I just couldn't help myself, I had to post it! Oh, and this is going to seem random right now but it'll make sense after you read the chapter: I still love pasta, and I hope I don't ruin pasta for anyone else!

Chapter Twenty-One

Past-1872

Chauncey and I stared one another down from across the room, breathing heavily. Both of us were covered in blood.

It hadn't gone completely as I'd expected, finding Chauncey. Rixon and I finally made it across the ocean, and began to search for the next two years, finding out everything about the new culture and how to blend in. It was all new terrain, and with the booming businesses, hit men would be in large demand. Rixon and I knew we'd find the perfect place in this society. Chauncey's determination amazed me at times; he was able to become a ghost investor for many famous men, and in the booming economy, was making thousands of dollars a month. It made finding him easy; we just needed to follow his paper trail. So it was in an ornate office that I finally cornered him.

He'd been looking over his shoulder for the past few weeks, sensing that I was nearby. He'd become so good at his outer image that he never showed it. Some nights, he would go into the underbelly of New York, and I wouldn't be able to follow him. I sensed a large amount of Nephilim there, and where there were large amounts of Nephilim, there would be large amounts of the fallen. I made it a note to find where they were located, and "introduce" Rixon and myself. The night that I followed him home, he seemed unusually calm, possessed of a thought that kept him from really focusing on where he was going. When he entered his home, I scaled my way to the window where his office was located and let myself in. I'd run surveillance on the home, so I was sure of where I was going. He walked into the room, and shut the door behind him, his back bare to me. He could sense me, I knew he could. For a moment, we stood there in silence.

Unlike our past clashes, Chauncey surprised me. When he looked at me, his face didn't change, but his eyes darkened. Before I could say a word, he threw himself at me from across the room. I was able to dodge him, clipping him in the jaw. Undaunted, he eventually tackled me to the ground, unveiling a dagger from his jacket, and stabbed me over and over in the chest. I couldn't feel any of the pain, but it was becoming aggravating. I grappled with him for the knife, and taking it from him, slashed him across his face. Grimacing in pain, he backed away, but still wanted to fight. Smiling harshly, I lifted my hand and beckoned him forward.

Let's see what else you can do, I mocked. His non-blacked eye widening, he jumped behind his desk and pulled a sword that was hanging from the wall. I laughed. He approached me quickly, swinging with the finesse of one that had centuries of practice. Only I, a fallen angel with just as much skill, would have been able to avoid his attacks. Still, he was able to slash me across my chest, and cut off my right hand. I was bemused as the blood spurted from the stump. Feeling triumphant, he tried to swing at my head, but I ducked underneath him, sweeping him off of his feet. As he lay on the ground, I used my foot to stomp on his ankle, breaking it. He shouted in pain, and I kicked him in his stomach across the room and into the wall.

As I began to charge at him, he panicked. In a swiftness that belied his pain, he pulled out a Smith and Wesson handgun from his pants and shot at me. Although I couldn't feel it, I sensed my body jerk back towards the ground, head first, flying into the opposite corner. There was a moment of silence as I slowly lifted myself off of the ground, and placed my hand on my face. When I pulled it back, it was covered in blood. The bastard shot me right in the head.

Staring at him, I could see myself through his mind. My face was completely red from blood, my hair matted with it, and part of my skull was on the ground. My shirt was soaked through with both of our blood, and I was missing a hand. I also saw how he realized that, no matter what he did, I couldn't feel it, and the pain wouldn't inhibit me the way his inhibited him. We were both healing, slowly, but neither of us seemed to want to fight anymore. Chauncey because his nerve was leaving him with the pain, and I because I needed to be, well, patched up quickly.

I'm impressed, I told him through mindspeak. I really was- fighting for it made everything that much more interesting. I couldn't help but be amused. You've never put up such a valiant fight.

He grimaced, because scowling was too painful. Crawling, he lifted himself onto his desk, and stared down at me.

"I…hate you…and I will get you for what you've done…to me, to Barnabas, to anyone else you've ever hurt…" he threatened through pained breaths. "I can't be killed... I know this now. I've met others like me, and they've taught me…" He coughed as blood fell from his mouth, along with some teeth.

"Please. Those sewer rats? They obviously haven't taught you well enough." He hadn't even had the sense to go for my wing scars. "After an oath sworn under Heaven? You, nor any of these Nephilim you speak of, will be safe any time soon. As for Barnabas, I'd hate to see what Rixon's doing with him at the moment." Rixon had mentioned something along the lines of "bleeding him like a dead pig". Chauncey growled at the idea of his protégé's suffering. I stood up, gaining my balance. I was actually exhausted by our little skirmish. Moving slowly, I grabbed my hand and skull off of the ground. They'd grow back, but for a macabre reason, I wanted to keep them. As I approached the door, I heard him move again.

"Wait," he hissed. I turned, looking at him. His face had twisted into something sinister, and for a brief moment, I was disturbed.

"You may not feel, Patch, but I will make you suffer. The way you have taken from me, I will take from you. I can wait. We have an eternity. You will slip. One day, something or someone will actually mean something to you, and when it does, it will suffer in your place. You will beg me for mercy, and I will not give it to you. One day, I will stand over you, and I will watch you cower!" He said this with such fire that for a moment I believed he'd actually do it. And then I realized what his entire plan depended upon, and laughed quietly.

"When will you understand? Almost three centuries, and you still don't get it. I have your soul, Chauncey. Everything you have, everything you want, is mine." I hissed. "You will never win, because there will never be anything that I possess that will mean more to me. What I do possess, you can't take back. Your soul is mine, you are mine, and that will oath will never be broken." I turned from him and slowly began limping out. My last words were spoken halfway to myself.

"What else do I really require?"

Nora's POV

I hadn't eaten, or slept well, since that horrible memory last night.

Looking at myself in the mirror in the morning, I'd seen huge dark circles under my eyes, as if it'd been days and not just one night where I hadn't slept. I couldn't keep anything down; I felt too nauseous. Patch hadn't been there in the morning, and it was just as well as I didn't know if I wanted to see him.

I kept seeing it. Throughout the day, at work, flashes of the pain kept coming back to me, that I was being stabbed, and I'd have to collect myself. My coworkers asked me more than once if I was okay when they saw me outside of my cube, and I would put on a smile and say that I was "fine, just cramps". Couldn't just go telling people that the love of my life was a literal lady-killer, now could I? At some moments, I'd have to curl up, telling myself that the pains I kept feeling in my chest and stomach were just mental. That I needed to get myself together, and that there had to be a perfectly logical explanation. Checking myself in my phone's reflection, I groaned at how crazy I looked. My outfit was fine, but my face…I looked like a deer in the headlights, and a zombie deer at that. Turning it on, I called Vee.

"How's it going, babe?" she asked cheerfully.

"Not so hot, to be honest. Do you mind bringing me some lunch? I don't think I should be driving at the moment." I rasped.

"You sound awful. Sure, no problem, I'll bring you something. Might just take you home, too. You sit at our regular spot, and I'll be there in thirty minutes."

I smiled. "You're the best, Vee."

"I know, babe."

Half an hour later, she approached the table. Placing the boxes of food down, she felt my head.

"You're burning up; maybe you shouldn't have gone to work today." She said, looking worried. I shook my head.

"I didn't want to stay home." Finishing our conversation in mindspeak, I relayed to her the memory that I'd seen the night before.

"Um…well, uh…" she struggled for words. "You're probably sick due to stress. That certainly is a lot to take in. I knew he was crazy." She muttered the last part.

"There's got to be a reason for it…a reason for all of it." I said. Vee looked like she had something to say, but dropped it.

"Well…here, eat something. See if you can keep it down. If not, I'm taking you home. And by home, I mean Blythe's house." She said, gesturing at the box in front of me. Nodding, I opened the box.

It was pasta, marinara sauce, with chopped tomatoes and grated cheese. It looked…it looked like rotting skin and intestines and chunks of blood…

Nope, nope, nope! With that, went my composure. I began breathing heavily, almost dry heaving. I fell out of my chair, and collapsed onto the ground.

"Shit! Nora!" Vee cried, rushing over to me.

"I can't…breathe…Vee!" I struggled, looking at her with fear in my eyes. Even though I knew I wasn't going to die, I was still terrified to succumb.

"Somebody, call 911! You, what the hell are you doing? Do something!" she shouted. She turned back to me when someone had their phone out. "It's going to be all right. Babe, are you still anemic?" she asked me.

Was I? I hadn't had an issue with my anemia for years. I also hadn't had a reason to. But today, I hadn't eaten, drank anything, or slept well, and I was hyperventilating with a fever. So I was probably suffering an anemic attack as well. I nodded, still breathing heavy. Vee quickly flipped me onto my back, and soon paramedics were placing me onto a gurney.

"Vee…Vee!" I cried out.

"I'll go get your medicine, then I'll be right there at the hospital!" She called out before they shut the doors on her.

How strange that, even when I was terrified of his past, I still instinctively called out for him.

Patch…

Chauncey's Diary

I fought the fallen angel today. I felt…I felt alive! For once, he couldn't simply frighten me into submission. I was able to chop pieces of him apart, and although he was able to hurt me, it wasn't in vain! Normally he would do something to me, or my family, but he cannot! I have no more family, and he cannot risk my lifestyle without risking his own! I actually won today! For centuries I've been complacent, not fighting; waiting; praying that he would leave my family alone. However, when I learned that he would be leaving, I knew that I had to take action. Barnabas agreed with me; I did it for his sake, as his fallen angel abuses him beyond reason. I knew that he would find me in the end…but I knew that this time, I would be ready!

I had to mindtrick the servants into cleaning up the blood in my office. I cut up a piece of the board with his blood staining it, and I'm keeping it. It is proof to me that I'm not the only one whose blood will spill.

I've had enough, and so have the other Nephilim. I don't know what's happened to Barnabas, and I pray that he is strong enough to continue to fight. He has grown much nerve during his servitude; he's no longer the cowering boy whose mother I…well, I can no longer ignore what my destiny is. I will find a way to help all of us, to save us from the fallen. My power is increasing; the angel seems to forget that. I've waited so long, two centuries of perceived peace, working on myself, making myself ready. The other Nephilim, they look up to me. I will find even more of us, and find out all I can.

I will hurt that fallen angel. Patch. I will use his name, as fear of a name only makes one more afraid of the thing itself. My honor depends upon it. He may not be able to feel, but his lack of vigilance only shows me that he is capable of distraction. One day; a prize horse, or a boat, or a woman; I will find his weakness, and I WILL make him regret everything that he's done.

Uhoh. Chauncey means business! I just felt like he needed his chance to fight back (don't worry ladies, the gorgeous Patch will be up and running soon!). I also wanted to write that bloody chapter. So? Tell me how you like it with your awesome reviews! I really appreciate them; I love reading them throughout the day; makes me feel like people actually like what I can do.