(A/N: It's possible some of you may recognize the OC in this chapter, but I've changed her name because I used a much earlier, less developed, and less interesting version of her in an older story several years ago. If anyone here happens to be from the old RP forums I used to run, you're much more likely to recognize this version of her.

Just thought I'd bring it up in case someone is like, "Wait a minute...!")

Into the Dawn - Chapter Ten

Miles thought he had known the meaning of true dread. Six months prior as he dwelt in his basement room, a chained prisoner, trying to comprehend the existence of vampires and watching the clock tick ever closer to sundown, he'd thought he understood what it meant to be truly terrified. So many times he had feared for his life, seriously believed he was about to die.

...But this...

He was going to lose his mind; he was sure of it. The screaming... Oh, god, the screaming! He couldn't see what was happening from where he and the other captives were being held, but he could hear everything. He had no idea what time it was or for how long they had been there, but so far he had watched a total of four people, taken one at a time, dragged out of this side room. First had been the male gunner, then the female gunner, then Christina. The most recent had been the teenaged boy, and it was his screams that now drilled into Miles' very core. Each person taken out would scream for hours. The nature, volume, and frequency of the cries would vary, but never the overtone of agony.

He was starting to think they were the lucky ones...

Everyone left waiting in this room, bound and gagged, knew their turn was coming, but they did not know when. They were left to stew in abject terror, forced to imagine what was happening out in the ballroom and wonder which of those horrors they would themselves suffer. If Miles was still sane by the time he was chosen, he would count it a sadistic miracle. Those people that had come before... Their suffering was over. They were at peace and knew no pain, no terror, no sorrow, nothing.

He was just trying to tune it out, trying so hard to mentally escape. He was trying to think of Phoenix, hold his face in his mind's eye and hold it tight. Unfortunately, that face kept staring back at him with dead, glassy eyes, and would sometimes transform into that of the woman he'd watched die, the woman whose knife rested uselessly against his left shoulder. He couldn't think about Phoenix without thinking of how he wouldn't wake, and that only added to his feeling of utter hopelessness.

He had tried. He had given it his all. They all had, but they had failed. Now, they were all to be systematically tortured to death for the amusement of others. Not for the first time, hot tears began to leak from beneath his tightly closed eyelids, but they were silent. He was too petrified, too weary, too defeated even to sob as he wept.

At last, the poor young man's screams faded away, and Miles knew he had been granted the mercy of death. The sounds of whimpering and panicked breathing started up around him again, as they all knew what was coming next. Any of them could be the next chosen, the next to meet their slow, agonizing end before the eyes of the world. Miles didn't make a sound, nor did he open his eyes as footsteps approached.

"It is nearly dawn. Perhaps we should just leave them for tonight."

"Oh no, amiga, you promised. I will have him before we rest."

An exasperated sigh. "Right, fine, but just this last one. And this is the last time I deal with the bleeds just so you can have your fun."

The familiar female voice was getting closer. "Hey, no one said you had to film it. I just don't like being denied."

"Mason said we had to film it, especially this one."

"Whatever." Miles gasped when he felt someone take hold of the rope binding his hands, and he knew exactly what this meant. As he was dragged across the floor by that rope, he knew he would no longer have to listen to the shrieks of other people dying; he would only have to hear his own for a while, and then it would be over.

I'm sorry, Phoenix... I couldn't save us...

Would Phoenix feel it when he died, or was he already gone? He recalled that, while they weren't actually bonded, Phoenix had always had a sense of where he was, if a vague one. So, if Phoenix was still alive and aware, he would surely feel it when that presence was no more. In that case, he supposed it would be best to hope Phoenix wasn't aware anymore. He didn't want the man he loved to suffer...

Miles was lifted off the floor and grunted when his back hit something hard. It was at this point that he dared to open his eyes, basic human curiosity compelling him to know where he was and who was around him. He was in the ballroom, of course, and now lay atop one of the tables. The scent of blood and other putrid odors permeated the air and nearly made him choke.

And, standing over him - as he's suspected - was Catarina. She wore a smirk of fiendish delight, her eyes filled with a kind of bestial hunger and lust he'd not ever seen in Phoenix's, even during his worst lapses of self-control. Before he could look away, he felt himself being drawn into that gaze, losing all sense of his surroundings and himself. It was a sensation he had not experienced in many months.

"You are going to do everything I tell you, exactly as I tell you to. Isn't that right?"

"...Yes... Of course..."

"No matter the pain or humiliation it will cause you, you will obey without hesitation."

"...Yes..."

"Very good."

He felt a rush like falling backward several feet, causing him to gasp. It ws only then that he actually realized the gag had been removed; he didn't remember that happening, but... he had spoken, hadn't he? The ropes binding his wrists and ankles were also removed, and while he was now free to move about, he had no thoughts of even attempting escape. It would be a futile act of foolish desperation, and could perhaps even prolong his suffering.

It was then that he spotted the camera a few feet behind Catarina, another woman he did not recognize operating it. A little red light indicated that it was currently recording, and he knew it was focused on him.

"Now, my dear, why don't you tell the nice folks at home who you are?"

He could think of many, many reasons why not to speak, the most important of them being that he had absolutely no desire to. However, he felt a compulsion that he could not explain telling him that he had to, and his lips seemed to move almost without his consent.

"...I am High Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth of Los Angeles, California..."

"Very good," Catarina said in mock praise. "And now, tell them what is about to happen to you."

His voice was already so choked with fear that speaking was difficult, but these next words only made it out because some force inside of him demanded it. "...I-I am about to die..."

Catarina gave a malevolent giggle. "Oh, such a smart little chico. Rather handsome, as well. That suit fits your appearance quite well, but... I think I would rather you be without it for our time spent together. After all, I would hate for it to be ruined; it looks expensive. Remove it, but do not rush."

He was certain his heart had not stopped racing throughout this entire night, and while he was utterly amazed it was still going at all, it had left his body feeling so weak and weary that simply moving on his own sounded like a feat of strength. That was to say nothing of the stiffness in his muscles and his sheer unwillingness to comply with her command, but despite it all, he forced his body to respond and sat up. He felt as though the tears should still be flowing or that his face should at least be burning with humiliation, but he just felt numb. Stiff, unfeeling fingers went to the back of his neck where his lace cravat was tied and he began working it loose, just staring down at the blood-stained tablecloth beneath him.

She'd told him to strip: she hadn't ordered him to look at either her or the camera while he did it.

When he had unfastened the accessory and drawn it away, he felt the frigid air caress his neck and heard a hum of delight from Catarina. "Already such an improvement! Keep going." The order to do so had been pointless, really, as he was already in the process of drawing off his jacket. She would soon see the knife and confiscate it, not that it would do him any good at this point. He let his jacket simply fall to the table behind him, and then reached up to begin working at the buttons of his black waistcoat.

Catarina laughed aloud. "Well, well, well! What is that? I must say, I did not expect such a dignified, high-society man such as yourself to be armed with such a formidable weapon. Out of curiosity, do you even know how to use one of those?"

"...Not effectively..." he mumbled, just focusing on his task, his disheveled bangs hanging down in front of his face to partially hide it from view. It was the best method of concealing himself he had, as all other layers would soon be peeled away.

He had only two buttons left on his vest when Catarina suddenly spoken, sounding tense. "Wait. What was that?"

It was by her statement of 'wait' that his hands stopped their descent, though this was one order he would not complain about. She wasn't looking at him anymore, and her demeanor made him start to look around as she was. He didn't hear anything, but then again, he wasn't a vampire.

Without warning, a deafening crash shook the entire structure. Glass shattered, gargoyles toppled from their perches to crack the hardwood below them, drywall splintered and flew everywhere along with a massive cloud of dust and debris, and Miles found himself flat on his back, staring at the eastern horizon through a missing portion of wall.

Screaming... He could hear more screaming, and it was not his own. A shrill, piercing, unearthly shriek bore into his brain, and for its duration he thought it might render him unconscious.

By contrast, warm sunlight bathed his face, and he inhaled as though he could breathe it in.

As if the screams had paralyzed him, he found himself able to look around once they died away. He did not see Catarina or the woman filming, but he did see people rushing in through the opening. Some were clearly members of SWAT, while others wore a black uniform he couldn't quite place. He was now surrounded by shouting and gun blasts and he couldn't really comprehend any of it. He stayed frozen, but before he'd known what had happened, he found himself on the floor, under the table instead of atop it.

"Stay down there, Ruffles!" called a woman's voice he didn't recognize from a source he could not see. He really didn't know if the words were even meant for him, but he had no intention of moving. His utter fatigue and the tumultuous chaos drove him into sensory overload, and it all started to just fade into the background, leaving him only somewhat lucid. He couldn't feel anything and couldn't focus on any aspect of his immediate surroundings.

Now, this is somewhat odd... i can't seem to recall my elementary school band director's name... I remember I was quite fond of her as an instructor, and she of me as a young flautist... Come to think of it... I don't remember any of my old teacher's names... Is my memory really so poor...? I wonder if I remember how to play the flute... It has been nearly twenty years, but would it not feel somewhat familiar...? Phoenix would certainly be amused... or he would make some crass joke, suggesting I should play the flute while kneeling instead... He has certainly proven to be more lewd than I had expected... I cannot say I mind terribly, if I am to be honest with myself... It is a nice change of pace from how the rest of the world-

"Miles!"

As if he'd just been dragged up from beneath a pool of water, the world came back into focus all at once. His head was throbbing, his body ached, his ears burned, his eyes stung, his throat was dry, and he felt an overwhelming urge to vomit. He rolled over onto his hands and knees just in time as he began retching violently. What came out was mostly liquid, as he'd had nothing to eat in over twenty-four hours, but that did not stop him from emptying the contents of his stomach and then dry-heaving for a solid minute.

Somewhere in the midst of this ordeal, he realized someone was holding his hair back and supporting him with an arm under his chest. When the reflex finally stopped, he stayed just as he was, gasping for air, trying to blink away the moisture clouding his vision.

"God... Miles... I'm so sorry..."

One of his breaths hitched in his throat at the sound of that voice, a voice he knew all too well. He turned abruptly, but relief and joy became utter confusion as he looked at the face of his lover. "...Ph... Phoenix...? W-wha...?" His voice was so hoarse he barely recognized it, but his need for water was the least of his worries.

Phoenix was holding him, looking back at him, but nothing was right. The first thing Miles noticed were his eyes: they looked human, the eyes he remembered meeting from across a courtroom. Next was the tone of his skin - It's not pale enough... - and the way he was dressed - Where on earth did he get that?!

Lastly, he noticed the strip of sunlight falling across his lover's face, noticed how it was not burning him. He stared, unable to comprehend this, not wanting to. Phoenix wasn't human anymore and never would be again, so that was not what he was seeing. In his current state, no other logical conclusions came to him, but his gut feeling of dread told him all he needed to know: this was nothing good.

"M-Miles, I'll... I'll explain in a minute. Just... Just come here..." Miles was drawn to Phoenix's chest and he went willingly, putting most of his weight on his lover, who somehow seemed to be a bit strained beneath it. Miles knew he should have wept as he buried his face in the fabric of the gray sweater at Phoenix's shoulder, but he was too drained even to cry. He just lay there and breathed, inhaled a scent that was only partially familiar. He didn't even move when he heard Phoenix suddenly call out to someone. "H-hey, over here! Someone needs medical attention over here!"

A mewling cry of protest was all Miles could manage when someone began trying to take him away from his lover's arms. He clutched that sweater like a lifeline, but even Phoenix was trying to get him to relinquish his grip.

"Miles, it's okay. Shhh... It's okay. They're here to help. I'm going to stay right here beside you, I promise."

He didn't have the strength left to resist for long and he was soon laid out on his back, something unexpectedly soft beneath him. He tried to keep his gaze on Phoenix's face, but his vision was growing steadily more unfocused, his auditory beginning to fail him. He was sinking back into that pool of water, but this time he didn't want to go. He wanted to see Phoenix! He couldn't be apart from Phoenix again or they would surely lose one another! He struggled, pushing weakly at the hands of strangers that tried to keep him below the surface, keep him still, but he just didn't have the strength to swim up.

In the end he sank, and the darkness swallowed him.

Phoenix's lip trembled as he watched his poor Miles in such a frantic state. It was clear the man didn't really understand where he was or what was going on, but at least the sedative was kicking in and he'd sleep for a little while. He obviously needed the rest; Phoenix could only imagine what he had been through beyond what he himself had witnessed.

"Try not to worry," said one of the EMTs as he pulled one of the gurney straps over Miles' left arm. "It doesn't look like he's suffered any severe physical injuries. He's probably just exhausted and dehydrated, nothing we can't fix."

Phoenix swallowed and took in a shaky breath. "Yeah... Thanks..." was all he could manage, regretting he couldn't make it sound more sincere. He was grateful that Miles would be cared for, but he knew his lover's pain was not at an end. All of those monsters were dead, but...

...so was he...

Phoenix stood there helpless and lost as Miles was tended to, glancing around on occasion to see all the others that were receiving attention. He saw none of the other vampires he'd been captured alongside, but that was to be expected, as it was daylight. Being out in the sun was a very odd feeling after an entire year spent in either darkness or artificial light, but he really couldn't find it within himself to enjoy the feeling.

"Damn! For a bunch of unarmed humans, the captives here sure packed a wallop!"

Phoenix turned to come face-to-face with one of the F.B.I. Spec. Ops. agents that had accompanied the police here, a woman whose boisterous demeanor and fiery red hair had caught his attention upon first meeting her. Agent ... something Nyxier, if memory served. She was wearing a black uniform just like the other agents and armed to the teeth; he counted ten weapons, and he was sure there were twice as many he couldn't see. She was also wearing sunglasses, and while it made sense now, she'd been wearing them since three in the morning when he'd first encountered her and her squad.

"Ah... Really? How so?" He was honestly a little intimidated by this woman, as she was nearly his height, and though he wouldn't describe her as bulky, he could tell that the shape under that uniform was mostly hard muscle. Had he still been vampire, he'd probably feel differently, but that wasn't the case.

She tossed her head to throw her bangs out of her eyes before answering. "You said there were like fifteen to twenty of those Imperialist guys, right? We only found four. They're dead now!" She grinned cheerily.

Phoenix chewed his lower lip. "Uh... That... might mean they all left before we got here, last night or something." With that possibility, he didn't understand how she could be smiling.

The agent shrugged. "Well, we found a shit-ton of ash heaps chillin' out down there, soooo..."

Phoenix's eyes widened a little in surprise and he glanced over at Miles, who was by now sound asleep. "Oh, wow... How did they...?"

"Looks like a bomb went off down there, and we found a bunch of bullets." That grin stayed plastered on her face, and Phoenix himself couldn't stop the tiny smile that curved his own lips. He felt certain that Miles had had a hand in that, somehow. He felt a sense of pride, glad to know that, after all he'd been through, Miles could still find his own strength and make a stand.

"By the way, you are the creepiest motherfucker I've ever met!"

"Umm... Sorry, you mean me?" he asked, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie as he did not know what else to do with them. "How... exactly am I creepy?" He wasn't even a vampire anymore!

She was grinning at him; she always looked way too happy about the most morbid things. "Unless you've got a twin brother that's a vampire, you're totally in two places at once right now. It's fuckin' creepy! Stop it!"

"Eh... Umm... Well..." Abashed, Phoenix reached up to toy with the knot at the back of his beanie. He was considering how best to explain his current situation to her and whether or not to even try.

And then realization dawned on him. "W-wait, what did you just say?"

She was smirking at him all of a sudden. "I think you heard me just fine, Spike."

His heart was drumming an intense cadence against his ribs as he glanced toward the lobby beyond the ballroom, then back at his lover. He had to go see for himself, as odd as it sounded, but he didn't want to leave Miles, especially if they were about to load him into the ambulance and take him away.

"Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on Ruffles for you." And now, there was something more friendly about her smile, the fourth expression he'd seen on her face within the last thirty seconds. He wasn't entirely sure if trusting her was a good idea, but then again, Miles was in the hands of the medics and he was unconscious.

"I'll... I-I'll be back up in a few minutes," he finally said before racing off toward the stairs, trying to avoid slipping on all the gore left everywhere. As he flew downward, he briefly wondered exactly how that agent seemed to know what was going on, but he couldn't worry about it right then.

There was quite a bit of activity down below in the storeroom as well. All of the captive vampires had been freed, though since it was daylight, some were just lying on the floor in a restive state anyhow. Others were tentatively awake, talking with agents or feeding from their humans. Some of them gave him extremely strange looks, but until he neared the back wall, no one spoke to him.

"Mr. Wright, what on Earth...?" Chief Councilor Anaija was sitting against the wall, looking groggy. She stared at him, then looked to her right, then back at him. She next rubbed her eyes, as if they were to blame. Phoenix swallowed hard and slowly shifted his gaze to follow her glance.

It was the strangest feeling, standing there awake and breathing while looking at his own motionless, pale corpse. To say the sight made him uneasy was a massive understatement, but he drew a little closer anyway. He couldn't quite comprehend this: he was here, but he was also there. By all rights, he should have been looking at a pile of ash wearing tripp pants.

At least someone had done him the courtesy of removing the silver chains, even though he was unresponsive - dead, for all intensive purposes.

"Any chance you can explain to me what's going on?"

He was drawn out of his daze by the Councilwoman's voice, and he turned to fix her with a perplexed expression. "I can try, Chief Councilor, but I'm a little lost myself." He paused, chewing his lip. "Umm... So... I have this friend that's a spirit medium. She can channel the spirits of the dead into her body and bring them into this world for a time. A-apparently, she... erm... was able to channel me... even though I wasn't truly dead. I... have no idea how that works, and I don't know what's going to happen when i... uh... leave her body..." Slowly, he turned his gaze back to his own shell, feeling queasy.

Anaija stared at him for a long time, and then slowly shook her head in disbelief. "Wonder of wonders..." she muttered. "Just when I think I have dwelt here long enough to understand undeath, the state of limbo in which we exist, something new comes along to humble me."

Somehow, Phoenix found it in himself to chuckle. "Actually, that kinda' sounds like life in general..." He trailed off, staring at his still body for a few more silent seconds, then sighing. "I'm... going back upstairs. I, uh... I don't know. I might see you tonight, or... I might just..." He stopped, unable to bring himself to give voice to what he feared was the alternative. "Rest well, Chief Councilor."

"Mr. Wright."

"Huh?" He had been halfway through turning around when he stopped to look back at her.

"Your human. Is he... still alive?"

He watched her eyes, and through the haze of weariness he could see pain. "He is." He didn't elaborate, and her next words made him glad of his decision.

"I am glad to hear it. My Christina... did not survive the night. It is a hurt which I have never before experienced, and I cannot rest because of it. If you reawaken, and if you bond with him... don't ever make such a careless mistake as I did..."

It wasn't something Phoenix needed to be told, but he understood that she had probably just needed to tell someone, to find some sort of companionship in her grief. "I'm sorry for your loss, Chief Councilor. I... wish we could have arrived sooner. But... thank you for the warning. If I wake up back in my own body, you... You still have my full support, for what it's worth."

She gave him a weak smile. "You have spirit; I'll give you that. We won't let this discourage us... We won in the end... We just... have to lick our wounds."

A macabre grin spread across his lips. "We're vampires, Councilwoman. I'm sure we'll be quite efficient at that."