How is everyone? Have a good Labor Day! I hope everyone enjoys this chapter; Xellos becomes a bit more kooky (if possible) and more problems and interesting situations develop. Now onto author replies to reviews!

San: Yea! Glad the chapters are still interesting. It's kinda shocking after 40 chapters and 600 pages that I can still write good stuff! LOL. As to Xellos and Filia . . . they'll have their moments of getting together. And some moments of crappy stuff happening.

Mwafwa: Cool! Happy birthday a month late! Xellos getting confused about being Filia's husband? Definitly drunk. As to the religions, what I'm actually trying to do is have that Slayers was meshed with our world. As in, everything that happened in our world sort of did, but so did what happened in the Slayers world. Therefore roles would naturally have to be joined and reformed. Glad you like the plot! Hope it's not to simple or too complex!

Mystical-Maiden: Xellos was scary to me too. Thanks so much for the review and I hope you like this chapter as well. Let me know what parts you like!

Inverse-chan: Hmm, I wonder what questions you got from the last chapter? Filia is definitly freaked out, but she's holding her own like the strong person she is.

NatsuRuby: Hmmm . . I'm sorry you'll cry if they don't get together soon, but there's still some time before they will. Yeah, Iyzeka is kinda girly for a demon.

YueMichiruNaragisawaMiko: Glad you like Iyzeka so much, soon she'll have even more development.

The Chaotic Ones: Yeah, it is truly pretty long . . . (scratches head) Thanks for reviewing!

Mistress Dragon-Flame: They're like 13 pages long, how could they be too short? (falls over) But anyhow, read the answer to Mwafwa's review to see about the religions in my fanfic. The music I used in the scene was "Die Another Day" by Madonna and "Why Are You Running Away" by Hoobastank. (CEP: Hoobastank? You-bastank!) I really can't see Xellos strangling Filia. There's no point. If he wanted her to die, he could just kill her, and if he wanted to hurt her there are kinkier ways of doing it that would be a lot more fun. Like whips and leather and wax . . . (ahem) As to your fanfic, if I can find the time, I'll see what I can do. Send me the link.

Xeria Malstrum: Boy do I love your long reviews! Yeah, I love Rykker and Steadman. There's just something cool about two old dudes who can kick ass and take names. And poor Filia being so torn between kissing Xellos and being frightened of him, yeah, it's a messy situation. As to Xellos' sanity and control . . . (ahem) Well, he wasn't that sane to begin with. Add to that the facts that 1: he has to pretend to be Filia's husband without actually touching her 2: He's in charge of a spy mission with people who don't know what they're doing 3: He's supposed to save the world . . . . Well, I'd be stressed.

I don't think he's addicted to magic in a phsyical way, but more as a psychological thing, so yeah, I guess he misses the control. What am I saying, I KNOW he misses being able to cause massive distruction with his fingertip! LOL. But this chapter will expand upon that "wife" problem he's been having. You're welcome about the reviews. I always want to be as constructive as possible, but sometimes I feel I'm being too harsh. Yet I also feel that because you're a great writer, I have to be more picky and demand more from you in order to help you grow as a writer. Does this make sense? I sure hope that what I said helped and I'm sorry I didn't review that critically before; sometimes I feel the strength to critique arise, but lately I've been burnt out.

JoyCrux: Thanks so much! I sure hope your friend finds my fic. I'm so touched that I'm your favorite author! huggles JoyCrux You're so sweet! I try to be descriptive, I liken my writing to poetry. What's that quote? "Her poetry was akin to prose, and her prose to poetry" That's my goal! Anyhow, lots of love!

Beast Master Zelas: Xellos is definitly one to piss off people. As to Val dying, no, no, not nearly likely. Thanks for reading!

Monkeys! I've missed you and your Mistress. What happened to her, btw? As to Zelas and Luna being a pair, I think I read of it once in a fanfic a loooong time ago and I liked the idea. But it was so long ago I'm not sure.

Now, onto the fic! PS: I'm sorry there are no longer tabs. Against my permission, fanfiction . net has decided to be asses and mess up the coding for the chapters. (sighs) Oh well. Thanks for reading and please leave a review!

REVIEWS FEED MY TWISTED BRAIN!! SO REVIEW!!

Chapter 41

Hong Kong, China
June 9th, 2002

The song ended, and in the violent bass of the music that followed, Filia jerked away from their embrace, staring up at the ebony-clad demon in shock. "Xellos."

For a moment, he gazed hotly into her eyes, and she found herself unable to pull away. Then, swiftly grabbing the back of her neck, the Mazoku roughly pulled her forward again to kiss her mouth again, a rolling flare of demonic energy swelling around them.

—Filia,— his voice filled her head with the familiar mental link . . . but the vast sensation of malevolence and sadistic glee overwhelmed her, and the dragoness shoved him away, sapphire eyes wide with astonishment as she backed into the wall and clutched at her temples. No . . . control . . .

He's not tempering it . . .

His pallid mouth opened in surprise, amethyst irises contracting swiftly as he gazed at her. "Filia . . ."

"Too much," she grimaced, holding her head and tugging upon her saffron locks in a desperate attempt to distract herself. "Too much!" Within her mind, she could feel it spinning, writhing; the hate, the greed, the cruelty seemed to be spiraling out of control. "Turn it off . . ."

Gaping like a fish, the General-Priest cut the telepathic link, marching forward to gently take her into his arms. "Filia . . . what . . ."

"The . . . evil . . ." she murmured, gasping for air as if suddenly thrust from the ocean onto the land. "I . . . how can you . . ." her huge turquoise eyes gazed up at him, filling with tears of shock as he took her into his embrace. "How can you . . . treat me with . . . such tenderness . . . when there is so much malice raging within you?"

A cold smile played upon his lips, and his bent head lowered further to brush a kiss across her temple. "I'm . . . not sure. Perhaps because . . . I just want to be gentle with you."

Shaken, the Golden Dragon blinked swiftly, glancing down, then back up at the man holding her. In the darkness of the room, with his eyes hidden behind his veil of deep violet hair, there seemed to be a decidedly malicious intention beneath his pseudo-geniality.

"It doesn't hurt you . . ." she queried nervously, an uncertain questioning tone to the words. "Caring, I mean . . ."

"Only," he winced, then grinned, "if I dwell on it." His arms tightened around her for an instant, then he let her go. "No more links while I'm intoxicated, alright? You certainly are a frail little thing," he beamed, tapping her nose while she glared incredulously at him, "aren't you? Wouldn't want your mind to pop!"

The alcohol must have caused him to drop his mental controls, she mused. No wonder his emotions were suddenly overwhelming. I can't believe he feels that all the time underneath the surface! His control must be exceptionally powerful.

Rolling her eyes, Filia tried to act as if nothing monumentally frightening had just occurred. "Right, sure. So, why don't we go talk to your new friend? I haven't really met him yet."

"Of course," Xellos smiled suavely, holding out his elbow to the scarlet and white-garbed dragoness as if they were in a time from centuries past, instead of a hotel room filled with digitalized music and gyrating young humans high on life and designer drugs.

If only it were long ago . . .things were so much simpler back then. Glancing up at her sable-dressed companion with doubt, the blonde took his arm and cast her gaze around the room as he began to lead them out towards the balcony. It appeared that Aundy had disappeared, probably tending his wounds and damaged ego elsewhere within the makeshift dance-club. Thankful that the inebriated party-goers seemed too intent upon their own giddy dancing to stare at the two of them, Filia returned her eyes to the oddly solemn, yet beaming, man at her side.

"Don't worry," Xellos smoothly spoke as they reached the glass doors, the tinted strobe-lights flickering across his pale face and coloring him emerald and mandarin. "That lecher isn't going to bother you anymore." He opened the doors and began to lead her through.

Eyes tightening, the dragoness flinched at his words and scowled, a slight ripple of worry causing a tremor along her down-turned mouth. "He wasn't that bad. At least he treated me with respect!"

With a blink, the Mazoku turned and stared at her as they stepped out into the night air. "Filia!"

"Well," the blonde growled, pulling away her hand, "it's true! You certainly don't treat me like your 'wife'!" she declared, glaring at him.

Mouth working, the violet-tressed demon seemed unable to find words. Finally, he raised his head slightly, and she could peer up into his hurt purple eyes as he gazed down at her, shoving his hands into the pockets of his ebony slacks. "But . . . he was pursuing you!"

"Stop talking like we're in the nineteenth century, Xellos," Filia snapped, her cerulean glare falling out upon the elderly gentleman who sat on the patio and plainly was trying to pretend that he couldn't hear their argument. "And it's not as if I had any reason to spend time with you. Remember, YOU are the one who pushed me away."

Brows rising into a worried peak, the General-Priest looked down and sighed. "Well, you . . . made me angry!" His head whipped up again, purple cat-eyes biting into her own. "And you should know better than to do that," his instantly chilled voice informed her.

Suddenly clutching the vermilion satin across her chest, Filia found herself taking a step back, teeth clenching in dread and blue eyes wincing. The window of discussion had closed; she could see that she would be treading on dangerous ground if she pushed him further.

This is very bad, the Golden Dragon told herself as she watched him glower at her, then turn and stalk over towards where his new associate, Rykker, sat by a patio table. Extremely bad. Cringing, she shook her saffron head self-depreciatingly.

I should have cast a Purification Spell on him when we were dancing! What an idiot. Now I'll probably not get another chance for at least another hour. And if I tell him about Val and the fragment now, who knows what he'll do? Well, she groaned as she began to near the two men who sat around the wrought-iron table, I told Lord Zelas that I wasn't cut out for this spy business, and I've certainly proven myself right.

((()))

Wolfpack Island
June 9th, 2002

"Oh, look," Zelas told herself, up-ending a bottle of wine into her mouth and guzzling the contents. "This is when Xellos didn't wet the bed."

She sat on the marble floor of the ballroom, a dozen empty bottles of spirits behind her and an open photo-album at her knees. Above her, gigantic crystal chandeliers lit the cavernous space, the snowy walls and staircases glittering in the light.

Turning a page, the demoness pointed at another photo, and hiccupped. "And this is not Xellos' first kiss." The picture depicted a violet-haired adolescent boy appearing quite surprised as he was kissed on the cheek by a tiny blonde girl.

"Boy, I wonder if Filia really looked like that?" mused the Regent. "I . . . gotta ask if I got her right. Too bad none of them ever really happened," she turned another page and tossed back another couple of gulps from the bottle, unmindful as the deep sanguine liquid sloshed over her dress.

Throwing aside the now-empty bottle, the pink-locked Mazoku announced, "Actually, I'm not really sure who his first kiss really was. I . . ." her eyes narrowed uncertainly and she squinted up at the chandeliers. "I don't think I really want to know . . . Good thing I told him to not harm females and children unless absolutely necessary . . ."

Rolling back, Zelas found a free spot on the stone and tried to drink from her new bottle again, only to splash it once more across her face before attempting to set it upright and finally succeeding. "He really was rather violent . . . cocky . . . precocious . . ."

She stared up at the ceiling and closed her eyes. "What a darling child."

((()))

Hong Kong, China
June 9th, 2002

Lon's head flicked up, and all of them turned to look behind them, across a sea of darkness that spread along the rooftops and bled into nothingness. "A wave of dark energy – but now it's gone. Let's go."

Within moments, she led their phasing to a towering hemisphere of blackness, and they stood before it warily.

Lifting up her staff, the old woman commanded, "Face me, demon. I feel you . . . drop this barrier or face me."

In the night air, a shimmer formed and coalesced into a hunched figure, tattered black cape flicking in the light wind. "Defeat me, then," rasped the form, and the head rose to reveal tortured features and sunken eyes. "If you're able."

The wall of blackness fell, and Lon thrust out her hands to her sides, calling, "Children, help those within! I will deal with this Monster!"

They hastened away, and the demon before her simply stood as she summoned her power, the rolls of magic seething in a windstorm around her. "So, demon, tell me. What is your purpose here?"

Darkness shook its head and laughed - a sobbing, wretched sound. Raising one hand slowly, the man-like creature ducked his chin and she could see, beyond the black pitch of night, his upper lip curl. A flare of ebony erupted in his palm, and his voice rose above the roar of her magic-gathering. "I have no purpose, old woman. Defeat me quickly, so I may be free," his eyes narrowed and he threw the energy at her, blackness spiraling towards her, "IF YOU CAN!"

((()))

Val felt himself lifted into a pair of arms, and he took a deep breath as he opened his eyes. "What . . ."

Just then, a jolt of realization flooded him and he turned to stare at the two immense auras vying for supremacy just a few yards from where he was, but in the darkness he couldn't see who they were.

The dragon's shocked golden gaze returned to the people holding him and he blinked to see two Chinese girls lifting him together, with only a small amount of difficulty. "Who are you?" he asked, getting to his feet and allowing them to rest.

"You are heavy," one said accusatorily, brushing back her long cerulean hair that matched her annoyed gaze.

The magenta-locked other elbowed her and smiled at him with bright violet eyes. "My name is Ling-Ling, and this is Lung-Lung." Though their hair and eyes had different colors, their features appeared identical.

Frowning, Val looked around on the roof in the darkness, only to see two figures helping a tiny form to her feet. "Iyzeka," he brushed past the twins and began striding over.

Before he could reach her, a bloom of viridian light flowed over them all and Val whipped his head around to stare at the sudden explosion of what he could only call holy magic: and before him, within the vibrant, emerald glow, a huge creature began to coalesce.

"Grandmother," one of the figures nearby whispered in a familiar voice.

Valgaav's mouth dropped open at the remembrance of that sound, like water trickling in a steam, and in his mind the bright, fluid vision of Xian burned and licked around the old wound . . .

His eyes shimmered as he gazed beyond to the brilliant, sleek creature that suddenly towered above them, green holy magic seeping like liquid light and silhouetting a stunned man standing directly below it who exuded darkness.

"Wait," the Ancient Dragon shook his head and gaped, all pains suddenly brushed aside at the shock, "who – who is that man, and what . . ." The teenager looked over to his side as Iyzeka came to stand next to him, also watching the display, then returned his stunned stare to the new being.

Long, bat-like emerald wings unfolded from the monumental creature, and a slender snout rose to point into the sky, jaw opening to emit a piercing screech.

"What kind of dragon is that?" Iyzeka squealed, suddenly clutching to Val's arm and hiding behind him.

The four natives drew around them yet remained silent.

"I . . ." Val shook his head, thrusting a hand through his jagged thatch of turquoise hair. "I donno'."

Lon? You . . . you've been hiding quite a bit from us . . .

A feminine sigh sounded behind him, and he glanced behind himself, almost reeling back to see Xian standing there next to a very familiar man. Mu Tsu, he told himself, turning back around and flushing slightly as he gazed over at the humungous green dragon. Oh, Lord, please have her not come up and talk to me. Please, let them just ignore me. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, pained breath. So, this is what Lon meant, after all. His brows quirked and he could feel tears collecting against his eyelids.

Xian is part dragon.

((()))

"So," Rykker sighed, leaning back in the obsidian-painted chair and looking at the two of them, "I believe you were going to prove that you were an immortal demon, Mister . . . ?"

With the mercenary's ice-blue upon him, Xellos ignored the surprised look upon his 'wife's' face and completed, "Metallium. And you?"

"James Rykker," he introduced himself, the apprehensive azure gaze of the woman cold upon him. "You don't approve of this, Miss Filia?" he asked her cordially, with as much Southern charm as he could muster given the circumstances.

"Well, no," she replied, her clear voice a balm, and Rykker found himself envious of this cruel man who had so solidly captured her heart. "We're supposed to do as little as possible to draw attention to ourselves!" Filia turned to beseech the amethyst-locked man at her left.

Her companion seemed to find this confusing for a moment, and his expression faltered in the same way as Rykker found familiar when someone was overly inebriated. "But . . ." he smiled, then, having found his stance, "if I don't, then James here won't believe me!"

"Though," Rykker interrupted before the crimson-dressed woman could retort angrily, "what I've seen so far is . . . interesting." He folded his hands over his lower chest and nodded towards Xellos' hand. "You healed that. Before, it was bleeding rather heavily, and in a matter of seconds it now appears to have never been damaged. However, you didn't cast a spell; even if you were one of the few people in the world who can cast spells silently, we would have seen the glow of healing magic from it."

Xellos' head dropped curtly and he gave Rykker a chilling grin. "Yes." Laughing, the violet-hued man poured himself another glass of wine from the bottle he'd procured and lifted it in a toast to him.

Beside him, the flaxen-haired woman's head drifted to her right, and she gazed out upon the city with a tortured expression crossing her lovely features.

Raising an eyebrow, the ex-soldier pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his the inner pocket of his suit-coat, concentrating on not displaying his nervousness. Slowly, he selected one and slid one out. "If you don't mind," he commented wryly, gaze flickering to the both of them in turn, "my nerves are just a slight bit rattled."

"Easy, old chap," came Stedman over the wire. "Is all that you just said true? Bloody hell, we've got some kind of telekinetic?"

Rykker just sighed again as he took his lighter from the front pocket of his slacks and flicked it on, the flame casting a flickering apricot glow across those seated around the table as he brought the cigarette up to his mouth. Lighting the rolled-tobacco, the mercenary sucked in to pull the flame; his eyes upon the fire akin to the weight of Xellos' gaze upon his shoulders.

Just as the older man moved to return the pack to his inner coat pocket, that harsh amethyst became amused. "If I may?" spoke the other man, holding up an open palm to halt him.

Rykker nodded with more than a bit of wariness. With a smirk, Xellos suddenly had a cigarette in his outstretched hand as well, and the blonde gasped in surprise and anger, crying, "Xellos!"

Glancing into his pack, the mercenary did, indeed, find one cigarette missing. "Fascinating," the Southern gentleman mused, eyes growing dark.

"Oh, that's nothing, really," Xellos told him, flicking the cigarette held between his slender fingers. With a foosh, the tip was engulfed in flames. Chuckling, he brought the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag, and they watched as the fire settled into a tip of smoldering ember. With that, he leaned back in his chair, the darkness of his clothing and hair almost swallowing his pallid hands and features within their pull.

No magic, Rykker told himself, taking another pull from his cigarette and chiding himself over the almost imperceptible shudder that shook his hand. And he lifted that man as if he were weightless, a man that was a good two inches taller than himself.

Do I believe this? Does this count as proof? He looked down at his empty martini glass and sighed very slightly. He certainly looks demonic enough . . . The strobe lights reflected along the slender pool of vodka at the bottom of the goblet in a lurid flicker that echoed the frantic beating of his heart. I have to calm down. With that, he took a long drag from the cigarette and closed his eyes. Calm . . . breathe . . .

"Alright," Rykker smiled as he opened his crystal blue eyes and looked directly at Xellos. "You're a demon."

((()))

Kendar flinched as the monstrosity of a jade-drenched dragon rose before him, radiating the glow of holy magic and the scent of ancient power. "My Lady," he told her, soot-colored eyes wide and appreciative, "it's a privilege to witness your true form."

In everyone's mind – including his own - bloomed the sound of her voice, yet it was enveloped by a richer, smoother tone than her human form gifted. –Thank you . . . though I had been under the impression that the demon-race saw my kind as "beasts".—

"Not all of us, Ma'am," he sketched a bow, his darkness shifting around him.

--And what an even greater honor, to be slain by me.—

Nodding in agreement, the Mazoku readied himself to phase and attack, then blinked as suddenly the image and sensations of the emerald dragon before him slid into two giant forms, then four, then eight, circling him with the bite of holy magic and the glow of green. What on earth?! Panicking, the demon disappeared, flashing in towards one of the dragon figures' heads and astrally cutting through it with his power – and finding nothing there.

Pain lanced through his spirit body as an attack from behind sliced into his aura, and he turned, rage suddenly boiling over, to face the multitude of enemies.

--Lost your way, little boy?— mocked the ancient dragoness, the voice echoing from every monumental figure and every viridian eye glowing with amusement.

"Interesting tricks," Kendar hissed, the desperation threatening to overwhelm his psyche. I don't think I can beat her, General Xellos, he thought of his ex-commander, then saw the loving blue eyes of the Gold look at him from within the confines of his own mind. Perhaps then, I shall never feel that compassion . . . His head dropped, and the fractured spirit clenched his fists, then raised his gaze to the duplicate dragon forms surrounding him, their emerald eyes watching him curiously.

With a roar of anguish, Kendar phased swiftly, cutting down the figures one by one, but not fast enough - for new wounds blazed into life in the night air, that shimmering green hue of pain and torment flashing across the landscape as it sliced jaggedly into him.

Finally, there was one dragon-figure left, and he could see the flicker of dark energy that was his damage upon her. "Old woman," he smirked painfully, clutching at his untouched human chest and feeling the astral wound within him as it leaked away his power into the swirling abyss of the spirit plane. Too late, he told himself, knowing that for all of his speed, there had been something indefinable about this glittering emerald dragoness that became his downfall.

Kendar suddenly was aware of new creatures nearing him, one that held a taste and tang strangely familiar in more than one aspect, and he glanced over to them, a loneliness so poignant swelling within him that it threatened to overwhelm him. "General Xe . . ." he blinked, then shook his head and frowned at the strangely similar astral energy. "No . . ." his gray eyes found the source, wincing at the feeling of more of his essence dripping away.

The amber-haired demon child approached him, eyes wide with that compassion, but not cerulean, not blue, not turquoise –

Kendar dropped to the ground with a gasp as he began to loose cohesion in his physical form. "Child," he spoke, voice shaking and rough as rattling bones or the cold of November, and tears began to flood his eyes, his will no longer able to stop them. "You share Xellos' matrix, Mazoku."

He winced as she dropped to her knees, arms enveloping him, and in the corner of his deteriorating mind, he could feel the shock and confusion from her companions. "You cannot feel that emotion," Kendar railed, beginning to sob against her embrace. "Coldness is part of the tincture, the Mazoku are suffused with icy indifference and the heat of hatred, can't you feel it, child?"

In his babbling, suddenly he could feel a cool wave of something flow over his astral wounds as she rocked him, her feathery maroon hair brushing across his face as she bowed her head towards him. --Xellos will not be indifferent to your struggles for him,-- her voice in his mind spoke, and the balm of her magic filled his spirit form. --And I fight that indifference, I want no part of it. Have my compassion,-- she brushed the tears from his sallow, sunken cheeks with gentle fingers . . .

. . . And Kendar wallowed in that feeling she gave to him until his astral body dropped into restful oblivion.

. . . . compassion . . . who am I . . .

will I not burn from emotion . . . . . .

save me . . .

((()))

Gazing out onto the dark-steeped night, Filia risked a glimpse over her shoulder at the demon sitting next to and behind her. Xellos . . .

The subdued Mazoku's attentions concentrated upon Rykker as they talked, both smoking their cigarettes and seemingly ignoring her.

Finding her eyes drawn to the glittering purple of Xellos' own, the tow-headed dragoness sighed, some part of her heart pining for the graceful sweep of his arm as he raised the wine glass to his lips, those slender fingers at once so gentle and yet so dangerously callous and cruel as they flicked ash from his cigarette.

Slumping slightly in her wrought-iron chair, the blonde turned in the seat to look more fully upon her companion, a dreary ache settling somewhere beyond her chest. That beauty of his sharp features, the flecks of purple deep within his full lashes, the upturned smile when he glanced her way . . . all were lost for her.

Dropping her chin, Filia stared at her hands as they lay upon her ivory skirt, palms open as if pleading for some distant, long-forsaken gift. Oh, Xellos . . . I miss you . . . Something akin to surprise filtered through her being as she saw a drop of crystal liquid splash across her hand. Disheartened, she lifted it before her to study the shimmer of the droplet, and wipe those following it from her eyes.

In the back of her mind, she registered that their conversation had drawn into silence, and she glanced up at the two men seated with her.

Rykker gazed sadly down upon her from where he stood over her, having risen in his chair; a hand brandished a crisp, ivory handkerchief to her. "My dear, don't despair," he spoke softly to her, pale blue eyes kind.

The Mazoku beside her seemed indifferent, glancing away back towards the closed doors of the balcony, but Filia wondered if that curl of his lip and the twitch of his fingers around his wine glass meant he had been paying attention.

Accepting the white fragment, Filia bowed her head, finding wisps of her saffron hair tossing around her and settling into a gold-spun shroud over her form. That wind carried the smoke from Xellos' cigarette, and she could only watch as it dissipated in the air around them while she dried her eyes. "Thank you," she finally replied to Rykker as he sat back down. "But I fear I have no recourse but desperation."

Her eyes dropped to the bottle of Zinfandel and the deep rouge glistening along the surface, unsurprised when Xellos set down his empty glass and reached for the carafe to refill it. With the sound of muffled music reverberating as the only noise in the empty silence, Filia raised her gaze to his pale face, searching those empty amethyst eyes for anything she could take with her.

As if feeling her eyes upon him, Xellos' head rose and in one swift motion, his violet stare locked onto her, brow furrowed above. Lifting the almost finished cigarette to his mouth, he took one last drag, ignoring her wince at the carcinogen. His piercingly cold eyes never left her own as he held the smoke within his lungs, then released it slowly; those deep amethyst pools hid any emotion from her.

Filia watched as he crushed the butt of the cigarette between his fingers with an unaffected smirk touching his lips. As the fire was smothered, a faint hissing sound caught in her ears from the slight burning of his flesh. "Xe- . . . Xellos," she murmured, azure gaze saddening at the unfeeling nature of his eyes upon her.

One wiry shoulder jerked, and the demon turned his head away to glance at the doors, taking up his glass of wine and downing it swiftly. "If you would, please," he finally spoke firmly, pouring a new glass for himself from the wine bottle, "entertain her for me while I'm away, Rykker." He took the glass and stood, ignoring her gasp of surprise as she rose swiftly, about to follow him.

"Miss Filia," the older human touched her arm, stopping her before she went after the Mazoku, "I think perhaps he just needs some space."

The scarlet clothed woman's gaze followed Xellos as he walked to the other side of the patio, and she drooped into her chair at seeing him lean against the railing and gaze out upon the city, a down-turned curve to his shoulders that plunged a deep-seated ache far into her heart. "He's hurting," she told Rykker firmly, hands clenched together on her lap. "Why shouldn't I go to him?"

The elderly gentleman shook his salt-and-pepper head, smoothing the cream-colored scarf draped down his shoulder. "He's distancing himself to keep that pain from harming you." He put out his cigarette and shook his head again, Southern drawl deeper than it had been before. "Quite an unusual individual . . . especially for a demon." A slim, ivory eyebrow rose and he gazed at her frankly, his forthright statement lacking in any threatening tone and somehow comforting to her.

"Yes," Filia nodded, glancing back towards the violet-hued Mazoku turned away from them. "he is."

((()))

It was wrong, it was all wrong.

Swirling, mixing, he could feel himself lost, tossed upon that sea of chaos, yet so far from God . . . the sensation of being adrift in that golden darkness without Her felt almost blasphemous.

His eyes searched the streets below, beyond the black railing he leaned against, and inexplicably, he could feel every rage and sorrow, blinding him and bludgeoning him, sinking into him and lifting him up, and yet the only image within his mind's eye was her . . .

Filia.

Xellos tossed back the last of his wine, and in a sudden fury, flung the glass down, watching as it shattered against the wall, the shards skittering like crystal and dropping to a balcony below them. He could see their room from here . . . the abandoned banquet Val had set out for them, the fractured glass door, and those jagged edges that seemed to glow with an echoing pain . . .

Ducking his amethyst head, the demon held a hand to his chest; his senses whirled around him, uncontrolled and uncontrollable, but . . . natural to him . . . he felt no confusion in that.

The confusion lay with the dragoness behind him. Her emotions fluttered over him, a tang of pain and suffering but mostly a longing that he found disturbed him, disquieted the billowing malevolence he clutched so tightly to the core of his being. Filia . . . my wife . . . isn't she? Then why was the thick desire causing such uncertainty? Because of what she desired of him?

Yes. His mouth tightened, then opened in a gasp of agony found only along the ebb and flow of his being. How can she want this? The concept suddenly overwhelmed him, and he bent his head, wondering if he should leave the human form to cloister himself in the darkness of oblivion. She wants our union . . . but that's impossible. Is it? We are married . . . aren't we? But Mazoku don't marry . . . I thought she hated me? She doesn't hate me? What am I doing . . . here . . . anyhow . . . ?

Jerking, his hands began to shake, violet eyes hollow. The demon sensed his knees begin to buckle under him, and yet it seemed as if he was watching himself from somewhere beyond; he felt nothing, his body numb.

Where am I?

Looking above him, he found the ebony-draped night mocking him . . . even the stars had disappeared, extinguished and untouchable. A strange wave of abandonment filtered through his ravaged mind, and his teeth clenched, his arms catching himself before he slumped to the pavement.

"Xellos!" a voice called behind him, and he blinked with surprise to hear words directed at him. Finding some solace in his ferocious wrath, he straightened, glaring up at the empty black sky. You've abandoned me, Lady? he asked the night, and began to chuckle softly when no answer returned.

"Xellos . . ." That voice again, and he spun, only to find the flaxen-haired dragoness gazing up at him worriedly. His laughter merely grew louder, and he grabbed her, shocking her by pulling her close.

With a wicked smile that quickened her heartbeat in his ears, the Mazoku held her closely and peered down into those cerulean doe-eyes. "Filia . . . I'm flattered by you."

"Huh?" Those eyes stared at him, lost, scared; funny, it seemed so familiar, was it familiar? It was as if he was looking at himself, but that was impossible, he was never afraid . . . was he?

"You fear me," he said quietly, ignoring the concerned gaze that Rykker sent him from across the balcony. "Don't. I'll protect you. But if you want, you can still feel afraid . . ." He quietly cackled as she began to struggle a bit in his arms, her mouth opening in fright, and those bright ocean-blue eyes . . . he could lose himself in them . . .

"Your terror is refreshing," he told her with amusement, her growing dread heightening his desire for her, "and I think I like it."