Soft steps, undetectable by any human ear, interrupted the solemn thoughts of an archangel deep in contemplation. The golden feathers of wings folded behind the powerful warrior's back rustled as he met the equally grim gaze of the small six-winged seraphim who approached him. "Is it done?"

"It is," the delicate-seeming creature replied, silver eyes meeting gold. "The sisters repaired the child's wound -no eyes beyond our own and our Lord 's could detect that it had ever existed." She was not boasting -it was the simple truth. Where there had been ruined flesh and bone, there was now perfect form -there was no wound...no mark...no scar. That was the sisterhood's craft. "He is ready to be returned."

A feathery eyebrow arched, an expression of concern lining the archangel's golden brow. "You are troubled," the towering warrior stated softly.

"Michael..." The tiny creature shook her head. "Must we send him back?"

"Yes. We must."

"But when the child is sent back to the realm of Man, he will be as he was -we cannot change that. He will be as he was born -a vampire, Kindred and Lilim both, tempted by the hungers of both his parents' species. Here, that is not so."

"Aye...it is a temptation to interfere beyond that for which we have been given leave, but for all things there is a place and a purpose...and no matter how grim the possibilities, the child must be returned to his own... to do his part in the coming upheaval. As we both know." The warrior angel took his sister angel's smaller hand in his own. "Come. We may delay no
longer."

"Fool." The word came from between the Great One's lips like the hiss of an angry viper as he glared at the decapitated body of the underling who had dared to call himself the "Dark Prince". When the seraph warriors had interfered with the attempt to retrieve his sister's child, the idiot had taken it upon himself to kill the boy rather than allow him to escape. Fool thrice! No such orders had been given and the would-be "prince" had paid the price for his arrogance as the first-born of Lilith had cleaved his head from his shoulders upon the imbecile's return to the hidden place.

Even the least of his followers should have known that the child had to live for the Mother-of-Them-All to be free.

The Great One scowled, his thoughts cold and malign. So...he had lost his sister to the gift granted to the Knight by grim conveyor of souls. The first-born of Lilith could not say that he mourned her, for tenderness was a foreign emotion to him, but she *was* one of the First Ones. That their Dark Father had allowed her death, perhaps even encouraged it, was unimportant -that the Knight had committed the act *was*. He would know punishment and death...but only when the time was right -and it would be at the hand of his most beloved.

The Prophecy of the Lilim made this most certain.

A vulpine smile parted the lips of the Great One as he listened to dark whispers borne on a bitter wind, a dark light glowing in rubine eyes as he sensed the distant presence of one born of the blood of the First Ones.

The time had come.

It was as if a tornado had hit.

The domain of the Knights of the Order of the U.N.C.L.E....a building that outwardly appeared normal...was scene upon scene of near-chaos within. Furniture and sundry articles of technology lay scattered as if by a careless hand. Private area -the studies, libraries, places of quiet contemplation, dwelling places, the great chapel that had been brought from its original home in Eastern Europe piece by piece some four-hundred years ago- had suffered damage far worse even than that ...as if the malevolent forces that had punched their way in had been thrown into a mindless rage by anything that even smacked of the sacred or holy.

Perhaps it was so.

Or perhaps it was the battle that had brought destruction to anything -and anyone- unfortunate enough to be in the way. Of the corpses that littered the blood-sodden carpets, most were Lilim...but several wore the mark of the Order of the U.N.C.L.E.. They had been killed in their beds, their throats torn and their bodies drained. Already the fallen knights were being taken
care of in the ancient manner -it was the only way to be certain they did not become the corrupted playthings of the Lilim.

Napoleon Solo bounded past non-functioning elevators, the clothes that he had hastily pulled about his being already stained by the gore that spattered the walls, his mind possessed by dread. Illya had not been at his side in their Joining bed. *Where* was Illya? The knight tried to reach out along the mental link that bound him to his partner and bondmate, but could sense no response, the miasma of confusion and fear that permeated the atmosphere, drowning the psychic web linking each bonded Kindred and human in a thick fog of mental static. The last telepathic impression he had received had been when the demonic vampire, Serena, had tried to enter his bed. It had been Valentine's desperate, enfeebled psychic voice that had told him who and what she was even as his own mind had grasped for reason.

How a being of such noble bearing as his beloved Illya could have been born of such a she, the knight could not fathom.

Just then, the muffled murmur of particularly familiar voices grabbed Napoleon's attention and he flung open an oaken door which fell from its cracked hinges. "No!"

The ancient Kindred prince Valentine and Sir Alexander were huddled over a still form that lay crumpled on the refuse-strewn floor. Napoleon immediately grasped Illya's thin wrist as he knelt beside the vampire's unmoving body -the knight's haunted eyes asked the questions that his mouth would not. "We do not know what happened," Valentine said, his countenance drawn and grim. "When Alexander and I regained our senses, Illya was not within this room...and then he was. He materialized before our eyes."

"They tried to take him again, didn't they?" The elder knight and the ancient prince nodded in unison. "Why didn't his grandmother..?" But  Napoleon sensed the answer, saw it Valentine's sorrow-filled eyes -a look of dismay, not mourning. The spirit that come to Earth to watch over her grandchild had disappeared as suddenly as she had appeared, her time on Earth spent, her return to the spirit-realm unavoidable. She had been unable to remain any longer.

Napoleon possessively drew the smaller body closer to his own, almost daring the elder vampire to challenge, but Valentine did not, grimly accepting that at least while here, protection of his heir had, by tradition and right, passed into other hands than his own. Anguish passed into relief as Napoleon felt the faint thrum of life pulsing beneath Illya's pale skin, but then his mouth dropped open in startlement as he found and traced the ragged, blood-stained hole in Illya's shirt. The evidence was obvious -and he had seen the results of a staking- but there was no wound in the cool, pallid flesh. There wasn't so much as a scratch. "I don't understand..."

"Nor do we," Waverly replied wearily. "We can only be thankful for miracles-" A small moan interrupted the old man's words as Illya's eyelids flickered, gradually opening, wide and confused. "What...what is it...what happened..?"

"I don't know how, little one," Valentine said sadly, "but we missed something. Somehow. *They* got in."

"Got in..?" The Russian's brow furrowed as he struggled to clear the fog in his brain and memory came -a trickle at first, and then a flood. A torrent of confused images...a voice calling him...trapped by a cage of flames...pain exploding in his chest...blood spilling, taking life with it...a strange bright place...beings of light surrounding him...angels...and then, something else. Something tickling at the edges of his thoughts. Something very wrong.

"Polya!"

Napoleon tightened his grip on the suddenly trembling creature in his arms. "What *is* it, Illyusha?"

Hands shaking, the Russian vampire pushed against the human's comforting embrace, anguished by the hurt and distress he saw in the dark eyes. "I have to leave!"

Solo shook his head in confusion. "I don't understand-"

The blond head shook wildly. "I don't know how I know, but I know I am a danger to you. I must leave *now*!"

Napoleon looked to Valentine who was as confounded and distressed by his heir's bewildering behavior as his bondmate. "Illya..." Solo locked eyes with his anguished mate and partner, desperately trying to understand. "*How* are you a danger to us!"

"He is coming!"

"*Who* is coming!"

"The one that wants me -he will kill anyone standing in his way! If I leave, he will follow!"

"Who *is* he!"

The crystalline blue orbs shifted to blood-red. "He's here."

It was then that they *all* felt it -cold...an unearthly cold that was beginning to seep into their very pores from nowhere and everywhere at once...so much like the chill that had preceded the attack of hours ago, and yet not. This chill came with a presence, a malignancy that inhabited every shadow...shadows that were suddenly alive, shifting and merging, becoming one solid form. Valentine's eyes became slits of angry red, wide with sudden recognition, fangs extending in full. "YOU!"

What happened next, happened within the space of seconds.

The elder vampire lunged, but the new intruder merely lifted a hand and Valentine was thrown backwards, hitting and splintering the furthermost wall. Long past his days as a warrior, Alexander  nonetheless immediately released the blades of knighthood -only to see them splinter before his eyes. He was cast aside like a rag doll.

Before Illya could react, Napoleon leaped between his bondmate and the towering dark being, a hand outstretched to deliver the Abbadon's deadly gift -but nothing happened. "Foolish child of the Knighthood," came the reverberating voice. "Did you waste the last of the Angel of Death's gift on my sister? I have no use for you just yet. Be gone!" The knight was sent flying with a simple thought as the entity known as the Great One froze Illya mid-leap even as the young vampire attempted to attack.  So... You are the child of my sister...grandchild of the Mother-of-Us-All and the Prince of Darkness." He chuckled. "Who would know that a mere stripling the likes of you could have been born of such powerful blood?"

The Russian's blood-red eyes narrowed -somehow, he didn't doubt a word that the malevolent being before him said. It was folly, he knew, but he had to challenge...to give those he cared for time. "Release me and I will *teach* you." Illya cried out as he was all at once released, falling to the floor. He jumped to his feet, fangs extended.

The Great One sighed with satisfaction. "Attack if you will, little one, but know that if you *do* that those you hold dear will die in that very instant even though *you* will not. We are of one blood -you and I. You know what I say is possible." An ice-cold hand was extended to the blond vampire. "Take my hand and come with me -now- and will spare them."

Illya cast anguished eyes at the unmoving forms behind him before he grasped the proffered hand...

...he had no choice.