Regina: I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry! I wish that didn't have to happen, but it did! Please don't kill me! If you do (he he, you would have to find me first!) you won't get to read the final chapter. Yep, there is only one more chapter after this - at least, there should be only one more chapter. But this story has not gone according to plan. None of this was supposed to happen. It just did. I'll explain more about what was supposed to happen at the end of the story. Which is one chapter (I hope) away. And I should post that very soon. I hope. I also hope to get a lot of reviews (hint, hint!) and lots of entries in the guestbook of my Amyro website (also a big hint!).

If you know of any good Amyro stories/poems/art, drop me a line, especially if you have some of your own to showcase. Burning Souls (the site, duh) is looking kind of bare, as it only has my stories, one of my poems, and no fan art (I can't draw. At all!). I have had two wonderful poetry submissions, though, so I guess that's a start. Hopefully you guys can help continue the trend. Maybe, if I devote the time I normally write my stories to looking for Amyro stuff, my site could be much more filled-out. But then, I would not be writing. At all.

Your choice, people.

In The Dreaming

Chapter Nine: A Tale of More Woe

The blaze consumes everything around the two mutants, a fiery inferno of love, sorrow and anger. Because of the shapeless darkness without a name, the one person John has ever loved has been taken from him. The light of his life has been extinguished, and now he has nothing to live for.

Without Amara, he has no purpose, no reason to be here.

And so he shall join his Juliet, but not before destroying the darkness that has destroyed him. Then, and only then, will he let himself go.

"Amara!" he cries, his heart and lungs burning, not by the flames, but with the agony and grief that is tearing him apart. Every second that passes causes the flames to grow, extending out into the darkness. Somewhere out there is the key to defeating the darkness, and somehow he will avenge his loss.

It is not a happy thought, but it provides him with enough comfort to focus on the task ahead.

I am sorry, but this is the way it has to be. It was the only way.

The voice infuriates John even more. It has taken Amara away, snuffed out her candle before it was time, and now it says that it is sorry

This is too much for John to take.

"Amara!" Once more he cries out her name, even though she is beyond hearing. But he is beyond caring. He is above it all, as he loses control of himself and his powers.

For the first time since he discovered the gift that ultimately brought him his greatest happiness and his greatest sorrow, does his powers separate from him.

He does not feel as, for the first time in his memory, the fire skims along his body, leaving a red trail that shines along his skin. For the first time the fire which he loves almost as much as he loved Amara burns into him.

But he does not care.

He just wants it all to end.

And so he lets the flames continue their painful caress all over his body, as he draws the pain into him, and in it, he finds strength.

Strength enough to do what he knows must be done.

I know what you are thinking. And I cannot let you destroy me. Not after all I have managed to achieve.

The fire grows, and John's body is burning even more, cocooned in the painful bliss that the fire brings.

I know what to do.

Black mists the colour of the darkest sky appear in every corner of the small space in which John is confined. They join together, swirling like a small tornado, as they grow in size, and swiftly they begin to take a form that is not unfamiliar to John.

"Don't destroy me."

Caught surprised by the figure's words, the flames surrounding John flicker, as his heart beats faster and faster.

He knows, better than anyone else alive, those lips which spoke those words. He knows every curve, every line, having traced them, and having kissed those lips until he felt as if his own would bleed, though he did not care.

Dare he hope that this is real?

"You can't destroy me."

He knows how soft the skin around those lips is, and how the hair that falls against that skin feels like silk. He had run his fingers through that hair many times, reveling in the way it felt.

Dare he hope that this is real?

"Please don't destroy me."

But as much as his heart flutters with hope, he knows that this is not real.

The Amara that stands before him is a shade, a shadow, a mere ghost of everything that he knows and loves.

It is as if she is made of shiny black obsidian, a mirror of darkness, reflecting everything that was not Amara. This thing may have looked exactly like her down to the smallest detail, but it was not her.

"I love you."

"Liar!" shouts John, and with a roar the fire rises up again, and suddenly, John feels the pain that has been delayed for so long. A cry of pain wells up inside him, and forces its way out of his body.

The false Amara laughs, its obsidian lips twisted in a mocking version of Amara's own beautiful smile, contorting her lovely features into an ugly mask.

"Yes, John. Just let it end. And it will be all over. Finally."

It is so tempting.

"Let go, John, and you will be with Amara."

Amara.

"I promise. You will be together. Forever."

And then it laughs with Amara's voice, but it is the horrible sound John has ever heard.

And in that moment, it seal its fate.

His body on fire, the flames so hot that they are almost melting the flesh off his bones,

John steps away from the real body of Amara, and towards the impostor.

"What are you doing?"

"She's dead," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm dead." He continues to walk forwards, until he is so close to the impostor he can reach out and touch its false form.

"John!" The voice is identical to Amara's, and it is scared.

"And now. . . you're dead!" John roars, and grabs hold of the figure's shoulders.

"Nooooooo!"

John's flaming fingers burn into the impostor's body. It writhes and shrieks with pain as the flames travel from John's body and into its own.

"You wanted fire! So take it!" John shouts into its ears, but it is deaf due to its own screams.

The false form of Amara that it has been using begins to melt, as if it was liquid glass as black as jet. But still John holds on.

The liquid glass begins to smoke, black mist rising from the pool at John's feet. The mist expands as the pool shrinks, its gaseous form reaching out to Amara's body, still encased in ice, as if it still has something left for it to claim.

But John cannot allow it.

"Amara!"

Her name gives him the strength to do this one last thing. His body cannot last more than a few seconds, as it is still enveloped in fire. But he still has the merest whisper of the flames that Amara gave him, the flame that was her love for him, a light to guide him.

A love so great that it cannot be confined, and reaches out to touch everything.

Just like the flames that explode from his heart.

The mist screams in the most horrifying sound as the flames consume it. It is inhuman, and it reverberates through every particle in John's body.

And then it is gone.

And this time, John knows, it is gone for good. Never to harm another living soul again.

But it is a Pyrrhic victory, as John sees ahead of him the suspended form of Amara.

The ice melts away, and she falls to earth.

Somehow, John does not know, nor does he care, John manages to catch her, and holds her close.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, even though he knows that she cannot hear him. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

He gently lays her body down on the ground, brushes a lock of hair from off of her face, and traces the curves of her lips, before kissing them gently. She is no longer as cold as ice, but that does not matter.

He will be with her soon.

A small smile on his face, and tears in his eyes, John takes hold of her hand, and holds it close to his heart as he lies down at her side.

And closes his eyes.