Author's Note: Iris Domingo, thank you so much for your review. Frankly, I had decided to postpone finishing this fiction, but you inspired me to continue. I tried to contact you (by other means than through reviews), but you displayed no e-mail address. But never mind--thank you so much!

To other readers, most of what Hamilton says , according to witnesses, is, well, what he actually said. So, if he sounds odd, blame history.

Please read, enjoy, and review. Thank you!

Shrieks and howls filled the air as Hamilton and Burr assumed their positions, the bloodthirsty demons jeering like elated spectators at a favorite sport. The faint morning breeze wisped stray auburn strands from Hamilton's squinting violet-blue eyes.

'Duelists ready?' Pendleton asked.

The rapidly rising sun cast its rays playfully upon the glittering river, teasing Hamilton's eyes, throwing quick flashes of light into his blurred vision.

'Stop,' he said suddenly. 'In certain states of the light one requires glasses.'

With his free hand, the former treasury secretary fidgeted in his breast pocket for his spectacles, placed them on his nose, and aimed his weapon in several directions. As his gaze fell upon Burr, Hamilton dropped his pistol slightly, and peered into a cold, icy stare of dark eyes. Burr's expression evinced nothing short of malice. Politically desperate and indignant, it only seemed fitting for the vice president to end this constant obstruction—this West Indian bastard who had proved himself nothing more than a hindrance to his ambitions from the moment he set foot in New York—with the shot of a pistol. Yes, it was a conflict of egos, Burr admitted, but he knew all too well that the dignified and esteemed Hamilton could not possibly refuse an appearance on this glorified stage of honor. Thus, the former treasury secretary submitted to the duel—and to the deathtrap.

And Aaron Burr devotedly heeded every word hissed into his ear.

'This will do,' Hamilton finally spoke, giving his spectacles one final nudge. 'Now you may proceed.'

The loathsome spirits convulsed with frenetic anticipation, clicking their talons and licking their lips. Asmodeus shot a triumphant glance at the General of the Heavenly Host, his muscled, leathery arms folded. 'You might find it necessary to cover your pretty eyes, princes,' the demon lord mocked, 'for the sight may be too brutal for you to bear.' A scream of laughter erupted in response from the crazed demon horde.

Gabriel instantly reached for his sword, his azure eyes ablaze with righteous anger, but Kael stayed his hand. 'He must!' the General reminded the golden-haired archangel. 'But do not despair, Gabriel. He will be relieved shortly.'

'For how long, then?' Rafael asked, his sea-gray eyes never leaving his Caribbean-born charge.

Kael did not respond immediately. 'Until he pronounces his final affirmation.'

Pendleton asked the duelists if they were ready. Both of them affirmed.

All at once, every being—earthly and unearthly—grew deathly still; everything seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Pendleton's either damning or saving word.

'Present!'

----(-)----

—Father!—

—Hush, child, I beg you!—

—Father…I reserved my fire as you advised—

----(-)----

An explosive flash of fiery light burst from the pistol. Van Ness whirled around to see Burr stagger forward, lifting his pistol.

But for Aaron Burr, all time had ceased progress. With his dark eyes scrunched together, the vice president watched the swirling smoke from the gun wisp away, as Hamilton slowly lowered his raised arm, his gaze steady and fearless.

The pause had lasted only a few seconds. A sudden terror gripped Burr, clawing into his mind, as it shrieked one murderous word.

FIRE!

There was a crackling, frenzied explosion of sparks, and Hamilton suddenly felt a searing pain rip through his lower abdomen, bursting a rib, and tear through his liver and diaphragm, before finally sending racking shocks through his spine.

'I am a dead man!'