AN: Oh yeah, I did something different—there's a continuation of the quote at the bottom, 'kay?

And yes, throughout this whole chapter I was trying to create suspense. And muahaha, I hope I'm successful. Ahem, anyway, it's short, yes. Extremely. But…well, I don't think you'll be so mad anymore once you read it. ;)

I've had this chapter written and edited and edited and edited (you get where this is going) since the second chapter, so I'm really excited to put it up! I really hope you guys like it because if there's a chapter I'd be really sad you picked on, it'd be this one. This one is my weakness.

But it's here. And it's staying.

Even though I'm not that proud *sigh*. I hope you like, though.

And like I said, I'll officially respond to reviews when FF lets me. Until then, to sally94: don't worry, he's coming, I promise! ;)

And thanks to everyone who's reviewed! You've made me so very happy! :D

So I hope this chapter does the same for you.

(Lol, I know the title isn't very reassuring)

Immolation Chapter 15: Bella's Death

"Sometimes we act rashly—stupidly, even…and sometimes it works out…others, well, it doesn't."

Everything moved in slow motion while my mind went at light speed. I knew that I didn't have time to block him and the momentum of the sword would get to Peter anyway. And I knew Peter, at this point, wouldn't have time to move away.

So I just…reacted.

III

D.L. and Niki had been everywhere, all over town. They had checked the slums, downtown, the surrounding smaller cities. But neither Micah nor his kidnapper were found. Niki was losing hope and so was he—their little boy was nowhere. He could barely take it anymore.

They slept on separate beds in the hotel, didn't speak much throughout the whole day. There was a gap growing between them where Micah should have been—and yet in it there was also a bond.

Just when he was starting to break down he would talk them back up into high spirits, telling her that surely Micah had run off in fear and was okay. They just needed to keep searching.

But he wasn't so sure.

Neither was she.

III

Mohinder's flight had been delayed, but finally he was on his way to Seattle and then to Forks. He would find Peter and hopefully, in the process, find Sylar. And maybe he could even get to that girl, because he had a feeling she was a prominent role in this particular story.

Everything had been put on hold—his speeches, his and Noah's plans. He had vaguely described the painting to Noah, but he was worried the man would go overboard and start doing anything possible to find out what was going on. And he knew that Peter wouldn't want attention—so he was going it alone, only telling Noah that he had a mission to do with the future.

He thanked the heavens above that Noah seemed preoccupied with something else. He had asked but only received a name—Jason Mallory. And then some babble about his daughter's safety—Mohinder hadn't been sure what exactly Noah had been talking about, but he hadn't been too deep in his questioning.

So now all he could do was wait out the flight.

III

Victoria grimaced. She had been living a happy, quiet life in Maine, and now look what had happened. She looked around the office she had been brought to, and through a door stepped Bob himself. He held something she could barely see in his hands.

"Hello Victoria," he said almost politely. She nodded curtly in the same false pretense—she had just wanted to be left alone, and now she was being brought into this mess again.

He handed her a baggy, and in it was what looked to be ashes. She gave him a confused frown. "What's this?"

"A vampire's ashes. I've called you to examine them."

She started to abruptly protest, deciding to ignore the absurdity of his last statement, "Why me? Couldn't you have found someone else or—"

"Just get to it," he snapped, before turning on his heel and leaving the small laboratory without another word. She sighed angrily, rubbing her temples, before opening her eyes and glancing at a nearby microscope. Resigned, she took a sample of the ashes and put them under, focusing the lens.

She couldn't believe what she saw.

III

I lunged forward faster than I had originally thought my body could go. I felt the impact, the searing pain—but more so, I felt accomplished as I hit the ground. There was a moment of silence—the whole world seemed to still beneath me as I absorbed what had happened.

Peter is safe…he's okay…that's all that matters.

Tears welled in my eyes as the burning ripping pain traveled up and down my torso. Peter broke the world's silence with a shout. "Bella!"

I felt his arms and saw his face—he picked me up and I hissed as the sword was jostled, making lightning bolts of pain arch through my body. I heard the slapping of sneakers against pavement and my head conveniently flopped to the side—I saw a watery shadow, but knew it was the fleeing form of Jason Mallory.

"Peter…he's…" I tried to tell him, but each breath and word was killing me.

I looked up at him and was unable to register the look in his eyes—they were like my own…filled with tears. What could that mean? "Bella…"

I coughed painfully, and again a moment of clarity hit me like a ray of sunshine, illuminating all it touched. I had jumped in front of the sword in order to save Peter and I had done just that—but now I was dying, I just knew it.

"Bella, no," he said, and he sounded almost angry. "That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen! How could you risk your life like that?" he scolded. I smiled.

"For yours? It…" I paused and winced as a wave of pain washed up my torso and down my limbs, "it was a good choice."

"What? No, how could you say that?" he continued. I sighed.

"Peter, you…you'll do great things and save the world. So I did my part by keeping you alive."

"I could have healed, Bella! You can't! Oh God—and Claire's not here, and I don't even have a syringe! Dammit!"

I stopped breathing for a moment. How could I have forgotten that? Peter can heal…which means I just threw my life away for no reason. Well…damn.

"Damn," I said aloud.

He snorted, but there was no humor in his eyes. "Yeah, damn! I…I don't know what to do," he whispered.

His face was so close and his hands were so warm on my waist and back. His eyes were so sad and I just wanted to make it all better. And this was the last time I was ever going to see him…I wasn't going to waste my last moments. Usually that would be a spineless Bella thing to do.

But I didn't want to be spineless Bella anymore.

III

Matt Parkman had been everywhere, or at least that's how it seemed. But he barely knew Forks and wasn't sure quite where Peter could live—it was small yet slightly spread, at least compared to Manhattan, and he was just getting so damn frustrated.

So now he was trying Seattle, hoping Peter was on a trip out here. They were walking through the mall together, he was hand in hand with Molly, and he was holding out this stupid hope that he'd spot Peter Petrelli and catch up with him, possibly getting some answers before he revealed what their future was destined to be, and then plotted a way to stop it.

But he was growing hungrier by the second. Finally he and Molly went over to a pretty deserted pretzel stand and he ordered two with cheese. He let go of Molly's hand and reached up and over the rather tall counter to grab them—he turned and handed Molly hers.

Or, he was about to.

But she wasn't there to take it.

III

D.L. and Niki had turned to the mall, like idiots. They weren't sure what hope they had with that one, but they went for it. And here they were, tapping shoulders, asking if anyone had seen a boy with curly black hair and light skin, about yea high. But everyone would only shrug and walk away, not really bothered with the fact that their child was missing.

They were running themselves ragged, twisting and turning and looking everywhere they could, half-tempted to start looking under tables and chairs. But they had the mutual dark feeling in their chests—he was gone.

But they wouldn't let the thought form.

III

Victoria was scanning the crowded mall, the perfect place to snatch prey for her newest arrival—yes, soon the boy's tiny system would be changed and he would be ravenous. So she and half her army were out, snatching something scrumptious.

She was looking everywhere for a particularly appealing, easy to get prey, but no one seemed to be alone in this forsaken place.

But then she made it to a small pretzel stand—beneath the sickening stench of human delicacies, she smelled something sweet and fragrant. She turned her eyes onto a small girl, wandering away from a heavyset man with a curious expression.

Again, something within her snapped. All her thoughts left her body and she knew this girl was valuable—would be strong and powerful enough to aid her in her quest somehow. And her age nor her availability mattered—Victoria needed to get her hands on that little girl if it was the last thing she did.

Her body reacted immediately, faster than the human eye could see she sprinted by, taking the girl with her and out a nearby door.

III

With a strength I didn't know I still possessed I wrapped my arms around his neck and brought him down to me—I crushed my lips to his with as much force as I could, which admittedly wasn't much. His body came with him, though, and I shoved him away violently with the pain I felt as the sword was lodged even deeper within me.

We parted audibly and his eyes were wide, all I could see in them was surprise. I wasn't sure what to do next and an all out fear seized my heart as I remembered that Peter didn't feel the same way about me and therefore was about to reject me.

I heard a ringing in my ears and suddenly everything was gone.

III

Peter didn't know what to do—one minute her lips were on his and something like hot ice was shooting in tendrils where their skin touched. And the next she was shoving him away and crying out in pain. He merely stared out her, tears still gathered at the rim of his eyes, as she fell limp.

Peter was normally a dreamer—his head was constantly in the clouds, wondering about what could or should have been, or what may be to come. He was rather idealistic and took the bad with the good pretty well—but not this time.

Bella was dying—there was no other way for him to look at it. He couldn't place the panic he felt, the flutters he got, the worry and fear and protectiveness. They just sort of happened when he wasn't looking and now he couldn't make them go away.

And he knew he…he felt for her. That was where all those emotions and feelings came from—he thought of her as more than his niece's best friend. Or even as more of a friend to himself—something different, something he didn't want to admit.

And now he could almost see the life draining out of her as her shirt stained red, blood dribbling in a pool between his knees as he cradled her. He didn't have time to get to a syringe—and even then, Claire was nowhere to be seen. He doubted his blood would work the same way—after all, he had only absorbed the power; he never originally had it.

Bella's breathing was becoming shallower and he was just paralyzed. He couldn't do anything but watch the scene and all the horrors it entailed…Bella was about to be no more.

That was, until he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was icy and hard and it gripped him with such force that he could feel bruises forming and healing beneath it. He looked over his shoulder and gasped.

The first thing he noticed was the eyes the color of liquid gold. Then the features twisted into something familiar…it was himself. Each angle and flaw was now perfect, pale granite, and he looked like a stoic model from a magazine—but that was himself either way he looked at it. And behind him was a small woman with a black veil that he couldn't see through.

"Give her to me," said the other him, and he had no choice but to obey in all his shock. Effortlessly he took her in one arm, reaching into his pocket with the other. He pulled an empty syringe from within and whispered, "Claire."

The woman with the veil walked forward. She rolled up her sleeve and Peter nearly choked—all along her arm were huge scars, like slaw marks. They were deep and an angry red color, jutting out from her skin by multiple centimeters.

His future self—for surely that's what he was, Peter deduced—took some blood from her, paying the scars no mind. He quickly pricked Bella, and repeated the process three times before pulling out the sword. It squished and gurgled and god did Peter feel sick.

"Claire,"—he looked away from the scene in which his future self held Bella with such care it was unreal—"what happened to you?"

The young woman hesitated. But then she lifted her veil and Peter's nausea intensified as he saw her scar-ridden face—one eye was permanently shut, half of her nose was gone, her mouth was nonexistent. He reached out, "Claire…" but she recoiled, tear falling from her remaining eye. It slide down the labyrinth of claws and…were those bite marks?

Bella was suddenly in his arms again. "It's nothing," his future self said. "It won't happen." And then they were gone.

Peter didn't have much time to dwell on this, though, as suddenly Bella was waking up—he could see through the bloody hole in her shirt that she was healed and okay and alive…and he wasn't sure how long that would last. Jason Mallory couldn't have been too far but right at that moment, he didn't care. Nothing but Bella—alive and well—seemed to exist.

Her eyes fluttered open and widened as his lips were on hers yet again.

"This time…it did."