AN~kay, this is my first fic and I'd really like some constructive feed-back. I'm getting support from friends and my writing mentor, so hopefully this goes well and most of all, I hope you like it.

A subtle wash of reddening light waved like liquid across the broken concrete walls. Shadows danced and voices sang screams through the cold air of night upon the anarchy riddled scape. Few dared to venture upon the broken ground, afraid that the sinkholes, ever growing in number, would swallow them alive, just as they had done to their once stable homes. One, though, wandered out, meandering aimlessly, hands behind his back. There was no care upon his expression, covered in porcelain skin ever contrasted against his nearly raven hair. A soft tune would escape his strait lips from time to time. He,eventually, stopped and peered with irises of frost into the shadowed abyss of a close building. One's of the opposing color glared back in his direction, but not at him for they could not entirely see him. They could sense his presence, as he held a powerful existence, but the ability to locate his body had yet to be acquired.

This strange, almost vampiric, man continued his calm stroll, stopping again in the former town center and peering up at the sky. It was a backwash of melancholy grey clouds, promising rain which would most likely extinguish the flames scattered about the city. This sorrowful ruin was Fairport. It used to be a bustling trading hub before undesirable events transpired within it. Almost all who had lived there were found miles away and any who stayed were soon corrupted by the hell-plague. The nasty disease crippled its victims with streaks of nightmares and influencing images which would bobble in their heads until the mind was then cleansed of its former use and sent the victim into a state much resembling a zombie. They'd carve symbols on their chests and faces, cut their hair, sever limbs, and even resort to cannibalism.

It was hell... Beautiful hell...

The lone wondering human watched as the rain slowly leaked like tears from the eyes of angels. The drops went right through him, hitting the ground with small explosions from the impact upon asphalt. A soft red mist molded around him, undisturbed by the water. This was Paxton Fettel. He was intended to be the God among all mankind and lead an army into the new world order, to revolutionized warfare. This goal was never met as he saw a more promising outlet for he and his army, in the command of his mother, whom awaited him beyond the grave. Paxton did as his mother commanded, feeling her pain as his own and taking every torture to heart. He killed all who had harmed his mother and intended on furthering her influence, but his death came too soon by the hands of his own sibling. The scar from which the bullet had pierced him still plagued his form, even in spirit.

Shortly after, not long before the birth of his third sibling, Paxton had reunited with his brother, attempting to put their past dispute in the past and leave it there to help grow and protect the family in which he was ever loyal, but again his brother proved corrupted by outside command and somehow mustered the psychic strength to end him once more. Obviously, his spirit did not lay to rest and simply rose again to wander as it had before the time of predicted war at the hand of their mother. The eldest of Alma's sons, though, had taken off with the child and stowed away somewhere in which Paxton had no mental reach. It was strange and ever infuriating. He was still searching.

Perhaps being as forceful has he had while influencing his brother's choices had been what set him off, but, he would learn to trust and become loyal to the family, as he had to in order to care and protect the child he now was fathering. Alas, Paxton was well aware that there was a great chance in which the child did not inherit the one thing that made the Wade family what it was: Psychic aptitude. Paxton had been born a powerful psychic, second born to Alma Wade, the strongest of the family. His brother had very little aptitude upon birth, hardly able to link with other psychics or feel a tinge of their presence, therefore he was given to the Military who artificially enhanced him, giving him feigned psychic strength. Still, Paxton's brother, The Point Man as he had been called, proved, in the end, to be an adversary to trifle with. The Understatement had killed Fettle a second time.

The baby was the fruit bore from Alma Wade and an artificially enhanced soldier named Michael Becket. The SFOD-D operative had had no prior relation to the family before being brutally sexually assaulted and forced into fathering the spawn who's birth had lain waste to this city. Of course, now Becket was dead and keeping keen to stalking the one who had killed him through the spirit plane. He couldn't be far off, Fettle was sure, dwindling in the realms between Heaven, Hell, and earth. Paxton payed him little mind, though, he was simply angry spirit taken and trapped within Alma's purgatory in which all her 'beloved' were kept when they expired. Michael had no love at all for the woman, but was still here as she was blind to the soldier's disdane for her.

There was a sudden click within Paxton's mind which set all his brain-waves into spasms. The flood of thoughts was enough to nearly overwhelm him. Those who did not voice their mind, kept it bottled to be uncorked and spewed. Hopefully, the old grudge would be forgotten.