Hey Everyone! Sorry I took so long to finish this chapter! Thanks again to everyone who has read and reviewed, and I hope to still recieve feedback from you! The chapters will probably take 3-4 weeks a go now because I'm really trying to put a lot more effort into them (Not in size but in quality.)

Last chapter was very large, so I shortened this one. This chapter really serves to further explain the story, especially with the Risen and Asherea, and bring the gang back together.

Please enjoy!

RECAP

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1792, Luxembourg:

"I take it you're Asheara." Angel met a white-robed priestess who spoke to him of the world inevitable end.

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Angel broke into Wolfram and Hart to find Wesley, who'd been captured by Lilah in trying to determine her fate in a prophesised apocalypse.

He, Dylan, Wesley, and Lilah were the only people to escape the building and they took off to the Hyperion.

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"It's coming Lilah, the end, the beginning, everything everyone has fought for will come together," her voice continued to rise with power and passion as she spoke, "like the lamb of the alter, death is without vein. From the seventh day every sacrifice brings us closer." She spoke every word now as though it was sacred, like a preacher. "Lilah, know that you are the Wolf and when the vessel calls you must come."

Lilah found a place she could research what she had been told. A ghostly appearance of scrawled words that spoke to her, told her to take a marked book. She was attacked by two, identical human-looking men.

She captured Wesley to translate the book. Wesley discovered about the two men,

"It speaks a lot of an ancient demon sect dedicated to bringing about the Apocalypse, or aiding it or something. It says that they can live among us in guise of kin."

He discovered a line of text crucial to the coming apocalypse.

Blood of the Wolf, Blood of the Hart, for the soul of the Ram.

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Gavin and Lynwood have been killed. Connor met a powerful man, clad in a dark leather jacket and with deep blue eyes.

"That's right, brother. You and I are part of something big, from now until the very end we are immortal. You can be wounded of course, well, you've already found that out haven't you? You may be wondering why I'm telling you this, and, I'll tell you that as well. It doesn't matter what I say or do, the end is inevitable, the revelation is near and there is no way to stop it."

He was knocked out by the man and rescued by Angel Lilah and Dylan. They fought their way up to the weapons room to get explosives for their plan of escape (Blow out the front of the building) and were almost shut in.

The man killed the girl in the white room.

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Cordelia returned from the higher plane, which she remembers nothing of.

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The risen created a huge earthquake that actually shook the whole Earth.

A gaint layer of thick, dark clouds blanketed LA all the wat to the horizon.

The risen was told to hunt down Asherea

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Willow collapsed to the ground as an ominous thought preternaturally entered her mind.

Apocalypse Nowish

Chapter 15- Home

A solemn air held the room's mood above a marble floor, once clean, the floor was now littered with chunks of plaster and scattered dust. A mess, just as the faces of those who paced the room idly, amongst the minor wreckage. Their heads still rang with the quake that had struck the room and the whole city just minutes before, causing, not only destruction of many precious ornaments in the very room, but beyond the doors of the Hyperion, widespread commotion and chaos. No one in the city of LA, on this gloomy day, under oppression of sneering clouds, expected the earthquake, yet it had came with a powerful suddenness that shocked the city and threw it into panic. Even now fires burnt on the horizon, sirens sounded in the warm air, accompanied by screams and shouts it was the sound of mayhem. And, to Cordelia and the others in the room, there was something blatantly unnatural about the ordeal. The clouds seemed purposefully black, as though their malice glared at the city below, coiled ready to spit their poison. They loomed above and hauntingly waited as the earth shook below, which too was unnatural, even more so. An earthquake this powerful in LA was unprecedented and unexplainable, as though it was not the earth's doing at all but something more sinister, something evil that made the earth tremble in it's laughing shadow.

Cordelia, standing in the centre of the room, looked around it once more, taking in the harsh cracks on the walls and the crudely broken roof, cracked and chipped, half of it was strewn across the dusty floor. Her thoughts were dark, just as the news she had been given by Fred and the others was, news of ominous utterances, now even more prophetic after the destruction that had just blanketed the city. She worried deeply for Angel, and Wesley, despite things between him and the group of late. She still cared for Wesley and, though she was angry at him, disappointed in him, and shocked by his brashness in going up against Angel. What made it seem worse, more backstabbing, was the fact that she was away when it happened so that she could not do anything. Nonetheless she admired him as a friend, remembering all the times he had helped her she could never forget the friendship, despite Angel's reaction. Angel, yes it was him she cared for the most, and she was proud that he went to rescue Wes, perhaps a sign that he might forgive and forget. She remembered being in love with him, before the sudden blackness, and before she woke up in the street, below dark skies and on cold concrete. Yet, as with a lot of her feelings she couldn't remember that feeling, nor any of the feelings she'd held before her ascension. She felt slightly distanced from everything right now, as though, because she cared less she was less a part of the world, just watching absent mindedly from afar.

She could understand Angel's sudden charge to Wolfram and Hart. Gunn had told her he'd only been back a couple of hours before he'd made the sudden plan to storm Wolfram and Hart to get back Wesley, hoping he'd have information and her's and Connor's whereabouts. She could picture his powerful determination, one she could often see inside him but rarely on the surface, determination to get his life back. His life had been cruelly ruined over the past month and she knew that he'd stop at nothing to get everyone and everything back. Tragedy had become far too prominent in their daily lives and, as did he, she wished it all to stop. Only it wouldn't, in the least, as, though they might be a group again, chaos had awoken fear in all of them and the city itself, death and tragedy was upon them once more. She smiled a brief, yet sweet smile as a short memory of her life in Sunnydale struck her, how petty everything had been then, yet so comforting it was now, in her dark life.

Lorne was leaning against one of the pale brown pillars, beside the red steps at the front of the Hyperion, beside the door, which everyone strewn across the shaken room now glared at anxiously. He was in no fine mood, as, now, fear, doubt and, perhaps regret caught up to him. Fear and doubt wrought from the unknown and the dark turmoil that had descended over the city, and regret spawned from his return to LA. He had escaped the insanity there, hoping to return and see his friends again, be happy here where he belonged, yet all he got upon return was a one-way ticket to tragedy, for which he left in the first place. He had braved all ill news up till now with a hearty smile born from a light heart, but no longer could a smile heal the worry that grasped the room, and that alone saddened him. He looked at Cordy, who was eyeing the solemn room grimly, and sighed grievingly. He himself had no fear for Angel, Wesley, and Connor, now, for somehow he felt sure that they would return soon. The fear that weighed his sigh was stronger, and it tugged at his soul with portending thoughts and feelings. He felt something dark had been born under the black clouds and his heart told him it wasn't just staying, it was growing.


Just as his mind fell deeply into thought a sharp sound awoke him and brought him to his feet. He glared over at the swinging door in dumbfounded awe, as Wesley and Lilah burst through it, holding a limp, unmoving body between them. Fred and Gunn moved in as well, their faces painted with joyous shock. Lilah and Wesley placed Connor on the reception desk and immediately tended to him.

Cordelia looked back to the door, frowning as she noted the ripped, bloodstained shirts they wore, her mind racing as Angel walked in slowly, followed by another man she didn't know. The room that had been so quiet before was thrown into welcome chaos as everyone ran around frantically. Everyone except she and Angel, who Gunn helped sit down on the grey couch. She looked over to Wesley and, to her wonder and disgrace, Lilah. Wesley had made a glass of water and gave it to Connor who was sprawled over the desk, looking deathly war torn. They all did, with weary, blood-laden faces, shredded clothes stained in blood and sweat; wet, dripping hair accompanied the hellish look. Connor coughed weakly as he swallowed the water, turning his head to face her, a trickle of liquid spilling from his mouth and onto the desk surface. Her throat became dry and harsh as she frowned, swallowing and gazing into Connor's blank, lifeless eyes. Connor moved slightly every now and then but he did not look back at Cordy through his dark eyes and emotionless expression, however thoughtfully she looked to him.

After she felt a tear gathering in the corner of her eyes she looked away, swivelled around. There she saw Angel, hunched over, silently staring at the floor with a hard, sharp gaze. This pulled at her heart, seeing not only one, but two people whom she'd come to adore adorned with dark cuts and bruises, and still fresh blood dripping from their hands and face. She was mesmerised by Angel, who bore no glance for others, save the floor, which he now bit spitefully with his weary eyes. As she looked at him with utter empathy she blocked out everything else in the room, Wesley, Lilah, Lorne, Gunn, Fred, they were but a quiet sound in the distance. His hair was ruined, a sight she never expected to see, and one she wished she didn't have to. As the others huddled busily around the desk behind her, attending to the wounded Connor, Cordelia walked up to Angel and sat beside him. "Angel," she said softly.
Angel suddenly raised his head and looked over to her, his eyes now raw with emotion, blatant surprise and relief overcame his indifferent visage. Cordelia." he said, with life now evident in his voice and face, a relief to her and a surprise for he looked in a shape not fit for words. She quickly gave him a hug, and as she looked past him, he smiled broadly to himself, despite the pain that tore at his mind and body, he was truly thankful.

His heart had been warmed by the sweet reunion and his body relieved of some weariness, the part that protested his actions in despair. Though his mind could not be happy, not with all that had recently erupted in the city, he felt better, stronger, more like his usual self. He was strong against dispirit but of late the constant erosion of happiness by cruel tragedy and misfortune, clawed at his piece of mind. Between them then, as they hugged, he felt something strong click in his mind, and his heart. The joyous intimacy they now shared was not one of love, of passion, but one of friendship. He had never been sure about his affections for Cordelia, but had they met at Point Dune he was sure he would have proffessed love. Yet now, after her absence and all that transcended during it, he felt that he could not feel true love for anyone, and that friendship would be more valued. They released each other, without prolonged touch, Cordelia's warm smile telling him she'd felt as he had. They were together again, as friends, something they both realised was more important to them than love ever would be.

Fred walked over to the grey couch where they were seated and looked over Angel. "You alright?" She asked profoundly. He let out a small laugh as he stood to his feet. "Nothing to worry about, flesh wounds." He smiled to himself as he walked passed the concerned and unconvinced Fred, Cordelia trailing behind. "Wesley?" he said bluntly as he reached the table, looking over Connor with a mild frown. "He's alright, or should be soon. We've seen examples of his preternatural abilities before, so I doubt there's much to be concerned about." Angel nodded thoughtfully. "He was stabbed through the shoulder, but apart from that just a lot of bruises." Wesley concluded.
"Poor kid's going to be sore for weeks." Gunn added cheerfully.

"And you?" Angel said, looking over to Wesley an earnestly thoughtful look on his face. "I'm ok, suffered worse." He replied, smiling to himself, and quickly looking into Angel's eyes. Something connected between them then, a short vibe in the air that gave both of them a tingle. They felt the regret in the honest glances they shared. "Well, we all just got a taste of hell, or what hell could be. Wesley, me, Lilah...Lilah, you're still here?"
"Hey, big guy, this is my playground two, just because my gang's out of business doesn't mean I can't hang around piss you off." She said, with a sly grin.
"But you won't." Angel said firmly, with a small grin.
"Why's that?"
"Trust me." He said as he gave her a sharply commanding glare.
"If it's alright, I think she should stay." Wesley interrupted their innate banter, from behind the counter. "In case you haven't noticed there's something fairly apocalyptic going on outside, and I think Lilah might have something to do with it."
"In what way?" Angel asked curiously.
" I'm not exactly sure but there's a book and Lilah's story before everything went to hell, seemed to match it."
"Whoa, whoa, slow down for the housewives here. We don't know what the hell's going on!" Gunn said.

"We'll get to that." Said Angel, with a hint of impatience.

"If Lilah's staying maybe we should keep hold of herrifle?" Cordelia cut in. Lilah, looking confused for a short moment looked down at the large and heavy object she held lightly in her hands. "Is that a rifle or rocket launcher?" Cordelia exclaimed as she beheld its size and figure. "It's a rifle, rocket launchers are commonly apt to fire rockets, this, fires bullets." She sniggered.
"Cordelia always notices the little things, like rifle bearing enemies half a metre in front of her." Wesley said. Cordy gave a small smile, plainly her conscience disallowing her to appreciate his words. Although her feelings slightly healed by the apparent fact that Angel had forgiven him, she hadn't and every time she glanced over his rugged and raw visage she felt a shiver go don her spine, wondering what had happened to the Wesley she had once known. "Oh, and, one more thing," she continued turning back to Angel, who was beside her, "who the hell is that guy?"
Dylan, who was standing by the far wall, grinned as she gestured over to him. "This is Dylan, my work colleague." Lilah laughed.
"Oh, great, another damn lawyer."

"Pleased to meet you too." Said Dylan as Angel snatched the rifle out of Lilah's arms and walked over to him, his hand held out with an enforcing look on his face.

"Done." Said Fred with gleeful pride, "He's all bandaged up.
"Hooray!" Lorne exclaimed comically. Angel saw Connor stir out of the corner of his eyes, as he laughed softly. His heart smiled, realising that his wish, that he'd set out to attain, had been granted. Though he'd had to fight his way through superfluous amounts of merciless demons to get it, he and his son being quite badly injured in the process, it's still come to pass and he was happy to forget his own pain for the delight of the occasion. He handed the automatic rifles over the desk to Wesley, marvelling their sturdy weight as Wesley shoved them under the counter.

"OK, I've gotta say something, on behalf of every one.." Lorne began, walking out to the centre of the room where everyone could see him smiling merrily. "Yay!"

Brows twisted in comical wonder as he looked around the room expectantly.
"Why is there a demon here?" Dylan suddenly asked aloud.
"You're welcome to leave." Cordelia retorted.

"Where all here!" Lorne explained his strange statement.
"We're back, together." Angel agreed, smiling. Homehis thoughts trailed.

"Before we go into group hug therapy, could I do a little parade-raining. Half of LA is on fire and something big is going down. We need to get a heads up on this." Wesley interrupted, walking from behind the desk, as he spoke to lean against it's front, beside Angel. "I agree with Wesley." Lilah said.
"That one man, there was something about him." Wesley added.
"He had power, something I know a lot about. He had it and he knew how to use it. If you hadn't been there I'm not sure I could have beaten him." Angel replied, speaking slowly and thoughtfully, as much to himself as to the rest of the room.

"But he's dead." Lilah stated sharply, and sure. Angel frowned at this, remembering a certain feeling about the whole ordeal, something off; like an evil grin there was something all to mischievous about it. But for that weak feeling he wasn't sure what stopped part of his mind agreeing with her. He had seen him take a shotgun cartridge to the face by his very own eyes, and fall at least twenty stories. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a sharp interjection. "He's not dead." Connor snapped as he groaned, attempting to sit up. His voice was coarse and unnaturally sharp, in attempt to enforce it's truth, sounding spiteful in the process. Angel frowned deeply as his eyes met Connor's and the honesty that lay within. He felt his mind twist with an unnerving fear he rarely felt. He wasn't surprised at the information but it really sealed the letter his worried mind had written in it grim suspicion.

A heavy and sharply placed footstep echoed fruitlessly off the pavement, devoured by the already noisy air. Though it was day, the looming clouds made it night from every edge of every horizon. A certain energy could be felt in the air now, and a certain dampness that would portend to anyone the coming of thunder and storm. The handsome man walking briskly along the empty sidewalk inhaled the air and that feeling that came with it, the smells and sounds of chaos. He was like a mysteriously approaching shadow, his dark hair and coat hauntingly masking against the dark landscape. He was walking up a steep hill, smiling to himself as he heard the rage of fire and frantic sound of rescue helicopters and sirens. It filled his icy heart with sinister joy. The street he now conquered was relatively quiet and unaffected by the fire that had the moderately distant city in tall, fierce flames. It was suburban and climbed its way up a hill that surrounded the tall city. The air was calmer here than it looked to be in the scenic distance, mayhem abound. If it were up to him, he'd be soaking up the hell rays of a city in turmoil. But he had a mission, bestowed to him by the Sinice themselves.

As with every world he placed his eager foot upon, he had been told, in the white room, to hunt down and kill Asheara, the meddling priestess who fights him in valour and vain with every dimension he sets to destroy. She, like him, was an eternal being, death but meaning rebirth, in the next dimension. She was the conflict in every one of those realms, having discovered his mission long ago, and being deluded in thinking she might avert it in any one dimension. They were practically family, meeting in every new realm and fighting to the death every time, her death. He had often enjoyed playing with her, keeping her alive in agony until the very end, and torturing her senselessly. Yes, they had a long history together, one of much fun on his behalf. She was brave though, he knew as much, for he had never met anyone who would continuously stand against the unbeatable, through risk of unimaginable pain and forfeit. He admired her in a way, and they had certainly grown to know each other, now her murder seeming more like a chore with every dimension.

He put a heavy step down to the concrete and stopped his swift walk, pausing as he turned his head to view a large, timber house to his side. There was a letterbox out the front, a white body, with the number twenty six nailed to it, and a darkly red top. He continued to the view the house intently, smiling as he gazed at the simple timber door at the tip of the short stairs. A veranda hugged the house, and he could see it supported out the back, where the hill descended. Something had suddenly come to him, a light in his mind that shone brightly now, it's rays pointing revealingly at the house before him. It was a feeling that he'd become very much accustomed to refining. Now he could sense the presence of Asheara vaguely from great distances and with sharp accuracy upon approach and he sensed it now. Swivelling around he swiftly approached the door across the straight concrete path that divided the rich green lawns. Smiling with dark glee as the door rapidly came nearer, and the burning city disappearing behind the tall house.

Asheara had become very much acclimatised to the sight and air of destruction, having experienced it in every life. To most the blazing city she had a wide view of, from her front veranda, would be a total shock to the system, something never considered. The Earthquake had died down, but its mark had been made, rioting crowds and coarse cracks decorated the cold streets. Her long hair blew aggressively either side of her gentle face. The trees faired worse against the wind that had now progressed to harsh from a weak breeze, and a loud, eerie howl could be heard all around her. The wooden veranda creaked and groaned, as did her house behind her. All of this, earthquake, fire, a smothering blanket of sinister dark clouds, meant the end was coming. All of the signs were unmistakable now, but she had felt the end's approach in her bones for a long time now. Bright flickers of flame radiated her beautiful skin as she watched, her eyes almost squinting against the wind and her blonde hair blowing wildly behind her. She sighed from the depths of her heart, and turned back to the large French doors that opened up into her dining room. Swinging them open as she stepped in, she could see right down the hallway to the front door of her house. The hallway cut right through the middle, and one end could plainly see the other.

She walked down the hall, but as she approached a door to the left something clicked in her mind with rude abruptness. She pressed her foot into the ground and stopped in her tracks, her eyes now steely gazing forward, at the oak door that opened up to her front yard. She felt through it with ease, and though she couldn't see anything beyond it she knew what was there, he was looking at the door as well. She knew it, their eyes were meeting, and the fire that had grown between them could not be withheld but a door. She suddenly stuck out her arm and placed it firmly around a long, heavy object that lined the wooden wall. Feeling the cold steel, as she kept her eyes forward, she held in her grip a lengthy Katana, kept from many years ago, just as much of the antique furniture that occupied her house was. She felt his heavy footsteps against the ground, felt his breath in the air. They approached, slowly, as she had a large front yard, but vigilantly, and with sharp purpose. Breathing quickly now she felt her heart begin to beat faster, and sweat form over her body. Her mind raced frantically now as she had a choice. She could stand with blade in hand now, fight by her own home, or she could run, her help maybe later sought.

Suddenly she felt his presence ever so strongly, and her mind cut into action. Feeling she'd lingered far too long for such an obvious choice she rushed back down the hall, grabbing her shoulder strap from a hook on the wall as she did. Slipping her katana, sitting neatly in it's own scabbard, into the leather loop, and tying the belt around her back, she burst through the open glass doors onto the veranda. She tightened the strap that now held her sword over her shoulder and against her back, she took a last look at the door straight down the now foreboding hall. She turned and quickly jumped the railing, her white attire making her fall from view that of a sharp white streak. A heavy, mighty crash came from inside and in the felled doors wake stood a tall, imposing figure. His sharp gaze was already locked onto the edge of the veranda but there was nothing to be seen, not the tail of a skirt, or the tip of a foot. He was smiling as he walked forward, heading directly for the railing of the veranda ahead. He walked with straight objective, knowing he need not look in the house, nor anywhere but the below the veranda. He knew her eyes had met his in this hall, and he knew she had gone. As his hands hit the wooden edge of the railing, he didn't even bother to search the ground below. He simply watched the city in the distance, with a content smile. She had fled him, and she knew how to flee, spending lifetimes doing just that. But he knew better than to worry; she could not effect was destined to happen here in this holy city of darkness, where the birth of death marred it's own land.

He laughed quickly at that and turned his back to the view. "Plan B" He muttered to himself as he left the abandoned house, now fiercely alight with consuming flames. He left no building untainted in his wake, and had taken pleasure in setting alight his most trusted enemy's home.

A sorrowful tear fell from a soft chin, as eyes of soulful beauty gazed up a steep hill. Trees surrounded her and blanketed her in comforting shade as Asheara spied the fierce burning building above. Her eyes were tearful, and her tears were heavy with grief. She hated that she could still cry for the loss of a home after the loss of so many, but became so attached to things, things of beauty that she collected over the many years of her life in this dimension. It happened in every realm she lived in, and she hated it. It could be that her life was so disjointed, she needed to find a place to become attached to keep her soul alive. She swivelled around and disappeared into the misgiving darkness.

Connor wrapped his tired hand, still wrapped tightly in a blood red bandage, around a smooth wooden door handle and twisted it, his wrist shooting with pain as he did so. It swung open and he looked into the small room that it had concealed. He walked forward slowly inside and flicked on the light switch. The grimly black room was suddenly transformed, something he still found himself marvelling every once in a while. There was a wide, cosy bed against the wall to his left and a door to the bathroom beside a large armchair to his right. He groaned with an aching pain as he limped into the room, giving it further inspections. This was Angel's room, his new one, after the recent fire. He had been told much of past events by Angel and his friends whilst he had been feigning friendship. He had laughed aloud with them, smiling happily, although feeling no happiness for himself. Despite the fact that he had hated them during this time, he had still got to know them well, seen all of their characters, and heard what made them tick. Except for Wesley, whom he knew next to little about. The others had barely mentioned him, and, looking back now he could see there was a rift between Wesley and the rest of the gang.

He walked through the room and to a large wardrobe behind the armchair and opened its double doors. He looked over the various shirts and jackets within curiously, intrigued by Angel's possessions, however unvaried his range of dark clothing was. He slid off his own shirt, with no need for unbuttoning, it having been torn apart already. Throwing it over the armchair he took out a deep blue shirt and donned it, looking at himself in the mirror. The sleeves were a little disproportionate but it was basically a perfect fit. He sighed, with mental and physical tiredness as he neared the bed, his body still aching. Weariness swept over his muscles as the temptation of rest crossed his mind, and he soon found his face buried in a soft white pillow. It was an overwhelming sensation, as he lay there in silence, his body, nor his mind in action. He was silent as he closed his eyes, falling asleep to the drone of loud voices below.

"I've always wondered what it would be like to have a block of memory missing." Stated Angel loudly to the group scattered around the Hyperion lobby. Dylan sat tiredly on a red sofa to the side of the entrance stairs, which Cordelia and Lorne occupied. Fred was sitting on the reception desk, with her legs dangling over the front, beside Wesley who leaned against the desk looking out at the room with a pleasant smile. "And now, you know. It's uneventful." Cordelia replied. Soft but hearty laughter met her comment from all around the room, everyone wearing a happy smile, except maybe Lilah, who was staring at the roof with a irritated, impatient expression, and Dylan, who lay back into the sofa, sighing with a weary boredom. Because he couldn't make a connection with anyone in the group it was hard to care for what they said.

Suddenly his tired stare was shaken when, unexpectedly, he heard his name. " Dylan," Angel said, "don't you have a home to go to?" He leaned forward and shook the tiredness with a shake of his head. "Probably not. Have you seen outside? I probably only have two walls and a roof by now."
"And a floor." Lorne added.
"Don't be so sure, the riot's pretty bad out there. It's, well, chaotic."
"He should probably stay." Wesley resolved.

"Don't get me wrong I've no problem with Dylan hanging around." Angel replied honestly.

"Right, and I'm less than welcome." Lilah shot at the room, with an odd carefree bitterness.

"Very perceptive of you, Lilah, just lacking in the follow-through." Cordelia quipped.

"That reminds me," interrupted Wesley, putting his beer down onto the reception desk behind, and looking over to Dylan, "it sought of escaped me in all that gory death, but, do you have the book?" Dylan smiled with a hint of pride as he drew a heavy brown book from beside the couch. Holding it up for Wesley and the others to see. "In that case I would like to get down to business."
"There's business?" Lorne asked disappointedly.
"I have a lot of explaining to do but I intend on bringing you all up to speed on the latest chain of ominous events, undoubtedly leading to an apocalypse."

Wesley opened up the book, filled with scrawled notes and unusual diagrams, and began to explain to the group before him Lilah's story, what he'd found out about it from the book, and what had happened in Wolfram and hart.

As his mysterious words filled an already mysterious air methodic steps landed on warm concrete, their shadow cast in a collage of dancing flames. The night was a deep orange with it, and it cast reflection on the people, the roads, the buildings, the blazing glow was everywhere that was not alight with it. The air was sinisterly warm, born from rampage, rioting, looting, screams, fear, and panic. The city was still rife with it and Asheara knew better than to expect it to settle before the flames did. A car tore down the road beside her as she walked lost, yet determinedly down the footpath. Her footsteps were heavy with a powerful purpose, much like that that had been with her all of her life. She was a woman who knew what she lived for, and though pain remained, fear of death was thankfully gone, allowing her to press fourth bravely, gaining experience with every time she did so. A couple of shouts accompanied the sound of fierce burning, and a window was smashed across the road from her. She was now in the centre of the city, which was overrun with shouting looters. She was tired, as she had walked a mighty distance from her house on the hill, in search of another house, one that contained the very people she sought to protect. Having the prophecy relate so closely to a figure so readily known amongst the underground community was a clear advantage for her, as she was easily able to find his residence; the Hyperion. As her mind was drawn back into the wider frame she a funny feeling in her heart. There was something about this universe; she couldn't know why she felt strangely hopeful, only glad that she did. It was as though there was something different about this time. Though this dimension wasn't just another pin to be bowled. It felt unique, in a strong way.

She stopped for a short rest, panting softly as she sat on some tall steps at the door to a shop. She put her soft, delicate hands on her lap, covered in a long white skirt that sat almost at her ankles, and watched the street before her. It was like a huge action scene from a movie, with the constant sound of sirens and explosions. She leaned forward a bit as she drew her katana from the sheath, savouring the sleek sound it made as it carefully slid out. She held the blade out in front of her, up to her face, and scanned it with her elegant blue eyes. It was a thing of beauty, a blade to truly marvel. This was one of her oldest possessions and she often just sat and beheld it. She was sure she would miss it in the next realm, perhaps no weapon of worth would ever meet her dexterous hands again. It was about four feet long and with a slender body, curved slightly and forged with the utmost skill. It reflected the orange city perfectly, 'almost as though it was a mirror'. She thought, as she looked into her own sapphire eyes gleaming on the sharp blade.

She suddenly shivered and sharply took her eyes away from their dreamy gaze. Something cold had just cut through the city, something evil. Not the bloody violence that humans created in their feeble minds, something undeniable soulless. She quickly slid the sword back in the seta and jumped to her feet, bumping past a couple as she ran up the flaming street, gazing sharply ahead, the Hyperion in her minds view.

Two more blue eyes beheld the wonder of the burning city; these two looked down from far above. A powerful wind pushed cold, moist air into his face as a tall man gazed down below, from atop a tall, sleek building. His long jacket flapped loudly and wildly behind him as he smiled wickedly. He breathed in the air deeply, feeling the coming of rain. He was standing as still as a statue, indeed anyone who saw him would think him to be one. But his black heart was beating with dark glory and pride. He had wrought a fire to be proud of, probably the most powerful of any he'd made before. Yes, he felt himself become stronger, not just by the second, but from every dimension to the next. Many moments passed as the risen admired the view from behind the railings of the top of the Wolfram and Hart building.

Then a soft footstep came from behind him. There stood a moderately tall man, sharply dressed in a sleek business suit, and staring forward with the most absent expression anyone could conceive. You could feel an evil in his blank visage without much effort, for, within his silent stare, hatred lay in everything it saw. The Risen turned around slowly. "Gather everyone," he said suddenly and commandingly, "we're going to attack them in their own home."
The man let a small smile of pleasure cross his face and nodded, turning around and walking back to the entrance across the wide concrete floor. He paused as he heard the risen call after him. "I trust you know who to kill and who not to." He thought for a moment then set fourth once more, leaving his master to stand and view the city in his own cruelty.