Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for what's mine and I assure you, even I don't quite know what that is. Artemis Fowl (c) Eoin Colfer, and the poems belong to Siegfried Sassoon and Yuri Suhl, respectively.

Edit: Sorry about the double alert. There's nothing new-- only I had to make some corrections. Sorry for the lack of update, but I have to go on vacation now and besides, there hasn't been a great reception to this story anyways so I doubt I'll be missed.

Author's Note (PLEASE READ): And voila, the story you've all been waiting for, the incredible, amazing, sequel to Collision of the Worlds. (And I was only a little late!) If you don't know what that is, please don't go away. I promise, it's not one of those must-read-the-prequel-type stories. Really, anyone with eyes and a brain can read it-- and I really hope you all have that much at least...

Anyway, for people who haven't read Collision, all you need to know is the Holly and Artemis were together but as most of you probably realize, there are serious issues to that pairing. So because of mostly social and cultural reasons (cough...Council...cough), they're not together anymore. But don't worry if you're not an A/H shipper because there isn't a whole lot of romance in this anyways. I promise you won't be grossed out.

Also, this kind of deals with some historical issues so please, no one kill me if they happen to be offended. I did a bit of research but if I have my facts wrong, please do tell. I'd really appreciate it.

Last but certainly not least, a huge thank you to my beta, FirexAtxWill. You make my life so much easier.

So, that's about it, I think. Enjoy.

Prologue

August 1940

Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back,

With dying eyes and lolling heads— those ashen grey

Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?

Have you forgotten yet?...

Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget.

-from "Aftermath" by Siegfried Sassoon

He had seen snow and hail galore, but never ash falling from the skies. One flake inadvertently caught upon his tongue as he lay feebly bleeding, trapped beneath the debris of the derelict flat, and he tasted it. It had the acrid bitterness of the heart of darkness in every man's heart, the sickening saccharine of a child's innocence lost, the metallic taste of the blood of the earth.

It must've been the fiery pits of hell that his mother claimed sinners were condemned to. But what had been his sin?

Perhaps he ought not to have lied to his mother about going to see the airbase across town, but how he had longed to catch a glimpse of the beautiful war planes that were depicted in his picture books. His dearest wish yesterday was to grow up to ride in the cockpit of one, proudly defending his country and his family against the evils of the world. And now he's seen the other side of war.

The sounds of children's cries, of women's screams, and of the groans of the dying melted into a single hum. But all he could do was to hold on to a single conscious thought within the quagmire— how disappointed his mother would be if he, her only son, the very reason she had insisted that the family flee to the relative safety of England, died futilely without having been a doctor or lawyer, without having lived the grandiose life she wished for him.

Now, it would never be.

Ashes of body, of brain, of vision, of work

Ashes of genius and dreams

Ashes of God's master stroke— Man

-from "The Permanent Delegate" by Yuri Suhl

Once, in his schoolbooks, he had read of a man who, trapped in a thunderstorm with his life at stake, prayed to the saints and promised his life in service to God, should he, by some miracle survive. Mother cursed Martin Luther for she was a devout Catholic, but the boy secretly liked the story. It was like making a wager with the Lord himself— how witty.

Perhaps he would promise his life to God if he survived this ordeal.

A slight whimper awakened him from his stupor. Seemingly from nowhere but a heat haze, a child emerged, sporting a pair of mechanical wings. She was as tiny as his baby sister, but could not have been younger than six years old by her willowy bone structure and the intensity in her hazel glare. And her eyes— he could never forget her eyes— honey-colored with the barest specks of jade and framed with tears.

She knelt at his side, and examined his wound with a maturity far beyond her years. For a mere moment, her long auburn locks shifted to reveal exquisite pointed ears— could he have imagined it?

She laid her hands upon his wound, and the most inexplicable blue sparks filled his body. Languor immediately caught him within its grasp but in his last scrapes of consciousness, he managed to catch another glance at the girl before she disappeared again. His last thought before waking up in a hospital ward weeks later was that he was sure he had seen something— or someone— supernatural.

His mother was sure that it had been an angel who'd descended from heaven to save him that day, but to him, she didn't seem like an angel. Angels were pallid and innocent and she was anything but; she did not hail from the cottony clouds above but emerged from midst the ravaging fires.

Mother would've liked him to be moved sufficiently to seek priesthood, but that day, he had chosen another path; He had dedicated his life to the girl with the pointed ears and wings.

From then on, one single word would linger upon his lips when he drifted into the seas of sleep: fairies.

Chapter 1: Not Quite So Forgotten

Present Day

In the best of days, locked within an airtight, hydraulically-sealed box glorified with the superb technology borne of paranoia thousands of miles below the surface of the earth is not a place where one wishes to be. In this instance, even LEP's famously mistrustful techie, Foaly, was not too thrilled to be on duty for another half an hour, especially when he could be at home with his fiancé of nine months.

Nine months, he had decided, was about the perfect length for a period of engagement. It was precisely enough for the giggles that lurked among the Recon jocks in the locker room to wear off and the disbelieving glances from Holly topped with quite a few witty remarks concerning matters that would be censored if printed to dissipate. And yet, it was not quite a long enough time for a certain lady centaur to regain her wits and realize that she is engaged to a…geek, to put it lightly.

The centaur sighed contently, relaxing in the dim light of the Operations Booth, thinking of Caballine as he did nearly every day these days, what with the wedding so close. In merely a week, they would be united in blissful matrimony, but yet Foaly still found it difficult to believe that it was actually happening. After all, not a many a female would go out with, let alone marry, a paranoid technological genius with an annoyingly sarcastic manner and unsightly burns on the hindquarters to boot.

With so much else to ponder, no wonder why he had been so distracted from work as of late. His only recent invention was quite extraordinary, as always; it was a tonic that utilized a particular genetic mutation that fairy possessed on the umpteenth chromosome that could, quite plausibly, allow Recon officers to temporarily inhabit humanoid bodies. The ears, of course, would have to be glossed over with prosthetics, but the height and figure issues would be accounted for. But despite how revolutionary his newest project may be, it was no good until he could find the time to organize a proper series of tests for it in order for the technology to be approved by the Council for LEP use.

A soft beep alerted him of a blip in his flawless security system. Foaly lazily ran his hands across the keyboard, and gave his beloved machines a once-over. It seemed that a small fairy fort just a few miles beneath the surface had been penetrated by a certain human device. Upon running a quick scan through his database, he identified it to be a mining drill belonging to a "clean" coal corporation by the name of Rasmussen Energy. Foaly snorted. If there was actually such a thing as clean coal, he would've discovered it centuries ago, and everyone knew that if Foaly wasn't aware of it, it simply didn't exist.

"Problems?" A disembodied voice intoned. Although it was not quite disembodied, but merely a fairy shielding, or in this case, specifically, Holly.

"Oh, hi, Holly," Foaly muttered. "And don't sneak up on me like that."

"Hey, you should be grateful," the LEP major warned, leaning against his desk. "I didn't tell the Recon jocks that you actually got a pedicure on that day you said you were going to the gym."

"I'm getting married. Shouldn't my hooves look just as dashing as my incredibly handsome face?" he whinnied in protest.

"Then that must be one terrible pedicure you got," Holly retorted, leaning down to regard the plasma screen. "So, what's up?"

"Ah, it's nothing," he answered. "Just some idiot human mining company looking for clean coal."

"Ah." No more needed to be said. After all, occasional intrusions belowground were a common occurrence nowadays when humans increasingly concerned with the effects of global warming. The sudden rise in hurricanes and droughts across the globe sent the once prosperous oil companies in search of a cleaner way to fuel their machines. How sad that they were too dim to perfect nuclear fusion.

Foaly quickly tapped a series of keys that shorted out the drill's sensors, keeping it from discovering the nearby fairy fort. To the owners of the drill, it would seem as if the looming object they'd witnessed only moments before had disappeared into thin air, or rather, thin dirt. "Piece of cake," he remarked. "The system is fool-proof, after all."

"So fool-proof that it's been hijacked twice in the past dozen years?" Holly cocked her head. "And by the same person, too."

"Well, Opal's history, isn't she? So I won in the end," Foaly grinned smugly. He had reason to celebrate; just a few months ago, the only mastermind of this generation who had rivaled him had slipped into another coma, this time certainly not self-induced, but out of her own madness. And thus, she languished in a government facility for the mad, only alive because of the machines that powered her body just enough to allow the basic functions to operate. All the doctors agreed; it was only a matter of time before her body, along with her mind, would be gone altogether.

"Not without a few mishaps, of course."

"Of course."

Foaly glanced at his watch for about the fiftieth time this hour, and was pleased to find that it was just a minute away from five, when he went off duty. Ecstatic, he checked over his darling computers once more and prepared to leave.

"Incredible," Holly commented. "You're actually managing to tear yourself away from the Ops Booth on time."

The occasion wasn't nearly as much a miracle these days, though. Foaly was so besotted with his bride-to-be that he spent nearly every spare minute with her. Yes, the hotshots may taunt him, but even Holly had to secretly admit, it was sweet what they had and it surely kindled a slight flame in the hearts of even the most battle-hardened officers.

"Come on," Holly beckoned to him from the door. "I'm leaving, too."

"I thought Trouble wanted you to stay overtime today."

"Trouble can say whatever he likes, but the chances of me staying overtime to finish paperwork is about as likely Artemis Fowl donating his entire fortune to Amnesty International," Holly scoffed.

"He still likes you. You know it's because he wanted some alone time with you," Foaly teased.

"Well, he isn't going to get it, is he?" Holly laughed as the pair stepped outside of Police Plaza. A gentle breeze swept the early evening air, lifting her auburn curls off her shoulders. To any with eyes, it was only too clear why the gung-ho commander of the LEP would be infatuated with this female, out of all those in Haven.

"Anyway, he knows better," Holly said quietly, her eyes glancing through the city street to something only she could see.

"Yes, he does," Foaly agreed. "But still…"

"Foaly, you know I'm never going to date him again, so why do you even try?"

"Well…" Foaly glanced away, and blurted out extremely quickly, "I just want you to be happy."

"That's nice," Holly admitted. "But I'm fine, Foaly."

It had been two years since the last Artemis Fowl incident and though the tabloid covers still sometimes depicted further scandals, what was over was over. There would never be another Artemis Fowl, not for Holly Short anyway, and that was fine. After all, she had never been the sort of girl to crumble over a male and she wasn't about to start, especially not now when the dust finally settling.

Naturally, it'd been one of the more startling instances of her life to realize that somehow, she could abandon the amazing, reliable guy who'd always been there for her and was perfect for her in every way— similar enough to have inspired a lifelong friendship, but steadfast where she was flighty, realistic where she was idealistic— for the very mud boy who'd kidnapped her all those years ago and took her along on the adventures of a lifetime. He was nothing like her, and everything she detested from his unbearable smugness to his ability to be a walking encyclopedia; they never failed to bicker about the silliest things whenever they were within shouting distance. Yet in spite of all that, or perhaps because of it, it was he that dogged her mind in the wee hours of the morning, he that made childish squabbling seem incredibly fun, and he that she would risk her life for— on an almost regular basis, in fact.

But there was no breaking ancient boundaries that had been firmly in place for millennia, even for one who had broke through so many stereotypes. Some rules were too strong for bending, their rigid, stone structure unyielding to every weapon she dared throw; yes, one day, water may yet wear away at the stone, but that day was not today.

"I know you miss him," he pressed.

"I'm fine," she repeated. "Really, Foaly."

"Well…" the centaur hesitated, hoping to turn the subject. "Have you gotten a dress for the reception yet?"

"Wait a sec, I'm actually expected to wear a dress?" Holly asked, feigning outrage. "Come on, you ought to treat your only friend better than that."

"It won't kill you to look feminine for one night," Foaly wheedled, attempting pull his thoroughly un-cute features into a pleading expression, "Please…for me?"

Holly giggled. "Fine, fine, but only because you look absolutely ridiculous trying to pull that face."

"Oh, and while you're in a good mood, I'm also expecting you to come with a date." Foaly spit all this out at record speed.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on, I bet a dozen hot Recon guys are just lining up to go out with you," Foaly said. "Surely at least a few of them are tolerable. And there's always Trouble…"

It was thoroughly fortunate for Foaly that though he, unlike the irate elf before him, did not possess lightning fast reflexes, he was endowed with a superb intellect that allowed him to find an acceptable solution in the space of about two seconds. "Actually, on second thought, I know the perfect person to set you up with," he added.

"I am so not going for one of your insane blind dates, Foaly. Knowing you, it can't be good."

"You'll like this one, I promise."

"It's Trouble, isn't it?"

"Nope."

"Oh gods, not Chix?"

"No."

"Grub?"

"Nah," Foaly shook his head. "You'll just have to wait until Saturday to find out."

"Fine, fine," Holly shrugged. "But only because it is your wedding day, after all. And I'll even be so generous as to give you your wedding night since I know how deprived you are. But if this goes south, you are going to be so dead by Sunday morning."

"Mmmhmm," Foaly muttered. After so many, even death threats went right by him.

As the pair parted, each going their separate ways, both were too preoccupied in their own ponderings to notice a dark-suited figure hiding slyly just around the corner. In her defense, Holly had the sense to be wary, her intuition buzzing at the base of her neck; danger was here, just out of sight.

But Foaly was in midst of concocting yet another one of his schemes…and it seemed that he had just found the perfect test subject for his new invention.

Newly twenty-four-year-old Artemis Fowl had never been normal. But even by Fowl standards, his behavior as of late was certainly not ordinary. Not that he was actually contributing his substantial personal fortune to Amnesty International, of course, for that may have prompted many, including his own parents, to flee for the hills in fear of an apocalypse. But this sight was simply…atypical.

Artemis Fowl II was lounging on the soft white sand of Barbados. His inordinately pale skin was cast in an unflattering light from the blasted sun, although little enough of it was visible from beneath his full suit attire, topped with a silk Armani tie. To top off the peculiar sight, he was staring determinedly at the screen of his Mac notebook, his eyesight shielded by a particularly colorful beach umbrella.

There was little surprise that passerby were staring.

"Arty! Arty!" Two small, but persistent voices called. The eldest Fowl heir grimaced, but lifted his vision from the stock portfolio all the same. He'd learned his lesson long ago about daring to ignore his younger brothers— they may not be genii but their limited intellect certainly didn't inhibit their ability to perform a few particularly cruel pranks that shall not be named.

"Yes, Myles, Beckett," he replied with as much patience as he could muster under the circumstances. Sun and Artemis Fowl did not mix.

"Daddy says he wants you to come and spend some time with us," Myles said, holding his sand-coated hands behind his back and giving his best puppy-dog look.

"Yeah, he's says that you're spending too much time working," Beckett added.

Artemis glared at the scene before him. His parents were engaged in the most immature activity of standing half-naked, waist-deep in the salty sea and throwing handfuls of water upon each other. For the life of him, he could not understand why any reasonable human being would consider that to be fun. Generally, when half of a body is fast losing its epidermis from the damaging effects of the sun and the other half is becoming thoroughly creased from salt and sea, it is not considered to be fun.

"I think I shall pass," he answered. "But do tell me when Mother and Father have matured significantly and we can leave this accursed beach."

The two younger boys scampered back into the water, splashing their parents in their wake. The elder Fowl sighed, and counted his blessings that those tykes had at least left without too much fuss. On a day so searing and with his beloved Mac having just barely escaped death by sand, he was certainly not in the mood to wheedle with them. Instead, he concentrated on his stock portfolio, hoping to drag his thoughts away from his less-than-ideal surroundings.

Ah, here was his latest investment: Rasmussen Energy. By name, they were a traditional American Big Oil company, with all the power and prestige, as well as hate, that such a title merited, but after a brief scan of their latest transactions, Artemis determined that they had quite a high stake in alternative energy. And after all, alternative energy was quite the thing these days, wasn't it?

Had humans had the sense to invest in biofuels, solar, and the like just a decade earlier, it would've certainly reaped quite the reward. But alas, no, the heat of the globe had now risen a full degree Celsius higher than that of a century earlier and though that may not seem like much upon first sight, it was certainly enough to do some substantial damage, especially along the deserts, rainforests, and coasts. And of course, on this blistering mid-September day, Artemis was certainly feeling it.

Nevertheless, it was a risk, though, taking on such a large role in developing such an innovation as alternative energy. It wasn't easy to wean the world off oil, especially not such a wasteful country such as the US, and the road of the energy industry was littered with the ruins of those who'd tried and failed. But yet, Artemis had to admit, their future seemed promising. Perhaps it was worth putting an extra million into?

And then there was their core-mining plan. Artemis scoffed at it, remembering the ill-fated journey of the Zito probe. When would humans learn their lesson about meddling where they don't belong? That plan would likely be scraped soon enough, as soon as Foaly had a chance to tweak their trajectory and wreak quite a bit of havoc.

But nevertheless, a million was only a million after all and Artemis believed that he certainly had much more of a chance to earn than to lose. A quick click and the extra funds were in, hopefully adding further padding to his already substantial affluence, amassed mainly through illegal, though harmless, means.

But before he had a chance to ponder his latest money-making schemes yet again, a rather unpleasant occurrence surprised the young billionaire. All at once, a wave of cold water flooded over his flawless attire and laptop, provoking a startled yelp from the normally-impassive man. Upon whirling around, Artemis found his two young brothers giggling from behind the umbrella, a newly-emptied bucket in their hands.

Before he could utter a word of protest, the boys were gone, their little feet scuttling expertly along the beach quay. Cursing his fate, Artemis crawled up from the now muddied sand, wondering why on earth his parents had felt the urge to reproduce once more so late in their lives and leave him to deal with such agony. And yet another interruption plagued him; his ring was vibrating.

Of course, the ring was not actually the gaudy jewel it appeared to be, but actually a disguised communicator with the fairy People. Glad for a reason to retreat from the sun, Artemis stroke briskly into a small nearby shack and activated the phone, anticipating Holly's voice in his ear.

But it wasn't Holly.

"Foaly?"

Author's Note: You know, I had no idea what to do with Myles and Beckett in Collision, though I had reviewers who wanted me to include them. But they are really good at bothering Artemis, aren't they? Gotta love that.

Anyway, I hope you all liked and please drop off a review at the door. To steal a wonderful idea from Julienne Potato, reviewers get their own Myles and Beckett (they come in a set with their handy carrying case!) to annoy Arty with!

Lily