From Here
A/N: I don't own Charmed. I guess this means I'm back; I wouldn't expect the updates to come as quickly (this is a continuation and as such I don't feel as immediately, ravenously, passionate about this). But, they will come.
The Return
With the dawn came the understanding of a realization that had occurred to him the night before. Cole Turner stood on the ruined balcony of his condo, staring out at the golden light coming from the horizon as it stretched out over everything. He had a mountain to climb; the summit was out of sight and where he had come up from seemed so far away. There was little to do but smile, he thought. He had a ways to go, but at least he was headed in the right direction. In a good direction. He turned away from the balcony to stare at the few boxes stacked in the middle of the floor between his couch and the elevator doors. The place still looked full, and habitable. That fact only reflected, really, how little of the place he wanted to take with him, how little of it was actually his.
Cole had intended for last night to have been his last night there. He was going to make a symbolic break from every aspect of what he was, where he was during what had seemed to be the bitter, crazed end of he and Phoebe. He took several steps towards the boxes and his face cracked into a yawn, and his eyes burned momentarily. Cole was unused to fatigue, and the small aches that came with being, mostly, completely normal and mortal. He had changed. Everything had changed. Somewhere in the condo his cell phone began ringing. He searched through two more rings, trying to figure out where he'd left it, before discovering it in his bedroom.
"Hello?" He asked, rubbing at his eyes. There was only one person who could be calling so early, and he was of course right. Cole knew Phoebe just like Phoebe almost immediately picked up on the tiredness in his voice. He sat down on the bed he hadn't slept in and assured her that he was fine, making a point not to lie about his being awake all night, thinking, making decisions. "I'm going to see about getting a new place," he said, explaining why most of his deliberations were during his packing up his few, prized possessions. "I just want to start over, I guess," he said finally. Phoebe quieted, supporting him. Miles away, each was buoyed by the other as if they were touching, and they both knew there would be no forgetting, however the healing was vital. Each had been hurt, and hurt the other in the penthouse; it was time. Cole assured her that he was going to come over later after he had finished up some other things. He silently accepted that she was worried about him and always felt better when she could at least be concerned at close range. Cole had been alive for over a century, a warrior, an assassin, even a tyrant, but he still had to accept that being vulnerable was okay, so long as it was around the right person. He frowned after hanging up the phone; he had definitely changed.
Across town, hanging up her own phone, Phoebe stared off into nothing, still under the covers of her bed. She understood what Cole needed, and why he needed it. Part of her wanted to welcome him into the manor, and when he refused take him by the scruff of his collar and demand he live with her in the manor. With that, too, came the desire to board the door to her room shut, to bar every fight and every decision and every rainy night from their perfect and bright future together. But she knew it was going to take time, the exact kind of time anything or anyone would need to break them apart again. Phoebe knew. After all, she had only gotten a few hours of sleep herself. The previous week had involved a great deal of silence from the demonic world, Leo's shrugs translating as the Elders' ignorance as to what was going on, too. There was little to be done but be ready, be vigilant, and in those times in between be worried and afraid of what could possibly go wrong next. What bothered Phoebe the most was that during this time of relative peace and quiet, that the right course of action was to go to sleep alone in her bed that only got emptier and emptier.
But it wouldn't last, and Phoebe knew it. The peace would dissolve into conflict; the distance required by healing would shrink. It made her happy and sad. She threw the comforter off of her, resolute to begin her day. The woman who greeted her in the mirror of her bathroom had wisdom in her eyes, her family at her side, and another person in the world whom she loved, that loved her. Phoebe Halliwell smiled a genuine smile. She was not living the good life, but a good life.
The chamber had been the sight of a furious conflict featuring powerful and lethal magics. The struggle between good and evil had been impacted in the place. It was a huge pentagram with 5 columns near the center, forming a small pentagram. One of the columns was ruined, and the floor had pits and imperfections now, cracks, along with the walls and ceiling. For him, that made the place that much more perfect as the throne room.
It had been too long, he mused silently, since he had been witness to the execution of his will by an endless legion of vassals, nothing before him but a promise. Beside him was a Seer. Or maybe the Seer. He wasn't completely sure about how it all worked, but she had been the first he had seen in centuries, and she had come bearing gifts on that very first day. From then, the wonders had yet to cease. Accept this boon, this right, she had said, and lead the forces of evil out of its muddled rut and into the next age. She liked to talk, this Seer, to inform, and direct. Her hands were remarkably clean and blameless; that was her way, her type. The arrangement was satisfactory, of course, because for all his power and all his machinations, he had never been one to avoid conflict or flee from involving himself personally. Sometimes leadership requires as such.
The engineering feat before the two of them was poetic, demons of varying race coming together, constructing a new throne for this new leader out of the very door that had kept him imprisoned and dormant for far too long. He had specific plans on adorning it, once it was finished, with the skulls and skins of those responsible for his imprisonment, and if they could not be located, then their living kin. His mind drifted to the scenario of their running, screaming, supplicating in a search for mercy, and finding none. There was a touch at his side, gentle but invasive.
"My apologies," the small demoness apologized mildly. "I was simply trying to ensure that you were paying attention," she finished, looking up at him. She could see so very much, that much she had proved; he wondered what she saw when she looked up into his face, what she had seen when the doors had been thrown open and he had emerged.
"But of course," he replied, bringing the athame to his face for closer inspection. It was average craftsmanship, by his estimation, and the magics involved in its enchantment were moderate at best, but he supposed that was what passed for power in this age. Still. "I wonder,"
"You wonder, what," The Seer probed.
"A demon," he began, looking up at his throne for a moment "of this era was enterprising enough to amass such power,"
"Former demon, actually," He raised an eyebrow at that. "Belathazor had been an acolyte of great repute, a half breed, but fell under the sickness of human love on assignment. He clawed his way back to her from the wastes even after she had vanquished him,"
"Truly a resourceful individual,"
"He was motivated by power even the Source could not totally overcome," He growled a single, bellowing note.
"That is not saying much, however I understand your point," he let his arm drop to his side as the workers, finished finally, stepped away from the throne, gesturing at their prize for his inspection. He strode forward, spinning confidently into the dark seat. "I have decided," he looked up to the Seer, who was making her way across the room much more slowly.
"Oh, sire?" she curtseyed shallowly.
"Yes. I do believe I'd like to meet this Belthazor," he reclined gently to sheath the athame at his waist. "There is after all, so much I have to thank him for. But first," he slid his hands lovingly forward to grasp the ends of the throne's arm rests, then let face grin impossibly wide. The Seer returned the expression, glibly, sliding to the right of the massive throne. All else within the area either cowered, or stood in awe, as all the lights in the place dimmed almost to darkness and then swelled in light to an almost blinding radiance.
From that point to every corner of the Underworld every creature from lowly wretch to noble demon shuddered awake and aware that among the dark murk there was something greater, older and more terrifying than each of them, perhaps all of them, the shadows whispered his name and the darkness screamed of his return. Soon, they said. Soon there would be blood.