A/N: Sorry for everyone reading thus far, I just realized just now that all the page breaks and extra spaces I was inputting don't take on 's database. I will use markers in the future.
Pieces
From this throne, deep in the underworld, his underworld, he heard the terse report. Had he been fully paying attention he may have been annoyed with its awkward delivery and shocking brevity. The demon was all that was left of a small preliminary force he'd sent at the Seer's suggestion. He'd wanted to go himself, but apparently that wasn't how things worked in this new age. There were channels; there was bureaucracy.
"We weren't prepared for Belthazor to have powers, certainly not these new ones," the worthless vassal was saying. He raised a hand, an order that frightened the young demon into stiffening into silence. Before he began speaking he took a moment to locate the Seer in the room and stare at her gravely as if to prove his point.
"Clearly, you were no match for him," he began, basking briefly in the glow of the terror of those present, before continuing "but I suppose something has been gained from finding that out for sure," as the days had gone on since him placing his unquestioned stake, his throne room had acquired a great many hangers on. Demons and other dark creatures that seemed to think being near him earned them some sort of greater status. He sneered. In his day, such things could only be conferred by victory. He was positive he enjoyed this world more than his dark prison, but he wasn't sure yet by how much. The Seer stepped forward, unsurprisingly, no doubt with another scheme. He let his eyes narrow.
"If I may suggest, Master,"
"Yes, because your last suggestion was so fruitful," the jab felt good, but her face remained unchanged. It was out of place, immature, to engage in verbal sparring with an inferior. He should either flay her or not, but a small piece of him had to accept she was still useful if only because she seemed to have pre-ordained all of this thus far. Strategy aside, gifts like hers would be useful, and could be forgiven the occasional hiccup. She stared up at him, balancing the rebut evenly. "What is it," he rumbled, robbed of his moment.
"I was going to suggest a multi-faceted strategy. Your fixation, Belthazor, will incur the wrath of the Charmed Ones, and their vast resources. Your predecessors failed to target them directly, and separating them proved difficult as well, but almost certainly their strength lies in their ties to one another, and their friends. Your humble servant simply wanted you to keep that in mind," She dropped her gaze and curtseyed slightly. He looked down at her, and without seeing her eyes he could sense the gears turning. He had figured her out days ago; she was a manipulator. It was her intent to work him in such a way to achieve something that would be ultimately be influential for her. Still, it begged the question that if the weapon she had given him was so powerful, then why free him, why not use it herself. He sighed, as if resigning himself, again, to her counsel. It was dangerous, a person with so much foresight and obviously shifty allegiances, being near him. In the end, though, fear and indecision were never his strong points. Demons of legend weren't much for indecision, and certainly not fear. He surged to his feet slowly, everyone in the assembly taking a step backwards.
"I think it's time I introduce myself to this new age, and this new age to my own old one. We earned the enmity and fear of those below us because we drove our enemies before us; no quarter, no peace. I think you've all forgotten that," he strode forward, catching the Seer's eyes as he moved past her. "It's time I remind you of who I am, and where I sit," he brought a hand up, quick like a snake, to snatch at the throat of the wide-eyed demon, the rest of his report forgotten in a painful spasm. Red electricity crackled about his head, out of his eyes and mouth. "Now, where was this place you saw Belthazor?" he asked. The demon choked, attempting in vain, to pry his hand open. Slowly, he pushed his way through the immediate, frantic thoughts of the lesser demon, and into his memory. He threw things away, took what he wanted, tramped around as he pleased until he had what he sought and then released his grip, letting the lesser demon crumple to the floor, smoke billowing from his ears and eyes. He pondered for a moment, playing the memories in his own mind. "In the past, a gesture such as this would prompt any and all of my competitors to clamber for my empty seat. I welcome all pretenders; after I destroy the enemies above it will make it easier to seek out the disloyal down here," and with that he stepped elsewhere, leaving a vile pocket of air in his place for a moment.
Eyes glanced from one another, and then at the now vacant throne. Everyone present had to admit that things had changed. Even those demons powerful enough to have survived the earlier ravishing a the hands of Belthazor were afraid. Empty, the throne seemed safe. Worried looks all around, the Seer wore a very slight, but definite smile.
Cole Turner had long been accustomed to act for others, or at least, he had long been accustomed to act for one other. In fact, most recently he had put her wants far above his own; nothing motivated him except for getting her back, and failing that, keeping her safe. Now, as he pulled to a stop in front of Halliwell manor, he had a new range of strangeness to adjust to. He knew he should be elsewhere, specifically working the miracle of getting himself moved even earlier than his insistences had earned him. It would take a lot of effort to get his new building to move up the move in date; and with all of his belongings with him it certainly looked like he was set to move in with Phoebe at the manor, which wasn't what either of them needed. Still, he knew that she would need to see him. He knew that he needed to see her. So similar were the two sentiments that they were almost the same, like what she wanted was what he wanted. The lines were beginning to blur.
He thought for a minute, letting the palms of his hands rub against the leather of his steering wheel, just trying to divine out the sense of his actions. There were so many emotions, jumbled together because so much space was being taken up by simply wanting her, and wanting her to be happy. Ultimately he decided to get out of his car, if only for air. As if to solidify his earlier thinking into one concrete fact, he watched Phoebe exit the manor and lock eyes with him. There was a moment of terror, of what she might think, him outside with his whole life in his car, but then she sprinted down to him without hesitation and into his arms. With that, all the jumbled emotions dissolved away and there was just the overwhelming correctness at his holding her, and her holding him.
"I was worried," He shushed her, breathed in the smell of her hair. "Paige said," he shushed her again, and he felt her dig her face into his chest.
"I want to admit," he began after a long moment. "that I was worried, am worried, but us holding each other makes everything seem good, and nothing bad," he heard a muffled affirmation from her, and he allowed some space between them. She started to say something, but stopped when she looked up into his eyes. As always, Cole wondered what it was she saw when she looked at him.
"Leo has news. We've got potions, and we have a reconnaissance plan, fact-finding. We're going to fight this thing, and we're going to be ready," he put his hands on the sides of her face and kissed her forehead. Her strength was incredible; he was worried about not going insane and messing up the best thing that ever happened to him. She was focused on saving the world from ultimate evil, again. He smiled, laughing at himself.
"I figured as much. I, uh, just stopped by because I thought I'd check in. I'm on my way,"
"You're staying tonight," she interrupted, allowing no argument. He opened his mouth but she pressed a delicate finger across his lips, and he simply nodded. She took his hand in hers and lead him inside.
She hadn't been joking about their preparedness. It seemed like they had been making potions almost non-stop for a month. Blues and purples and reds and yellows, greens and pinks, there was a potion for each color and then some. Leo's information from the elders suggested the demon was young enough to have been imprisoned by his contemporaries, during the beginning of evil's infighting, but old enough for his prison to have been forgotten, or lost. The book of shadows had been exhausted; the demon's window of influence on the world before its prison term predated the book. Cole was almost glad he no longer had the power to shimmer; he would've felt obligated to go seek information in the underworld, and he didn't want to have that conversation. Additionally, he didn't want to go. Cole was determined to do right by Phoebe, whatever it took, to earn her trust, her love, and to be with her, he would do. He didn't have a lot of experience with understanding what those were, but he was up for the challenge.
"This is for you," Piper pushed a pen and pad at him at one point as the planning went deeper into the night. He frowned at the blank space, and looked at her.
"We need you to right down as many of the powers you had that you knew about that you can remember, and if you think it matters, what kind of demon you got them from," she frowned, thinking, but even her concentration seemed too much to interrupt. "no, write those down too, if you can remember," she turned a few pages in the pad. "please tell me you won't need more paper than this," she said, staring at him seriously. He shook his head slowly. She nodded, confidently, and went on to something else. Paige was bundling potions, a technique he gathered that had originated with their escape from the special magical barrier they were trapped in back when… he gripped the pen, pushing the memory from his mind and began writing.
"Focused, aren't they?" Leo said, looking over at his shoulder at his growing list. Cole took a moment to stare at Phoebe, who was talking logistics with Piper. He nodded. "When they set their sights on something, they can work miracles," the comment made him look up at Leo.
"You think we'll need a miracle?" he asked. Leo shook his head.
"No, no I'm just saying," he fidgeted. Cole decided not to push, looking around the room, figuring that whatever was bothering Leo should be fairly obvious to anyone paying attention. They had potions, spells, wards. They were vigilant; they were poised. Cole frowned, thinking back on the information they'd been provided. One of the demons had gotten away, so whoever it was knew that the Charmed Ones were aware. Knew that they'd be ready. Knew that the next time it wasn't going to be easy.
"Why hasn't anything else happened," Cole said, pondering, looking down at the list of powers this new force had, that he had once wielded. Things were beginning to take shape, and they were adding up to he and everyone he loved being on the losing side. He just didn't know how.
The witch raised her hands to evoke another protection spell but her wounds made her sluggish and the demon's hand landed on her forehead, and just before death, she could feel his magic smothering every bit of her with lightning and fire. He spared her a long death, snapping her neck with a flick of his wrist. It was unnecessary to read her memories; he knew where the item was. Oddly enough, every member of the coven was aware of the location, which seemed extremely liberal, but then again it was a new world. He stepped over her body, towards the stairs of the expansive mansion.
Once he had come up into the light, there was little else to do but gain his bearings before he could smell the specific auras: intensely good magic, passive and stagnant, laid over palpable evil magic, aggressive and hungry. Even in his youth many of the stories surrounded great artifacts forged for the soul purpose of cleaving open the barriers between worlds. Generally the craftsmanship was such that they could never be completely destroyed, only shrouded and protected. Entire orders were born out of the desire to keep such things from the light of day; and it was just like humanity to transform those sacred artifacts into legends, myths, stories of warning.
He walked into the bedroom of what must have been the family matriarch, scanning the room for only a moment before discovering the item at the end of a dusty staff in the closet. Holding it brought him no pleasure, however. So much had been lost; these witches, just like the last, had used their shard of the artifact as their family crest. Likely someone had lost or misinterpreted the text that dealt with the item's best handling and keeping, and it was thought to be a trinket, or a family heirloom, the good magics locking the evil, proof of that. Tragic, he thought; not only had evil become a shadow of its former self, so had good. He lusted for the old ways, the old times. This was the perfect ploy to lure the Charmed Ones to their doom, but maybe this world did need slaying. A scream brought him out of his revelry. He could smell the scent of magic, and grief, and then it was gone. He thought for a moment, then disregarded chasing the woman down. Little could be done to stop him now, and even then, he wanted them to seek him out, away from their home, away from their books. A real battle was to be conducted on neutral ground. He reached into his robe and fished out a matching piece of beautiful metalwork to the one already at hand. They were both curved and twisted impossibly, with fine rune work along the sides. He snapped them together, carefully, and watched as some of the good magics fell away from the mighty artifact.
"Now," he said to the small object. "Lead me to your last sibling, and maybe we will both be whole."