Chapter Two

Tiny blue lights scattered about Chris' feet as he appeared on ground that was much drier and dustier than the Halliwell attic's carpet. Well, maybe not dustier. Certainly not uglier.

Chris' objective was to intercept local gossip here in the Underworld, and the perfect place to go for this was a popular bar he knew, The Fireball. All the young, hard-headed deamon 'gangstaz' used this place as a hang out, as well as the more formidable individuals who crowded about the bar. All types of daemons came to this place, and all were loaded with the information that passed among peers, so it the perfect place to hit.

Crouching low, Chris dirtied his hands on the floor and spread the mess on his shirt, before running his hands through his hair until it was sufficiantly dishevelled. Now he looked the part. Rounding the corner, Chris eased himslef into a casually defensive gait, eventually coming into line with other daemons on their way to grab a cheap drink, and maybe a cheap fight. Low murmurs were thrown about around him, in deep voices, hissing voices, but Chris didn't look around. He set his sights straight ahead. Soon, he approached the hovel, which had been made a little more hospitable than a lump of dirt with some sloppily placed red lights, which flashed tauntingly. Chris shuddered. He hated coming to the Underworld. The worst years of his life had been spent living down here, suffocated in the darkness, constantly on guard for the knife that someone was just aching to plunge into your back. He should be used to this type of place by now: dangerous and unfriendly. But living at the Halliwell Manor for so long had, admittedly, made him a little weaker and more vulnerable than he had been. He had to get his tough back on.

Inside the pub, somber music played from an ancient looking Jukebox, just loud enough to make no single voice heard; only a quiet melody of rough, incoherent voices was auodiable. Chris was met, for a split second, with green, red and multi-coloured eyes- some threatening faces holding more than one pair- until they finished their assessment and turned away, satisfied. Just as Chris had thought. The mood in the Underworld was uneasy. Most likely due to current words circulating. He had to get into a group if he was to extract any information.

Chris made his way to the bar where a group of deamons were huddled, backs arched so that their faces were defensively close. Chris sat on a seat close- but not too close- to the demonic group, and ordered a drink nonchalantly, subtly craning his neck to try to pick up the odd word. He did. He heard, among unrepeatable curses, the word defeat, and the phrase at long last. Then he heard Charmed Ones, and his head snapped to attention.

"Did you say something about defeating the Charmed Ones?" Chris inquired, trying to look as if he had a right to by deepening his voice and hardening his glare.

A deamon with scales climbing up his neak like a rash and a reptile-like spine ripping from his leather jacket hissed, his wiry tongue dripping with venom. Chris recoiled, disgusted.

"What's it to you, boy?" the reptile's muscly looking companion inputted dangerously.

"Me?" Chris straightened up and gestured to himself innocently, "well, I was just interested, that's all. I'm not exactly the Charmed Ones number one fan." He tried to sound bitter, letting his words come out slow and tortured.

The group began to open up to Chris, and the burley-looking daemon took a breath to speak, looking like a child about to indulge in some gossip, when the reptile hissed: "Lies!"

Chris was just about to get his mean deamon on, when the reptile lifted a crooked finger at the poster-scattered wall behind the bar, a smugly triumphant grin on his slimy face. Chris followed the finger. And gasped. It was him. On a giant poster, slapped on the wall next to the glass cabinet. His face was drawn looking bewildered over the bold words 'WANTED FOR CONSIDERABLE AWARD'.

Chris was suddenly aware of an overwhelming amount of demonic eyes set on him. Out for blood.

Time to go, Chris thought.

He stood up suddenly, but was immediately knocked far back by a startling force. Chris' body whacked the bar, and he heard the smash of glass as he collapsed forcefully- painfully- into the glass shelf behind it. His body fell limply to the floor at least a meter below.

Chris struggled to sit up. Fragments of glass had enlodged themselves in his back, and he winced. When he placed his hands on the ground to prop himself up... Holly hell! More glass! In his palms, his arms, his legs, his head, sending blood knotting in with his hair in clumps... Chris' vision swam. He tried to orb, but he was met with a powerful block. He groaned.

The barman, whos features Chris couldn't make out in his disorientation, grabbed Chris by the scuff of his shirt and sent him flying over the bar into the crowd of angry daemons. The relentless crowd grabbed at him hungrily, clawing, ripping, biting, yelling...

"Get 'im,"

"Grab 'im,"

"Don't let 'im go,"

"We've got 'im!"

Oh God.

Chris' terror was tenfold. He thrashed and fought like a barbarion, his desperate screams lost in the cacophany of deamonic cries of sick victory. With the unruliness of the attack, however, he managed to fight and claw his way up, until he was hovering above the crowd, like a rock star surfing a particularly riotous crowd. Sheer will to live kept him moving against the blood loss and horrendous pain every time his glass-ridden body came into contact with anything. He elbowed at heads and smashed at skulls, trying to cause some damage and trying- trying so hard- to get to the door. Maybe he could just...

A clawed hand the size of Chris' head grabbed roughly at his face, tugging him speedily down through the crowd to the floor, and even before he lost what was left of his consciousness, Chris was plunged into terrifying darkness.

Xx

The Halliwells were gathered in the living-room, Piper and Pheobe sat on the edge of the sofa, Paige pertched on the arm and Leo stood, arms out, gesturing along with his words, addressing them all. It was evening, and the fire omitted heat and light over each focused face, giving Leo their full attention.

"The other Elders say that's all they know, just as it's all I know. That this deamon is causing a stir, getting word around. He's trying to cause a bit of a riot, we think." Leo spoke in that serious, yet assuring tone that the sisters had become so familiar with over all these years. Especially Piper. It was pure torture!

"But why? Why bother to cause a stir. Why not just hide away and cackle in his hovel, as is the norm with these daemons?" Paige queried.

"That's anybody's guess." Leo answered. "Maybe he wants something and wants the community to keep a look out. Or maybe he wants a gathering."

"An army?" Pheobe piped up, shaking her head at the words she'd spoken.

"Well, that'd be pretty bad." Paige offered helpfully.

Piper eased herself off of the sofa and strode over to where Wyatt stood, listening intently to the adults discussing. She scooped him up in her arms and smiled at him, even wider when he smiled back sweetly.

"Well," Piper said in her adorable baby voice, "it's just another thing we'll have a whale of a time figuring out, won't we?"

Leo tapped Wyatts miniture nose and cooed "Won't we? Won't we?"

Paige and Pheobe exchanged looks that were a mixture of 'what loving parents' and 'urgh. Sickening'. They giggled lightly.

"Wait," Piper said abruptly, raising an eye-brow and turning to Leo. "Where's Chris?"