Hey there! Welcome to a first chapter of a special section dedicated to Halloween. I hope everyone enjoys this. I also feel this may be a sign of more chapters to come. Now, for reviews.

Mwafwa: Kendar certainly should figure out some stuff to do for fun. However, somehow I doubt he will. He's such a worrywort. :-) Hope you like this chapter!

Kaeru Shisho: It is very true that Xellos' weaknesses can destroy him, but in many ways, is it not the same with us all:-) I miss him too, which is why this next chapter has been nice for me. And I'm glad you like the way that Val is done. In the past, someone once said that he seemed like a Marty Stue for a while, and that worried me. I want all of my characters to come across as realistically as possible. (grin) I hope this chapters is to your liking, I certainly enjoyed writing it.

Mistress DragonFlame: Possibly:-P

XyoushaX: Boy would Filia having a fetish be funny. Too funny. LOL. It won't be for some time that Filia and Xellos have a touching naked scene. It is "M" but we have to remember, too much nudity and naughtiness might move things to XXX levels, which they got rid of a while ago.

Viviolo: Wow! I am so glad to get your review! I am very glad that my characters do NOT make you want to hurl yourself onto rusty pikes. Iyzeka could definitely make one want to do that, but usually she makes the OTHER characters want to impale themselves. Not the readers . ;-p

I do enjoy the longer, drawn out romances myself. Xellos and Filia have a lot of issues to deal with before they would work out together. Fortunately they seem to realize that. As to Kendar's misfortune, I'd have to say that he's in a space similar to an abused younger brother. Telgaln made leaving a terrifying prospect. I hope this new chapter gives ayou a great shriek of joy. smile I try my best to satisfy. And thanks again, keep reviewing!

Ami Metallium: LOL. Yeah, Xellos will have some issues. Fear based responses indeed! (has a Sentinel flashback) And I'm glad that Bubbles still sticks in your head.

Vincelia Valentine: Hey there! I hope my updates don't cause more bittersweetness, but you know, they say the best things in life are free, and um, all good things must end, and other pithy sayings? As to Kirelle . . . problems will arise. Possibly more problems than anyone might realize! How does 2 months for an update sound? I am hoping that it will be sooner than that for the next one as well. More Slayers? Let's see if anyone can find them. As much of a pain as Zelas is for Filia, and vice versa, they have their moments of getting along. Hope you love this chapter, too! Give me a long review to cherish, I hanker for them!

Mythee: You mean people have stolen my idea? Eh, won't be the first time. The entire idea of Filia and Val growing into a modern world as doctors and scientists was already stolen by someone else. I'm pretty much used to it by now. Though I will say that before my fanfic there were many attempts at writing continuations of Try, yet none of them had my "Xellos getting promoted" thing. So I can only assume that if people are copying me now, then my answer is the best. :-D Must be a compliment under there somewhere! Though if you come across another that uses that, let me know. I'm kind of curious now.

SithKnight-Galen: I think Filia is getting stronger. Slowly, she's learning to be. As to Zelas/Iyzeka interactions, there will be more after this chapter. Not much, but some. Telgaln destroyed? Then there would be no reason to go on! (hugs) Don't worry about writing, hon. You do what you need to do and I can only hope that things have improved for you. There's always a silver lining to every cloud, and it sounds trite, but it's true. (hugs again) Well this chapter might not cheer, but it is hopefully entertaining anyhow!

Emmyjenny: Thanks for the review! Hope this gives you the fix you need. :-D


On to the chapter!

This chapter is the first in a very special section.

There is a song that I listened to constantly while writing this. If you manage to have it, buy it for 99¢ on I-tunes, or steal it, I would suggest playing it just for atmosphere. It is called, "Wonderland Woods" by Chris Vrenna off of the American McGee's Alice soundtrack. (the entire album is good and it's cheaper to buy the whole thing per song, but this song in particular is great)

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Chapter 47

Land of the Dead - Book One

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P R O L O G U E

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The amulet shone brightly, the stone as red as fresh blood and glistening as if burning from an inner fire. In the dark, twisting pool that the convalescence room had become, it gave off an unearthly glow that caught Xellos' new eyes like a moth to a flame.

No one knew he was fully formed yet. Perhaps Zelas was aware, if she were keeping close watch upon him, but if so it was not of his own accord. No, instead of informing anyone, he sat within the spinning vortex of demonic energy and watched the pulsating talisman as if waiting for Lina herself to spring from it at any moment, bright and alive in all her glory.

He had asked Zelas if he could look at the amulet to make certain it truly was the one from the set he had sold to Lina so many centuries ago. But in all honesty, he knew deep within himself that he was drawn to it, just as he had been drawn to Lina before. No doubt Zelas had known as well, and humored his uncomfortable misdirection.

But how could he not be fascinated with a human woman who still affected him and his life seven hundred years after her own death?

With a trembling hand, he reached past his cocoon of miasma to take the jewel into his pallid palm, then brought it closer to his eyes to gaze deeply into the burning center. In this darkness, it flared with its own light, reflecting a ruddy sanguine against his pale skin and coloring the surrounding fog an iridescent ruby-black.

Lina . . . You would know what to do, wouldn't you. The Mazoku sighed heavily, placing the amulet against his chest and covering it with both hands. The emotions I tried so hard to cultivate and understand are threatening to tear me into shreds. What I feel for Filia . . . what is it really? And Val has ties to me on so many levels that I cannot even fathom them. And you . . .

Lina . . .

Pulling up his knees, he huddled over the stone, feeling a strange warmth pulsating from it to fill his form with a gentle heat. . . . You still confuse and confound me, raise me up and then leave me to drown here in my own bewildered passions.

His new form felt so heavy . . . leaden and weighed down with the sensations oscillating along every tender nerve and synapse. I . . . I need something. Anything. I feel so trapped, Lina . . . And to have this clue, this sign that you are still with us somewhere . . . I know the afterlife exists, but none have ever touched it save for Phibrizzo, and the twisted path it opened up before him lead him to his death.

I don't want them to die . . . but worst of all, is to know I may not be with them once they do. Do Mazoku have an afterlife? Will you live again so that I may finally be able to show you my true feelings? Can we even beat Telgaln and give Filia and Val the chance to live their lives happily, and be free?

I am not even certain, he clutched the gem ever more tightly to himself, shoulders hunched, that I even know who I am anymore. I . . . Lina . . .

I'm afraid.

The admittance, even to just himself and the talisman he clung to, sent shame and rage burning within him, a fire that threatened to engulf his fear within a hungry, vengeful inferno. But the truth remained, no matter how his ego seethed and struggled against it.

But here, it felt a little safer. The amulet burned a bit hotter, and he uncurled himself to gaze into its soothing flame. Then, as if the broach were sending a comforting thought to him, a lazy heat began to spread up his arms before traveling into his torso and suffusing his entire being in warmth.

I wish I could keep my promise to you, Lina. I know of a way, but it's pure conjure. No Mazoku has ever traveled to the land of the dead. Even Phibrizzo merely snatched souls from the depths of death to use as his puppets. He never ventured past the astral plane and into the void beyond . . .

But Xellos knew that if there was any way it could be done, it would be Phibrizzo's techniques. This rooms very stones that absorb psychic energy to reflect the emotion of the wounded were crystals created by Phibrizzo. They resonate with astral energy, but more precisely, with the quantum frequency of the plane of the dead. I could find you Lina . . . if you really wanted me to. I could go, he found himself pleading with the stone from within his mind, his gaze caught unblinkingly within its scarlet depths.

Should I even try? How can I leave my family? Closing his eyes yet still seeing the glow astrally, he imagined every memory that his energetic form had recorded from when he was inebriated and unstable. All that I have already done to them . . . to Filia . . . Is it wrong of me to desire this? To need this resolution?

The crystal pulsated fire, and Xellos hung his head. I need to know. I need a way to defeat him. Once and for all, before any more people that I care about lose their lives. If this is a sign, Lina . . . then I will take it.

Decision made, he cast out the brittle frailty of his fear: the mind-numbing terror that had suffused his being ever since he learned of Val's near-death, the debilitating horror of how he had nearly destroyed his dearest friend through his own insatiable lust, and the gut-wrenching, terrible dread of failing in their quest that threatened to overtake every last fiber of his being with its madness. All he cast out with the burning fire of his determination, and the heartening glow of Lina's talisman.

Flinging his power outward, he drew every glowing stone from their alcoves along the shimmering black walls, leaving the room drenched in utter darkness. Glowing with a mauve light, the crystals drew closer to him, and all eight formed a circle around him upon the floor within the vortex of dark energy.

The amulet in his hand flared up suddenly, and the astral runes answered in kind as if acknowledging their kin. "Well," Xellos finally spoke aloud into the eager silence, "it looks as if you are all ready to work together, aren't you?" With a dark smirk, he nodded, then drew upon his demonic power until the whirlpool of miasma threatened to blot out even the nearby runes. The tempestuous force firmly ensconced within his control, his consciousness then began to attack the center of himself, the cyclone. Narrowing it gently, firmly, he gave one final stretching pull, and with that, a small twisting funnel sprung into the air, swiftly spinning.

Now if I should not return . . . return. . . his echoing thoughts reverberated through both minds, there will still be most of me remaining here . . . here . . . in the physical plane . . . plane. A trick . . . trick,he mused painfully, I am thankful I've not had to use very often . . . often . . .

Nursing the astral wounds remaining from such a separation, he then directed the majority of his power towards flooding the eight astral crystals with energy. Brighter and brighter they burned until their blinding violet light eclipsed even the talisman.

Until it, too, began to glow, and from where he sat in his human form, Xellos watched in awe as the ruby jewel slowly rose into the air from within the calm eye of the torrentially spinning vortex. Blazing a light so powerful that even his magically enhanced eyes could not take, the item vanished into the tiny segment waiting patiently above.

From below he glanced up to see the miniature cyclone still whirling above his head as if nothing undue had occurred . . . and from the section dancing above, he sensed his human form where it sat upon the floor of the dismal chamber, and the suffusing warmth of Lina's broach.

Now that I am separated . . . separated . . .

The afterlife awaits . . . awaits . . .

With a whoosh, the miniature tornado whirled ever faster, as if it were a spinning top of foggy ebony. Amulet held firmly within, it slipped swiftly into the astral plane, instantly vanishing.

Left behind, the astral section within physical form placed all of his determination into concentrating on upholding the link between himself and his newly departed shadow. Concentrate . . . Stones burning brightly as he fell into a meditative trance, Xellos' remaining self let his eyes close, and surrendered himself to the energy resonating within him.

I'm relying on you, Lina. I will find you. If this amulet is the key, perhaps you are the lock. Finally, he exalted, excitement rushing throughout his form, I will be able to see you once more!

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J O U R N E Y - I N T O - T H E - A B Y S S

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The astral plane's vibrant colors flickered through him as he plunged deeper into the higher dimension. He had no organs with which to see, or touch, or taste, but his astral body knew exactly where he was heading.

Reaching the edge of the astral plane, Xellos' miasma felt the astral wall between dimensions press against him, refusing to allow him to go further. To his surprise, just as the astral runes' energy had fully saturated his tiny cyclone, the amulet flared to life before pulling him nearer to the barrier, then slipping through it as if slicing through water. Between this and the power of Phibrizzo's astral crystals, this journey should actually be possible, Xellos mused with surprise as the talisman drew him along with it.

Slipping through the astral wall, Xellos found himself within utter blackness, a cold chill to it that belied the fact that he held no means of experiencing such sensations.

He felt rather than saw a second layer beyond, and quickly raised the amulet, allowing it to burrow through this blockade as well. The unnerving silence that held him, suspended, seemed to grow colder at every moment, and he knew he had to be imagining the faint, fetid smell of graveyard soil that slithered within his miasma.

The plane that lies between life and death, he mused to himself, feeling the amulet's power as it plunged itself deeply into the psychic wall that was the final separation between the living and the dead, almost breaching it before it halted, unable to continue. I am close. Lina. Wait for me . . .

With a final psychic push to assist the magical gem, Xellos broke through the barrier . . .

. . . Only to find himself falling into complete darkness . . .

Then . . . nothing.

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D E A T H ' S – V E S T I B U L E

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Xellos woke to the hissing sound of distant water splashing against a beach. In and out, the shimmering hish beat back and forth within complete silence.

Blinking his eyes, he found himself within a physical form once again, lying upon the most uncomfortable rocky surface he'd ever felt. Above him darkness reigned, and it was not until he pulled himself painfully, Painfully? to his knees.

In the deep black surrounding him, he could now make out a few shapes, mere silhouettes within the shadow. After a few more moments, it seemed as if his eyes were adjusting, and he realized that a faint sanguine light was cast over the land, barely illuminating craggy rock faces and twisted silvery piñion bushes, their roots clutching at the stone like spindly little fingers.

Looking up, Xellos blinked in surprise. Overhead, looming in the sky menacingly, hung a swollen bloody moon, barely bright enough to cast more than a sliver of light, yet unrivaled by a night sky bereft of any stars. Indeed, the rest of the sky appeared to be painted a rich, unending black, with the huge reddish satellite lording over all.

"How did I get here?" Xellos mused aloud, admitting to himself that even he was rather taken aback by all of this. The sound of his own voice seemed flat and overly loud in the stuffy silence. Even the air did not move, though a chill was slowly growing through his clothes.

At this reflection, Xellos glanced down, realizing that he was wearing his General-Priest garb of golden turtleneck and thick, ribbon-trimmed cape. Wondering where his staff was, he blinked in surprise as it appeared within his outstretched had at just the mere idea.

"So," he once again filled the void of quiet with the sound of his speech, "this place is created by one's own thoughts and will?"

He began to walk, strolling uncertainly through rocky underbrush. It seemed that he had woken within a dried-up riverbed, the skeletal remains of perished creatures sticking up out of the sand as if reminders of how frail the living truly were.

Bones and twigs alike splintered under his feet, and with every step, his cloak snapped in the air, and the sounds of a never-ceasing tide grew louder.

Softly, almost hesitantly, bittersweet sounds of hushed whispers began to chatter in the distance all around him, joined by others in a barely audible song.

The feeble cantada floated along, its minor chords drawing forth an excruciating sadness from far within Xellos' jaded depths. The sorrowful harmonies danced in and out of hearing with each ebb and flow of the distant waves. Each rush of sound strengthened the voices, and every quiet receding tide became a faded hush.

He didn't know where he was going. That in and of itself was disturbing enough, but normally when he was in human form, he had no trouble with seeing in the dark, or hearing the tiniest sound from the furthest distance. Now, however, it seemed as if the physical body he was in had been cursed with every human frailty and every mortal flaw.

Still, Xellos continued his slow progress, occasionally climbing up sheer rock faces with slippery pebbles that fell from beneath his feet to dance and rattle as they dropped meters below him into pools of darkness, or down steep ravines, his precarious footing made more so as the rocks he walked across shifted endlessly under his weight.

Many times he slipped, sometimes blundering down rockslides painfully before pulling himself up once more, or occasionally climbing upon a stone that suddenly fell out from under him, and in his unexpected flight, grabbing a nearby twisted bush just before plummeting into oblivion.

Every endless moment that passed, the sound of the sea and the hymn grew gradually louder. Other sounds began to echo out of the surrounding darkness as well. Inarticulate pleading shuddered down his spine, and deep, hopeless sobbing seemed to dance just within his ears, only to fade as soon as he glanced in its direction.

Finally, he pulled himself up over a jagged outcropping of rock to see a deep garnet reflection shimmering upon a black sea of water, and a beach of gray sand upon which the dark liquid rushed and pulled away in a timeless heartbeat ruled by the gibbous moon above.

The sound of the tide hissed loudly as he jumped down upon the glittering silvery sand, his boots sinking into the granules. Behind him lay lazily tossed branches of driftwood and the pale coiled trunks of prickly piñions and twisted pine. He stood there, violet eyes absorbing the peaceful yet unsettling landscape and the endless ocean of black water before him. The horizon line gave only the faintest of indications that there even was a difference between sea and sky, the still air musty and chill, dank with the scent of salt and decay.

As his gaze flitted around himself, he noticed a shimmer in the corner of his eye, and found himself peering into the wet sand at the water's edge. There he found the glistening of dozens of gold and silver coins lining the tide and flickering hotly beneath every rushing wave. Their lights reflected back the bloody moonlight as if the shore had been transformed into a million stars. The glittering twinkled along the sand as far as he could see in any direction, the shore finally fading into shadows to either side of him.

"A very beautiful, disturbing place," Xellos heard his own voice say as he sighed and sat down upon the sand to lean up against a large piece of ivory driftwood. "And very fitting to be the entrance to the land of the dead."

A low chuckle sounded from everywhere, reverberating through the air, before the deep voice said softly, "Thanks. Glad'ja like it."

Xellos blinked, unfazed but quite interested. "Oh?"

Upon the ocean's black waves, a ghostly dark form began to shimmer into existence, rippling as if a watery reflection. Slowly it drew nearer, until Xellos could make out the silhouette of a boat. High steeple-like points rose up at bow and stern, and he could barely make out the dimpled lines of wooden planks along the sides. Within it, a featureless figure paddled soundlessly through the water, smooth, even strokes that seemed to effortlessly push the boat along towards the shore.

The first detail Xellos could discern was the ornament along the bow. A girl's youthful face gazed at him from within the wood, her anguished eyes pleading for release, or perhaps a shred of hope. Her unruly short hair curled and splayed out as if tossed by an ocean breeze and her curvaceous form was clad in a billowy, sinuous cloth. Her outspread arms arched back to clasp either side of the craft desperately, as if she were afraid to fall from it into the inky waters, never to rise again.

The figurehead's inanimate sorrow clung to him until he shook it away, casting it off and instead setting his gaze upon the boatman, who appeared to be clothed in a dark hood and robe, completely swathed within it.

Without a sound, the tiny ship drew up to the shore and settled into a slow stop. The waves continued to splash up around it and slosh over the glittering coins pressed into the sand. Xellos merely waited, calmly watching the figure. Charon? he wondered, curious as to why a mythical icon had appeared. It's not possible that such stories are real . . . is it?

The black-cloaked form released the slender paddle, which gently drifted to rest against the side of the boat. "But," the warm, melodious baritone continued as the figure glided forward onto the pristine sand, "it's I who should be thankin' you for this lovely little picture. Your view of death . . . is a beautiful, cold world of permanence and regret. Isn't it." The smooth, slight Georgian twang softened the foreboding figure as it languidly approached, each step slow and deliberate, before stopping to stand before Xellos, the deep cowl concealing any features save two faintly glittering lights that pierced the darkness within where a man's eyes would be.

"Perhaps," Xellos raised a brow, gazing deeply into the dual multihued orbs of light. Uncertain of where to begin, Xellos simply held his staff aloft before himself as if measuring the horizon, then swung one leg behind the other to bow low over his weapon, violet hair cascading down to conceal his features completely. "And whom, my good sir," he murmured, "may I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"So formal," slurred the smiling voice, and Xellos raised his head enough to peer once more into the darkness within the ebony hood. "But I suppose you don't remember me, Xellos. Do ya." Shaking its head, the figure raised an arm, and as the dark sleeve slid away, a skeletal hand appeared, index bone raised and all others curled into the palm. "I think you know what I am . . . even if you can't remember who. Just as I know . . ." the figure chuckled, and an edge of menace colored the sound, "that you ain't dead."

Narrowing his eyes, Xellos stared at the figure and rose back into a comfortable standing pose. "My mind has obviously given you the vestments of Death. But is that who you really are?" Skeptical, the Mazoku settled back on his heels, waiting patiently for the skeletal man to answer.

With a sigh, the robed creature turned away from Xellos to face the endless dark waters that vanished into the blackness beyond. "I am that which all souls fear, living and dead," the voice elegized, "I am the embodiment of the ending of a journey, and the beginning of another . . . yet malice and scourge have tainted entropy and left a shallow shell behind." The stale air drew ever colder as the figure raised both bony hands to the cowl, lifting it away while still facing the ocean. "I have had so many names that I do not call my own . . . Sariel, Mot . . . Yama . . . Mairya . . . Leviathan, Metatron . . . Susano'o . . . and so many more. To mortals dwelling in this epoch, I am feared as the Reaper, the Morning Star . . . but none of those are truly me," the voice softened, fading into barely a whisper. "I am the Archangel of Death . . . And you, my friend," the shadowed figure slowly began to turn to face Xellos, "are rather out of place within my domain."

Xellos found himself gazing into a very normal human face, the features of a young man with wide, innocent eyes of a very similar hue to his own, and an unruly mass of auburn bangs falling across his vision. A slight smirk beneath a shapely nose gave the soft mouth a wicked edge that belied the innocence of the round, youthful features. "You don't look much like Death," the demon remarked, raising a brow and giving a smirk in return.

"Nah," the man grinned, "I look like me. At least," he blinked down at raised hands that suddenly bore flesh and sinew, "this is how I always looked before."

"Before?" Xellos asked, noticing that the cold wind's bite lingered less ever since Death had revealed such a human guise.

"Before I was made the Angel of Death," the man answered with a bittersweet smile, casting his eyes across the sea once more and, in the process, revealing long tresses pulled back and ensconced within the ebony robe. "But, that was a long time ago." The smile fell and Death returned his intense gaze to Xellos, a coldness hardening his features. "Why are you here, Xellos? You know this is no place for the living. You should go back to your family. They're probably missin' ya."

Xellos took a step forward, his mouth tightening as his fingers clenched around his staff. "I have to see Lina," he told him outright, staring into Death's eyes resolutely. "I didn't travel all this way to be told to 'go home'."

Rolling indigo eyes, Death threw up his hands, then turned to begin sauntering back towards the boat that nestled against the shore. "Xellos, Xellos, you haven't changed a bit. Still determined as ever. But you know, I can't let you see Lina. Rules are rules." Following close behind, the Mazoku scowled, cape tossed by the wind left in his wake. Just as he was about to open his mouth, the angel quipped, "But, I guess I could give you a tour. Just for old times' sake. You bein' a creation of pure energy, you've been able to step where most mortals are prevented." He turned to face Xellos just before hovering over the water, then settling down within the tiny ship. "Even those corporeal beings capable of astral projection find a barrier too powerful to penetrate."

Seeing the robed man beckoning, Xellos' lips quirked before he took a few steps, then hopped into the boat, bemusedly finding that it held steadfast, and did not rock in the slightest. "The barrier wasn't easy for one of my kind, either."

"Oh, yes," the young brunet chuckled darkly, his extended hand drawing the oar to it effortlessly. "Well, that would be because of what you hold within you. And those crystals," he spat with sudden furor, "damnable things created by a wretched soul indeed." His violet eyes met Xellos' own, his jaw working and a sneer fighting with his smile before he flicked his hand at the shore. "The late Phibrizzo and I are not good friends." Without a sound, the boat slid away from the beach, the prow parting the dark, quiet waters effortlessly.

Surprised, Xellos blinked at him, then felt a warmth begin to flow from his breast. "Is he here," he asked distractedly, touching his chest only to find the solid lines of Lina's amulet pulsating from inside his very form before slipping further within via a shuddering, swelling sensation that brought bile to Xellos' throat. This place is starting to annoy me, he thought to himself.

"So many questions," Death chuckled softly, "for someone who is a guest in my 'house'. I've certainly missed you, Xellos. You and I were always too alike. Either we fought tooth and nail, or we were the best of friends." A sorrowful timbre finished the words, and the angel turned to gaze into the blackness before them.

Glancing around, Xellos found that now the only light that remained to illuminate them appeared to be a warm, candle-like glow centered on the deck of the boat. Unflickering, it generated a bit of heat as well, and Xellos sat upon the raised section of the stern to grow nearer to it, the chill eating away at his back. "Sounds like we really knew each other well. Too bad I don't remember any of it."

"Yeah," Death retorted, still turned away. "It really is." He began to gently paddle, and did not turn to face Xellos again. As each stroke was followed by another, unceasingly, time appeared to stop, until the demon felt entranced by the smooth motion, the wordless hymn floating upon the stale air and the faint rocking motion lulling him towards sleep.

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D I V I N E – P O R T E N T

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The morning dawned cool and crisp, a light drizzle casting a violet-blue haze across every window of the castle, each spread wide to greet the mild downpour.

After breakfast, Filia once again found herself wandering the halls, this time full of thoughts of prophecy, and a deep need to find a place within the dangerous, beautiful and deadly island she now lived upon where she could pray, meditate, and rejoin with her own spirituality. Once again she had been forced to borrow a set of clothes from Zelas, however, this time it seemed the Hellmaster had been prepared. Filia wore a long, flowing indigo dress with lengthy sleeves made from a thick, supple velvet that seemed suspiciously more in her taste than Zelas'.

As she walked, the rain spattered against the stone walls in a complex dance, creating a lovely sound mixed with the swishing of her gown's train upon the marble floors. The watery rhythms lured the dragoness towards a huge sitting area with huge windows cut in random geometric shapes. Odd triangles, pentagons and rectangles revealed fractured diffuse light through which the droplets shimmered and spat. The faded hue of the overcast sky glowed periwinkle along the shiny marble floor, and cut soft shadows into the creamy leather furniture and glittering onyx tables.

Three glass doors broke the unusual shapes of the glass wall, each one open wide to let in the sound of the shower and the cool breezes. Verdant fronds and branches hung down over the windows to mix shades against the lavender sky, as fat beads of water clung to them, only to spatter satisfyingly upon the ground.

It was here that Filia felt herself drawn, and within the somber, quiet rainfall, she felt more peace than she had in quite some time. Pulling up the voluminous skirts and folding her legs into a lotus position upon the floor, she faced the windows and the misty sunlight. The gentle wind tossed her hair, bringing cool moisture in from the rain, and the light played tenderly upon her eyelids.

Gods and Goddesses, Filia's breathing grew deep, and full. Hear me, Mother of All, or Father of All . . . Greatest of Things . . . I am your servant. The rain continued to fall, a smooth pattern that melded into the beating of her heart. Show me all that I desire . . . I ask of thee nothing more than the hope and cure for the ails of this world, of this existence. What is it that we are to do?

And then, time became undone, and all was endless waters and the lovely kisses of zephyrs against her skin. The glowing sunlight entered her, and she let it envelope her entire being. The ebony, glittering stone beneath her rose into her legs, giving her strength. Radiance, fluidity, firmament and breath all centered within her and encompassed all that she was.

Just as her eyes filled with a blinding fire, her eyelids brighter than a thousand suns and a knowledge searing across her consciousness, time did resume, and a rumble of nearby thunder jolt her from her daze. But as the blonde sat, blinking down at the rain-spattered refractions of sunlight through the panes of glass, she smiled. With a deep inhale of breath, Filia glanced up at the gentile sprays that fell against the windows, then let it out.

She knew. And with its knowing, it had left behind an all-encompassing peace.

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M A L I S C A P E

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"Wake up," a hushed, amused voice spoke.

Blinking, Xellos jerked awake, then winced as the diffuse glow of the ship's center filled his eyes. The angel stood over him, a smarmy smile crossing his child-like features. "Not good to fall asleep in this place," he told him, tone sinister yet amused. "Ya' never know where ya' might wake up."

Their surroundings suddenly engulfed Xellos as if he were drowning within them. The fetid scent of salt and earth and decay assailed his nose, and his spine shivered as the whispery breath of the pseudo-hymn rolled over him, the sobbing murmurings once more sounding as if they were right behind him. All was blackness, save for the bloodied moon.

"I could have almost believed it was a dream," Xellos spoke softly, somber as he gazed out across the watery void. In the far distance, he thought for a moment that he saw light slithering across the horizon, a dull, deep rubicund and bronze, the color of hot coals.

"More like a nightmare," Death mused, releasing the oars only to watch, unsurprised, as they continued to row themselves. He stood straight, unflappable, gazing towards the burning edge of the ebon sea. "There are good parts, you know. Heaven beyond the Hell. But it's Hell we'll be traveling through first." Xellos could see, from this angle and with the glowing orb of golden light seated between them, that the angel's long auburn tresses flowed into a braid that disappeared beneath his all-encompassing robe. Whereas the light glistened upon the cascade of hair, the black garment seemed to absorb it almost completely, only the barest sheen of illumination reflected upon the inky surface.

"I'm afraid I don't have much time for such pleasantries," Xellos informed the man from where he sat. "Though I appreciate a tour, I need to visit Lina no matter what. Isn't there something you could do? Being, as you say, old friends?"

Chuckling, Death shook his head and turned back to the horizon, where Xellos realized, the slithering snake of fire set in the distance had grown into a line of tall flames dancing upon the waters. "Xellos . . . I just can't."

Desperate, the demon pulled himself to his feet, finding it suddenly difficult to stand on the shifting boat. "Listen, um . . . Death . . ."

"Please," the youth waved a hand, "call me Azrael. It's the name I've decided I hate the least. I really dislike being called 'Death'. It's so impersonal." Giving a cheery grin, he added, "It's what I do, not who I am."

"So then it's not your original name," Xellos inferred, and was rewarded with a scowl as the angel's disposition changed dramatically.

"No, it's not," the newly named Azrael spat. "Who I was then is someone I shall not be again in quite some time," he pointed in the air with an angry finger as if, in his rage, he wished to jab it into Xellos' chest. "That name you don't recall, so I can't tell you," he calmed. "Nothing about your past existence is allowed to be revealed."

The nearing flames flickered light across their faces as Xellos waved a hand at him. "Please, I meant no harm . . . Azrael," he spoke softly, not wanting to upset him further. If I do, who knows if I'll ever be able to see Lina? I have to play the one card that I have with him right . . . he says we were good friends. I just might be able to exploit that. In a distant corner of himself, however, the thought of manipulating this jocular, yet strangely pitiful archon saddened and shamed him.

The archangel merely shrugged at Xellos' words. "Hey," he sighed, "I just . . . get testy." His gaze was set upon the fires looming in the distance, and a tired pall drew across his violet eyes. "To be honest, I wish you did remember. Guess it makes me kinda' sad, that's all."

Xellos let the silence resume after that, and as the moments passed, they grew ever nearer to the blazing waters until they were surrounded. Gazing intently into the sea of flame the fluid had become, the muffled keening of voices crying out in agony teased his ears, but he saw nothing within the fires. "Azrael," he asked quietly, and the glum-looking angel glanced back, "is this supposed to be the river Styx? I hear screaming . . . but I don't see anyone."

"They're there," the man spoke, tone lackluster, as he waved his hand across the rivers. "Below the surface, in a never-endin' pool of boiling blood, forever burnin'."

Blinking, Xellos looked again, and saw that the waters below the conflagration were an inky garnet, frothing and simmering amongst the fires. "How charming."

"Yeah, and this is only the nicest part of Hell. You don't wanna see the worst parts, ah-" he paused, then looked thoughtful. "Actually, you might wanna. You're not the nicest guy right now. Not the worst, either, though," he added with a smirk. "The lowest pits of Hades are a place I really, really dislike goin' to. Things reside there that even the most nightmarish conjurations or the nastiest horror movies couldn't compete with. Gives me nightmares," he told Xellos. "An' I don't sleep," he grinned at him.

The Mazoku sighed and simply looked at him, and Death's lips quirked in annoyance. "Listen," the robed angel began, "I understand that you want to see Lina. I know that she's important to you . . ." He trailed off, and Xellos straightened.

"Isn't there anything you could do? Any task I could accomplish? You know," he put his hands on his hips, arms akimbo, "in the ancient myths, heroes always had to perform some task to get where they wanted to be in the afterlife. Isn't there something I could try? For old time's sake?" he wheedled.

Beyond the archangel, a glittering of pearlescent light began to appear where the sea of burning blood met the starless sky, and after casting him an annoyed look, Azrael glanced over his shoulder at it. "Here's our stop," he deflected once again.

Xellos exhaled heavily and shook his head, eyes upon the back of the angel. It seemed as if nothing would sway him, and a cold, thick lump of despair had begun to settle deep within the pit of his stomach. Was this all for nothing? Am I to never fulfill my promise? Such a vow was one he felt newfound longing to complete, and with his recent growth in emotions, each sensation grew more and more important. Though I could not truly understand the importance I held in Lina . . . now that I'm finally able to understand what she meant to me . . . it seems I will never be able to show her. To tell her myself . . .

The yearning confused him, yet deep in the recesses of his consciousness, he wondered if he ached for this sense of completion to sooth the confusion and shame he could not escape. Or is this my escape, he wondered painfully, slumping to the bottom of the boat to drop his head into his hands. Filia . . . I just can't face you. I'm . . . I feel . . .

He didn't know what he felt. He just needed a friend.

Someone . . . who won't . . . judge . . .

"Aw, dammit," a soft curse distracted him just as the tiny ship ceased its rocking. Xellos raised his head, blinking away unshed tears to see the angel standing over him with a sheepish expression, a glistening forest of silvery trees behind him. "Don't get all sad on me," Azrael glared down at him, skin flushing as he rubbed the back of his head. "Jeeze, makin' me feel so guilty . . . Alright, alright," he sighed, "I'll let you try to prove your worthiness. But just this once."

Uncomfortable with his suddenly overwhelming display of emotion, Xellos nodded, swallowing, his eyes dropping to the ball of glowing light still winking from the center of the deck.

"Hey," Death murmured. "Don't feel too ashamed . . . in this place, time is meaningless. So are a lot of the psychological barriers and walls mortals create. You non-corporeals don't consider yourselves to be mortal, but you are. You can die. And here," he gestured to the new shoreline, the ground a snowy silvery-blue that glowed with reddish edges in the moonlight, "time starts to decay. That's one reason why you shouldn't stray long here. Pretty soon you'll start to forget more than just why you should be macho and not cry. You'll forget who you were as a mortal altogether. You'll die. For real."

He held out his hand to Xellos, and the demon gazed at it for a moment, then took it. "If you're an angel," he murmured softly as he was pulled to his feet, the boat as still as stone, "and I'm mortal . . . does that mean I'm not a demon?"

Azrael gave him a charming smile that broke into a grin. "C'mon, old buddy . . . le'me give you a tour, and some extra time to do what you need to do. Your time isn't yet," he slapped Xellos across the shoulders, "and you don't have to worry about dyin' on my watch. After all," he chuckled, "I am the controller of death."

Xellos followed him off of the boat and onto the glacial sand, ice cracking under his feet as he did. His head rose to gaze into the sky, finding the bloody moon enveloped by the licking of frost. As he watched, a cold azure chill overcame the ruddy hue, and the ember-like burning was snuffed out, replaced by a frigid glittering ball of ice.

A similar shiver ran down his back, and he realized that the warm hand of Azrael still touched his shoulders through his cloak. "Come on," Death murmured kindly. "Why don't you tell me a story or two. It's been a long time since I've had a friend to talk to."

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