Author's Note: A small chapter to thank you guys for putting up with the lack of updates. Any Inuyasha fans out there, check out my new stories. Sorry this is unedited but hey, lets see if you guys can pick what villains had made cameos.

Chapter Six: The Diadochi

It is common knowledge that when a monarch dies, it is the right and duty of their heir to take command as a means to prevent anarchy, and chaos. Rivals, beaten enemies, even trusted allies will all vie for power once their leader is gone. This is how been the means of history for thousands of years. And the more powerful the monarch, the more vital it is that a strong heir is groomed for leadership. After all, no one is immortal.

Lord Voldemort, once called Tom Riddle, was many things and for what evil could be said of him, his actions also begged the acknowledgement that he was a powerful, skillful ruler. For the span of his kingship, even including the 11 year disappearance, Voldemort had keep the countless Underworld factions, alliances and cults in order and unified. Had it not been for his treason, the Dark Prince had been a wonderful choice as successor and even his Black Prince seemed a worthy, if untested, second in command. But the Princes had failed, and betrayed their kingdom. They had destroyed not only their Kingdom but their Court.

Great names, names that could have been strong, solid rulers had been hunted down and slaughtered. Jack the Ripper was dead, as were the Malfoy lords. The Throne of Souls had been murdered years before, and in the final War the leader of the foremost English Werewolf clan Ezra Astor had been killed.

The three years that had followed had found the Underworld in civil war.

And tonight would mark the first time since Voldemort ruled that all the Dark forces would gather together under one roof in a truce.

Isaiah sipped his Ymodi leisurely from his place by the door. He liked position; it was both noticeable and dismissive: everyone was aware of his presence but no one felt the need to corner him into some idle chatter. It was his duty as Host after all to ensure all present were cared and provided for. This was, after all, his domain.

His haven, the Grand Marquis had been decided on as the meeting grounds due to the Vampire neutrality. Unlike their counterparts, the Vampires had flourished during the Dark Times. With exception of the final battle, they had remained neutral and held non-combative alliances with both sides of the conflict: treaties negotiated and enforced by the information dealer St. Michael.

Isaiah inhaled, and despite knowing she would not be there, Isaiah turned to the window to allow his thoughts to travel to his bride. Instead of finding Ari in his sight, Isaiah caught sight of their son, Dante. Dante was in the corner talking to three higher bred Vampires. One was flirting (unwisely) with a troupe of Banshees, while one engaged Dante in a conversation. The tallest of the group looked over, caught Isaiah's eye and grinned a dirty grin at his host. Isaiah gritted his teeth; of the whole group Isaiah disliked him the least. He was also Ari's favorite.

Ari.

Isaiah inhaled thoughtfully as his right hand found his left wrist, pushing the sleeve of his robe to touch a solid black band tied around it. Ari wore a similar band around hers. They needed no visible sign of their commitment to each other. A quiet ceremony had been enough: in the darkest, most sacred of both their kinds. Blood letting and soul binding had passed between them. They belonged to each other.

Which is why he feared this new time, and the new order those assembled sought to build; old soldiers like Ari never rested when war on the air, while politicians like he, sought only peace.

They had love, yes. But some things are stronger then love.

"You, Vampire Master," Isaiah dismissed his thoughts to look to the Banshee who had addressed him. "Have we come only to get drunk on wine and whores?"

"That's all a Banshee is good for!" Muttered a Jinn from the corner, his black skin glistening like smoldering coals. A small fire burned in his palm.

"Would you like to say again, Headman Fire-Eater?" The Banshee hissed, flexing her long claws menacing. The troupe clustered around the female, clicking and readying for battle.

Isaiah closed his eyes. He was going to get a headache. He could feel it.

"Caoimheall, Jasper..."

The voice ran like ice through Isaiah's veins, as well as everyone else's. It belonged to the one who had called this meeting. An elderly gentleman appeared in the doorway, on his face a sincere, innocent smile that cut through his aged face and brightened it. He looked like a grandfather, a favorite uncle, who toddled from place to place with the aid of an old wooden cane that was craved with intricate details from some ethnic occult tradition deep in Africa. The darkness of the cane made his suit gleam like bone, and the smile seem more surreal. It was all very theatrical.

Already inside, but near to his master, stood a man who was much older then he appeared. Strong of shoulder, and broad chested, this man was not as delicate as his patron. Under a crop of blond hair barely touched by gray, his face was handsome, thinning and scarred above the lip. He wore a Navy colored suit with black polished shoes that had suffered water damage. There were black leather gloves on his hands and he stood a little away from the wall while keeping the appearance of leaning on it. He seemed reluctant to touch anything. He reeked of death and expensive cologne.

The Master brushed back his graying hair from his face, and chided again. "I've invited us all as friends here. Please, let us build this friendship."

Caoimheall swept a little closer to Jasper, and the Jinn, sensing her anixiety put an arm around her blue shoulders. They both stared at the man with a mixture of fear and anger.

"You have called us, Grave-Robber," Jasper cooed, dangerously. "Rival clans and ancient enemies, under a banner of fear and respect, to speak of war and revenge. Lord Mud-Blood at least had the respect to visit in our courts, in our time. You insult us by calling us like dogs."

There was the slightest of movements in the corner, where a white haired, white clad figure looked up from the little human girl at his feet and studied Jasper. The odd couple, Japanese by origin, had thus far been too contented in each other's company to pay much attention to anyone else. Now, the girl, dressed in a checkered Kimono, looked up at her Attendant expectantly. The man shook his head, turned away and ignored the comment.

Isaiah's headache was now a dull pain.

The bodyguard shifted slightly, but the man reached over and touched his arm. The smile never so much as flinched. "I offer much more then revenge and war, Jasper Fire-Master. I offer the Eternal Ones."

An old Spanish werewolf, surrounded by her pack, stopped fanning herself and readjusted the black veil she wore over her hair. Her dark brown eyes narrowed, and when she spoke, her voice was old like leather. "We are listening, Don Marcardit."

"Thank you, Contessa Solis." The old man said, bowing before the elder wolf. He rose and scanned the room. "As you all know by now, I am Imre Marcardit, the last of my bloodline and the last, true Necromancer. Centuries ago, my family, my kin was slaughtered by the armies and allies of Rune Mages. This war was for control over the Eternal Ones once and for all."

"Is there a point to this history lesson?" An old American asked from his place at the bar. His wore black sparring pants and a blue shirt with a Western tie. Over this was a Western style jacket of black leather and dark brown shoulders. On his hip was an authentic Hattori Hanzo blade, reputed to be able to cut God himself.

"And anyone who knows the history," Imre continued, "will remember the betrayal."

"The Kaga betrayed us all." Mola Ram, a dark priest from India chirped up. "They took the Eternal Ones and murdered them, then fled to the Aurors where we could not touch them. Since then, their priests have gone out, as guardians and murderers of the Eternal Ones. They keep them away from anyone who would seek them."

"And the power of life and death was taken from us." Imre concluded, "Until now. I have set aside the centuries of genocide and hate, to ally Aeacus Croix. Together we have found the keeper of Death, with Life's avatar soon to follow." The room shivered collectively, but attention was now paid. Imre took this, "Now, before this meeting past, let us all unite, apart of old blood lusts, and debts, and arrogance…we can have this world."

"Under you." Mola Ram supplied.

Imre nodded. "Under me."

The American bit his lip. "I'm sure we can work something out."

Isaiah downed the rest of his drink unceremoniously and moved towards the door. He had no patience for war, genocide or grand plans. He hadn't stomach. He pushed open the door to his bedroom, and closed it. Resting his back against the door, closing his eyes and praying. It was amazing how much he missed Ari. She could calm his mind now…

Could calm his doubts about aiding such a devil like Imre…

"Isaiah?"

Isaiah jumped, and spun to the voice. He blinked back his terror when he saw who his unannounced guest was. "Remus, old friend, you startled me." He turned to glance at the door. "Now is not a good time…"

"Forgive me." Came the gentle reply but the wolf moved only to take another drink from the brandy he had taken. He didn't even bother to use a glass. "But I needed to talk, can we talk?"

Isaiah glanced at the door again. If Imre knew…

"Sure," The Vampire whispered. "We can talk."