Disclaimer: I own nadda'

This is a new chapter in an old story.

Centuries ago, our world collided with the demon realm. How or by what means no one alive now knows. All we know for sure is that the darkest parts of our world merged with the lightest parts of theirs. Gateways and crossings popped up all over the world, buildings and streets flaring into existence where none had been before or overlapping, overwhelming what was there. Demons crossed into this world from theirs.

We welcomed them. What else were we to do? They were already within our city-states, in the hearts of our territories, and they did not strike against us at first. They dismissed us as unimportant. Food animals. They wanted the sun and the light, for theirs was a world of darkness. They wanted the Guardian of Light, the power of our god to wield as their own and rule unconditionally in both worlds.

We'd always had our own monsters and mythical or even fantastical creatures, but we'd never accepted or even believed in their existence. Now we had to. They saved us. They didn't ask much in return. We'd fought together, died together, now they wanted to live together, as equals.

That was five hundred years ago.

The wars fought then, between one nation and another, one species and another, one religion and another, and, most importantly, one world against another, are called the Demon Wars. Everyone chose sides, sometimes many times, and on many sides. Those persons who could not adapt to work together to survive ... didn't. Eventually, and at great cost, we drove the demons from our world and back into theirs; shattered the Borderlands; but we could not fully rid ourselves of them. Many races were changed entirely or even perished in the struggle. Our world was broken, our god destroyed, but we won.

There was anarchy and chaos for a century, even after the wars, perhaps longer, we didn't really keep count. But slowly, one city-state at a time, the world stablized, as much as a world can that shares space and time with another.

Today, vampires and werewolves live alongside satyrs and elves and everything in-between, some obvious, and some not. The Borderlands still exist, shattered as they are, pieces here and there still clinging to life, places that attract the worst kinds of people, and lead, ultimately, to the Land of Darkness itself, the home of the demons and their Dark Court.

This city is called Krolarn's Crossing. Unlike most places in the world, we're aware that we have alleys that lead into the Borderlands. We know they're there. And we accept them. We accept anyone who crosses between one world and another, so long as they abide by our rules, our laws. We know there is a dark side to our city, that there are layers and layers beneath what most citizens see. We watch and we stop what we can. We have to. There is a careful balance to maintain.

In a dark corner beneath the city, the demons were waiting. Nick later couldn't decide how he'd been caught in that ambush, at the time, all he'd been concerned with was getting away. It was a cunning plot of the demon warlock; something had hidden Morticai's lackeys from Nick's senses, he'd burst in confidently, guns blazing, and been surrounded so fast he hadn't even had time to curse.

He killed a few, he was certain of it, wounded many more, but his bullets ran out far too quickly and he'd had no time to reload. The knife then accounted for a few more, but they'd eventually pulled him down by sheer mass of numbers, clubbing him into senselessness, then choking him for extra measure while they bound his wrists and ankles. He'd been carried no small a distance and he'd lost his hat somewhere along the way ... lost pretty much everything down to his jeans, but even they were torn and bloody. He missed the boots, he'd just gotten them broken in, but the pistols were his prized possessions. Jeff had made them and they were priceless.

He hung now upside down, suspended by his ankles, struggling futilely against the bonds tearing into his skin. His wrists, also bound, were attached to his ankles by another rope and blood ran down his arms as he strained. He could hear the rats below him, sometimes see the shine on their beady little eyes, and thanked small mercies that he was out of the vermin's reach. Beyond that was only the dank and dreary smell of the sewer. He could be anywhere under the city, there was nothing he could take for a landmark.

A door creaked somewhere behind and above him and shortly Nick heard booted feet on the stairs, stone, unless he missed his guess. There were three sets of feet and he waited expectantly, eyes closed. Someone whistled merrily and Nick growled deep in his throat.

"So, dog," laughed Morticai, spinning him around to face them. "What do you think of your kennel?"

There were four of them actually, Nick squinted to make out the indistinct fourth form, robed and hooded, who trod so silently in the darkness. There was Morticai, red, demon-mottled skin and horns, yellow eyes that gleamed in amusement. Close by was a demon female who regarded him with distaste, but Nick thought he could detect a modicum of respect. And the third, the third he knew as the queen's very own brother and rival, the Prince of Darkness himself, Sebastian. So! That would be why Morticai had ensnared him. Now Nick feared. He broke out in a sweat which made the demon prince smile slowly.

The prince reached out to touch him but Nick swung away, biting at the arm, his teeth the only weapon he had left now.

"Feisty, feisty," laughed the prince, catching him by the hair and swinging him back around. "And so beautiful," he murmured softly, tracing the line of Nick's jaw.

"Be careful, milord," cautioned the female.

Nick spat, and received a jaw full of fist for his trouble, blinking back stars as his mind swung about dizzily. He clenched his teeth against the bile at the back of his throat and settled for glaring at the demons.

"You were right, Morticai," said the prince casually, "no begging, pleading, or even a 'What do you want?' Nothing." He laughed again, cruelly, fingering a mottled bruise along Nick's ribs. "My sister has trained him well."

Hanging as he was, Nick was glad for the blood that masked his flush of anger. His face was level with the prince's chest and he saw the demon reach into his robes and pull on thick, heavy gloves. The female handed him a glass vial and fear clenched even tighter in Nick's gut. The prince pulled the stopper from the vial and flicked the liquid at his prisoner. Nick bit his lip against an outburst; he refused to give the prince the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Holy water! The droplets ate into his flesh like acid. Where had the prince gotten holy water? He shivered, twisting again from his body's involuntary jerk of pain such that the room seemed to spin about him. Again and again the liquid touched him, bringing tears to his eyes and he tensed his whole body against the screams that pushed at his lips. There was a pause as the female washed him down with a cloth, cleansing him, easing his torment. The prince made approving sounds as the wounds began to close, probing a few tender spots.

"What do you want?" Nick asked, knowing that this could go on indefinitely.

"A quick learner, too, I see," hummed the prince, rustling his ebony wings in pleasure.

He grabbed Nick again by the hair, tilting his head back at an angle to better look each other in the face. Nick suffered the hands on him silently, wondering suddenly just what the prince knew about him. He'd not had much occasion to be at court lately, and that was the way he preferred things. Even after all these years, all that he'd witnessed, his human half could still be horrified by the things demons did to their own. It was those memories that fuelled the majority of his dreamscapes, through which he hunted his bounties. Often the fear and madness inspired by those nightmares was enough to make the prey surrender.

"You serve my sister," the prince stated. He struck Nick across the face when the room turned a cold silence. "Answer!"

"Yes," Nick replied, licking his dry, chapped lips. Everyone already knew that, why was an answer needed? It was just and excuse for Sebastian to lash out in violence.

"You have seen this." The prince thrust a scrap of yellowed paper into Nick's face, who struggled to bring the sketch into focus. The drawing was crude, but Nick recognized it at once. He nodded. Everyone knew what that was, that was the queen's scepter, the one thing she prized, and guarded, above all else.

"Where is it? Where does she keep it?"

Nick stared at the prince helplessly. "I don't know."

"He lies!" cried Morticai. "He's the only one she trusts! He sleeps there, in her chambers, he knows! He knows!"

"I'll tell you what she knows!" Nick snapped. "She knows you were spying on her, double-crossing worm! I am not her only Hunter - they'll find you!"

He had the temporary satisfaction of seeing the warlock tremble and back away, but then the prince struck him cheekbone to cheekbone with the back of his hand. He wiped the blood away, as silent and grim as stone then beckoned for and pulled on the gloves again, the female giving him the vial.

Nick felt the letters traced on him as if they were carved from his skin, thrashing, but to no avail. Morticai and the female held him steady and Nick was left breathless with agony, tears streaming down his face, his whole body trembling. The water spread, trickled over his chest and stomach, burning mercilessly. The flesh could not heal while the acid-like substance remained, leaving him in torment.

"Tell me her plans." The prince demanded, his face burning red with the hot blood of rage.

"I ... d-don't ... know." Nick stammered. He tried to remain as confident as was possible. You couldn't show signs of weakness to the prince, it just gave him a gateway to your soul. Or whatever soul you had left.

"Liar!" The prince cuffed him again.

Nick clenched and unclenched his fists. Oh how he would love to give the prince a taste of his own medicine. "I don't-know!"

"The queen is up to something."

"I'm just ... a ... servant!"

There was a moments silence that fell of the room like a thick fog.

"I'll just leave you to rethink your position," said the prince.

"Fuck. You."

The prince only laughed before turning swiftly on his heel and walzting out from the room, his small army following on behind.

The water still covered his body. Nick screamed with the pain of it when there was no one to hear but the rats. He didn't know! He didn't know, the queen didn't trust him that far. The only reason she trusted him at all was because she could tug on his human heartstrings, knew that he craved even the slightest of affections, and would do anything to please her, just to win a gentle word. He was her son, a secret she had, and would continue to murder to keep; and he had no ambition to be more than he was. As long as he kept her happy, he had his life.

He'd been careful, knowing that one wrong step would land him in the torture rooms and he'd long for death with every fibre of his being before that time came, for his healing ability was far stronger and better and faster than a demon's natural resistance to physical wounds. They could toy with him for a very long time. If the prince should learn the secret of his birth, he would kill him, for he couldn't suffer another rival to live, not even a bastard and half-demon. And he would not make that death quick. Of course not, but the prince would likely kill him either way anyway, once he learned what he could of him. Once all the information had been drained

The prince wanted power, he was mad with it, just like all the rest of his kind, and he sought the scepter as a means of outing his sister and becoming king. His formal apology before all the court and his simpering devotion to the queen could only be some kind of ruse. In fact, Nick was sure of it. Now his only hope seemed to be in escape. He could not afford to divulge his secrets, and, as soon as the queen realized he was missing, she'd assume he'd finally turned on her and would be taking steps to see that he stayed missing...

Nick closed his eyes and reached for the dreamscape, somewhere he could hopefully feel at ease, the place of dreams both good and bad.

The halfling looked about the city of shadows with something resembling relief. There was still pain here, but he could block it out better, push it aside for now. He sat up, panting, his legs weak and numb beneath him. He needed help, and there was only one mind that he knew well enough to seek without a trigger. He was just a kid, but he was Outside, in the city, and he ... he didn't want to drag him into this, but right now he had little choice.

Rising to his feet, Nick howled his distress. "Jeff!" he cried. "Can you hear me? Jeff!"

This dream city was of his own creation, a shadowy replica of the real thing. Since this was his dreamscape, he could force the world to take any shape he wanted, to

be anyone he wanted, but the shadow-city was the easiest, the one he was most familiar with. The more complicated the images, the more energy and concentration required to keep him there. In this place, the wanderings of other sleepers crossed his dreamscape as shadowy people. Once, he'd imagined himself in a vast meadow of flowers, where butterflies were the dreamers, but he didn't have that energy right now.

He could cast about for a mind - any mind! - close enough and receptive enough to touch, to enter their dreams. Once there, he could manipulate their dreamscape to match his own, but the cost of such unguided travails was intense, something he could not do in his present condition. He stopped and

screamed again for the sheer desperation that filled him. He had no idea how long before the demons would be back, or if they even knew of this aspect of his abilities.

"Jeff!"

It was possible to bring his target's dreams closer by calling to them, if they were both dreaming at the same time, and it didn't always work. As the dreamscape was never the same from visit to visit, this helped shorten the distance between their locations and strengthened the trace. Of course, this alerted the person he was trying to contact, but that wasn't a bad thing in this case. Jeff's trace was mostly wet dog, very distinctive, and he had no trouble following, but he seemed so far away!

He was tiring, trotting and then walking doggedly, not sure of his surroundings, only seeking the bright shape amongst all the shades that indicated the mind he sought. He lay after a time, not willingly, only blinking his eyes to find himself suddenly on his knees and he struggled back to his feet to stagger on. His body wanted to slip into pure darkness, where he'd truly be unconscious, but he resisted. Now, while he still had all his mental faculties, he had to find help. He didn't even know what time it was, whether it was night or day, and whined softly in distress.

He screamed one last time, but it was a pathetic attempt, and then he staggered on, saving his breath. When he could no longer walk, he crawled, and when he had to rest, he rested, but he kept himself in the dreamscape, whatever cost it was to his body, he needed to use that strength now, no telling if he'd get another chance.

The shadowy buildings along the road began to waver and Blaine pushed himself harder. He knew that, very soon, he'd drop out of the dreamscape from pure exhaustion. He'd only attempted the dreamscape so weakened a few times, but he recognized the shimmering as his mind telling him it was too tired to concentrate. Only his stubbornness kept him going now.

But then he turned a corner in his shadow-city and saw a flash of light ahead, a bright beacon of hope that he went toward with a new and even more frantic speed, staggering like a drunkard, though he'd never been drunk in all his life. He didn't know if he even could get drunk.

Jeff!

Regardless of whatever he might look like in real life, here the werewolf shone brightly, shining white and silver. An invisible breeze ruffled his fur and the longer guard hairs flickered with iridescence. He lay curled up on a park bench, a slumbering pup, a pose somewhere between dreams and wakefulness. Whether he was just beginning or just ending his rest Nick couldn't say.

Pain lanced up his leg and Nick stumbled, groaning. He was too far to initiate contact; his meager chance was slipping away! He inched forward, his arms not wanting to support him, the dreadful tingling in his feet boding ill for him.

And then the pup looked up. Their eyes met and widened in shock. What did Jeff see? Nick saw

heaven in those beautiful werewolf eyes, a place he'd only ever seen in others' dreams. Awe filled him and took his breath away. What must the werewolf be dreaming, to make his eyes reflect such otherworldly beauty?

He stretched toward him. "Help me!" he cried. "Jeff!"

Then the shadow buildings and trees vanished into smoke and the bottom dropped out of the world. Nick struggled madly, scrambling for purchase, and wailed in fear and desperation.

No! It couldn't be over, not when he had just found Jeff.

He came awake with the scream still on his lips, jerking away from the harsh torchlight. His shoulders and feet shrieked their own agony at him, and his chest and stomach still burned. He had such a raging headache he thought his head was likely to split in two and he blinked his eyes open reluctantly, shivering.

The prince knelt beside him on the filty stone floor of the cell. Yes the prince was a demon, but his expression was kind. He held a wet rag in his hands and a shallow bowl filled with water rested by his knee. Sebastian raised the rag to wipe the grime from Nick's cheek.

Nick's body expected pain; his eyes widened in alarm and he jerked his head out of reach. His muscles trembled.

The prince's sympathetic look deepened and he lightly pressed on Nick's chest, his fingers dancing around the burns. "Too much for you, my little one?" he crooned.

This sudden kindness was more frightening than the antagonism and Nick twitched his shoulders and head to try and pull away, to no avail. He was so desperately weary; this whole set-up had a dream-like quality. But he knew that he was no longer away in his own world.

"You could be of such use to me," the prince continued, using the cloth to soak the dried blood from Nick's face and hair. "Just think of it! No more skulking about the Court. No one would dare say aught against you if you had my protection! I would take such care of you, not like my sister."

Nick shook his head feebly, but he could not look away from that pleading expression. He felt suddenly very exposed, knowing, knowing that this was just the beginning of the long road he was setting upon, knowing suddenly that the prince could take him apart at his leisure, and knowing that every word was a lie. But his treacherous human heart begged him to reconsider, to trust, to hope!

The prince's words were sweet and caring. "She has wronged you, this sister of mine. You have power, you can have more of it - you can have revenge for all that has been done to you … think of it!"

The prince bathed Nick's face gently, making strange crooning noises that were inexplicably comforting, and all the more dangerous for that. He continued to whisper in a deep, husky voice, feather-soft against Nick's cheek, whispering, and though he tried to shut out those words, they slithered past his defenses, wrapping themselves like silk around him, seductive and, ultimately, deadly. Bend, bend, urged that relentless voice in his head. There's no need to break you, to see you destroyed.

I am a means to an end, Nick told himself as firmly as he could. Logically, the prince could never take him on as a servant, he'd be a liability and that would never be tolerated by a new king, who had enemies everywhere. It could never happen, never! But did he want it? Yes, that was the worst of it, curse his human heart! Demons did not yearn for acceptance the way he did; they just were.

"Milord."

The prince cursed and half turned, snarling, "What is it?"

The demon female trembled under that ferocious glare from her liege. "Please, milord, she sends for you."

"I told you I was busy!"

"Milord, she ... she searches for him," her eyes flicked from the prince to his prisoner. "My sources say she - she does not want him found."

This bit of knowledge deflected the rising rage into thoughtfulness. "Indeed," he murmured, looking down at his captive. "So there is something about him she values, some secret she does not want found out. Indeed."

He rose and tossed the wet cloth to the ground. "Damnation! I was so close!"

Nick flinched from that sudden movement, watching the prince move away with relief so strong it was almost painful. Now he could rest and heal, hoping that this delay would give him the time he needed.

So, not sure what I am supposed to say now. But I hope you enjoyed reading this!

Drop a review and let me know what you thought? And constructive criticism or ideas of how to improve would be appreciated. Let me know whether I should continue this or just stop while I'm ahead?