. This is a fictional publication, I'm not trying to violate any copyrights by writing it and will not make any money from this publication. All characters that appear in this story, excepting Lara Croft, are copyright Rhys D., so if you want to borrow them, ask.

Standard disclaimers: This story is an interlude story that goes between "Wanderer" and "Genesis", and is really a separate short story explaining some of the background of the two main stories. It also introduces a character who will become important in future stories, who first appears here because the story of "Genesis" can't be altered to allow her to appear there. This story is not intended to insult anyone's beliefs or challenge their concept of reality, it's merely a piece of fiction to be enjoyed, clear? Quite graphic violence will be portrayed here, too. Threats and insults will be ignored and deleted, intelligent feedback will be appreciated, and should be sent to Rhys D at: brian..com

The Dead and the Damned

The past...

"Let me see if I understand what you're telling me correctly, Morningstar. If I want to get rid of that half-breed replacement of mine that God created for Adam after I refused to give him what he wanted, and get him back for myself, as it should be… Short of killing her, and loosing him for good… I have no way of doing so-save one you know of, yes?" said the tall, black-haired woman.

The being standing across from the woman, Samael Morningstar, first of the Angels, allowed a smile to show on his handsome face while his eye's lazily traced the woman's perfect body up and down relentlessly, as though to commit the perfection in front of him to memory, not that he needed to. He had a perfect memory, and could recall with absolute and perfect clarity everything from the moment of his creation to the slightest of his movements as he stood near to the object of his current affections, and plans.

He could have drawn a perfect picture of the woman with his eye's shut from the first moment he had seen her, but one never tired of looking at perfection, even if you were it yourself. In reality, though, he wanted to do more than merely know that perfection standing apart from him by sight-he wanted to know it by touch as well, intimately, and he was almost at the point where, with just a little more effort and prodding in the right direction, he was going to get his wish.

He ran his eye's over her once more, feet to face, drinking in the perfect lines once more before answering as though it was in truth nothing to him. His eye's caressed strong, slim feet and legs, well-defined muscles moving slightly like steel cords under silken-smooth skin, moved on up over the woman's hips and flat stomach, pausing for a moment over her groin, and carried on up over her slim waist, her chest, her dextrous, perfectly-formed fingers, her smooth-skinned strong arms, her full, round breasts and a slim throat like ivory. Finally, his yes settled onto a face of a face of such beauty that it touched even him, fine-boned and smooth as carved marble, full lips slightly parted, liquid green eye's a mixture of sea and emerald green but truly neither staring back at him in an appraisal just as frank, long midnight-black hair falling loose in a silken wave down her back to well below her waist.

"Yes. There is a way that is certain to succeed, but I do not interfere in my creators work and designs without a price, and, in this case, the price is your hand" he replied, knowing what the true results of his plans would be were he able to get the woman to carry them out.

The woman just looked at him, quite deliberately appraising him just as he had appraised her, noting the curly long blond hair spilling over his shoulders, the pair of folded feather wings at his back, his sky-blue eye's staring back at her. Strong shoulders, arms and legs rippled with cords of muscle as he moved, his belly flat and muscled, the grace of his movements as evident as hers even as he stood unmoving, as did she. His smile broadened as her eyes focused on his manhood, and she allowed one eyebrow to rise, expressing her interest.

"My hand, Morningstar, or my body? Or both? In the time we were together, before Adam angered me, he was able to please me like no one else ever has since. If what I see is any indication, I think God's right hand likely up to the task, but if he does not have the solution to my problem then his mind is not even if his body is" said the woman, stepping closer to the Angel, and reaching out a hand to run a finger along his cheek. Leaning forwards, she allowed her warm breath to caress his cheek, then whispered into his ear.

"So tell me, Samael Morningstar, first of God's Angel's, who is willing to betray his creator for a price I might be willing to pay...tell me how I may do what I wish, and I will allow you your chance to prove that you can do what you wish" she whispered, her voice husky, a sultry whisper that even the Morningstar could not ignore. Truly he thought, keeping any sign's of his thoughts off of his face, truly, I have chosen the one who deserves to be my Bride.

He turned slightly, put his hand on her chin, then slowly allowed their lips to touch for the most fleeting of seconds. It was a taste of the sweetest nectar known to Angel or man, and neither missed the flash in the others eye's. Well, well, well lightbearer...so you do have a weakness after all thought the woman, her face and eye's showing nothing more than a smile that she knew would only draw the Morningstar yet closer to her.

It was a dangerous game that they played, one which she knew the Morningstar thought himself the master of. But if he was the master she was the mistress, in a game of the highest stakes, with a cost of failure that it was impossible to imagine should their creator find out… But she lived for the thrill of the challenge, and if her plans succeeded she would have outfoxed the first of them all. That was a prize worth any price, as was the reward, should she live to gain it.

"Very well, then, listen close, I cannot tell this twice. You recall the Tree of Life, in the center of the Garden?" the Morningstar asked, amusement twinkling in his eyes. The woman nodded, looking at the Morningstar carefully.

"Of course, God forbids any to taste the fruit of its branches. Your point, if you have one?" asked the woman, with a look that told of her failure to be impressed.

The Morningstar grinned broadly, "Such confidence, such pride...we are more alike than some will ever admit, even we ourselves I suspect, but that is not the point" he said, with a smile.

"The Tree of Life's fruit grants knowledge to those who eat of it-knowledge that they will gain in time, when they are ready for it. But if it is eaten now, before they are ready for it, then God will be forced to expel those who have eaten of the fruit to prevent those with knowledge that they should not have of unknowingly corrupting Paradise with it. Force Eve to eat of the fruit and she will realize what you and I already know, but what she and Adam do not. She will be expelled from the Garden and will die alone and abandoned here, leaving Adam free for you to reclaim, with none the wiser of our joining. Do you think that you can succeed in such a task, or must I do it for you?" the Morningstar said, teasing the woman, who smiled indulgently, in a way that would have chilled the blood of any but the Morningstar had they been watching.

"No, I can manage, just as you can manage to conceal this, I am sure. Have you something for the ceremony, then?" the woman asked, with a lazy smile that drew the Morningstar's eyes like a magnet in a way that threatened to distract him from his purpose. It didn't, and he raised a crystal chalice of mesmerizing beauty, carved and shaped with skill that Heaven's greatest artisans could possibly have managed.

The chalice was as long as the Morningstar's forearm, just under a foot in height, and had a base of a circle that was as broad as his palm, like the deep cup that was a third of the length of the chalice itself. He raised it to the height of his chest, made a gesture and suddenly a flat stone appeared, which he set it on. The woman just smiled slightly, knowing how easy it was to shape the barely formed matter around them that made up the newborn existence called the Land of Nod. She'd done it herself, dozens of times, reality was still so fluid out in the first stages of existence beyond the realms of the various Pantheon's who were shaping parts of it to their needs that little more than focusing on any part of it was needed to create anything.

"Functional, but it'll do. Do you have a blade?" she asked, looking at the Morningstar, even as he drew a dagger with a pitch-black hilt and a silver blade from nowhere.

"Are you ready?" he asked, holding it in his left hand as he held out his right to her, holding it over the chalice. She held out her right hand, but paused for a moment.

"Just one thing, Morningstar, remember-if what you have told me does not work, this means nothing, ever" she said, coolly, their eye's meeting and holding one another's gaze. The Morningstar just smiled.

"But it will, and so will this. Now, enough chatter. First to first, last to last, life to life, death to death. By blood I am yours, through blood you are mine, accept this pledge and let our souls be joined, amen" he said, then he slashed his palm, drawing blood, and passed the knife over to the woman. She slashed her own palm, her blood instantly mingling with Lucifer's in the chalice, and they clasped hand's, their blood running into each others vein's, over their hands and fingers and down into the chalice. It glowed vividly, a crimson, ruby red.

"I am yours and you are mine, for now and forever more, amen" finished Lilith, then they released one another's hands. Instantly, the hands of each were clean of blood, and there was no sign that either's hands had ever been injured, except for the chalice now brimming with blood. Lifting the chalice, the Morningstar drank part of the contents, then passed the rest, half, to the woman, who drained it dry. The ruby color remained while it was in either of their hands, however, even once it was drained, and the woman looked at it, slightly amused. Samael's Chalice...more like The Ruby Chalice she thought, returning the chalice to the Morningstar.

"The deed is done, Samael Morningstar. If all goes well, come to me a day after Adam is restored to me. If not-don't come looking for me, ever" she said, an expression on her face that could have chilled the dead. The Morningstar just took the chalice, and smiled in return, an expression on his face that was impossible to read.

"I will be there, Lilith, have no fear. But I will expect payment on delivery-don't expect me to just forget this once you have your beloved back" he said, coolly.

"Don't push your luck with me, Morningstar. If I have what I want, you will not have to ask for your payment. Farewell, for now" said Lilith, then she stepped back from the Morningstar, and vanished instantly in a burst of midnight-black fire.

The Morningstar just shook his head, and chuckled. Ah, Lilith, you'll never get your beloved back, you just don't know it yet-but I do, and I know something else. I will have you, no matter the cost he thought, spreading his wings and shaking them to loosen up his muscles. Then he took off, flying high in the air, and headed away from that place, chalice in hand, his laughter trailing behind him like plague trails behind the sick and dying.

He was so absorbed with what he had succeeded in doing, however, he failed to notice the second-long shift of his shadow, from what he looked like at that moment to a being a foot taller than his six foot, large horns extending from its forehead and curving back towards the skull, bat-like wings in place of his Angelic one's, thicker, different-shaped arms, legs and body obvious. It was laughing, too-just not like he was...

Y

"Ever heard the saying "Better the Devil you know" Ms. Croft?"

-Hecate.

So you want to know more about me? Fair enough, after all, its not as though it matters to me.

I was born in the year you call 1959, May 5th, to a fool named Marcus Wright and my mother, Ysenyia, in a house in the middle of nowhere, Dublin, Ireland. Strange name? You don't want to know the truth behind that one. I was sixteen before I did, and its still easily the worst thing I've ever learnt about myself-and in case you were wondering, there have been a few bad things over the years. It started only a few days after I was born, or so I'm told, but even my memory doesn't go back that far, and believe me, I'd know. I have a perfect memory, once I see, hear, smell, taste or touch something I'll never forget it, no matter what it is or was. It might sound like a blessing, but it's a curse, and since I was born with it there's nothing I can do about it.

My father was the one who took me from the place I was born in and my mothers arms, he took me to an Orphanage run by the Roman Catholic Church and left me there, then disappeared. I tracked him down when I was old enough to do so. All I ever found was a gravestone with his name and the dates of his birth and death on it.

Apparently what was left of him when they found him was barely worth burying, but they did it out of respect for the dead. No one knows who or what did that to him, but I and one or two others have our suspicions. Personally, I think my mother caught up with him not long after he hid me from her, and if my temper is anything to go by then once she found out what he'd done-well, lets just say that, whether or not she'd loved him once, it would have been-unpleasant.

I don't remember her except as a comforting, warm presence that gently rocked me to sleep and I wouldn't recognize her if I saw her now. But I'll search until I die of old age to find her if I have to, some questions just have to be answered.

The Nun's at the Orphanage were pleasant enough, but some of them had some very strict ideas about their religion, as well as what young girls should and should not do. By the age of six they were trying to dress me in brown sackcloth, make me memorize a page of the Bible every day and were threatening to beat me with a belt if I didn't comply.

Unfortunately for them, I was stronger than I should have been by any standards at that age, and healed fast, fast enough that bruises were gone by the next day and small cuts in two. They thought I was possessed and tried to beat it out of me, but I put two of the Nun's in hospital for trying, one with seven broken ribs and a jaw broken in three places, the other with a broken arm and dislocated shoulder after I took the belt from her.

After this, someone got word of what had happened and two Priests came to see me. After that, four men dressed in all black suits came for me one day and took me away from that place for good a week later, I still don't know to where. The place I ended up in was run by people who knew how to handle short-tempered children who had an adults strength, as well as aggressive tendencies that trained killer dogs would be proud of and a habit of committing violent acts for little reason.

I stayed there until I was sixteen, constantly being taught to control my wilder tendencies, then I was taken elsewhere by the same men who had done so before, still dressed all in black with no means of identification to remember them by, they even all looked the same and wore dark glasses so that I couldn't see the color of their eye's. They took me to the place and people that started me on the road that I'm still on, and I lived there until I was twenty and old enough to find my footing in the world.

At the age of sixteen I was hunting, tracking small creatures and animals with blade and gun. At the age of eighteen, I was hunting major threats, creatures, entities and animals that simply didn't know when to give up-when they met me, that is. By the age of twenty I was being sent single-handedly after major Arcani, an almost unheard of thing even for hunters of twenty years or more experience, and I never failed to eliminate the problem. I became an elite member of the Ordeo Assasinorum, a member of the Thanatos, those rare few who are considered worthy of the personal attention of the Malleus himself, by the age of twenty-three, and am truthfully considered a living legend by most now.

Considering my parentage, I suppose I should be proud, and not be surprised, but really I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I cannot tell you why, or what the organization I work for really is, so don't ask. As to the point of this little trip through my life story?

Well, I was asked to do this by a friend, to explain something of myself, and, since I can count the number of people I call friend on the fingers alone of one hand, I decided to oblige. His reason for asking me to do so is explained below, I understand that this particular incident meant something to those of you out there who I write this for. However, do not expect any great literary feats in this, I merely do my humble best, and I rarely put pen to paper after all. Still, enough of that, I am not here to excuse my lack of literary talent, I am doing the owner of this document a favour, nothing more, nothing less, I leave what you make of it up to you.

1997

Lara Croft stood up straight, stretching her back, and sighed, suppressing the shooting pain that lanced through her from the sliced skin on her left leg and arm where one of the mercenaries had clipped her with shots from his pistol. The mercenary was dead now, two blasts from the shotgun she still held scattered throughout his chest, his blood, like several others, soaking into the grass or gravel that they were lying on. The big man she presumed was their leader was lying dead in front of her, his bulletproof shirt with a great gash in it over his right upper chest where her shotgun blasts had finally punched a hole through it, causing the fatal wound that had finally killed him.

She'd run right around and in and out of her house trying to deal with the mercenaries without being crippled or killed, and succeeded in that all she had to remind her of the experience were wounds that would heal. But-her bedroom was a nightmare, with dead bodies all over the place, most of the windows shot out and bullet holes in the walls and ceiling, not to mention the blood that was all over the floor. The inside of her house wasn't much better, but at least the damage was concentrated near the main door in that case.

Turning towards the leader, she sighed, then limped over to him, put down the shotgun and checked for his identification. Hmm, Miguel Bartoli, big brother of Marco Bartoli. Brilliant, I hope there aren't any more relatives of Marco's out there, or this is going to become real trouble. Its bad enough I've likely got whatever's left of the Fiama Nera cult after me anyway, let alone people who can send fanatics like these after me at a moments notice she thought, finding a picture of the two men in Miguel's wallet, both of them giving the thumbs-up symbol with guns in their free hands. "Brothers in arms" was written on it in Italian on the back.

Putting the wallet back on the man, she stood, slowly and painfully, collected her shotgun and began walking back around to the main door of the house, intending to dress her wounds, clean the blood off of herself with a shower and change out of her dark blue night-gown into something decent to meet people in before the police arrived. After all, the still-ringing alarm was connected to the local police station so they were likely to arrive any time, only the fifteen-minute drive from the station to her home keeping them.

However, she noticed something odd as she rounded the side of the mansion, an orange glow in the distance that looked to be coming from the road leading to the mansion, as though something was burning. Odd, I don't remember seeing that before, I wonder what it is? Hope its nothing too serious, or I'm going to have to think about calling the Fire Brigade she thought, rounding the last corner and limping over towards the door, ignoring the vans that she knew were empty-

"Ever heard the saying "Better the Devil you know" Ms. Croft?" called a voice, from nowhere. Lara whirled completely around, shotgun whipping up, injuries forgotten, to see a shape separating itself from the shadows between the two Fiama Nera vans like a ghost. However, to her disbelief, the figure appeared to be carrying a spear in one hand, not a gun, and the simple surprise of the sight forced her to pause momentarily, finger on the trigger, just to take in what she was looking at. "Relax, Lara, I'm not here to fight" said the voice, a woman's, Lara now realized, her voice an easy purr, with a soft accent that she couldn't quite pin down.

"Really. Well, you will excuse me for having trouble believing that. Its gone twelve midnight, my home has just been broken into by terrorists armed with automatic weapons who were after my head, with whom I've had to deal with single-handedly, being injured in the process. I am not in the best of moods. Therefore, through a combination of injury, adrenaline and simple short temper after all that has just occurred I am on a hair trigger for anyone else I see who should not be here, you understand. So, why should I not only believe you, but not shoot you dead and claim self-defense? I somehow doubt anyone would challenge my claim if I did" Lara snapped, angry that the woman had managed to sneak up on her after all she'd just been through, been close enough to shoot her in the back-!

"Two simple reasons. One, if I wanted you dead you would be dead, you had no idea I was here, but you're still alive. Two, there's a third van that had five more psychopaths in about four hundred yards down your driveway. It's on its side, its passengers and driver are all dead, from wounds inflicted by blades you'll find. Do I need any more reasons?" asked the woman, her voice still soft and pleasant.

Lara lowered her gun, "No, I'll accept those for the moment. Just answer me these questions-who and why?" she asked, starting to make out details of the woman's clothing and appearance. She was dressed all in jet-black, a cat suit by the look of it, and had a cloak of pitch-black with a ruby-red inside over her head and shoulders, falling to her feet. She was holding a spear of some kind in her hand, the haft pitch black, sharp steel glinting at both ends. Oddly, though, there was something half-visible under her cloak over her chest-something that looked like a ruby-red cross...

Thick auburn hair was visible under the hood of the cloak, and a pair of piercing emerald-green eyes stared out from a face that made the woman, by Lara's estimate, evidently in her mid-twenties. The woman chuckled, "As for who? Call me Hecate, everyone else does, although they call me the Ice Queen when they think that I can't hear them. As for why? I was told to make sure the Dagger of Xian was safe by whatever means necessary, helping keep you safe so that you can keep it safe hardly seems beyond the bounds of comprehension. But enough of that. I, Hecate, bid you, Lara Croft, oftentimes known as the Tomb Raider, well. Live long and prosper, Lara Croft, and goodbye-for now" said Hecate, then she stepped back into the darkness, and-impossibly-simply disappeared.

In later years, both women would look back on that strange first meeting and shake their heads. They never stopped wondering just who and what had been laughing where no-one could hear it at what was to come involving the two of them after that…

THE END

For now