The swirling clouds of pure darkness that makes up the realm of Chaos were gathered thickly around the

place Nightmare might have called home. Chaos has no real places, however everything is everywhere and nothing is anywhere. There are no boundaries, no center of gravity. Up is down just as much as left is right. The only order to make its home in Chaos are the Everenti, to whom Nightmare belonged. The Everenti. In a thousand different tongues from worlds all over the Great Compass, the word means Destroyer. They are made up of no specific race; the only things they hold in common with one another are power and the desire to destroy. There are always four. Apocalypse, bringer of destruction. Hunger, the subduer of nations. Pain, the crippler of rulers And Nightmare, the crusher of hope. Of the Everenti, only Nightmare had been born of Chaos. Only he retained the knowledge and desire to fulfill the purpose for which the Everenti had been founded: The complete and total destruction of the Great Compass. Visaran, birth world of the dragons, had now fallen thanks to Nightmares pawn, Gothmar. And yet, even as Nightmare turned his attention towards earth he had, for the first time in his long life, suffered defeat. He sat now, cross-legged, before a pool of Darkness which reflected events on Earth from a gods-eye view. Nightmare had assumed a roughly human form, but still hid within the folds of his thick, tattered black robe. His dark, empty eyes watched as Geric Nightbane, the boy who had been responsive for the destruction of Visaran, fought single handedly against three hundred Immortals. The boy, Nightmare thought, wielded both blade and darkness as if they had always been at his command. To attain such skill, such raw power in only twenty-two years was a feat not even Dracula had accomplished. Already a hundred Immortals had been slaughtered. This, of course, was not the first time Nightmare had watched this scene. Nightbane intrigued him like not living being had ever before. Gothmar had been cunning Nightbane was brilliant. Watching that again? a reedy voice came from behind him. Nightmare did not acknowledge Pains presence, watching intently as Geric struck the final blow against Gothmar. Hey, Nightmare! Im talking to you! With a gesture of his hand, Pain extinguished the pool of reflection and stepped into the space it had occupied. Of the Everenti, Pain was the youngest. He hailed from the realm of Kithdur, an upscale, science-based realm toward the Compasss center. He was tall and very thin, with pale blue skin and eyes the color of blood. His skin was marked with the customary tattoo-scars of his people. Many thought Pain truly looked like a demon. Nightmare thought he looked like a fool. What do you want? he growled, his gravely voice betraying his annoyance with the little pup. Its not me, Pain shook his head. Apocalypse wants you. Tell him Im busy. It cant wait. Were beginning the conquest of Melinor.

Nightmare shot to his feet as if he had been struck by lightning, swearing profusely in ever language he knew. Melinor? he roared. Is Apocalypse really as stupid as he looks? Melinor is at the direct center of the Compass! Places like that take time, planning, and corruption to conquer! An all out assault on a world like Melinor will be easily repelled. Apocalypse doesnt think so, Pain shot back. Apocalypse is a fool. Pain ginned wickedly. Ill tell him you said that. He wont be too happy with you. Nightmare calmly closed the gap between he and Pain with a single stride. You do that, the whispered, smiling as the younger Everenti flinched at his fetid breath. The old Apocalypse was our leader. Now hes dead. Just because hes been replaced doesnt mean his replacement is also our king. Even if hes your king, hes not mine. Nightmare turned back to the pool of reflection. Besides, Im busy. Pain leaned over his shoulder, gazing into the pool. Busy with Earth? Its the back-water realm of back-water realms! They havent even discovered the Compass yet. Whats the problem? The fact that there is a problem. Theyve already repelled on attack. Nightmare lifted a clawed finger and pointed to the reflection of Geric. Hes the reason. The dragons put much stock in him. So what are you going to do? Kill him, Nightmare murmured. Personally. Geric shuffled the papers on his desk around, looking for anything he might be willing to work on. It was almost time to go home on Friday afternoon, and he had no desire to do anything but kick back and watch as the clock ticked the time away from his immortal life. The fact that he really was immortal had finally set in. He was forty, married, had two kids teenagers and still looked like he was twenty-three. He could still pick up and throw a good-sized car. He could still perform ever Kata he had ever mastered perfectly. Not that he did those kinds of things anymore. Ever since he married Jenny, he had settled down from the consistent war that had dominated the first six years of his vampiric career. He had resigned control of the Night Clan to Damar, found a nice, well-paying human job, and faded into the shadows with his family. He still kept in touch with Thor, Jason, Armageddon, and Ally, but he allowed the rest of his vampire contacts to believe him dead. Geric absentmindedly picked up the photo from last years summer vacation from his desktop. They had gone with Thor and his family to an old cabin in the mountains, living off the land just like in the good old days. He and Jenny were up front with Thor and his wife, Amy. None of them looked any different than they had during the war. Shannon, Gerics eldest, was leaning on his shoulder and smiling to the camera. She was the spitting image of her father, with long, straight dark hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a slender build. Behind her was his less-photogenic son, Logan. He was small, dark-haired, and shy, but an absolutely brilliant tactician. He had won a national championship in

chess when he was six, and earned the title of grandmaster at age 10. Personally, Geric though that Logan could give Angela a run for her money, given the chance. The last person in the picture was Thors only son, Ashton. He was the tallest of the group already, broad-shouldered, with dark blond hair and inquisitive brown eyes. Geric loved the kid. He was sharp, quite athletic, strong, and kind. Even though he was some four years Logans senior, they were best friends. Of the kids, only Ashton knew he was a vampire. Geric and Jenny had decided not to tell their children when Shannon was born, to allow them to live at least a seminormal life at first. Ashton, however, had been born with a gun and a blade in his hands. He had trained in firearms with Ghost Squad since he was ten, and Thor had personally requested that Geric train him with a blade. The boy was a natural, just like his father had been. Geric sighed and set the picture back down, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of his chair as he stood up. There was no way he could work any more today. It was Shannons birthday, so it would make sense to go home a little early anyway. He exited the office by the back door, descending the stairs outside to street level. He worked in downtown Seattle, not five block away from the FBI headquarters where his father had worked. He realized, as he walked to his car, that he was actually happy with the way things were. A loving family, a good marriage, a decent job he could hardly have asked for more. And yet, there always seemed to be something missing. War was supposed to part of a vampires life, part of his culture. However, sine the end of Gothmars War, there hadnt been so much as a skirmish between the Night Clan and well, anyone. Armageddon had informed him that the Night Clan was restless, bored. Just last week Armageddon had broken six different fights that had come about over the smallest things a spilled cup of coffee, a few misspoken words. At this rate, they would end up killing each other just to pass the time. A shot tore through the air, followed immediately by the hiss of a bullet not three centimeters from Gerics right ear. Geric was moving before the thought had fully registered, ducking and rolling behind the cover of his car.