AD 65

The coolness of the marble floor seeped through Aphrodite's gown as she sat cross-legged in one of the palace's rooms. The wall before her served as a vast canvas. Maximus sat beside her, their collection of pigments arrayed between them. Their hands met as they both reached for the same shade of Egyptian blue.

With brush stroke, purple essence bled into the wall, infusing the portrait with an otherworldly luminescence. The subject was a woman with flowing black hair, her features striking yet hauntingly familiar. As Aphrodite painted, fragments of memories—laden with sorrow—clung to her, though their full images eluded her grasp.

Maximus observed her with a crease of worry marking his forehead. "Aphrodite," he began, "this painting brings you sadness. Why?"

She paused, her gaze lost in the emerging image. "This painting," she whispered, her voice barely above the hum of the distant city, "it's different."

Maximus set his brush down, his full attention on her. "But why? Your art, it's... it's breathtaking, Aphrodite."

A tear escaped her, tracing a silver path down her cheek. "Because, my love, this painting is a memory of pain. It's beautiful, yes, but it's the beauty of a final sunset before an endless night. This gentle soul, she showed me a kindness like no other, and paid the ultimate sacrifice."

Her hand moved of its own accord, guided by the tumult of emotions that she had long buried. The purple essence, wove into the paint, creating a scene that was as haunting as it was exquisite.

Maximus reached out, his hand hovering over hers. "Aphrodite, you are the goddess of love and rebirth. Can you not bring her back? Was she mortal?"

Her head drooped in sorrow. "She was a revered being, adored in the realm of creatures. Her spirit was consigned to the underworld. While I possess the power of reincarnation, as you've witnessed, she has no body to return to."

He laid down his painting tools and gently took her hand, drawing the brush from her fingers. "Your pain, let me share it. Let me help shoulder this burden."

Their eyes met. "My love, some burdens are solely mine to bear. This painting is where I have locked away the darkest day. It is where I have hidden the moment that love was not enough to save what I cherished most. I was not strong enough."

A hush enveloped the room. Aphrodite accepted the brush once more, her grip firm. The dream began to wane, but the warmth of Maximus's hand lingered, their fingers entwined—a testament to their united front against her timeless battles. The painting, now complete, was a reminder of the cost of immortality.

****

2016

The first light of dawn broke through the veil of Rachel's dream, severing her from the ancient Rome where she and Maximus had painted with shades of loss and love. Each dream was a reminder of the lives she had fled. She turned, expecting to find warmth beside her, but the bed was empty. The aroma of coffee and the briny scent of the sea beckoned her from the sanctuary of her room. Wrapping herself in her silk robe, she stepped onto the terrace.

Her breath hitched at the sight before her. There, at the mosaic table where she usually sipped her morning espresso, sat the Abaddon. He was sharing breakfast with two men in Italian police uniforms. The surreal domesticity of it all—a demon and officers sharing pastries—made Rachel question the reality of it.

But it was the figure on the ground that rooted her to the spot, the breath seizing in her lungs. Bound and kneeling was a man in his late forties, overweight and dishevelled, his skin pallid with fear. His terror-stricken face was unfamiliar, yet something deep within Rachel stirred — a dark echo from the abyss of her past.

"Buongiorno, cara," Abaddon greeted without rising, his lips curving in a smile. He gestured to the chair beside him. "Please, join us."

With each step, the cool tiles anchored her to the present, though her heart raced. "Officers," she greeted with a courteous nod as she took her seat, but her focus was drawn to the quivering man. A silent question flickered to Abaddon.

"We have news," Abaddon said, sounding proud of himself. "The Phoenix has been found."

Rachel's surprise was a subtle shift in her stance, a momentary falter in her composure. The Phoenix—a name she had consigned to legend, a chapter she thought closed. "Oh? I was under the impression that we had other concerns. He has been silent, no threat to us."

Abaddon's smile didn't waver. "Our search was arduous, but I never relinquished the hunt."

Rachel's attention returned to the police. "And what brings the police into this?" she asked.

"They've been instrumental in helping our search in the region," Abaddon explained. "And they've brought him," he nodded towards the prisoner, "as a token of their commitment to our cause."

The man's eyes, wide and bloodshot, locked onto Rachel, recognition dawning amidst the fear. Confusion laced her resolve. "Who is this?"

Abaddon rose and came to stand behind her. His hands, an intimate weight on her shoulders, grounded her as he leaned in. "You may not recognise him in this flesh, but he is the faceless feeder from your captivity."

A gasp escaped her, memories flooding back. The pain, the shackles, and the horrible screech of this faceless being. The feeder — a tormentor from her darkest days, a presence that had haunted her without form. He had been a faceless nightmare who revelled in her pain, an entity she had never seen but whose cruelty she could never forget. He had stolen the powers of many creatures, and she was nearly his next victim.

"It took countless bribes, and an army of mercenaries, but I found him. I brought him to you — a gift, for all he's made you endure at that human laboratory. For all the nights his faceless shadow marred your dreams, you can now look upon the man himself."

Rage ignited within her. This man had been a monster in her nightmares. Now, he was flesh and blood, a trembling mass at her mercy. She wasn't a victim anymore. She was a creature of formidable power, reborn from the ashes of her past suffering.

A hunger clawed its way up, an insatiable need that had gnawed at her for weeks. With a slow breath, she extended her hand, her shadow casting an ominous silhouette against the terrace floor. From the darkness at her feet, tendrils of inky blackness materialised, alive and sentient, and snaked their way toward the feeder. His cries were a discordant melody that filled the air, but Rachel's heart was stone — there was no room for mercy here.

The shadows entwined around him, seeping into his pores, his cries escalating into shrieks of pure terror. He struggled, the instinct to survive urging him to fight against the inevitable. But the dark tendrils were relentless, consuming his form until all that remained was a man-shaped column of ash, a testament to his heinous deeds and their retribution.

As the last of the feeder disintegrated, Rachel felt the weight of Abaddon's hand on her shoulder. It was a silent acknowledgment of the retribution she'd claimed.

The officers retreated a step, their eyes wide, but they held their ground. They had witnessed a reckoning, a raw display of power that left no room for doubt.

The Abaddon returned to his seat. "And now, my dear, I have a task for you."

The hunger within her quieted, sated by the feeder's considerable power now coursing through her veins. She steeled herself, meeting his dark eyes. "What task?"

"I need you to eliminate the Phoenix."

The request struck her like a physical blow, the finality of his words echoing in the space between them. "Why can't you do it?" she countered, searching his inscrutable face for answers. She was pregnant, after all.

"Rachel," he said, leaning closer, "the Phoenix is formidable. He is capable of destroying my body. And now, with our child on the way, we cannot afford such danger."

"But why the Phoenix?" she pressed.

"Because he murdered our son," Abaddon's voice was a dark rumble, his eyes swirling with darkness.

Rachel recoiled. "We had a son? And you thought not to show me this? But how... when?"

"I was waiting until you were ready. It is a difficult memory. The Pheonix was cunning, bypassing our defences. He targeted our firstborn, his jealousy and rage knowing no bounds. Our son was but a casualty in his vendetta against us," Abaddon's voice was thick with veiled sorrow and simmering rage.

"Why?"

"His mate perished, and he believed we were responsible," Abaddon confessed, the words painting him in a light she hadn't seen before.

The revelations weighed heavily on her, a tempest she couldn't control. Yet, within the chaos, a resolve took shape, fuelled by the essence coursing through her veins and the thought of avenging her unknown child.

"What must I do?" she asked.

The Abaddon outlined the strategy, detailing the Phoenix's last known whereabouts and the most prudent approach for a confrontation. The officers offered their input, citing local geographic knowledge and potential escape routes the Phoenix might exploit.

When they were alone, Abaddon took her hands in his. "Rachel, I understand what I'm asking of you. But our future, our retribution, depends on this. You have the strength, the power of the Aphrodite within you."

She nodded, the decision made. For her lost child, for their family, she would face the Phoenix. And she would prevail.

Yet, as she affirmed her commitment, questions lingered in her mind. Why would Abaddon, a being of immense power, fear the Phoenix? Why send her, especially now, in her condition? Doubts crept in but she pushed them away. There was no room for doubt, not when so much was at stake.

"I will do it," she said. "For our family, for our future, I will face the Phoenix."

Abaddon's expression was one of triumph, but Rachel's heart was adrift, caught in the currents of past and present.

The Abaddon sat with Rachel, eating a leisurely breakfast on the balcony, where he spoke of the world's changes. He shared insights about humanity's unchanging nature, despite technological advances like computers. He wielded his influence and powers of fear to fulfill their needs, allowing them to live without the typical constraints of society. Living with him came with challenges; his power required sacrifices. Although he only targeted the guilty, Rachel feared his hunger might escalate.

Following breakfast, Rachel took a walk. As the morning sun grew warmer, she sought the coolness of shaded paths. In her flowing white dress, hair tousled by the breeze, she felt a sense of freedom amidst the charm of the Italian city.

In town, familiar faces greeted her. Regular walks had made her a recognisable figure, though she remained a stranger to many. Young men often admired her beauty, their compliments echoing as she passed by.

By afternoon, Rachel's hunger intensified. She made her way to the familiar café nestled on a cobblestone street. As she approached, Bria emerged with a welcoming smile.

"Bentornato, Rachel. Come stai questo meraviglioso pomeriggio?" Bria greeted, pulling out a chair and gesturing for Rachel to sit.

"Sto bene, thank you," Rachel responded with a smile.

Bria pointed playfully. "You are late this morning."

Rachel sighed, the weight of thoughts about the Phoenix still heavy on her mind. "I know. There's quite a bit happening at home."

Bria, catching a hint of Rachel's concern, shifted the conversation. "And how's the bambino?"

At the mention of her son, Rachel's hand naturally found its way to her belly, a gentle smile crossing her face. "He's growing well. Bria, could I have an espresso, please?"

"Of course," Bria responded with a nurturing tone. "You just relax, Rachel. We'll take care of everything for you."

Bria vanished inside as Rachel observed the bustling streets. Being a mere observer was comforting, but Rachel often caught attention, her presence drawing people towards her. Maintaining an air of disinterest was a conscious effort on her part.

Soon, Bria returned, bearing two plates of gnocchi. She set them down and sat across from Rachel. "If it's okay, I'll join you. You seem like you could use some company."

Rachel found Bria's directness endearing. "I was just after an espresso, Bria. This looks more like lunch," she remarked with a hint of amusement.

"You need to take care of the bambino, and she must be hungry by now. Please, enjoy, papa made this fresh," Bria insisted.

Rachel, unable to resist her hunger, began eating the soft, creamy gnocchi. "It's actually a boy," she corrected gently.

Bria, pausing with a playful smile, teased, "You glow as if you're carrying a girl. But okay, if it's a boy, it's a boy. When I'm proven right, you owe me a caffe."

Rachel laughed, enjoying Bria's light-heartedness. "Your father's cooking is incredible. How do you manage to stay so slim with such delicious food around?"

"He makes me do all the cleaning, so no chance of getting grassa," Bria joked.

Rachel, intrigued, asked, "So, any news from that young man?"

Blushing, Bria grinned. "Yes, he brought me a flower this morning, but papa chased him off."

"That's too bad about your father," Rachel sympathised.

Bria shrugged nonchalantly. "If he's truly interested, he'll come back. He needs to win over my parents first, then my heart."

"Let's hope he does," Rachel said with a wink, enjoying her meal.

As they chatted, Bria cleared the plates and soon returned with two espressos.

"I'm going to be away for a bit," Rachel mentioned.

Bria, brightening, asked, "A holiday?"

Rachel shook her head. "Just some family matters. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone. It might be days or even weeks."

Bria's father emerged; his aging frame slightly stooped. "A woman was looking for you," he said in a gravelly voice.

Bria, puzzled, asked, "For Rachel?"

"SÌ. Ha lasciato un numero," he confirmed, handing Rachel a note with a scribbled number.

Rachel, taken aback, realised no one from her past life knew she was in Italy. "Did she leave her name?" she asked.

"Estella."

Tucking the note away, Rachel felt a stir of concern. Estella's ability to find her suggested she might be under surveillance.

"Grazie e grazie per gli gnocchi. È stato bellissimo."