"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions,"

~Unknown

"Perhaps you have seen him in a dream. A figure that you can never quite focus your sight on, an unsettling companion who stays just out of your reach. He is a man that knows everything about you, your noble trials your sinful thoughts, and your most binding vices. Once you have spoken with him, he will never leave you. He is always there lurking in your waking mind and within your dreamscapes."

Prelude

Thunder unfurled its low voice across the storm darkened heavens. Spindles of lightening chased the wind among the clouds, and the air smelled of sweet rain. Ed was here again, standing at the very edge of a grassy escarpment. Huge slabs of granite jutted from the edges, draped in emerald tangles of ivy. Sprawled below him was a city, ancient and glorious the lights from the marble buildings twinkling in the oncoming dusk. Beyond this, snow covered mountains loomed in the distance their peaks piercing the sky like an open maw of a beast.

He knew that this was not Woodcrest, this place wasn't within the same realm as the small town his family owned. He gave a mirthless laugh the sound shattered on the wind as frail as the foolish gangster façade he donned every day. Owned was an understatement, his grandfather reigned over that town, a tyrant attired in an elegant suit who clasped his blood stained hands with others in deals that were more binding than that of the devil, who sat on a throne of corpses. How Ed loathed it, everywhere he went he saw his sire name, so he could never forget where he came from, where his roots were settled, and whose blood ran through his veins. But here there were no embalms etched with his initials, and his name was not embossed on every surface shamelessly proclaiming exactly who owned the very foundations of the city.

No, wherever he was it felt more home to him than the suburban city where he had spent all of his life. So much had been lost to him in Woodcrest. Somewhere between the mortal wound of losing both his parents and his addictions to the finest vices that money could buy he had misplaced himself somewhere. But here some persistent bygone instinct as wise the very Gods told him that this was where his true bloodline had begun, welling up from the soil to sweep across archaic realms that had crafted an Empire that would overtake world covering it in wealth and drowning it with blood. There was solace here, the weight of his life, his sins, of the burdens that he bared shackled to his neck were gone. The constant grief of losing his parents was absent, and the hatred that always lurked in the very core of his soul was now just a lingering presence.

He could see everything with such clarity! The haze of alcohol and drugs no longer obstructed his sight, and he felt as though a part of his soul had awoken from a long slumber and was peeking out from behind his mortal eyes. He could tell by the touch of silk against his skin that he was dressed in a suit, and the weight at his hip told him he had a gun. He absent mindedly curled his fingers around the butt of the 1911 Hardballer*. Suddenly a gust of wind rolled down from the distant mountains causing him to narrow his eyes against its frigid sting.

The icy gale swirled around his body in a cold embrace, whipping though his hair and cloths, it carried the scent of fresh blood and recently broken earth. He felt a sudden presence loom beside him and the entity that had been borne on the arboreal wind found its place beside him. It wasn't threatening nor comforting just nonchalantly aberrant much like his own shadow. But he knew that could change in an instant, the thing was a slavering wolf in sheep's clothing. It had an aura that crept into Ed's senses and conquered all of them without him even realizing it. It had the ability to hook its claws into his brain and shift though his thoughts and memories as though it were looking for some buried relic in a coffer. So he kept himself guarded against any intrusion, slamming the portal shut to his mind with all the precautions of a kingdom locking its gates to invaders. This presence didn't startle him for he had spoken with his visitor on many occasion since he was a child. This however didn't mean he knew who the specter was and was still uncertain as what it represented, he only knew that it was male and what kind of cloths it wore.

He didn't bother addressing the figure beside him, it was pointless. The wraith had the infuriating habit of exchanging words only when it felt like speaking. Even then it never gave a straight forward answer, sometimes it didn't acknowledge that it had been asked a question. It chose to be enigmatic, sometimes even nonsensical, threading words together that would clash with Ed's sanity. He would give Ed an uneasy feeling as though his mind were unraveling and he was trying to stitch his sanity back together with trembling fingers and a dulled needle. So it was best to let it speak with first, rather than take the first step in their verbal duel.

Somewhere in the back of his mind a frightened jibbering little voice hissed that he was in in the presence of the of the Fallen Angel Lucifer. He ignored this idiotic declaration, all the tales he heard of the rebel archangel described him as a creature of hypnotizing allure, and he had never seen this figures face. He had always imagined that Lucifer, the greatest sufferer of vanity, would appear to mortals wearing his finest mask of forged false beauty. That didn't however make this wraith any less unsettling; every time Ed would alter his stance the man beside him would shift so that he lurked on the peripheral of his vision. However, Ed was always able to identify him because he was always attired in the same way. His odd companion dressed in a tailored silk Black Cherry Jacquard vest with brass buttons that lined that the frontal seam; this vestment covered a crisp white shirt complete with a length of black silken ribbon tied just above the elbow and dangled down to his wrist. A velvet Barrington top hat rested at an easy angle on his head over long, curling tresses of hair the color of pyre smoke. Elegant obsidian trousers tapered down to a pair of knee high equestrian boots were belted at a slim waist with a silver buckle.

Tonight he was wearing a charcoal colored Callahan frock coat the very edge halting at the backs of his knees.

Sometimes Ed could glimpse a spark of light that caught the silver finish of a pocket watch that would be clasped in his hand. Other times Ed would be able to see the spine of a worn tome casually grasped at his side the pages marked with a slim finger. One one occasion he had appeared astride a great cinder colored stallion surrounded by a freezing ethereal mist. Tonight however neither words nor time seemed to hold the strangers attention, as mentioned he was alone, and his hands were bare and clad in a pair of gloves.

"I thought I would find you here Faolan*,"

Green eyes shifted to give the elegantly dressed man beside him a cursory glance,

"As I have told you before that is not my name though I can't say I am surprised that you have appeared to rob me of my peace."

A gentle laugh crept to his ears with all the curling laziness of smoke, his old rage cracked a crimson eye, shifted in his belly, growled then settled back down.

"I know you better than you know yourself boy."

Ed made a dismissive sound, a sneer formed on his lips, and returned his attention to the city below him,

"All these times I have spoken to you and you have yet to give me the courtesy of your name,"

The figure replied in the soft threatening tone of sword being drawn from its sheath and said,

"You know me Edward just as all men do. I stand beside them throughout the rambling course of their existence and watch all their triumphs and all their sins. And I always remember."

Ed tilted his head trying to catch a glimpse of the man beside him but he pulled his old trick and stayed just on the edge of his sight. He growled in annoyance and instead decided to ask him a question.

"Going to repeat my follies to me again?"

He figure shifted and slipped his slender hands in his pockets, a moment or two danced past on tempest heavy wind before he replied.

"You don't believe the words I say to you, what would be the purpose of wasting my breath?"

Ed swallowed back the snort of laughter that threatened to crawl up his throat, he was very sure that this shade didn't waste its time on something as trivial and mortal as breathing.

"Then why are you here?"

The question came out quiet but threatening,

"To talk."

The words sounded as though they had been spoken to Ed as though he were submerged under water. His vision clouded for a moment before fading back to clarity. He knew what had just happened, the thing beside had reached out and was trying to probe his mind with ethereal fingers. Ed shook his head, forcefully shoving the feeling out his consciousness.

"Keep your filthy fucking hands out of my head,"

The man beside him seemed to disregard the statement and instead started to hum a soft tune, its melody striking a chord within Ed's heart that ran through his very soul, he swayed as though drunk as it almost knocked him off balance. This was his punishment for locking him from his thoughts. The first time it has happened the world has dissolved into a realm of suffocating nightmares, that had left him reeling from sleep to vomit all over his lush velvet bedspread. The feeling wasn't so overwhelming now, over the years he had learned to neatly side step the invasion into his thoughts almost as well as his creepy companion avoided being seen.

"Why do you keep appearing to me, how do I know you?"

The man rocked back on his heels and said,

"Isn't this a beautiful spot Edward, your father thought so."

Ed gripped the 1911 harder, his anger twitched in his gut. The wraith was switching tactics now, knowing that if Ed lost his temper his concentration would snap leaving his mind open. Ed drew in a deep breath trying to quell his fury. His companion often made him mad with rage whispering to him things that he didn't want to hear about himself, words that he knew were truth that he didn't want to face. But usually this didn't happen as swiftly as it was now. He would toy with Edward's emotions as a predator would idly play with its prey. After a while he would tire of this and slit Edwards's throat with his keen accusations. Ed's words came out through clenched teeth,

"Tell me your fucking name and where you know me from!"

He heard a wistful sigh and could just glimpse the man beside him incline his head back to look at the night sky. He was silent for so long that Ed thought that he wasn't going to answer. He was surprised when he finally replied and it wasn't a nonsensical riddle.

"Well, I know you from Maryland, and I know you from the scorching desert sands of the Middle East, I know your mother, your father…I know you from all over, and I know you all over even better than Gin, I know you soul, your scars, your grief…,"

His old wrath snapped awake at the mention of his lovers name and came snarling to its feet baying for blood. It sprang from its resting place in his bowels, and tore through his veins leaving behind a flare of white hot rage before it settled in his brain glaring out from his eyes. Before Ed was aware of what he was doing his gun was torn free of the leather holster at his side. The steel glimmered in the starlight; cold and promising. He took a swift step backwards and for once seemed to have been more agile than his visitor. He was staring down the sight of the Hardballer, looking at the figures back. The realization that he finally had this wraith fully within his vision was startling, but it didn't tamp down his ferocity.

"If you don't tell me your name I won't be responsible for what happens," he said.

The wraith cackled and touched the brim of his hat in farewell, before he turned away in a flare of gold threaded silk. He began to stroll off into the gloom of the night. His voice was tinged with laughter,

"Oh, but you will. You will be responsible, your father learned that the hard way. Ah, this is a perfect spot. See you around Faolan,"

Ed narrowed his eyes and curled his finger tighter around the trigger,

"God, damn you,"

The voice that floated back to him was brimming with barely controlled mirth,

"Yes, many have my young Wuncler many have,"

The muzzle of his gun flared twice its roar almost drowning out the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. Both slugs struck the man in the spine, blood spurted against the night, catching the mercury light of the stars but the figure didn't even falter in his steps. Ed growled in frustration and leveled the gun higher right at the base of the retreating man's skull.

"Go back to hell, and leave me alone."

He squeezed the trigger again, and the beast in his head gave a howl of triumph as the bullet tore through the back of the man's skull in a burst of blood, teeth and gore. Finally. A sickly smile tainted his face and he gave a mocking laugh.

"Rest well you fu-,"

In time it took for him to blink the body was gone leaving being a smear of crimson on the grass. He heard a rustle of silk behind him mingled with the blood-wet sound of a breath being drawn in. He tried to pivot around his rage melting away to terror as a slim hand as brumal as the touch of Azrael grasped the back of his neck with the force of an iron manacle. He swung his gun around but found his wrist captured by steely blood-speckled fingers and painfully pinned behind his back. He felt a weight settle on his shoulder, warm blood dripped down the side of his throat as the figure pressed the mangled side of his face against his own. The voice that whispered to him was distorted, hissed through bullet broken teeth,

"The Hell I occupy is the one in your head, and I will never leave you alone Edward,"

*Faolan- meaning little wolf

*1911 Hardballer- The Hardballer series of pistols all share a brushed stainless steel finish and a wide target style trigger with adjustable trigger stop. The later Galena-made pistols have an elongated "beavertail" grip safety and a beveled magazine well. So in other words a very powerful and deadly weapon.