Warnings: This story contains light violence, blood, sexual content, and rape themes.

Embrace the Night - Chapter 1

The sound of his footsteps echoed through the stairwell as he descended the final flight – the twelfth – that would take him to the underground parking garage. He knew the lot would be empty, just as the massive building was. Few shared his dedication or work ethic, and few had as large a caseload as he constantly bore. It was nearly midnight, and Miles had not yet eaten dinner. Thus, while it was irritating that his stomach kept rumbling obnoxiously as he made his way out, he had only himself to blame.

As the tired prosecutor stepped off the final stair to the concrete floor of the parking area, he reached his right hand into his pocket to fish for his keys, able to see his bright red luxury sports car fifty yards away, lonely and waiting to take him home at last. Without needing to look at the labeled buttons on his keypad, he pressed the appropriate one to unlock the vehicle. His black dress shoes against the concrete echoed even louder in this vast, open structure with nothing to absorb the sound, but otherwise, it was silent.

He found himself walking at a steadily increasing pace across the open expanse before him. He was certain it was just paranoia brought on by stress and being so alone, at night, in such a place, but he was starting to get that creeping feeling again, the one he'd been getting a lot lately that told him he was being watched, followed. He would sometimes look around, but he never saw anyone or any sign of movement, so this time around he merely kept his gaze fixed on his car, tunneling his vision to ignore his irrelevant surroundings. There was a guard: no one unauthorized could park down here or even get in here. He was alone. No one was watching him. No one was following him.

Yet, with all of his self-assurance, he still felt an overwhelming sense of relief when he was sitting behind the wheel of his car with the doors all closed and locked. He sat there for a moment, working to control his breathing and calm his racing heart. He was being foolish… It was the stress and the worry… He had been investigating the disappearance for moths, and he was no closer to finding the man than he'd been upon returning from Europe to find him missing. It had him constantly on edge and his stomach in knots. The police had all but given up, ready to simply wait out the rest of the two-year period and then declare him dead.

Miles Edgeworth, however, was devoted to the truth. Until he had solid evidence one way or the other, he would draw no rash conclusions. There was no evidence that Wright was dead, so he would not accept such a declaration.

Miles cranked the ignition and shifted into gear to begin pulling out of the parking garage, merely flashing his badge at the woman sitting guard at the exit. Even this was wholly unnecessary, as the woman knew him and his car by sight. He was soon navigating the constantly-busy streets of Los Angeles, only paying just enough attention to his surroundings as was required to avoid any accidents. This drive was so familiar that he felt – if it weren't for the other vehicles and pedestrians – he could make it with his eyes closed.

As the strains of Wagner's symphonies covered the low hum of the engine, Miles allowed his mind to drift back to Phoenix Wright. Upon returning from Europe only months ago, he had learned that his old friend and courtroom rival had been disbarred. Needless to say, it had been quite a nasty shock, and after looking into the case himself, Miles was convinced there had been foul play far beyond that for which the Bar Association had stripped him of his badge. He knew Wright well enough to know he would not forge evidence or intentionally use forged evidence, but proving that would have to wait, as the man himself had gone missing almost immediately after the verdict of his hearing had been handed down. As far as anyone – including Miles himself – had found, there was not a single trace left behind that told what might have happened to him, if he had simply up and left it all behind, or if someone else was responsible.

Miles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Headaches were a common occurrence as of late; on some days, the dull ache would never subside, and needless to say, he was not sleeping well. He was worried. At the very least, Wright had been a good friend, someone whose influenced had changed his life for the better and to whom he owed his very freedom. Ideally, Wright had been a man whom Miles had seriously considered a potential partner, in the truly personal sense. The two had somewhat danced around one another since their reunion, and all that time, he'd grown more and more fond of the idea. It was simply that he lacked the impulsiveness to throw caution to the winds and confess his desires. Perhaps Wright had had some of the same reservations, concerned about what might happen to their friendship and professional relationship should those feelings be so blatantly stated.

Miles thoughts were interrupted as he came upon a mass of idle vehicles, headed by several sets of flashing lights indicating emergency vehicles. The road ahead was blocked off, and he was nearly upon a traffic jam that looked in no rush to be cleared. He had to make a quick decision, and opted to turn off onto a side street and find an alternate route rather than spending what could be an hour or so waiting for the wreckage to be pushed aside and the gawkers to pass by. He was dismayed to find that this particular route was going to take him to the outskirts of the city before he could get back on track, but he was certain it would still save him time in the long run.

It was as he wound his way down a dark back street, having to flick on his high beams to see properly, that he felt his car suddenly jerk. It startled him badly, interrupting any lines of thought he was currently traveling along and making him gasp and clutch the wheel. The car was jolted again, as if something extremely heavy had just collided with it, and his tires screeched as he fought to maintain control. The third time it happened, he nearly swerved so far to the right that he would have collided with a telephone pole. Doing all he could to contain his panic, Miles slammed on the brakes and slid onto the shoulder of the road, coming to a stop while his heart hammered against his ribs. He kept his headlights on, not about to shut them off and leave himself in total darkness with… whatever was out there… if there was anything.

He sat frozen, waiting with baited breath for anything to happen. Nothing did. It was silent save for the incessantly chirping crickets and other various insects in the grass and trees nearby. Had something really hit his car? Was there any damage? What could it have been, and why had it hit three times? That could not have just been his car acting up; it was running perfectly fine! Unless, of course… someone had tampered with it… Then, if that was the case, why had it run just fine until now?

As much as he dreaded the idea of getting out of his vehicle in a place like this, he didn't see any other option. If he started driving and it happened again, he could very well end up in a ditch or smashed up against a tree. Granted, he had no idea what awaited him outside, what could happen to him there, but he had to check the car, try and discern what had happened.

The prosecutor took in a deep breath and steeled himself before pulling the door handle and stepping out into the mild Los Angeles night. Keeping the door open, he began to look around. There did not seem to be anyone or anything nearby, so his attention turned to the vehicle itself.

He immediately noticed the dents in the roof. His stomach lurched in shock and anger. What had made those!? What had fallen on his car while he drove, and how could it have been heavy enough to nearly cause him to lose control?

As he pondered the dents, he felt a rush of air behind him, as if something traveling at an alarming speed had just passed him. It caused him to immediately whirl to face the direction in which the 'whoosh' had gone, but he could see nothing. He didn't think it was possible for his heart to race any faster, but it was most certainly trying. He actually feared one more scare would send him into cardiac arrest, and slowly, he turned back to examine the dents on his car.

He was looking at the silhouette of a man, crouched on hands and knees on top of his car. Miles could only stare with wide eyes, able to comprehend neither how the man had gotten there nor why he was there. He realized his mouth was open, but he did not yet have the muscle control needed to close it.

"You look surprised to see me, Edgeworth."

That voice… He knew that voice… But it couldn't be…

Miles blinked, rubbing his eyes as if they were the offenders. He looked harder at the shadow, managing to pick out a face amongst the solid black clothing he wore. He also recognized the unmistakable protrusion of spikes from the back of the head, and as gray eyes met blue, his heart finally stopped beating.

One.

His eyes: they weren't right.

Two.

Why was he on top of the car; had he made the dents?

Three.

Why was he dressed like that? Phoenix Wright didn't dress like that.

Miles took in a gasp, clutching the left side of his chest as he stumbled back a pace. His heart was beating again, so rapidly it was making him feel as if he would be sick. He stared, momentarily unable to form words or even consider composing himself. He just couldn't put the pieces together in his mind, and the only conclusion he could draw was that he was mistaken about something. What, he wasn't sure, but something, surely.

With a fluid grace Miles had never before seen of him, Phoenix dropped down off the car to stand before him, now better lit by the headlights. He was so very pale, skin standing out in stark contrast to his black clothing. His eyes appeared somewhat sunken, as if he'd not slept in many days, but at the same time, they were so very bright and intense, almost unnaturally so. Miles thought perhaps it was a trick of the light, but he was sure he'd never seen Wright look more alert.

A slight chuckle escaped the man before him, and in a familiar gesture, Phoenix reached up to rub the back of his neck. "Well, say something."

Miles opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, realized he wasn't sure what he wished to say, and then closed it again. He needed to get himself together! This was unbecoming of a man like him, and he was making an utter fool of himself in front of Wright! He gritted his teeth, taking in a few deep breaths to try and force his body to relax and slow down a little; he felt a powerful urge to run.

"W-Wright… Did you…? How did you…? Why are you…?" He swallowed, clutching his head in frustration for a brief moment before he finally settled on a question and lowered his hands to fix the man with the best glare he could muster at the moment. "Where have you been?"

"Hm." The slightest of smirks curved Phoenix's mouth and he took on an aloof posture, staring off somewhere to Miles' left. "That is the question, isn't it? I feel like I've been everywhere lately… yet nowhere…"

At last, Miles was managing to regain some of his long-lost composure. His glare hardened a little and he pointed an accusing finger at the former defense attorney. "That is not an answer, Wright," he stated. "Have you any inkling of the manpower that has gone into investigating your whereabouts?" He had a billion questions to ask, but he needed to form them into some type of cue to keep himself from stumbling over his words and asking too many at once.

Phoenix looked at him more directly again, but he was still smirking. "I'm sure I have some idea," he replied. "I'm going to guess that it's been just a little less manpower than went into searching for you when you disappeared."

Miles flinched, realizing he had walked right into that trap, and that he had probably deserved the string of being caught in it. He was quick to recover, however. "So then, you have returned? What are you doing out here? Did you do that to my car?" Miles now pointed at the roof of his damaged vehicle, unsure of how Phoenix could have possible done such a thing, but asking regardless.

Phoenix turned his shoulders slightly, hands in the pockets of his black pants, following where Edgeworth's finger pointed. "Hm… Yeah, I guess I might've done that. Sorry, but I needed to get your attention." He turned back, the smirk gone. "That's what I'm doing out here, by the way: getting your attention so you'll know I'm…" He stopped, mouth hanging open briefly as if he'd been about to say something and then changed his mind. After a brief pause, he finished the thought. "…still around."

Anger was starting to replace the shock and confusion through which Miles was wading. "Get my attention?!" Phoenix was now receiving the prosecutor's iciest glare. "Have you gone mad?! You know where I work! You have my personal phone number! Why – in the name of all that is good and reasonable – would you need to leap atop my vehicle as I drive down a deserved back street to get my attention!? And, that is not even addressing the question of how you did such a thing!"

"You… might wanna' stop yelling." Phoenix seemed completely unfazed by the glare or the shouting. "Anyway, I had my reasons. Didn't mean to bang up your car, but you won't really be needing it anymore."

Miles faltered. "I… beg your pardon."

It happened so quickly that the prosecutor couldn't follow it, couldn't comprehend for several delayed seconds. Suddenly, Phoenix was no longer in front of him, and Miles was certain he'd not even blinked. Instead, someone – Phoenix – was behind him, one arm encircling his waist and the other hand clamped over his mouth. The hand was cold, as if made of clay and not flesh heated by blood. Miles yelled in protest and made a fierce attempt to break the hold, but Phoenix did not budge an inch, as if he was struggling against the grasp of a stone golem. His struggles ceased when he heard Phoenix's voice right by his ear, low and containing a sinister note he had never before imagined he would hear from the former defense attorney.

"I'm sorry, Edgeworth… I thought I could resist long enough to show myself to you, so you would stop looking… but I can't resist you… Not anymore…" Next, he heard a strange sound, a sort of click, but… fleshy… At the same time, his cravat was torn so suddenly from his neck that he had barely noticed one of the hands holding him move. His neck was now bear, and with an alarmed, muffled cry, he felt a cold mouth against the newly exposed skin.

What was Wright doing?! What was happening?! This was… so unreal, so impossible, and yet he couldn't even figure out what it was! He tried to shake his head, to tell the man 'no', that he didn't want whatever he was planning, but the grip was so strong he couldn't move his head an inch.

"God… you smell amazing…" Phoenix breathed in what sounded so alarmingly like an enraptured whisper, a chilled tongue lightly beginning to lap at a choice spot on the side of his neck, just over an artery. Miles only had a brief moment to realize that he could also feel something sharp pressing against his skin before he felt the bite.

It was as if someone had just jammed two huge needles mercilessly into his neck. The prosecutor was unable to contain the sharp cry of pain that erupted from him in response to such a sudden sensation, the pain shooting up the side of his neck and down to his shoulder. Still, with a hand clamped firmly over his captive's mouth, Phoenix held his head firmly in place, slightly tilted to the side to better access his chosen spot, and also muffle that scream. Miles could feel the blood being drawn out by an eager sucking pressure, while the cold tongue lapped it up when it surfaced.

Then, the fangs were drawn out and he heard Phoenix's voice again, filled with nothing but pure ecstasy. "…And you taste even better. Why did I wait so long?"

His mind was reeling. Miles could not even begin to understand what was happening to him, but he knew he had to get away, to escape this unreal and terrifying situation. He began to struggle again, lashing back with his elbows to try and stagger the man holding him. He kicked back with a heel, making solid contact with a shin bone. However, Phoenix didn't even flinch, and instead, he heard a chuckle of dark amusement.

"You want to run," Phoenix observed. "Okay. I'll humor you. In fact, I'll give you a ten-second head start." He removed the hand covering Miles' mouth, allowing the prosecutor to lean away from him and take in larger gasps for air in his panic. "Ready… Set… Go!"

The instant that arm was removed from his waist, Miles was running. He had no idea where he was going, nor did he care. Like a spooked deer, he simply bolted away from the source of his fear, running faster than he'd ever run in his entire twenty-seven-year life.

"Ten… Nine… Eight…"

Phoenix's counting only spurred him onward, fueled by pure terror and adrenaline. He dived into the trees, hoping to lose any pursuit by taking a winding path and disappearing from sight.

"Seven…! Six…! Five…!"

The counting was getting farther and farther away. He could feel warm blood trickling down his neck, staining his vest and dress shirt at his shoulder. He rushed headlong over fallen branches and ground clutter, knowing only that he needed to get away. His life depended on it.

"Four…! Three…! Two…!"

He could barely hear the shouted countdown any longer. He was escaping! He would make it! He just had to keep running and not look back!

"…One!"

The air was expelled from his lungs in a rush as something slammed into his back. He would have crashed face-first into the ground at such a speed as to prevent him catching himself with his hands had a pair of powerful arms not coiled around his waist and chest to instantly and violently halt his forward momentum. He was left frozen and desperately trying to take in a breath, but it wouldn't come.

"…Got you…" Though he couldn't see it, he could hear the smirk on the face of the man behind him. He was given no time to recover as those fangs sank in again, the shock of pain sharp enough to finally force his lungs to pull in air. He heard a low rumbling growl in the throat of the man whose body he was being crushed against, and before too long, he unmistakably felt something hard beginning to press against his backside.

It was at this point that Miles stopped trying to understand. He knew things like this didn't happen, that the man – the creature – holding him, drinking from him, slowly dragging him down to the leaf litter, did not exist. Therefore, what was happening to him… could not actually be happening. The terror and the impossibility of it all seemed to shut him down, and he ceased his struggles and cries of protest. He just trembled, going rigid so that the other man had to put force into maneuvering his captive's body. Miles was simply petrified, and he was so very certain he would black out at any point, go catatonic and shut out all of this horribly painful terror that wasn't real.

He seemed to go numb, and though he stayed conscious, it was only enough to vaguely keep track of the situation. It was as if he watched someone else being pinned to the ground, having their clothes torn from their body, being covered in rough, lustful kisses. Someone else was sobbing or screaming out in anguish as they were penetrated, violated, subjected to the lust of a creature so deceptively resembling a human being.

Only when it was over did he slowly return to inhabit his own body, to see through his eyes and stare up into the face of madness. It was the face of Phoenix Wright, kneeling over him with hands on his shoulders, looking… sad and regretful. Miles became aware that his breath was coming in hitching sobs that he could not think to control, and he was gradually starting to feel the pain and just how frightened he truly was.

"…I can't leave you here," Phoenix said, voice having lost its sinister edge to be replaced with worry, and some other emotions Miles couldn't currently pick up on. "…And I can't bring myself to kill you, even though that would be the best way to cover my… lapse of control…" He turned his head to the side, looking away from what he had done to the man he'd once called a friend. He deliberated for a time, then looked back down. "I'm sorry, Edgeworth, but I have to take you with me."

A particularly violent sob shook the injured and weakened prosecutor, who turned his face away, unable to look into that face he knew so well… yet barely recognized. "…No…. No, please…. L-let me go…" he begged in a hoarse whisper, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

He felt a hand gently cup the side of his face, coaxing him to turn back toward the man above him. "Look at me, Miles," came the instruction, murmured softly in a tone that promised nothing but comfort and kindness. For so long Miles had imagined hearing that voice speak to him in such a way, soothe him, whisper its love, call him 'Miles', but now…

Reluctantly, Miles found himself opening his eyes to stare up at the face looming over him, and suddenly all of his focus was drawn to those intense blue eyes. His gaze was drawn inward until those… beautiful eyes were the only things he could see. He could not even blink; he didn't want to. It was as if Phoenix was sucking out his very soul with nothing more than a gaze.

"I want you to calm down, Miles…"

Phoenix's voice was everywhere, all around him and inside his head. Those eyes and that voice were everything, and he longed to do what they commanded.

"It's all going to be okay… Everything is all right…"

Everything was all right. He was feeling so much calmer. His breathing came slow and even, drawn out and fed back to him by the will of those penetrating blue eyes. His heart beat more slowly, and his body no longer shook with sobs. Everything was all right…

"I want you to stay calm for me, and when I say so, I want you to close your eyes and go to sleep. You will sleep deeply… I'm sure you need the rest, don't you?"

"…Yes…" Miles heard himself saw, his own voice foreign to him, coming from another world.

"Of course you do. Now, close your eyes and go to sleep, Miles…"

Yes… Sleep sounded so wonderful, and he was not afraid. He was safe… Those eyes watched over him, and that voice protected him. His eyelids fluttered closed and he felt himself sinking into the merciful darkness, allowing himself to fall without an ounce of resistance.