Welcome to the final arc of The Life of a Phoenix. After this, the story will be finished. Don't worry; that time won't come for a while yet, and I have a few more surprises planned for you lovely readers.

I don't really have much to say, but I have been slowly working on my NaNoWriMo project this year. I plan on writing it alongside TLoaP, as I only really write like 2000 words for that every day and it takes me about three days to complete chapters here. Chapters may come out more slowly, though.

I have introduced new characters here. One was made by I am in Loki's Army (it's like the third one, it seems) and the other was made by me, in revelation order. As in, the first new one was hers and the second one mine. I am still in need of a few more OCs, though. If you want to send yours in, PM me and I'll give you a quick form so I can get all the details I need.

REPLIES:

death2luv: Haha, thanks! Although if you're doing important things, I suggest doing those before reading. It's nice to have an incentive, right? :D

MoonPrincess23: It's not bad, but I'm hoping people will keep an open mind about the story. Also, the pairs I have written in here are NOT my main 'OTPs', except maybe the Jane/Demetri and Alec/Renata. And the kings/queens. But the rest? Not so much.

Alice (Guest): You are indeed :) If you don't feel like logging in, I have no qualms about waiting to reply to you. Do what you want. Also, sorry about the name thing; as many of the people I see have gone and named themselves after their favorite characters, I assumed you did as well, though I know that assuming makes an ass out of u and me. The Irish are rather important, yes; I just really liked their characters from the books. And the real John did in fact prank me on that day by telling me he was moving out of the country -_- I refuse to give details as to how he convinced me of that.

Arabella Whitlock: Well, this chapter is much longer. It makes up for it, I believe.

IAILA: I can count on more than two hands' worth of fingers how many times Meyer seems to do that. The author of Long, Long, Long (a nongraphic M rated fic) has devoted about a thousand words to each chapter to systematically take down Meyer's perspective on certain issues and the scientific improbabilities etc. I find it rather amusing to read even just those.

YunaNeko: THANK YOU!

.Executioner: It seems that I can't put your entire username here. That's unfortunate. But yes, new chapter yay.

deathluv (Guest): ;) you'll seeeeeee

Ghostwriter71: :/ Heh, my original idea was that Isabella wasn't going to be mated period, as she has the maternal-ish/sibling bond. But I realized that it didn't really make sense since Jane and Alec both have the sibling bond yet also have mates. Also the entire Twilight fandom area-thing seems to be obsessed with mates, so I might as well dabble in it as well.

A COUPLE FINAL NOTES: I have incorporated large quotes from certain novels, as well as referencing others. So, I do not own The Jungle (Upton Sinclair), Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen), The Wizard of Oz (L. Frank Baum), or White Fang (Jack London). I have read all except for the first, though.

Isabella couldn't understand humans or the extraordinarily loud fuss they made over certain days that they deemed 'special.' These days seemed to differ for each country, even each city (nowhere else was Saint Marcus celebrated), yet one was most prevalent. And it involved counting down seconds in order to see when the next year began? The years all ended up the same, anyhow; they promised to get more exercise, they tried to uphold their promises, they bemoaned their lack of time, they never got what they wanted, they promised to try again. Humans, so predictable.

And now they had a giant ball falling to mark that tradition? What the hell?

Then again, this was America they spoke of. Those odd rebels were seemingly insane, from separating with the mother country to battling itself over the color of their skins. She had no idea how to even begin thinking of their idiosyncrasies outside of "strange." Maybe that was why she wasn't able to stay in touch with outside society the way that Jane seemed to.

Her sister had an affinity to the changing times. Jane was enthralled by the creation of factories, the beginning of industrialization, the naissance of 'modern society', although she was less than thrilled by the destruction of the natural universe that she had noticed forming. Alec wasn't as out of touch as Isabella or as in touch with Jane.

Yet Isabella did stay in touch with the world in one way: through her music. She followed the composers and their lifetimes, from Bach to Chopin to (now) Debussy. She watched them live and die and followed their compositions, learning almost everything that she could play on her piano. The piano had aged with grace, and by the time she had decided to get a new one, it was almost perfectly mellowed out, each key sounding obediently resonantly at the slightest vampiric touch. Now, she had a beautifully designed piano: it was a grand piano, again, the color of the blackest cloak of the kings, with a carefully carved inlay that was then filled with ivory and gold to create a swirling pattern of fleur-de-lis and spirals that cascaded down the piano's side and onto its legs like artistic vines. She didn't know what it was about the design, but it soothed her. She liked it. And John was happy to have his own instrument. It was an ultimate win-win situation.

The past few decades had been exciting for Volterra. Two more vampires had joined the lower guard. One was from Germany. She was female, with golden-brown hair and previously dancing green eyes. She had a quick mind, but she was more well-known as a street urchin that no one could catch. Every owner of the market stalls knew her name, as her tale had spread far. She would race up, grab one insignificant item each from three stalls, and bolt before being noticed. Finally, the owners had come up with a plan to capture the girl in a net, but she had raced away with the thin wire wrapped around a foot. That was where Jane found her while apathetically hunting, sobbing, a single loaf of bread clutched in her hands as she struggled to remove the razor-sharp strand with cut, already bleeding hands.

The blood that coated her hands hadn't set Jane off, as Alec's gift was still set on her throat, but she felt almost sorry for the girl. Maybe Jane saw herself in this girl, maybe she just felt empathy, but she picked the girl up carefully and darted back to Italy, her original purpose completely forgotten. Like many others, she didn't trust herself, but she trusted Aro to know what to do.

Aro had taken one look at the mangled leg and knew that she would never be able to outspeed her would-be captors again. She wouldn't be able to run as fast as a mortal ever again. So when the girl was finally told everything and had her questions answered, she agreed to turn into an immortal being.

She would have been sixteen. She accepted the new diet, the new eyes, the new body, which had sparkling, clear venom flowing through her veins and easily visible through her already-translucent skin. She introduced herself as Lilianna and draped the storm-gray cloak around her shoulders, joining Lenna, Afton, and John in the lower guard. Her already abnormal speed had been emphasized by the transformation, as she had thought of running from the burning; now she travelled at supersonic speeds, always followed by sonic booms wherever she ran. Aro was pleased by her addition and she joined without Chelsea's prodding.

The other guard was from the other side of the world, from South Korea. He had been found as a minstrel whose song was so enchanting that all would rather listen than do their actual job. He was a young adult, apparently, and he travelled around his small peninsula to give his music to the towns. He could even convince others to do as he commanded through his voice. Yet, others were so jealous of his beautiful song and plotted to murder him. He had panicked and used his gift to drive a man away, leading to an attempted murder. Caius had been travelling around the area to find one of his old acquaintances and had found the well-known musician in a forest outside of Seoul, throat slashed only moments before, his life slowly ebbing. Caius felt his desperation and anger at being stolen away; he wanted to live, in any way possible. Therefore, the king had acted to quickly bite the man and turn him into a vampire. He had sensed a potential, though his intuition was nowhere near as strong as Eleazar's.

Aro was most interested by his gift. After being subjected to a brutal almost-murder, he was then thrust into the everlasting flames of transformation. Or the seemingly everlasting, unless the thirst was accounted for. Either way, he had focused on his singing, singing himself past the pain, past the torture. He had sung himself to sleep and reawakening. Now, his song had been amplified and altered by the metamorphosis, turning into a weapon he could force another to listen to and become transfixed by. He could sing a song so compelling that others needed to stay and listen to it, paying no mind to any of their surroundings, and whatever he sang, they would attempt to do.

He awoke to Caius's waiting form. The king had told him about vampires, about the Volturi and its duty, about his now duty to the government. The man said that he was called Daehyun in his country but Damian in the western lands. They returned to Italy, where he learned to harness his 'Song of Death,' or canto di morte as the kings referred to it.

The guard was expanding as it hadn't before, and Isabella wasn't sure what to make of it. She knew that it meant something was coming, that fate wouldn't prepare them if that wasn't so. She just wasn't sure how or why.

Jane had warmed up to Lilianna, and Alec had warmed up to Damian. The genders had drifted together slightly. Damian showed the same affinity for sarcasm and witty remarks. Lilianna displayed a preference for card games and strategic maneuvers. Isabella just watched the friendships grow, but she couldn't get herself to welcome the two as freely.

After all, who was to worry for the twins if she lowered her guard?

The humans started a war, the stupid, wretched things. It had all started when a leader of a small country with big friends was shot and killed by an assassin. Then the countries slowly declared war on one another, separating into two sides and rending Europe in half over the skirmishes. Farmland was turned to waste as trenches were dug, guns were set up, and people were mowed down to the endless sleep.

Volterra had been approached by the Italian government, pleading the vampires to come and help their country fight and win against these other countries. Aro had politely declined, knowing the bloodshed would ruin everything that Volterra stood for, that too many self-controls would be tested, that too many would have to be killed for revealing the secret.

The war came, and as it left the Americans came to steal off with some glory and some disease. They returned and a new outbreak began among the mortals. Spanish influenza, they called it.

Many were stricked by it. In Chicago, there was an entire family changed by it. For certain, many others were completely wiped out, or their children succumbed. But this one family, the father died after returning home from the Great War (the blessed fool, gone to get kleos), the mother was dying, and the son was being born. He was bathed in flames for three days and two nights until he awoke again, opening red eyes instead of green. Rather than the relief that other newborns felt, he was filled with despair. Though his father could burn in Hell for all he cared, his mother, his poor mother, had gone. She left him behind on this disgusting Earth to linger forever without joining her. The doctor tried to explain how that had been her last wish. He selfishly wished that she wanted him to follow her. He knew in his heart that she couldn't have let go without knowing that he would live. He couldn't bring himself to hate her, even after she condemned him to life without her.

If only the boy had died before the doctor had known him, maybe this story would be different. Perhaps Isabella would have been happier, perhaps she would have been sadder. What matters most about this tale is that Isabella felt, that she didn't feel completely isolated from society. She became more perceptive after the epidemic. For the first time, she panicked that she couldn't care for the twins. She prayed to God that she would be able to.

Isabella sighed from her place in her room. Once so barren, it was now filled with bookshelves of history's epic poems and similar adventures. She stared at the leather spines before walking over and running her finger down them, reading their inlaid titles in a cursory manner. She stopped at one and took it out of its place.

The Jungle, it said. She opened the book to see the first few lines, just to refresh her memory.

.It was four o'clock when the ceremony was over and the carriages began to arrive. There had been a crowd following all the way, owing to the exuberance of Marija Berczynskas. The occasion rested heavily upon Marija's broad shoulders-it was her task to see that all things went in due form, and after the best home traditions; and, flying wildly hither and thither, bowling every one out of the way, and scolding and exhorting all day with her tremendous voice, Marija was too eager to see that others conformed to the proprieties to consider them herself. She had left the church last of all, and, desiring to arrive first at the hall, had issued orders to the coachman to drive faster...

Isabella impatiently flipped through the pages, not wanting to read the rather heady beginning and trying to find a more interesting scene.

...For an hour or so he walked thus, and then he began to look about him. He seemed to be leaving the city altogether. The street was turning into a country road, leading out to the westward; there were snow-covered fields on either side of him. Soon he met a farmer driving a two-horse wagon loaded with straw, and he stopped him. "Is this the way to the stockyards?" he asked. The farmer scratched his head. "I dunno jest where they be," he said. "But they're in the city somewhere, and you're going dead away from it now." Jurgis looked dazed. "I was told this was the way," he said. "Who told you?" "A boy." "Well, mebbe he was playing a joke on ye. The best thing ye kin do is to go back, and when ye git into town ask a policeman. I'd take ye in, only I've come a long ways an' I'm loaded heavy. Git up!" So Jurgis turned and followed, and toward the end of the morning he began to see Chicago again. Past endless blocks of two-story shanties he walked, along wooden sidewalks and unpaved pathways treacherous with deep slush holes. Every few blocks there would be a railroad crossing on the level with the sidewalk, a deathtrap for the unwary; long freight trains would be passing, the cars clanking and crashing together, and Jurgis would pace about waiting, burning up with a fever of impatience...

Isabella sighed to herself and closed the book, forcing it back into its now narrowed place on the shelf. Running her finger along the spines again, she selected another at random and opened it to see what treasures it held.

Pride and Prejudice, the title page stated. The ink was still as black and bold as ever, though the pages of the book were yellowing as it aged gracefully. Isabella remembered reading the book and feeling unnaturally compelled by the words it held. She opened to a random page to glance at the text this time.

...In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest on nothing, she walked on; but it would not do; in half a minute the letter was unfolded again, and collecting herself as well as she could, she again began the mortifying perusal of all that related to Wickham, and commanded herself so far as to examine the meaning of every sentence. The account of his connection with the Pemberley family was exactly what he had related himself; and the kindness of the late Mr. Darcy, though she had not before known its extent, agreed equally well with his own words. So far each recital confirmed the other; but when she came to the will, the difference was great. What Wickham had said of the living was fresh in her memory, and as she recalled his very words, it was impossible not to feel that there was gross duplicity on one side or the other; and, for a few moments, she flattered herself that her wishes did not err. But when she read and re-read with the closest attention, the particulars immediately following of Wickham's resigning all pretensions to the living, of his receiving in lieu so considerable a sum as three thousand pounds, again was she forced to hesitate. She put down the letter, weighed every circumstance with what she meant to be impartiality—deliberated on the probability of each statement—but with little success. On both sides it was only assertion. Again she read on; but every line proved more clearly that the affair, which she had believed it impossible that any contrivance could so represent as to render Mr. Darcy's conduct in it less than infamous, was capable of a turn which must make him entirely blameless throughout the whole...

Isabella groaned to herself and practically threw the book back into its place. She didn't want to read about humans and their so-called "beautiful romances" while everything was settling. She had originally liked this novel for the dysfunctional relationship between the sisters (God knew that she felt that way sometimes about her own siblings) but now all that stood out to her was the blooming love between Darcy and Elizabeth. And it sickened her, frankly. She didn't care for this stupid love and romance and soul mate bullshit. All she wanted in life were her siblings to be happy.

The vampire looked at her collection again. For certain, it had other stories as well, stories of colorful walkways leading to splendid cities, or stories of a loyalty kindled that led to a willing sacrifice for another. Yet, those stories were missing things, as well. They didn't capture the essence of a soul, the beauty of the shadows of the leaves dappling the ground as one saw every single minute particle drift through the haze of the sunlight. It never described the way that the moonlight's silver light pierced the sky in a visible ray, much less noticeable than the rays of the sun but visible to those keen-eyed enough to spot it.

Then again, the writers of these novels were more likely than not human. They didn't see the wonders of the world they described in their everlasting words.

Isabella picked a new book (Divina Commedia, in its original Italian) and finally settled herself into the chair that she placed in front of a mock fireplace. She gingerly opened up the paper (this one golden with age) and began reading the Italian, which flowed through her brain more easily than the English novels she had attempted to read. She read of the rings of Hell, of Purgatory, of Heaven. And she felt peace.

Jasper Whitlock awoke with crimson eyes and a thirst so powerful, he tore through the still-warm cadavers from the war. The blood wasn't fresh, but he yearned for it so. Maria watched him, a grotesque pleasure shaping her features.

Once he got himself under control, Maria began instructing him on his tasks. He was to make sure the other newborns didn't get too far ahead of themselves, and when it came time, he was to destroy them. The newborn order didn't carry through to the "toys" as she called some of them. They were to be terminated as soon as their use ran out.

After his own newborn year ended with many casualties and tearing his companions to pieces or being torn himself, he arose covered in scars from bites and scars from reattachments. Maria still approved, grooming him as her second-in-command.

Jasper learned of how she ran her company. She was a taskmaster and a very strategic creator. Some soldiers were chosen for their position in the human war, others for their hidden strengths, which Maria had an innate gift of sensing. Others were taken from others' armies (for there were many other armies in this brutal war they were in over territory and prey) and retrained by Jasper himself.

The toys were another topic altogether. They were chosen for their meekness and ease of being tamed. Or maybe they were chosen for their charm and good looks, and how they knew how to extol their virtues. In any case, the toys existed for the soldiers to ease their suffering. Many toys were created with the hopes that a soldier would claim one for the year of vampiric life they were given, and the toys would circulate back into the cycle when the soldier was systemically killed. If a toy took too long being chosen, they were sent to be torn apart again.

Sometimes, a toy caught the eye of the leaders. Cooper, that first man that Jasper saw, had caught Maria's attention, so she kept him around as her own. Many other toys she had as well, women as well as men. Jasper was recruited as one of them, but he didn't really allow any more than the occasional heated kiss. He learned about his skill of emotion manipulation when she forced herself onto him. He had somehow managed to repel her that day. His rudimentary grasp over the gift impressed Maria, and she promoted him after they destroyed Nettie and the other. They had apparently been mates, though they had toys of their own. Jasper had seen the two females force a male toy to pleasure the two of them at once, and they had left him shivering and broken, his pride destroyed by their eager hands and their ready bodies. They had once had an odd sort of love, a love for each other's bodies and a lust for each other's scents, but he hadn't really seen it as a different love than the soldiers had for their toys. He didn't really understand the mating bonds himself. Maria tried to persuade him that she was his mate, though he knew her feelings weren't as undiluted as the two female generals' had been before he tore their arms off and turned them to firewood.

Jasper had just been staring into a river as it rushed by as he thought, his red eyes glinting with undisclosed emotions. He had been so focused that he didn't notice when another walked up behind him. He didn't hear the man clear his throat, nor did he notice the slight nudge the man gave him. Finally, the other vampire settled himself next to Jasper and the major finally noticed, glancing over to see who it was.

It was the beloved toy, Cooper. His dirty blond hair was matted with dirt and branches, as though Maria had jumped him in the forest and forced herself onto him then and there. Jasper wouldn't be surprised if she did.

"Pardon me," Cooper mumbled, his voice not getting any higher than a raspy whisper, "but I'd like to bathe in the river. If you don't mind."

Jasper looked the man up and down. He wasn't even a man, really; he was forced to age because of the war, it seemed. His hair had stayed at its transformation-length, though that was long to begin with, nearly reaching his shoulders. His limbs held a strength that Jasper didn't really think would last so long. The cloth he usually wore around his waist was almost completely shredded, and only one scrap remained for him to retain his decency. He had a well-sculpted chest and could very easily have been a soldier. He had taken his boots off and held them with one hand in his lap. Jasper noticed that one of the boots' heels was actually pressing into the other vampire's crotch, but Cooper didn't really seem to notice. His hat wasn't on his head, but had been pushed off and was now dangling around his neck on a tied piece of string, making the hat seem more like a woman's bonnet. Jasper finally glanced at his eyes; burgundy, but glazed over. He was a broken man. Just the way Maria liked her little harem to be.

"We are both men," Jasper finally responded, glancing out at the river again, "and anything that you would want to hide, I have probably already seen."

Cooper winced at this. He seemed to shake now.

"If you don't mine, major, I'd really like some privacy right now," he said again, carefully.

Jasper gave him a confused look. "If it's your hair you need to wash out, just jump in the river, man," he responded. It was another unspoken rule to not call the toys by their name. Similarly, the soldiers were referred to by the toys by their ranks.

Jasper felt a wave of despair hit him. It was Cooper's, it seemed, though his facial expression was still completely blank. And there was another emotion. Physical pain?

Cooper took a deep breath (steeling his resolve, for why would the major care?) and gingerly slid into the water. Jasper noticed a slight red tint as the vampire submerged himself. Maybe Maria liked painting her toys with blood and licking it up like a cat. It wouldn't be the first odd fetish he noticed from her.

Cooper seemed to numbly pull the string around his neck and put the hat back on shore. The boots were already on the bank. Finally, with a twinge of trepidation that even Jasper could feel, he slowly undid the loincloth.

Jasper noticed the damage right away. Reattachment and bite scars speckled the area covered up by the dirty canvas. He didn't say anything as Cooper scooped water out of the river and flung it on his head. He didn't say anything as he watched the vampire shake with tearless sobs of wounded pride. He didn't say anything as Cooper took the cloth, unfolded it, and tried his best to tie it around his waist again. It was completely in tatters now, from Maria's enthusiastic treatment and apparently her multiple castrations.

Cooper jumped when he heard the splash. The major had tossed a rock at him, it seemed. Cooper turned to give the major an attempt at a scathing look when he noticed that the man had disappeared. In his place was half of the major's scarf, torn so carefully that Cooper hadn't heard the noise.

Silently, Cooper took the new cloth, slowly tied it around himself, and thanked the major wordlessly. He put the hat and boots back on and got ready to return to Maria's side, to serve her again.

The newborn wars were drawing to a close. Territories were already hacked out, for the most part, and too much violence continued. Soon, the remaining armies had driven themselves into the ground, and they were ended. Jasper was still bound to Maria, and they began the arduous task of culling the masses.

Cooper had been killed soon after Jasper gave him the cloth. He had turned too flighty, too distracted to fulfill his duty to Maria, and she snuffed out his life and promptly replaced him with a new blond toy. Jasper had gained a companion somehow in a newborn named Peter. While Peter didn't seem to have a gift of sorts, he had a strong sense of intuition that guided his daily behaviors. Maria found the man interesting and Jasper saw him as a captain below him yet a brother nonetheless.

There were only a few more soldiers to be destroyed before the group of three would start destroying the toys. Maria ordered the last soldier to be killed before waving her hand indiscriminately at the huddle of foggy-eyed toys that stood numbly in one place. After tearing apart the screaming female (she had black hair that ran to her waist, as well as a cruel set of nails more similar to claws), Jasper and Peter turned their attention to the toys.

Jasper noticed that Peter seemed almost reluctant to part with his particular toy. She was a beauty, but in a more ethereal way than the other toys had been. She had short black hair, which was odd to Jasper as most of the toys were blond (as per Maria's preference), and it lay flat against her hair, sort of like a boy's hair. She had dancing eyes and an infectious laugh that sometimes sparked the air, relaxing whoever heard it. Jasper didn't even really know her name.

All he knew was that she was to be destroyed.

"Jasper, please," Peter whispered. Jasper ignored him; the blonde vampire methodically tore down a male, who screeched in agony before being set on fire and destroyed. Jasper turned his sights to Peter's toy next. He felt a flicker of fear, and some other emotion, one he didn't really feel, coupled with a twinge of determination. He felt himself getting knocked down, Peter screaming out, "RUN, CHARLOTTE! GET OUT OF HERE!" before sprinting off himself. Jasper could have gotten up and chased them down, destroyed the one called Charlotte slowly to torture Peter, but he chose not to. He chose to let them go.

He finished destroying the last toy and vowed to himself that he too would one day leave Maria's services and find some other meaning for his life. Until then, he would wait in the background, manipulate whatever was happening, and finally get a chance to reacquaint himself with the world.

Wouldn't that be nice to see.

As I announced earlier, this story is in its final stretch. So please, send in your OCs and song suggestions before it is too late! And VOTE ON THE POLL for the next one! As of right now, two choices are tied for first, and I'm not writing two stories at once. So go choose what you want to see!

~Shriayle