Disclaimer: The phrase "I own Trigun" is only a true sentance when followed or preceeded by "I wish". However plot line and any original character belongeth to me.

AN: So, this will be my first Multichapter that I'm posting (though I have several others planned, including a prequil to this), and, lo and behold, it's a Vash x Wolfwood. However, this will not be like anything that I've seen in this fandom before. The Idea, I'm hoping is entirely original (even though I know that in todays world, nothing ever is).
I'll warn you now, it is a Reincarnation Fic, but of who, you'll just have to wait until later chapters to find out. There are some mature themes in this story and I don't really recomend it for people under thirteen (especially after chapter 8), that's why its rated 'T' for now. If I see fit however, I will raise the rating.

Feed Back is Apreciated.

Prologue:
Denique Pacis


'All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom'
The sun himself must die,
Til this mortal shall assume,
His immortality.'

Thomas Campbell – The Last Man


The sand beat against his broken body, the taste of blood and bile mingling in his mouth and burning his tongue as he trekked, ever forward through the endless sea of desert. The tails of his coat whipped about him, wraiths, following his footsteps. He smiled.

"I bet you're laughing now." His voice ground against his throat, rising like gravel against his larynx. A single tear traveled down the subtle curve of his cheek, carving its way through streaks of blood and thicker things, that cracked and dried and then he bled again. Tears of molten silver, moon rays, trapped and wept.

His heart hurt. The muscle spasming and pounding haphazardly against the broken cave of his chest.

Fitting, he thought, to die of a broken heart, when it had been shattered for years.

"I'll be there soon..." He whispered, grimacing in pain as more blood flecked the corners of his mouth, this body failing. Funny to think that those around him had once deemed him immortal, indestructible. How wrong they were.

How pitifully wrong.

Blackness started to invade his vision, shadows creeping in at the edges of his sight, and he welcomed it. To see you again, he thought, that's my only wish. The darkness was thicker now, a night that could barely be seen through, and dully he felt himself fall. Sand hit his knees and ground into his wounds, as he swayed precariously.

That face flashed across his mind, and his smile gentled. Arms around him, and he sighed, greeting the warmth.

Too long, it had been far to long since he had been held.

Words were whispered into deaf ears as hearing left him, leaving only the slow halting beat of his heart. Oddly enough it didn't hurt. Hadn't hurt since that last blow. Shock finally taking over his body as he had been struck. Nerves severed, dead.

He should hurt.

It would only be right. Hell was supposed to hurt. To cleanse him of sin and deny him peace. It's what he deserved, too many years, too many lives lived, and loved, and lost. So much for just one man. He smiled – not physically, but in his heart, his soul.

And he let go.