Rise of the Fallen

Humans mastered a special kind of chaos. Thousands of other worlds, years, and species, and none quite made the mark humans did. From the rewriting of already mistranslated texts into religions to justify murder and rape for physical wealth, to war, to the death of their planet. The dragons, with their love for shiny things, had nothing on humans’ greed.

Who hadn’t seen the end coming?

Star wandered the spaces between, little more than a ghost, watching the worlds change, observing mortals live and die, wars and kingdoms rise and fall. Many ages seeming like the end, but only now as the planet itself began to collapse, stripped of the rare resources that kept the magic from running wild and all of existence from caving in on itself, did Star agree that the time of humans was ending. Would they survive this final destruction? He struggled to care anymore, though it had once been his job and passion, to help them thrive.

His fault, perhaps? Had he broken his love’s creation? Or had this always been the intention?

Star wandered the streets of Chicago. He’d memorized a thousand giant cities, explored them all as little more than a shadow, but returned to this one time and again. Why?

He paused outside a nondescript bar. Nothing outside special at all, inside the food was passable, the liquor only mid-shelf, but something kept pulling him back.

Star waited until someone else entered and slid inside behind them, conserving his muted energy, the chains heavy on his limbs and throat as a constant reminder. His heart thumped, cracking the ice around it as he caught a familiar shape behind the bar. The man was young and barely old enough to drink. Mortal laws were strange and inconsistent, but he provided others with alcohol and a smile. Star had savored that smile a handful of times to memorize the nuances of politeness and rare glimpses of welcoming.

The man’s chocolate brown hair shimmered with a thousand natural highlights in every shade of color, a spectrum of life and light growing from his head no human would see, but he had pulled his hair up high on his head into a bun, only a few stray strands escaping to touch his face, a sign the night was bustling despite the unravelling world outside the bar’s doors. The touch of a well-maintained beard hid the sharp jawline Star longed to touch, but it was his eyes, a blue swirling with a universe of colors that kept bringing him back.

Yuri.

Yuri never remembered Star. Twice Star had dared to speak to him. Drawing enough power to manifest even for a few minutes made Star weak, sometimes sending him into a coma-like slumber for weeks. But as with most humans, Yuri dismissed their encounters as dreams and allowed them to fade. Star returned a dozen times to stare at the man’s beauty with longing, not understanding the draw exactly. He’d met a thousand humans with bright auras wrapped in rainbow colors to remind him of his lost love. Humans couldn’t perceive the variation, the spectrum of light and dark too muted for them and their eyesight too weak to decipher, but Star wanted to explore and memorize every trace of color change in Yuri.

Star paused near the door, watching. His heart thawing by simply being in the room with the man. He waited until Yuri moved down the length of the bar to serve another customer before slipping into an empty seat at the counter.

Tonight would be the end of civilization. The veil would tear another Fracture in time and space, dropping everything into madness. It was a familiar enough feeling to give Star a sense of peace. Each time it happened, he hoped it was the last, longed for his end, and prayed to find the love stolen from him several millennia ago. He longed to bask in the warmth of his lover again. If it meant the end of humanity, so be it.

His only regret was Yuri.

Star wrapped waves of power around himself, manifesting in the human world as he rarely did. The coming rift gave him added strength. Not enough to break the chains, but perhaps sufficient to stare into Yuri’s beauty, listen to his sweet words, and maybe share a touch or two?

But touching Yuri would cause more trouble than any human deserved. It would put a target on Yuri’s back, awakening any latent abilities the man might have, and open him up to a world of nightmares as the shadows always sought to devour anything Star adored, a curse of his brethren’s jealousy. The rainbow blend of colors painting Yuri’s aura meant the man could see through the veil, and might even have the power to untangle the end of days, but who wanted to know all about the end? Who would want the pain, terror, and grief of knowing and being powerless to change it? Fate was a cruel and unrelenting bitch.

Star flinched and stared down at his hands. They blinked from human fingers to the clawed monstrosity of his curse as he tried to regain control of his anger. He clenched his hands into fists, crossing his arms over his chest to hide them.

Yuri appeared in front of him, making Star suck in a deep breath of joy and grief all at once. The desire to touch the man, memorize his sighs, and examine the mix of colors woven through his aura made Star tremble. Yuri gave him a sweet smile, genuine and charming, and absently asked for Star’s ID. This modern world, so strange with its rules. He manifested an ID and shared pleasant words with Yuri about drinks. The background noise of the television news broadcasting disasters as the world fell apart sank into Star’s subconscious like a ticking time bomb.

So little time left. To say he didn’t long for the implosion of humanity would have been a lie. His brethren fought with him forever, claiming humanity was a blight to be extinguished, their dreams finally coming to fruition.

Star disagreed because his lover had created them. The imperfections of humanity adding an unusual ability for thought and creativity that no other creature seemed to have. Millions of species and worlds, yet none as filled with inner magic, beauty, and monstrosities as humans. Did he care anymore?

As he watched Yuri move, he thought, for this one, yes.

Humans entered the bar and approached with scathing words. The shadows always drew the dark ones to Star. Yuri tried to dissuade them, his concern over Star endearing. Star could have struck them dead with a thought, but not in front of Yuri. He didn’t want the man to fear him. When a human touched Yuri, it was a step too far. It was all Star could do to control his rage. He reacted without thinking, grabbing the human’s wrist, his touch sliding a wave of darkness through the human like slime devouring his soul. Even if Star did nothing, the man wouldn’t live through the night.

Star decided none of them would. The weakening veil meant he felt strong, his ability to manipulate this world tangible. He could tear them to shreds, work out his aggression, and since the world was about to end, it wouldn’t matter. He could return to the bar, and his gentle flirting with Yuri, and wait until it all caved down around them.

He spared a brief look at Yuri, sighing internally with a thousand ideas of how he’d like the man beneath him, and teach him to sing of pleasure, show him what love could be through physical touch. Could he erase the sadness that stained Yuri’s heart? It had been growing long before they met. Star’s sadness echoed Yuri’s, as though they were bound without Star ever daring to touch him, but standing in his presence made his heart beat, and the frozen emotions inside him begin to crack free of their prison.

Desire, the first to leech through, anger quickly following with jealousy and need hot on the trail. A combination of emotions often woven together and long cast into the frozen abyss, he marveled at their awakening. Yuri’s doing?

Star followed the humans outside, cracked his knuckles and let his hands turn to claws, not caring if they all died. He could play a little. How long had it been since he’d had a real fight? Not that humans were strong enough to fight him, anyway. But they came at him and he enjoyed the stretch of muscles long stiffened from his chains, dodging their attacks, delivering a light hit here or there to draw it out, not unlike a cat playing with a mouse.

They would never have landed a hit if the door behind Star hadn’t opened and he sensed it was Yuri coming out of the bar. One of the human’s smashed Star in the face, splitting Star’s lip on fangs rising from his loss of control. The rush of pain awakened a thousand nerves and needles of sensation Star forgot existed in his human form. He needed to end this before Yuri got involved and worried the man’s heart would turn away from him if Star actually killed them. He sped through an attack to knock them all unconscious. The curse of his touch spread over them and the shadows pooled in the alleyway, anticipating a feast as the last man went down and stayed there.

“Holy fuck,” Yuri said. “You okay?” Yuri reached for Star, his gaze going to the trickle of blood on Star’s lip. Star stepped away, composing himself to hide fang and claw. Since Yuri didn’t flinch away, Star’s hold on his beast must have been firm.

“Fine. I apologize for the trouble,” Star said, his heart hammering not from the fight, but speaking to Yuri, being seen even if it wasn’t his true form. Star licked away the blood from the side of his lip. It would heal, but the way Yuri’s gaze followed Star’s tongue lit a fire in Star.

The end of civilization, he reminded himself. If Yuri survived the coming catastrophe, he wouldn’t want to be cursed with Star’s touch.

He kicked their asses like some super-powered being in a video game.

Yuri stood in the doorway, open-mouthed, shocked. The small, pretty man, with a teal streak through his dark hair, moved like water, beating the shit out of the four guys who’d lured him outside.

The group of drunk frat boys had started this mess, bothering pretty boy at the counter of the bar where Yuri worked the closing shift as a bartender to pay for chef school. When the pretty boy sat at the counter, Yuri had instantly asked for his ID, though he didn’t really think the man was underage. Yes, he looked young, but something in Yuri’s gut said he was older than he looked. World-weary eyes, perhaps? He flashed a sardonic smile and pulled out a wallet to flash an ID for another state, but the date put him closer to thirty than twenty.

Yuri threw him a nod, not more than glancing at the card. “What’ll you have?”

Tuesdays were never busy nights, usually the same crowd in those who wanted to drown in the alcohol. Yuri expected, from the fit of his clothes, and the high end look of him, that he’d order something fluffy or fruity, but he said, “Vodka. Top shelf. No ice.”

“I don’t have Grey Goose,” Yuri said, knowing a lot of the younger crowd wanted names rather than the best. “But I’ve got Van Gogh or Tito’s.”

“Van Gogh Oranje?” he asked.

A drinker then. Yuri nodded and set a tumbler before him, a fresh bottle of Van Gogh at the ready. The man waved a hand at the glass and Yuri poured. More than a shot, this type was best on the rocks, mixed in a drink, or smoothly sipped. He wasn’t the chatty type either, focusing instead on the overhead TV playing the news on mute with subtitles talking about the latest disasters.

The world was plunged into a nightmare with a growing ripple of natural disasters. Everything from tornados, hurricanes and floods to earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. The past year had been chaos, and seemed to get worse, every day something else on the news, another natural disaster, thousands dead, or feared dead, and there seemed to be no end in sight.

Chicago, the city in which Yuri worked and went to school, a supernatural level of wind storms brought a new meaning to the windy city. On the outskirts of the city, he hadn’t noticed a difference, but the wind had brought down a handful of the downtown towers, crashing in chunks over the city. The rumbling made everything rock and roll, and the plume of debris and dust had choked the city for days, leaving the sky a strange orange haze.

“Never seen before,” “record-breaking,” and “biblical level” were words often on the news. The world was coming apart at the seams, and Yuri tended bar and attended school to feed the grind of the capitalist machine. He thought often it was better than the cult life he’d escaped, but also wondered what the point to any of it was. Surviving disaster after disaster alone, working for pennies, barely surviving. Why?

With the world dying and him stuck working like a zombie, his depression and loneliness grew. What was the point?

The pretty boy at the counter gave him something to look at. He tended a handful of others before returning to the pretty boy and motioning to his glass.

“Please,” the young man agreed, and Yuri refilled.

“You want to order any food?” Yuri asked.

“Are you cooking tonight?” The man threw back, a touch of an accent in his tone.

Yuri smiled. He did from time to time, testing his culinary skills when the bar was slow to offer delights that the type who frequented this space rarely got to try. “Too busy for me to play chef tonight,” Yuri said. Had the man been in before? He thought he’d remember that, since the pretty boy was the type to make anyone look, even if they weren’t into guys like Yuri was. There was something about him, an edge of charisma or an aura of something that dazzled. The hair was an unusual distraction, the color blending as if it were natural rather than some rebellion of brightness among the inky darkness that fell around his high cheekbones in waves.

He was lean, barely six feet, not lanky, but narrow. Face prettier than most men, lips full, eyes with a slight uptilt, but marginally wider with a button nose that made him look almost fae-like, or as if he’d stepped off some movie set.

Yuri had never met a celebrity in real life, but he suspected the pretty man was something like that. “You’ve tried my cooking? I would have thought I’d remember seeing you in here before,” Yuri said.

The man smiled, a light reaching his eyes as he brought the glass to his lips again, sipping his vodka. “That’s kind of you.”

Did people not notice him? Were they blind?

“I’ll cook for you anytime you’d like, as long as it’s not a night that I’m the only tender on duty. Let me know if you need another drink or food, or anything,” Yuri said. He could imagine wrapping his arms around the pretty man and holding him for a time. “It’s a crazy world out there, and we could all use a few minutes, right?”

“Indeed,” the man agreed. He held the glass in steady long fingers, the length of them disappearing beneath long sleeves of a fitted navy sweater, and ink colored each digit.

“You’re a tattoo fan?” Yuri asked. “I have a few myself.”

The man glanced at his hand and nodded, pulling back the sleeve to show more color. It looked like snakes, or a multiple headed serpent, like something out of a fantasy novel, the colors shifting with iridescent purple, teal, and aqua which Yuri hadn’t known was possible in ink.

“Cool,” Yuri said. “My art is a bit fantasy inspired, dreams.” He kept his art hidden by clothing; the fear ingrained in his youth rising at the mere thought.

“Perhaps sometime we can share stories,” the man said as he continued to sip his vodka. “When you have more time.”

Yuri nodded, smiling. Another patron waved to him. He headed their way to refill a glass and attended a handful of other customers.

The group of frat boys arrived a few minutes later and Yuri knew they’d be trouble right off, but their normal bouncer had lost a family member to the downtown collapse and had quit, so that meant Yuri against more brawn than brains, and he wasn’t the biggest guy in the room, more average—average height, average weight, average everything. It made blending in a crowd easy, but turning away bullies a touch harder, and after midnight a group like that wasn’t looking for quiet drinks. They wanted a fight.

They seemed to zero in on pretty boy as a target, commenting on everything from his hair to the fit of his clothes, which were more European trending than American, fitted to him, not off the rack.

The man, despite all the surrounding noise, didn’t acknowledge them at all.

“Enough,” Yuri snapped. “Find another bar. Taps are closed for you.”

“We’re paying customers. You can’t shut us down,” one of them said.

“Since I’m in charge of the bar, I can,” Yuri said. “You want trouble? Take it outside. Plenty of bullshit to find out there. Careful a building doesn’t fall on you.”

One of them reached across the bar and grabbed Yuri by the collar. “How about we take you outside? Show you the way back to your country?”

Yuri narrowed his gaze, knowing they were zeroing in on the slant of his eyes and cut of his cheekbones that made him obviously mixed race. “American born and raised, asshole. Now get the fuck out.”

The man balled up his fist, and Yuri braced for a hit, thankful he could divert their attention from the pretty man, even if that meant he’d go home bruised, but the hit never came. Pretty man put his hand on the jock’s wrist and twisted, breaking his hold on Yuri. He shoved the man away from the bar and toward the far door.

“Let’s,” he said, giving the brute a toothy smile. He motioned for the door that led to the side, out to the alley and the trash.

“That’s not a good idea,” Yuri said to the pretty man. But the man threw a few big bills down on the counter to cover his booze and disappeared beyond the side door. The jocks laughed. The one who had grabbed Yuri gave him a shove before they followed the pretty boy out.

Should he call the cops? There hadn’t been a unit available since the towers came down. Lots of search and recovery, digging through rubble to find thousands of bodies. The military had shown up to help with the aftermath, although something new and awful was happening every day somewhere in the world and plenty of it right here in the US of A.

Yuri glanced around the bar. But it was him, two servers, and the cook, who was a man in his sixties. The servers were slips of girls who did well at running the room, delivering food and drinks. No one else seemed to need much in that moment, so Yuri darted to the door, expecting to wade in and get his ass kicked too, but found the pretty boy moving like only people in movies ever did.

It was a sort of dance of martial arts and magic, height for a jump that didn’t seem physically possible, speed, precision, and the strength to smash a jock halfway down the alleyway with a single kick. Was Yuri being punked? Was his whole life a movie set somehow?

In seconds the group of jocks were on the ground groaning, all unable to get up, but no one looked injured enough to actually need medical care, which was good because Yuri didn’t know of any EMTs or hospital space available. They were breathing, that much he could tell.

“Holy fuck,” Yuri said as the pretty man stepped away from the group. His expression changed to one of sadness and worry for a few seconds before a mask of blank indifference went up. “You okay?” Yuri asked him, reaching for a drop of blood that trickled from the edge of the man’s lip. Had one of them got a good hit in?

The pretty man stepped out of reach; his smile strained. “Fine. I apologize for the trouble.” He dabbed away the blood, his tongue darting out to lick the drop away. Yuri felt something in his stomach tighten with need. A rising desire he couldn’t recall ever feeling before. To take care of him? Or something more? Like that drop of blood should have been his to claim. He swallowed hard at the crazy thought. Must be the insanity of the world finally getting to him.

“Not your fault these assholes pulled shit,” Yuri said. “Come back in, and I’ll refill your glass.”

The man hesitated, a half-lidded gaze landing on Yuri that made Yuri’s cock harden, his jeans tightening, the zipper biting into him. Bedroom eyes? Was that what all the books meant? A gaze of longing, interest? Was he misreading? Or imagining things?

He’d learned in his cult days how to lock those feelings down and stepped back to open the door. He held it and motioned for the man to head back in and waved at the frat boys. “They look fine. I’ll lock this side door when we head back in and let everyone know to let them wander off on their own.”

The man tilted his head, studying Yuri, but then nodded, carefully stepping by to enter the bar without touching Yuri at all. Was it strange that Yuri burned for a touch? He followed the man inside and went back to the counter, finding a fresh glass and filling it, taking the money the man had left and sliding it back across to him.

“Why?” the man asked.

“Seems shitty to make you pay when some assholes tried to pull shit,” Yuri said. It meant he’d go home without tips tonight to cover the cost of the drink, but that was okay. With the world ending, money seemed to matter very little. Maybe tomorrow would end with a meteor falling on his little studio and blasting him to bits. Fast seemed better than this brutally slow demise the planet was taking.

“You are too kind for this world,” the man said, sliding the money back. “Take it, and I will keep drinking, refuse, and I shall go.”

Well, that was an ultimatum if Yuri ever heard one. It didn’t normally matter if someone came or went. Yuri got good at ignoring everyone at the bar. People flirted with him, all genders and races, but he’d never taken that path. His youth of cult brainwashing, hard to overcome. But his heart flipped over at the thought of the man walking away.

Yuri took the money, counting out bills that were higher than his rent and a lot more than the entire bottle of booze. He frowned. The pretty man smiled. Yuri refilled his glass.

The man’s gaze went back to the TV and endless news of disasters. One server passed Yuri. “Thanks, Yuri,” she said. “Those guys are always handsy when they’re in.”

Yuri had done nothing, but she didn’t acknowledge the man at the bar as she passed to grab up a tray from the kitchen delivery counter.

“Yuri?” the man said, his accented voice seeming to dance on the name.

“Yeah,” Yuri agreed. “My mom saw it in an anime and liked it.” She’d been barely fourteen when forced to have him. He shoved those thoughts away, going back to focusing on the bar, cleaning the counters, and filling any dwindling glasses. His depression was drowning on the best of days. He worked to keep it from overwhelming him, distraction his vice.

“What can I call you?” Yuri asked after a few minutes of background noise. The bar was too quiet, the madness of the end of the world on the news playing, but everyone else still, watching in horror.

The man turned his gaze back to Yuri’s. “Star.”

Yuri grinned. “Yeah?”

The man, Star, shrugged.

“It suits you,” Yuri said.

Star frowned, a few expressions crossing his face, and Yuri felt bad. Maybe he hated his name?

“I mean, you sort of shine like a star, right?” Yuri tried. “That action in the alley was crazy, but you’re the guy everyone notices?”

None of that seemed to help Star’s troubled expression.

“Sorry,” Yuri finally said. “Bad way of saying ‘You’re pretty’, I guess?” Fuck. He shouldn’t have said that either. Men didn’t like to be called pretty, right? Toxic world they were in and all that. “Handsome, whatever. Sorry.”

“You think I’m pretty? A lovely gentleman like you?” Star asked. Yuri tried to place his accent. A touch of British, perhaps? European at the least. Yuri leaned in a little, hoping to hear more.

“Uh, yeah? Is that okay? I’m not lovely. Or a gentleman, really. Just Yuri.”

Star’s gaze returned to that half-lidded thing he’d done in the alley that made Yuri’s gut clench with longing. A need to touch. He touched no one. Had learned in his cult days that touch was bad. Well, he knew that was wrong, part of his brainwashing, but he was still working to decode all that crap. He’d been out two years.

Star studied him, and Yuri tried to shove his anxiety down.

“Sorry. I’m not trying to come on to you,” Yuri said quickly. “I know that’s rude. You’re here to drink. I try not to be one of those guys. I just…” He didn’t know how to explain his war of emotions. Attraction and desire he’d never felt before, rising in conflict to his childhood trauma.

“I’m not offended,” Star said. “Surprised.”

Yuri squinted at him, confused. “Why? You’re gorgeous. You probably have people throwing themselves at you all the time?”

Star seemed to consider his words, sipping the vodka in quiet reflection for a minute or two. “And you? Do you have people throwing themselves at you, sweet Yuri?”

“People flirt sometimes.” Yuri shrugged. “I think they are drunk.” He wasn’t pretty like Star. Not overly tall at five nine, his long brown hair touched with red, giving it a slight mahogany sheen, but he kept it pulled up in the ever-scorned ‘man bun’ when he worked. He’d grown it out the second he escaped the cult. The severe military style cut had always irritated him, but the newfound curls that barely brushed his shoulders when loose reminded him he was free. He never thought his face was much to look at, a mix of his Texas father, with pale blue eyes, and the sculpted cheekbones and skin tone of his Asian mother. His body was lean and muscled from the years of hard labor, but not what graced movie screens or magazine covers. He wore a medium in everything, felt average in most everything. And in the big city of Chicago, even his mixed genes weren’t all that unusual.

“You are lovely,” Star said. “Doesn’t take drowning in cups to see that.”

Yuri flushed, his face feeling on fire. “Thank you.”

A shuddering thud shook the entire building. Like an earthquake, the ground wobbled and rolled, a roaring rumble of grinding stone shattered the quiet. Yuri threw his hands over his ears trying to ease the assault of the sound, metal on glass scraping, the noise near deafening.

Everyone froze, some screamed, terror on faces as the ground continued to move and the sound slowly faded. The lights flickered; the TV turned to static. Had something else fallen much closer this time?

“What the fuck?” Yuri asked when the sound and movement ended. The lights flickered again and died completely, leaving them in complete darkness. The servers shrieked, and Yuri heard movement, but didn’t know where to go.

“Everyone, stay calm!” Yuri called. He dug in his pocket for his phone and turned on the flashlight, which was blinding, but the actual phone itself said no service. He tried to illuminate the space to see the movement. The door opened, people rushing out. Something outside glowed in the distance. Fire?

Yuri’s stomach flipped over in fear. The flashlight touched on Star’s face, still having remained at the bar. The light cast shadows over him, and he blinked, looking a little ghastly, the planes of his face seemingly stretched with shadows in the low light.

“You okay?” Yuri asked again, reaching for him.

Star rose from his seat and slid easily out of range. “The end is never pleasant,” he said.

Yuri rounded the bar and headed for the door, holding it open to direct everyone out. Even the cook passed him by as all the power had died, leaving them in darkness. He held the door and Star was the last to leave, Yuri behind him. The image in the distance was one of wonder. A giant arch pierced the landscape, eclipsing everything. The city beyond, which had once been central Chicago, completely gone, vanished beneath the rainbow light of the arch and the dancing shadows beneath.

Things poured from the base of the arch, like legions of spiders or something, tiny but fast racing movement in the distance. Yuri’s heart flipped over in fear. What was it? All of it? Had something fallen from the sky? Had there been a satellite as big as the city? Perhaps an alien attack?

There were screams and shrieks around them. People running in every direction. Fires burned from partially collapsed buildings, smoke stinging the air. The surrounding landscape, any building over three stories, had fallen from the movement. Rubble filling the streets, bodies too, lying unmoving. Some appeared untouched by anything, others crushed in falling debris. Yuri trembled. It looked like a war-zone, the stuff from movies or those novels he’d always been told were evil growing up.

The employees and the patrons of the bar vanished into the night, leaving Yuri standing there gaping at everything, his chest tightening in pain. Star lingered a few feet away, his gaze cast at the arch, expression filled with sadness.

“You okay?” Yuri asked again, looking him over for sign of injury. “Can I walk you home or anything?” Did either of them have a home to return to? He looked toward the distance and thought it was going to be a long walk to find out if he still had a studio apartment. His car had vanished beneath a wall of rubble.

“You are anxious about me,” Star said. “Are you well?”

“I think the world is ending,” Yuri said, pain tightening his chest, the sign of a panic attack, first since leaving the cult. He put a hand to his chest and tried to breathe. “Fuck, sorry. Panic attack.”

He struggled to sit, finding a clear spot in the road to tuck his head between his knees. End of the world and some big bad he was, panicking and almost passing out. Star crouched nearby, hand hovering inches from him as if to help, but hesitant.

“It’s okay,” Yuri said, wheezing as he tried to count his breaths, forcing his mind to focus even while his lizard brain told him to run. Running wouldn’t save him, nothing would anymore. The world was ending. “This will pass in a minute. You can touch me if you want.” He wanted Star’s touch, even while chaos reigned around them.

“No one wants my touch,” Star said.

“That’s stupid,” Yuri grumbled, sucking in gulps of air. Yuri had spent most of his life avoiding touch. Now, if it was the last thing he ever experienced, he longed to be touched, especially by this pretty man who set his soul on fire with his presence. “I would love your touch,” he confessed, not caring about the consequences because it was the end of the world. “End of the world, right? Fuck it. What’s the worst you could do? Beat me up like you did those guys in the alley?” Yuri asked.

Star smiled and leaned in close enough that Yuri could smell him over the scent of ash and fire coating everything. It was a warm smell, not unlike the fire, but a touch of sugar too, sweetness, toasted, like marshmallows. Yuri reached out to touch Star’s face, wondering at the strange play of shadows across his features. Did Yuri look as ghastly to Star in this rippling light of fire? Not that it mattered, because when Yuri’s fingers touched Star’s cheeks, the pretty man re-solidified before him. The shadows vanished and the light beneath his skin drew Yuri close. He was so incredibly beautiful it brought a clarity and focus to Yuri’s mind, helping him breathe, and fading the panic. Star hesitated to close the distance, expression guarded, but Yuri tugged him down, and pressed his lips to Star’s, wanting one taste if this was the end, the feel of another’s lips on his, one brief encounter with a star…

Yuri didn’t know how to kiss. He never had before, only seen it in movies after he’d escaped into the real world. He didn’t know how to start it or if Star even wanted it, but the man took control, wrapping his hand around Yuri’s neck and pulling them close. Star’s lips danced over Yuri’s, his tongue gently prodding for entrance, and Yuri let him in. Star tasted of toasted marshmallows and heat, with a metallic bite almost like blood. Yuri didn’t pull away, instead sank into Star’s touch, wanting things he’d never allowed himself to long for in his entire life.

The end of the world made it all okay, right? Star wasn’t pulling away, beating him or berating him for daring to touch. It was okay to want, right?

Yuri sucked in a deep breath as Star pulled back, tugging Yuri to his feet. They were almost the same height, and the dancing of the fire and distant rainbows made Star’s eyes go from pale blue to rippling oil-spill black. Fascinating. Wondrous.

“You’re so beautiful,” Yuri said.

“Oh, Yuri,” Star said, his voice soft and pained. “I would never wish my curse on you.”

“Curse?” Yuri asked absently, lost in the beauty of Star’s face. He trembled, pulling Star closer. Wanting everything and not understanding what he wanted. Touch? Sex? Love? Need? Long denied the chance to explore any of that. He didn’t know where to start. “We’re going to die, right? End of the world and all that? I want…” He leaned in for another kiss.

Star let him, guiding, coaxing, and teaching, his hips pressing to Yuri’s and building a need like Yuri had never let himself indulge before. He knew men liked other men, had swallowed the desire himself a million times, but this was so much better. Not evil or painful, as the cult had made him fear. His body sang at the touch of Star’s erection grinding into his.

Star sighed. “You’re so pure, you should not be mine. I should not have touched you, spoiled you…” He tried to pull away, but Yuri clung to him.

“Please,” Yuri begged. He didn’t know what he wanted. Not really. And yet his mind, filled with a thousand thoughts they had taught him, were wicked. “It’s the end of the world. Can’t I be me for five minutes?” Without all the sadness, pain, and guilt.

“And who are you, Yuri? Who do you want to be?” Star asked.

“Yours?” Yuri said dumbly. Even if it was only five minutes. He wanted that touch. “Please? Is it okay? To not feel like I’m evil for the last minutes of the end of the world?”

“Evil?” Star asked, his hands cupping Yuri’s face. “Why would anyone think you’re evil?”

“Because I want this.” Yuri gripped Star tight. “If this is the end, I want to feel everything. I want to feel adored, loved for a few minutes, even if it’s nothing but a lie.” Tears blurred his vision, the loneliness and fear of rejection rising. “I’m so tired of being alone.”

Star gave him a sad smile but kissed him again. “Then let that be my gift to you. In exchange for the ill that will come from my curse, let me show you how beautiful feeling can be.”

Lucian’s vision erupted in a flare of light and heat, shoving him into a rolling wave of darkness until he landed with a bone breaking jolt. The entire landscape shook, but Lucian blinked into a blind array of brightness, unable to see from the massive flare. His gut heaved and hurled like his stomach wanted to be on the outside, and he rolled over to retch. He hadn’t eaten food in days, but sludge spewed from him for several minutes while the ground still shook.

His vision slowly returned, spotted with stars, gut settling with a wobbling rock. A spill of black ichor puddled where he’d retched, and Lucian crawled away from it, disgusted by the mess that seemed to writhe and undulate like a living thing. Where had that come from?

Lucian blinked through the brightness, a sun shining overhead with a strange pink and purple glow illuminating everything. The manor appeared to have half landed on the edge of a hill, the walls splitting in the middle with giant cracks as one side tipped downward. The attached field of corpses, only a dozen now, wriggled in ghastly detail, the gore clarified by the blazing light of the sun. Beyond the chunk of mansion and rock island, a world of cotton candy trees, painted in pastel pinks, purples, greens, oranges, and yellows, peppered the landscape like some creepy board game. Lucian’s retrieval team had recovered dozens of mortals in the past decade, the children sometimes bringing with them games, toys, and strange artifacts from the past. This world reminded him of a game filled with candy, and a story he’d once listened to about a witch luring children to a cookie house to eat them. The stuff of nightmares.

Something had ripped Vladimir Tepes’ castle out of the world of Dahna in some sort of godlike hand and hurled it into a bubblegum world of brutal pastel bright flora.

Where was the Monster? He blinked back more stars, his eyes aching as if the world were too bright, and found his father prone near the front stairs, but slowly rising. Vlad kept his hand up over his face, flinching from the brightness as Lucian worked his way to his feet. He glared at the sword on the ground, still tainted with Yuri’s blood, refusing to touch it. His sire’s fault, Lucian thought, but also Lucian’s weakness. His sire played his fears like a fiddle.

A high-pitched squeal pierced Lucian’s hearing. He covered his ears and searched for the source of the sound. Small fluffs of brightly colored fur leapt onto the shelf of the castle’s spread. Only a handful at first, then a dozen, and quickly multiplying. They weren’t large, less than a meter by human standards, but didn’t seem to have faces at first, as they moved like giant hairballs, hopping and rolling. But the sound came from their direction, and one turned Lucian’s way, fur sliding back to reveal enormous eyes, doe-like, but narrow with a slit for the pupil.

He stared back at it in a few seconds of wonder, thinking Yuri would want to pet them, but the mass of floofs let out a chilling chitter and launched themselves at the nearest wriggling body on a skewer. The screams were horrific, a thousand times a nightmare, as they picked the thing apart with razor sharp fangs and curved talon claws in only a few seconds, feasting on the body and bones of the creature in a gnawing, wet garble of sound, then racing to the next.

The one with Lucian in its sight bounced forward.

“Fuck me,” Lucian muttered, his legs wobbling. He raced for the door, thinking only that he needed a barrier between himself and the murderous fluff kittens. He heard the group feeding and working their way through the bodies behind him and felt the breeze of the talons slicing through the air as he ran. Too close, he thought, refusing to look back, as that would only slow him down. He dove past his sire, through the open door, expecting the Monster to fight the little monsters, but the man was right behind him, slamming the door shut and locking it.

Lucian heaved a heavy breath, his lungs and legs burning from the sprint. He didn’t think he’d ever run so fast in his life. “What the fuck are those?” Lucian growled.

“You have not seen them before in your travels with Radu?”

“No. Fluffy murder stuffies are not in the travel guides. This better not be another nightmare of yours.” Lucian stalked away from his sire. He needed a plan, and to figure out where the fuck he was and how to get back to Yuri.

“My power isn’t working here,” Vlad said. “The wards snapped and I can’t recreate them.”

Lucian glanced back at his sire; the man looked older than Lucian remembered, pale flesh, once firm, wrinkled and sagging. A loss of illusion, or something about the change of the world? “Shame. You should go capture some murder fluffies to torture, see if that recharges your power.” Lucian stalked away, heading toward his room, eyeing the splitting walls of the manor with caution. At least the hallways seemed back to normal. Whatever blooming awareness had taken over the castle had vanished.

The door held, but the windows and the roof collapsed in some sections, which meant the manor wouldn’t remain a safe place. As Lucian neared his room, the hall tilted down, that section of the manor splitting as though it would break off at any moment. Of course, his space had to be the part that landed on the side of the hill, his bad luck.

Lucian opened the door to his room, wishing for a few seconds to break free of the nightmare and find Yuri sleeping in his bed to spirit him away. His heart lurched with sadness at the stillness of the space. The fire out, the entire room askew, furniture tossed in a dozen directions, and no sign of Yuri.

A familiar box sat in the middle of the room; the books Yuri kept. Lucian righted the table and put the box on it. He opened it and pulled out the books. The only one that interested him was the sketchbook. Lucian flipped through it, shocked at some of the intimate acts portrayed, two men together, similar bodies in each picture. Memories? There were a handful of pictures in the back depicting something very different, a large masculine shape with wings black as soot, and horns. Again, no faces. Was it some sort of nightmare for Yuri? Or a fantasy?

The demonic form knelt in one picture, head bowed, posture almost one of reverence, if that was possible for such an enormous creature. Another appeared to be of the beast hugging someone to him, the other form dwarfed by the massive size of the figure, but the embrace was gentle and protective.

Lucian flipped through a dozen more pages. Some sex acts with the creature and the male. Was this Yuri’s true form? Some sort of demon of shadows? They didn’t look the same, though the smaller male form might have been Yuri. Was this the one Yuri mentioned he dreamed of? Lucian could never compete. He frowned and snapped the book shut. He didn’t know where Yuri was, or if this beast existed. And why the jealousy of the beast and not the human-looking male in the first set of erotic drawings? He and Yuri had done all those things a dozen times. Just thinking of sinking into Yuri made Lucian hard.

He growled and left the book on the table. The room’s tilt made the entire space slide a few inches. The house was still shifting. He wouldn’t be able to stay here. Lucian made his way to his closet to find a bag to pack supplies. The best thing his uncle had ever given him was survival skills. Training to be a warrior and living on the battlefield meant Lucian knew how to deal with most anything, including a lack of magic. He never had much of that, anyway.

The sound of glass breaking made Lucian race out of the closet to his room, fearing his sire had followed him, but the sound came from the windows on the exterior of the house. A bright purple stalk with suckers the size of Lucian’s head wrapped around the outside of the window, crushing the side of the house into crumbling pieces like a broken sand castle.

“This world is insane,” Lucian said. He rushed through his packing, grabbed the cookbook from Yuri’s supply, unwilling to leave behind those memories, and the sketchbook. He spied the flower bloom on the floor near the bed, still bright and mostly fresh, and he wondered at the magic of that little thing. It had lost a few petals from the many flowers as Yuri had grown weak, but still had a half dozen blooms.

Lucian eyed the distance from the thing at the window to the bud. It would be suicide to go for that stupid flower, he decided. But his heart ached at losing that piece of Yuri. Would he ever see the man again?

The purple beast crunched another wall, and the bed slid out of the hole, the flower bud with it. Lucian leapt forward, rolling to catch the bloom, his fingers wrapping around the stem as he lost his footing and slid toward the giant suction cups on a limb larger around than the side wall.

Lucian scrambled, gripping at anything he could reach to propel himself upward as the furniture slid past him, his grasp on the flower hindering his climb, the pack on his back heavy and pulling him down. He reached the door by sheer will alone, grabbing onto the edge as the room tilted completely downward, leaving his feet dangling.

He snarled, refusing to let go of the bloom, carefully shoving it up over the side of the doorframe, and pulling himself up to rest on what had been the hallway wall. His arms shook from the effort and he gasped for air. He’d never felt so weak before. A lack of his magic, perhaps?

Lucian pulled out the sketchbook, and stuffed the bloom inside, hoping that crushing it wouldn’t destroy it, but unwilling to leave it behind. He crammed everything back in his pack, slung it on his back and carefully made his way toward higher ground and hopefully a way out of the manor. He debated a dozen weapons as he passed, all too old and neglected to be useful, and decided on a small dagger, which would be easy to sharpen if he found a good stone.

When Lucian emerged from a break in the manor’s backside, climbing up and out a wall, he stared down in horror at the writhing thing that was the purple beast. Not an animal at all, but some sort of plant. Everything it touched dissolved. The suckers on it producing acid, and the house landing in its space had pissed it off, awakening it to slowly devour the entire house.

Lucian couldn’t see much beyond the trees and the wriggling organic monster, but thought he glimpsed discoloration in the distance, which made him think of the Fracture. Could he find his way back to Yuri by going through the Fracture? Radu didn’t need a Fracture to travel; at least until this most recent one, as he could move the entire castle from one dimension to the next or travel that way by will alone. Would Radu know where to search for him? Would he look? Or would his concern be only for his brother?

Lucian glanced back toward the manor and the section he knew to house his father’s rooms and office. There was no sign of movement. It wouldn’t take long for the plant to devour the entire chunk of land and the manor. Lucian couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Good riddance,” Lucian said, deciding to head toward the coloration in the sky. He had no other plan, couldn’t travel worlds like a handful of the original Onari, but wasn’t willing to sit down and die, either. Could the Monster still travel between worlds? Lucian hadn’t seen it in his entire lifetime. Perhaps the last Fracture stole that power from him. Maybe now the Monster would know what it felt like to be almost human. Lucian had survived hundreds of years that way, a warrior in spirit more than magical power. He set a goal to return to Yuri, and all the other rules be damned. He had lived too long at the whim and will of others.

Several weeks locked in a nightmare mansion should have stripped Lucian of his will to live as it often did, but he’d never felt more alive. First in the dungeons when Yuri hummed to him, and then in his room, where Yuri would bask in the life of the garden outside and give his sweetness to Lucian as though Lucian deserved to be worshiped.

It had been weeks of life and love that Lucian had never experienced in his long life, and he was determined to get Yuri back. If that meant throwing himself in the convergences repeatedly until he found Yuri, so be it.

Lucian slunk away from the manor, keeping a careful watch on the purple plant and listening for the fluffy murder monsters as he picked his way toward the ripple in the distant sky.

Lucian opened his eyes. His gut flipped over with dread as he stared at Raphael’s bowed head a few feet away. He feared he hadn’t left the bubblegum world of the murder fluffies, and swallowed hard, his heart suddenly racing, a tremor of fear starting at his core. Maybe he hadn’t escaped his sire, and this was all another nightmare to feed the Monster.

Was Yuri even real?

He remembered falling, Theo’s wings giving out and the two of them spiraling toward death. The panic hadn’t seemed overdramatic in that moment, but looking back he wondered if it would have killed him.

Something slammed into them mid-fall, knocking Lucian cold before they could hit the ground. Or was that another end to a nightmare? Mortal stories spoke of death in dreams as an end to life in reality. Lucian worried his sire was the source of his nightmares. His dream death would mean his father had finally drained his life from his soul.

Lucian sucked in air, the anxiety overwhelming, but not unfamiliar. He hadn’t had a full panic attack since he was a child, but it came on with the force of Radu’s army marching on a survivor’s city until dark pops of spilled ink spotted his vision, blotting out everything.

Soft hands cupped his face, and for a half second, raising fears from his early years in Johi. Those endless unwanted touches he’d experienced resurfaced to send an icy chill through his veins. The tremors of terror shook him to the core. He couldn’t see, and his heart beat so fast he feared it would explode. He gasped for air, lungs tight and constricted, limiting his breath.

Sharp claws dug into his shoulder. Lucian gasped, shocked by the pain for several seconds, but its intensity brought him out of the expanding darkness to let him grasp for reality. The hands on his face held him while soft lips peppered gentle kisses over his cheeks and forehead, and a warm body snuggled around him as if grounding him with their presence.

All of those things were unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. The touch was careful, gentle, providing comfort. Even Yuri hadn’t dared touch Lucian as freely in their time spent imprisoned in Dracula’s castle. Lucian had been like a feral dog ready to bite, only warming up on his own terms by the time Yuri had grown weak.

Lucian blinked back tears a dozen times as he worked to steady his breathing. The claws dug into his shoulder, unrelenting. But that touch, the pain, and the small brush of fur on his neck reminded him of a purple barnacle. Was it real?

The blackness faded, and he heard “I’m sorry” repeated softly as kisses danced over his face.

“Enough, angel,” someone snapped.

Lucian’s gaze sought the unknown voice, and found a mountain of a man with dark hair and muscles greater than most Onari. He towered near a far door, away from Raphael. Raphael was still there, alive, and not in the belly of some beast.

“Lucian?”

Lucian turned his gaze back to focus on the warm body wrapped around him. Theo.

His breath eased instantly, heart rate beginning to slow. Yuri was real. Theo was here. That meant it wasn’t all another nightmare, was it?

“Hello,” Lucian whispered, his brain churning through a long list of things he’d feared had been a nightmare. The last of the dark splotches faded from his vision and Barney finally let go. The beast slid down and rested in the crook of Lucian’s arm.

“I’m so sorry,” Theo whispered again, his cheek pressed to Lucian’s. “My wings aren’t strong enough.”

“Time and practice will fix that,” the large man said. He glanced out the door. “The plants are all dying.”

Lucian’s gut wrenched again at the idea of losing Yuri.

“He’s not dead,” Raphael said. “Nor should he be.”

“Much as Uriel shouldn’t be?” The dark man asked.

Raphael’s shoulders slumped.

Lucian put his arms around Theo, needing something to cling to, and it felt nice to have Theo against him, alive, warm, and touching him willingly.

“What happened?” Lucian asked.

The large man stalked forward, arms across his chest. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

“It’s Michael,” Theo whispered into Lucian’s ear. “He’s Fallen and wants Yuri dead.”

Lucian sprang up, shielding Theo and confronting the Fallen, quickly shifting to his Onari form. His rage gave him strength, and the magic flowed through him like electricity, snapping and biting with power.

Michael didn’t flinch or look impressed at all. He was one of the first archangels, after all, and rumored to be as powerful as the Beast himself.

“No one hurts Yuri,” Lucian ground out, fists clenched with fury.

Theo wrapped his arms around Lucian, holding him back, but also hugging him tight. Desperation, fear, and hope wafted off of him. The latter cooled the worst of Lucian’s rage. They needed to save Yuri. Of that, Lucian knew Theo agreed.

“I’ve been slaughtering your kind for centuries, Prince,” Michael said. “Give me a reason any of you should live? Your king is broken, the world of Dahna is dying as the corruption has spread too deep. Morningstar hid his creator a long time. We might have prevented this destruction if we’d found him sooner.”

“Or prevented all of this if you had helped him fix things,” Raphael said.

“Radu? What happened to him?”

“Powerless, withering. An Onari at the end of his long life. Stripped of his magic he is nothing.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Theo whispered, face pressed to Lucian’s back. “Yuri wanted to remove the fury from him and stop the fire burning the forest. He took the shadows.”

“And the Lightbearer has been destroyed. Its power snuffed from the worlds,” Michael added. “The last thing that could kill angels and put an end to Morningstar’s reign of terror once and for all.”

The sword had lost its light. Lucian wondered if it still lay on the floor of his bedroom or was lost in the castle’s collapse. “How can Morningstar reign terror on any of us when he is chained in the dark?” Dreams vivid as memories in his head. Yuri’s life and memories, gifted to Lucian because of their bond.

“He’s so weak. Tired. Powerless,” Theo added.

“He’s the serpent, King of Lies,” Michael said. “He has you all fooled.”

“No, brother,” Raphael said. “He is not the one who fooled us. It is Gabriel who is the King of Lies. The Messenger and his golden tongue convinced us all to curse Morningstar, the most loved of the creator. Who was it who drove the mortals and a dozen other worlds to rebel and destroy?”

“You’ve been out of the worlds too long and forgotten your obligations,” Michael snapped at him.

“Obligations to what?” Raphael stood and faced his brother, looking like David must have to Goliath in the stories from mortal books. “Betray the creators’ wish? Destroy the reason they created the worlds? We gave all we have to ensure the creators could thrive, and yet we’ve been killing them.”

“You couldn’t even put Uriel out of his misery. He stalks Dahna in madness, devouring anyone and anything he gets near.”

Lucian gasped as he realized the withering of the plants meant the convergence had reopened. Had the dragon torn a way through? “What about the touched,” he asked, “and the survivors in the castle?”

“There is a barrier around the remains of the castle. We can’t currently enter to check,” Michael said. His gaze returned to Lucian. “I assumed you did that as the new king of the Onari.”

“I’m no king,” Lucian said. “I can’t make the castle move, or open the gates.” He didn’t add that he knew Radu hadn’t been able to in the past few years either. Was it because of Yuri that the Fracture started? Or was he merely a cog in the wheel of creation? “Is Yuri alive? The plants are dying…”

“He’s alive,” Raphael said. “Uriel is searching for him. Cursed to follow the source.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means your creator is in Johi,” Michael said. “In Gabriel’s hands.”

“The Beast,” Raphael muttered.

“Gabriel is a monster for certain,” Michael agreed. “Corrupted by Morningstar and the mortals.”

“As if you haven’t created enough Nephilim of your own,” Raphael said.

“My children aren’t killing every living thing they cross.”

“Christoff…” Theo hissed, his grip tightening on Lucian.

“Who?” Lucian asked.

“Is dead,” Michael said. “Your creator tore him apart. Drank his soul to fuel his plants.”

“Good,” Theo said with venom. “He was a monster. I hope he didn’t hurt Yuri.”

“Whatever. I have no time for this nonsense. I have a dragon to slay,” Michael said as he stalked back to the door, Raphael flinching at his words.

“The creator might restore him,” Raphael said.

“You put too much faith in a mortal broken by the Fracture of worlds,” Michael replied.

“And you put too much faith in your past failures to see your mistakes,” Raphael added. “The Nephilim destroyed their own world and now it’s okay for them to do the same to all the others?”

“You are hardly one to lecture me on failures,” Michael said as he stomped out the door, closing it behind him.

Lucian turned his gaze to Raphael. “You’re alive, how?”

Raphael gave him a sad smile. “It’s impossible to kill us without a celestial sword. Not even a dragon has that power. Though it’s unpleasant, he’s spit me up more than once.”

Lucian winced at the idea of the dragon eating Raphael, and throwing him up, only for Raphael to heal anyway. “Yuri is in Johi?”

“Yes.”

“You followed the dragon through the convergence? Is it getting wider?”

“I closed it,” Raphael said.

“On this side?” Lucian asked.

“There isn’t enough magic in the other world to close it from the other side.”

“You couldn’t have come through before the dragon and left him there?” Lucian asked.

Raphael refused to meet his gaze. Lucian recalled Uriel was the man Raphael loved. Love was a powerful thing only in that it made them do stupid things.

“We don’t know that Yuri can fix him. And what if he returns to who he was and remembers all he did, and regrets not being destroyed?” Lucian asked. “Would he want to be the monster he is?”

“I would like to hold him one last time before the worlds implode. Isn’t that what you want from your creator? Your love?” Raphael demanded.

Lucian sighed. “Can Michael kill Uriel? Or Gabriel? The Lightbearer was useless as stone left on the floor in my bedroom. Is anyone able to put an end to this madness without it? I can’t see destroying Yuri helping anything. The plants were clearing the smog and shadows from the mortal world. Isn’t that what we want?”

“I don’t know,” Raphael answered. “I’m uncertain anyone does.”