A/N: Right, this wasn't originally the next part I set out to create, this whole event was supposed to happen somewhere else, but it just didnt seem to work, everything just seemed to be to confusing and wasnt following right. I wasnt even going to add exposition in at this part, just let everyone stumble around in the dark for awhile. But it seemed fitting to add it here.

Also, watch out for the text wall. FFnet just doesnt seem to want to let me format.

"I have been watching you for some time. You are an interesting mortal, so close to not quite being so that I was drawn to you. The third Seraphim war is upon us, the mortal plain is always the battle field. Your kind are either forced to fight, or be the hosts of Angels and Demons alike.

I am not like them; I do not just meld with any mortal that I can attain. You have been so tightly bound to those around the supernatural; you have dealt and seen things that would drive others to Death's arms quicker than intended. Under this employ you have done things that would cause others of your kind to quake with fear. For the things you shall see now, Mark Calaway, you will need those experiences to guide you through the darkness.

The time has come for me to enter this war. This war that is not needed. I intend to insure it does not continue much longer."

Air rushed into his lungs, his pumping blood rushed around his ears, feeling flooded into his body, and was sharper than what it had ever been before. His eyes shot open, his world was filled with an impenetrable dark, he was constrained and it was hard to move, as if someone had squeezed him into this space. He ran his fingers along the side of his containment; it was smooth, silk, hiding hard steel underneath, a pillow made from the same material sat under his head. He reached upwards, his hands finding a padded lid, made from the same silk.

"A coffin…"

The voice that left his mouth was the same as what had echoed around his very being what felt like moments before. The voice did not speak now, but he knew that he was still there, in the wells of the back of his mind, a shadow behind each of his movements, another viewer from his eyes. He pushed on the lid above him, but it did not budge. This coffin, with him inside, had already been buried. Fear should have flowed through him, like an unstoppable flood, but it did not; fear seemed a foolish thing now. Everything he had felt, experienced before, seemed foolish, this spirit had, somehow, taken away these human feelings, the things that made him mortal. But that is what he had said, wasn't it? That he would no longer be mortal. Then, what was he?

"The term mortals would use would be Undead."

The voice had not startled him as he might have expected.

"And, what would you call it?"

"I do not believe I have a term for this. 'Undead' may be fitting, as, not a few moments ago; this body we inhabit was, indeed, dead… and it is no longer. The simplest term, perhaps, would be host."

Host, Undead, neither seemed appealing, Undead just had more theatrics. He pushed on the lid of the coffin once more; the cramped filling of being placed in one that was far too small for him was starting to become uncomfortable.

"Relax, right now, there is no hurry. Now would be the perfect time for you to ask questions."

He pulled his hands away from the lid slowly; it was true he did have questions.

"What are you exactly?"

"I have told you, I am the Grey Seraphim, the only one of my kind."

"I don't know what a Grey Seraphim is…"

"Truly? – It should not surprise me so that what I am has been left out of what you know of the Seraphim kind. Loosely put, 'Angels' and 'Demons' are the same kind, Angelic Seraphim, the original race, messengers and servants of the Divine. Chaotic Seraphim are those who followed Lucifer from Heaven and created Hell, corrupted by sin. It has not been uncommon, for Angels and Demons alike to come down to the mortal plain and mate with the mortals here. Half-Breeds, there have been many across history, or so I believe. What is rare, however, is for an Angel to mate with a Demon. Such a thing, forbidden by both realms was never supposed to happen. Until me.

My father is a high ranking Demon, answers to the Dark One himself. My mother, was an assistant to Metatron, the Guardian. They kept my birth a secret, as best they could, when I was discovered I was taken to Heaven and, under heavy guard, was trained to fight under Chamuel's forces, for the eventual third war. Not long after, I received a gift from my father, a sword, capable of using the corruption within me for battle, along with changing its shape to better suit its needed purpose. Swords, such as these, are often only used for once purpose, to kill those of the Divine. The cast me out, they would not dare send me as far as Hell, knowing the knowledge I could pass on so they bound me here, to the mortal plain. My mother… she was devastated, and came to me."

The pause in the story was almost painful, like what happened next was hard for him to recall;

"I begged her not to do it… she removed my sword from its scabbard and impaled herself upon it. Transferring her Divine energy into it, melding with the corruption inside it, she achieved what she wished to, allowing the sword to kill all those of the Seraphim. With her last moments, she requested of me one thing, to insure that a third war never came to pass. For what it was worth, the mortals were happy, peace did not rule but neither did chaos, for she believed it was all about balance.

I have never before melded with a mortal, and I do not know what will come of this union. I do know that when my mission is complete I will have to leave your body, but I do not know what will become of you. I have thrust you into this world without your consent, and this was not my intention. But if I had not have done so as you died, your body would now be the shell of some minor demon, to be used as cannon fodder. The lesser demon that had appeared before you, had he of noticed your potential, would have taken you captive and offered you to his Lord. Know also, that now that this war is preparing to begin, both sides will be eager to gain my allegiance, I am, no pun intended, the double edged sword."

He lay in the darkness for quite some time, his body becoming numb to the pain that his tight space had caused. Attempting to wrap his head around the information he had just been given. He had never been a religious man; the thought of such a world outside the one he saw day to day was saddening as it was overwhelming. His mind drifted to a distant and locked up memory, one from his childhood, the scars still evident on his mind. He had no trouble now believing there was a world beyond what a mortal would see every day; so where the other stories also true, about what happened to those after death?

"I cannot answer this question. It is one that all must find out for themselves."

"What happens now?"

"Now? Perhaps removing oneself from this grave would be most urgent."

"That's not what I meant, I mean, what happens now, you're inside me, I'm some kind of zombie. You said you had to stop this war, how would you even do that?"

"As of now, there is no you and I, we are the same being. I will guide your hand as much as you guide mine..."

"You don't know, do you?"

"Just get out of the damn grave."