Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Demon Angelic- rewrite ❯ Chapter 4 ( Chapter 4 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: I don't own the men of Schwarz or Weiss and will make absolutely no profit off of the events that take place within the framework of this story. All recognizable characters belong to their creators and FunAnimation.

+Chapter 4+

The sound of agile fingers dancing over keys tapping out a rhythm of soft clicks awoke me the next morning. I tensed for a moment… then I relaxed into the warm niche I had burrowed in Nagi's sheets. I was in his room, in his bed and had passed the entire night unmolested. And had a blessedly dreamless sleep thrown into the bargain.

“Sorry if I woke you. Crawford-san has me crunching numbers this morning before I have to be at school,” Nagi's voice was soft.

I sat up and stretched, glad I had worn a tee-shirt and exercise pants to bed. I was ready to greet the day, or an unexpected intruder, at a moments notice. I couldn't decided if I should smile or grimace as the image of one white-haired psychopath flared at the thought. Trying not to strain my brain so shortly after rising, I slid from bed and crossed over to perch beside the seated, uniform clad schoolboy. “What time is it?”

“About eight o'clock. Did you sleep well?” he spared me a quick smile, before focusing back in on the screen.

“Surprisingly, yes. Thank you for that,” my voice was rough from sleep.

“Any time, Hikari-chan.”

“So, you go to school… but what does everyone else do?” I asked folding my legs under me and alternating between looking at the three roiling computer screens and Nagi's concentration scrunched profile.

Typing in another decoding command, Nagi replied, “Well, Crawford-san will drive me to school and then go to his morning meeting with Takatori. After that he does any variety of things. Schu goes with him sometimes, but not usually. He and Takatori don't really get along that well. He thinks Schu is a security liability and considers Farf little more than an animal. The old man is frightened of them.”

Well, I wonder why? I quipped silently.

“So, Schu gets to handle the household stuff here and keep Farf out of trouble. Then of course there is always training and taking care of any assignments Eszet sends our way.”

“So, what will I do?”

“Crawford-san will let you know.” He pushed his chair back a little and stood up, retrieving the satchel by his feet. “I made breakfast earlier if you're hungry. We should probably get downstairs now.” He extended his hand to me with a reassuring nod.

I took a deep breath and grasped his hand allowing him to pull me to my feet and behind him to the door. His skin was so soft, cool- unlike Farfarello's. The small, palm and long graceful fingers encircled my hesitant flesh, but did not consume it. I followed him down the stairs and only balked at the idea of physical contact when we crossed over the threshold of the kitchen. When I tried to pull out of his grasp, Nagi stopped walking and drew me closer to him. I panicked, seeming to sense that he gave a light squeeze and freed my trapped hand. The oncoming constriction in my chest eased.

Crawford looked up from his paper, The New York Times this morning I noted, gaze flickering from me to Nagi before he spoke, “Today, you will be remaining at the house. Schuldig and Farfarello will be here,” he shot an icy glance at the German rummaging distractedly in the refrigerator, “so if there is anything you require, let one of them know. The three of you are not to leave until I return this afternoon.” He turned back to the paper and began to scan again.

I was expecting something a little more explicit, so I hazarded a query, “What am I to do all day?”

“Whatever you wish… short of attempting to escape. The security system on the house is a rather effective deterrent, wouldn't you say, Farfarello?” The man's eyes never left his paper. The white-haired boy actually seated in his chair scowled down into a half empty soup bowl, but offered no further reply.

I felt a little sorry for him in that moment, maybe he and I weren't so different overall. Nagi's velvety voice interrupted my thoughts, “Hikari-chan, would you like some breakfast?” He had moved away from me to the counter and past the still rummaging red-head who I was glad to see had dressed in a more sedate ensemble- white t-shirt, low-slung jeans, yellow bandana crowned by mirror-lensed sunglasses and ending in white sneakers.

“Sure.” The sweet, tangy smell of Farfarello's miso had made my stomach begin to lodge a rather vocal campaign for sustenance. I took the place at the table I assumed was to be mine from now on and considered my prospects for the day. My room was still devoid of any personal touches, no electronic distractions or art supplies for me to use. I had the poetry book that Nagi had given me, so I could at least read…

Finally locating whatever it was he was digging for, Schuldig straightened, shut the fridge door and wandered out of the room without so much as a nod in my direction. It was a little odd after all of his previous attention, sadistic or perverse as it generally was, but then again I was going to be locked in the house all day with him so I decided not to complain.

“Here you go,” Nagi was balancing a bowl of miso in one hand and a bowl of rice in the other. “We were all out of fish, so it's not a complete meal…” he set his load down in front of me, “but it will keep you from starving at least.”

“Arigato, Nagi-kun.” I smiled at him before picking up my chopsticks and delving into the steamed rice. I tasted it as he stood quietly by my seat, “It's good…”

“I'm glad you approve. I do most of the cooking around here, so if there is anything you don't or can't eat just let me know.” He moved off to retrieve his books as Crawford folded his newspaper and took a last sip of coffee before rising from the table.

Crawford was on his way out to the car, before I recognized the sound of my new name being spoken from furtive lips, “Hmmmm. Sorry, Nagi-kun. What was that?”

“I know you still don't have much of your own, so feel free to use anything you want out of my room. There is a cache of cds and a Discman under the bed if you like music, and you know you're welcome to anything in the bookshelf. Just wait to use the computers until I'm home though… I would hate to have to run those numbers again.” He hefted the bag to his shoulder as he hurried to follow the older man, clad in one of his many white suits, out the door. “Farfarello,” he stopped at the threshold of the inner door to slip on his shoes, “I have cram school today, so I will be back around four, then we'll watch that new anime I downloaded. Ja ne.” He was gone into the obscurity of the garage.

When I turned back to my breakfast, I realized that Farfarello was no longer there. The only indication that he had ever been present was the empty china bowl. I seemed to be placed on this earth to clean up other people's garbage, I mused as I ignored the evidence in favor of wolfing down my rapidly cooling food. I had always enjoyed eating rice; it was a relaxing routine- twill, flip, twill, flip, twill, flip. The tangy spice of the miso was a warm wash down the back of my esophagus as I tipped the bowl up. The meal was filling, the first real food I had consumed since I had been taken prisoner.

Clearing the dishes away took only a moment and then I was off to the shower. I wandered into the living room, stopping to really look at the space for the first time since I had been brought here. The area was spacious and contained only a sparse arrangement of furniture. A white leather couch was pushed up against one wall with a matching armchair shoved off into the opposite corner at an angle. An entertainment center with a large screen TV of the same make as the one in Crawford's private room took up most of the opposite wall. On a shelf above the TV were a DVD/ VCR combination and a small stereo system. The shelves below the television were teeming with an eclectic array of DVDs, VHS tapes, and cds. I off-handedly noted that at least one of my teammates was a Stephen King fan, my money was on Farfarello.

At the foot of the stairs, I nearly collided with Schuldig. I gave way since he was practically stampeding down the last few rises, head lowered, eyes narrowed in annoyance, “I'm going out…” He made the landing, shoving a cigarette between his lips, and brushed past me. I turned to follow him, reaching out a tentative hand. When he stopped just out of reach of my fingertips, I let my arm fall to my side and awaited his next move. “What do you want?”

“I,” good question… For you to look at me as a person not a toy? For you to stop acting like I don't exist outside of tormenting me? For you to quit being an annoying busy body? So many options whirled through my mind, but his attention was directed elsewhere before I could come up with anything diplomatic.

He was beginning to appear a little pulsed when he patted down his front pockets and both rear compartments without finding a lighter. Remembering the trick I had pulled at the party, I walked around him and plucked the cigarette from his mouth.

“Grrrr!” his eyes narrowed further as he made an attempt to snatch the pilfered smoke from my grasp. “If you intend to keep you wits about you, hand it back.”

“Wait,” I secured the thing between the index and middle fingers of my left hand and placed it to my own lips. The tip was slightly damp and tasted faintly of processed cotton. I concentrated on the center of my body and felt the tingling sensation rise from the pit of my stomach. Little nibbles gathered at my heart only to be pushed upward, then out along my right shoulder, down my arm and into the tip of my index finger. I touched the tip gently, not wanting a repeat of the torch incident, and was relieved when the end only took on a bright orange glow. The scent of burning tobacco affronted my delicate sensibilities and the smoke gagged me, sending me into a whooping gale of coughs as I handed it over to him.

“You may come in handy after all…” the hostility seeped out of his eyes by degrees as he took the first drag off his cancer stick. I was still fighting to get the smoke out of my lungs. “Never smoked before?”

“Obviously,” I gasped between wheezes.

I watched with distracted fascination as the smoke curled out of his nostrils and dissipated into the once clean air of the room. I bet this was one of the German's ways to get back at Crawford for the stick that seemed to be permanently lodged up his butt. He shrugged, whether brushing off my dying remark or my theory behind his motivation to pollute the house, I couldn't decide. “I'm going out. Any comments?” His lips made a quiet smacking sound as he took another drag. He regarded me expectantly; one eye squinted to ward away the smoke.

I could finally draw a full breath again. The increased oxygen to my brain must have slowed my ability to process audio stimulus because I was a little confused as to what he meant. “Comments?”

“What, you're not going to tell me not to leave… Crawford's orders?”

“What, you not going to tell me not to escape… Crawford's orders?”

He smirked, flicking ash onto the pristine carpet, “Touché. Keep out of trouble. Farfie is locked in his room, but he should be safe to let out … if you think you can handle him by yourself.” He raised one reddish-blonde eyebrow as if to emphasis his doubt of my abilities.

I smirked up at him, he was nearly a foot and a half taller, “I think we'll be fine.” Surprisingly enough, I really did. And if that sentiment proved to be a fool's hope, I was fully prepared to face the consequences whatever they maybe.

::God suffers fools; Far-fellow does not.:: With that he gave me a clear shot at his back as he glided to the kitchen and out of sight, the only signs of his passing a dark smudge on the carpet and the lingering aromatic ghost of cigarette smoke. ::Remember I'll be watching.::
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The Irish youth lay supine on the surface of his hard, twin bed, pale nearly nude body a sharp contrast to the scarlet sheets beneath him. The pills that afforded him brief periods of lucidity were in full swing, coursing through his system and allowing him some measure of distance from the fragmented images that rampaged through the upper levels of his subconscious and often onto the rubble strewn floor of his mental citadel. The images were still there, frothing in the fringes of his awareness, waiting to spring upon him and rend his tentative control asunder. No one truly understood what it was to be the madman of Schwarz-- not even Nagi. Of all of them, the boy was able to lead the most normal life despite being a street soiled dove with broken wings. He had school, his computers, his beauty. The boy was one of the hated Lord's most exquisite mistakes-- warped by the apathy of humanity into a hollow visage of thriving youth. Farfarello protected his youngest male teammate because the pleasure of a twisted, broken soul, a demon spawned from a cesspool of human degradation, was a constant vexation to the Father of all beautiful things. The man-child offered him acceptance, if not understanding and even the lunatic was not crazy enough to pass up such a gift.

Schuldig was a fiery imp whose palate was well suited to the chaos and terror that Schwarz was infamous for among the bowels of Greater Tokyo's crime syndicates. He was impatient, crude and reckless. A verdant ally and a dread enemy, his loyalties were infallible… despite his being a wild card. Bowing graciously to authority was a foreign concept; even his constant run-ins with the leader of their group couldn't coerce familiarity or compliance with the idea. Though not unkind to him, Farfarello understood early on that Schu viewed him as an exercise in futility. His teammate expressed open distaste about the state of the disturbed boy's mind and refused to enter its hidden depths outside of necessity-- too jumbled and broken to be worth sifting through he had once said.

Crawford was a walking glacier, frigid and unyielding. His lack of conscience was legendary among Eszet operatives; the man would do anything for power. He was the Oracle, seer of all possible futures. The white-haired boy supposed it gave the American ample time to quash any emotions or reservations he may have about any given course of events. If the man had any emotions at all, beyond the suppressed irritation that only Schuldig seemed able to lure to the surface. Crawford was the perfect sociopath. He was cruel because it was his nature to be so.

However, despite his older teammates' baser proclivities, they were both relatively sane if slightly unstable. They had only an abstract grasp of the specters and demons that inhabited the realm of the truly insane.

Then there was the girl… that drowned rat with her dripping hair and clinging, water splattered t-shirt. The prisoner of his current obsession… she was an enraging mass of contradictions. He wanted to break her… shatter her angelic persona into a thousand pieces. Though she be a fallen, blood-drenched seraph, she was undeniably innocent. Nigh unbreakable…her delusions saw to that. Hope is the cruelest lie, spread by the lips of a hypocritical God.

An ireful twist of lips greeted the first stirrings in his loins at the image of her writhing beneath Nagi's long limbed, sculpted frame. Her hair gnarled into knots by her thrashing… her moans borne of pleasured pain as the brunette ravaged the supple curve of her sex with skilled fingers as his blade made flesh wept with jealousy. The observer's lust hazed mind blazed with erotic imagery of the blue-eyed incubus driving his victim into the undeniable waves of depravity, his strong, nimble fingers delved into the waistband of his black cargo pants and thumbed the heat of his erection. With the other, he unfastened the button and slid the zipper, releasing his enclosed hand and the throbbing need being throttled in its hold. Hearing the keening wail from the altar at the pinnacle of his imagination, he fisted himself in a savage rhythm. The incubus was dragging his teeth down the soft flesh of the girl's throat, slamming his engorged cock between the bloody thighs. The wide-eyes were dimming- the deceitful light ebbing away- rivulets of pink stained tears quivered on matted lashes. Her hands were secured over her head, a rusted metal spike driven through the crossed wrists… a bluish sliver of light coaxing the band partly obscured by the bubbling fount of blood to gleam dully in his mind's eye. She still wore his gift…

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The drive to the Koneko was relaxing, the September air was unseasonably warm and the sun was steady in its progression to the noon zenith. Schuldig was glad he had escaped to the seclusion of his red sports car before any more attempts at meaningful exchanges could be made. She had no idea what she was in for with Farfarello or Nagi. The two degenerates were primed for a bit of fun and woe be unto anyone the devilish duo set their sights on. It was almost enough to make him feel guilty as his namesake proclaimed… almost.

To be quite honest the girl made him uneasy. She was beautiful, deadly and hesitant-- a combination that was not to the red-head's liking. He wondered off-handedly how the girl had survived in the underworld, let alone rose to the top of the Teniawai assassin's stable. The Teniawai were the most powerful Klan in Tokyo for good reason; they were ceaseless in their bid for wealth and power and their methods were far from savory. In his estimation, the girl was far from ruthless and wandering around inside her head had only confirmed it. He had seen enough evidence of her physical prowess and the clinical precision of her deeds to know she was formidable, but she lacked the will to kill indiscriminately that distinguished a professional killer from an artist. She had earned several near-fatal beatings to spare “innocents,” only to have her efforts be in vain as death was brought by some premeditated accident.

The mention of innocence sent a lightening crash of shadowed jade eyes and wisps of gossamery, blonde hair streaking across the horizon of memory. The Madchen that had been spirited into the grove of bones by that decaying thing; what was her connection to all of this? Schuldig pondered as he guided the sleek vehicle into the parking lot of a small park three blocks from his destination and angled into a space. He put the car in park and switched off the engine before retrieving his cigarettes from the passenger's seat where he had tossed them. He stabbed the car lighter in and waited in deep contemplation for it to pop. The kid had been positively terrified and … lost. He wasn't sure why the forlorn look in her eyes had bothered him, but it did.

The sound of the lighter being ejected brought him out of his daze with a shiver. No sense in getting all torn apart because of some ghost… they weren't his memories after all. He placed a cigarette in his mouth, pulled the lighter from the dash and watched as the glowing coil floated toward his face. It was almost hypnotic…The sound of crackling paper and the first taste of acrid smoke reminded him to replace the thing in the dash before he forced it onto the tip of his own nose. That would be a hell of a thing to have to own up to, he though with a self-depreciating sneer.

Turning his mind to more interesting things, he sent his probing sensors ahead to the florists' shop where his daily amusement lay waiting to unfold. Weiss was only one member short at present, the three gorgeous bishounen were busy at work, wrestling half-grown trees onto the sidewalk and watering razor-thorned rose bushes in wait for the never ending stream of school girls that would pour into the close confines of the shop in order to get a glimpse of the strapping male specimens. The lanky, blonde, licentiously dressed playboy with the wire was elbows deep in potting soil while a smoldering cigarette dangled from his generous mouth. He flicked ash onto the surface of his workbench with a practiced twitch of lips as the softly demanding voice of a second blonde scolded him for smoking at all, let alone in the shop!

The second boy had just wandered through the door, watering can dangling from a hand and green apron cinched tightly about his narrow waist. He was a slight youth, not more than sixteen with sky-blue eyes that twinkled merrily, despite his rebuke to his errant partner, and finely sculpted facial features that kept him from looking anywhere near his legal age. Bombay-- the child archer and computer genius of the Kritiker assassin's Weiss-- was a formidable opponent to be sure, but so much fun to torment.

The boy was forced from his position half-in, half-out of the door when the third oldest inhabitant of the Koneko slammed into him from behind. The ex-soccer player was such an abhorable klutz. It was a wonder the teen was able to walk, let alone wield a pair of bugnuks without impaling himself. Ironically enough, he had an almost sinuous grace when he brandished the weapons and struck out against the “dark beast” to bring him to justice with a swipe of steely claws. Go figure- death makes most people base and ludicrous… Siberian it embellishes with an otherwise absent finesse.

“Oi, sorry, Omi-kun,” the brunette with chocolate eyes expostulated as he tried to keep the boy from sprawling flat on the ground, only resulting in an awkward tangle of limbs and a graceless tumble to the tile floor for both of them.

The private investigator resurrected assassin gave a suggestive leer at the puddle of children before crooning, “Get a room,” around his almost finished cigarette.

The little blonde struggled out from under his incompetent rescuer with a blush burning his rounded cheeks, shot the older blonde with the half-assed ponytail an adorable attempted glare and bent to lever his still floundering comrade from the floor. Somehow the nineteen year old had caught his foot in the hem of the orange button-down shirt he always had secured around his waist.

Schuldig drew near to the shop, stopping a storefront away to give the little idiots time to get untangled and out of the way. He wasn't here to pick a fight… just wreak some long overdue chaos. Finally sensing that the boys had extricated the bumbling Siberian from the offending piece of fabric with the help of the riotously amused Kudo and gone back to work, the Schwarz telepath breezed into the Kitty in the House flower shop. The sound of crystal exploding was music to his ears.

“Schwarz!!!!” Ken breathed, eyes nearly bugging from his skull before he could get a handle on himself.

“What the hell do you want?” came the smoke-smoothed voice of Kudo Yoji as he spun from his workstation, hand straying toward his watch.

“What no kiss, kiss, hug, hug for your old friend?” Schuldig asked with a sexy pout of lips. He had little to worry about from the blondes, but Siberian could be a bit impulsive. A problem easily remedied if it came to it, though strong willed, the boy was not the brightest of individuals. The inherently stupid are easily swayed…

“Not a chance in hell…”the bristling Omi had stepped from the backroom to have his fears confirmed… Mastermind was here. The guy seemed to enjoy bearding the lions in their own den, the boy observed placidly.

“So, good to see you too, Katzchen,” the intruder replied, surveying the smaller boy's body appreciatively and flashing a suggestive leer. Color rose in answer to the assessment.

It was an old game, scripted in its direction. The brunette tried to edge around behind him, only to jump when the inhumanly fast red-head materialized at his side without having appeared to move. “I came to buy some flowers…” predictable, the boy took a close-fisted swipe at him while in mid-turn, snagged a loose lace on his sneakers, tripped, overbalanced and tumbled to the floor, sending one of the many displays scattered about the lobby crashing along with him. Omi flew to his friend's side and helped him over the mess and away from Schu as if afraid he would devour him. The sight was amusing. “I'm looking for black orchids.”

Kudo had taken the supposed distraction offered by Siberian's graceless acrobatics to move in a little closer, intent on trying his own luck. The unusual request pulled him up short. “Black orchids?” Must have some kinda kinky date with the Oracle later, though I don't get why he wants a flower that symbolizes desecrated virtue, Yoji mused with an inward shudder.

Peeling his eyes away from the now standing, filthy soccer-bum and his jail-bait companion, the German youth gave a faint smile. “Does that pose a problem?” He wasn't offended by the Kudo's supposition--the man harbored hidden lustful yearnings toward all three of his teammates, one of which was underage, the other still heart-broken over his lost soccer career and the last the katana swinging ice-prince Abyssinian who was as likely to cut his heart out as look at him. As far as Schu was concerned, he would take Crawford's apathetic ministrations over those three any day. Kudo's playboy façade was just a buffer between social acceptability and his inner-self.

“No.” The leaf-green eyes that regarded him darted to the two younger boys, still in defensive positions near the unwelcome patron. “It's just an odd request.” Not that I shouldn't expect that from you… the mental tirade went on for a short time before the twenty-two year old Weiss returned his gaze to gray-green pools of mischief. He could tell the man was debating whether the amount of effort to clean would be worth trying to deny his rival the purchase of a few flowers. He finally shrugged and eased his fidgeting grasp on the watch band. “Fine, if it will get you out of here…” He signaled to the other boys to back off.

Heeding the command, the two backed away cautiously as though Schuldig was a rabid animal that might be provoked by sudden quick movements. “I want two black orchids. In addition to those, I want three yellow lilies, a white day lily and six dog roses.” He was getting bored with the whole scene. He wished Kudo would just hurry up, dig the blooms out of the refrigerated display cases and wrap them already.

He noticed Bombay was staring at him strangely from his relatively distant perch behind the register. Slinking across the length of the room with all the feral grace of a hunting cat, Schuldig leaned his weight across the counter till he was within a few inches of the boy. ::To answer your questions, Katzchen. I know full well what the arrangement symbolizes. The recipient is a walking contradiction that is about to have all delusions stripped away. The coquettish mask of falsehood comes off to a mingled chorus of pleasure and pain.::

The pale blue eyes widened and the ruddy lips parted in consternation. Should he tell Yoji to ditch the bouquet? Order the sociopath from the store? Sic Ken, who had slipped off to get his bugnuks, on him? Whoever those flowers were for was in a shitload of trouble, Omi's internal alarm wailed. Calming fractionally, the boy wondered at the possibility of the flowers being for a fellow member of Schwarz but tossed the idea aside as being absurd before going back to full blown panic mode.

Unfortunately before he could do anything, a wad of money was thrust into his left hand and the jingling of the bell told his still stunned brain that the window of opportunity had just banged shut. ::Not to worry, Katzchen… she'll love them.::

She? The prepubescent teen's gut clenched.

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It was only eleven thirty and already Nagi was chafing to leave. English class had been a bore; the language was learned through rote memory for the most part which lacked the necessary development of concrete associations. Most of the kids in his class couldn't put a name to anything in the room in the foreign tongue, but could string together a grammatically correct sentence a mile long. Nagi on the other hand was already proficient in both written and spoken English, German and some Gaelic thanks to his teammates. Second hour Japanese had been just as stimulating.
History was usually one of the more fascinating subjects of the day, but even that wasn't holding his attention.

His mind was back at the Schwarz house with Farfarello and Hikari. He wondered what the two were doing… hopefully whatever it was didn't involve the microwave. He had forgotten to warn the girl that the Irish boy had a fascination with the modern device… they had already lost two units to Farfarello's choice of diversions. One incident had involved an entire roll of tinfoil which, when heated, sent a dazzling spray of sparks and hot blue waves of electrical current arcing through the interior of the machine, resulting in a small kitchen fire and a good half hour lashing with a golf club as retribution. Farfarello had only grinned afterward and scurried off to find something else to experiment with. A prior incident had involved a mouse… Nagi shuddered at the memory of how long it had taken to air the smell of burnt fur and roasted intestines out of the first story. Best to fill her in when he got home later. Nagi flipped through the pages of his history text scanning the color photos distractedly.

Later, in and of itself, was an interesting proposition. He had talked to Farfarello shortly after rising that morning; the darkening of that single amber eye had been all the sign he needed that his partner would be ready to play when he returned home. Farfarello's actual role in the game was yet to be determined though. He was not a savage idiot by any means, but his intensity was vicious and already obsessive when it came to tarnishing the girl.

Nagi was afraid that casting his lot in too early would disrupt the flow of their match; the boy turned the idea over in his head, listening with half an ear to the waxing and waning crescendo of the instructor's voice as he delivered the lesson over Japan's involvement in WWII. He and the girl were locked in a competition of strategy and logic that he was not altogether sure she grasped. So far Hikari had survived through a fortuitous parry of countermoves… but soon her luck was going to run out. Would the inclusion of his brother in desolation be a turning point in her luck or a disruption of his well-laid plans? Hard to say; he pitied himself a bit that he was not an oracle like his leader. It might serve him well to heed the warning of William Blake, a past inhabitant of the Emerald Isle, `the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry,' but `consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds' and he for one had always fancied himself a humanist.

“Nagi-kun,” Shitou-sensei's booming voice thundered down from over his bowed head. The man was short, not much taller than the students in his second year -B class, but he considered himself to be a force to reckon with if the way he brandished that pointer had was any indication.

Raising cool eyes to meet the man's gaze, Nagi gave a soulless smile, wondering what the ruler might look like protruding from one of the man's beady, hazel eyes. “Hai, sensei?”

“Read on page 276, the section concerning the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki…” He waited until Nagi rose to his feet; book in hand, before ambling off to wake another student at the far side of the room who was beginning to snore audibly.

God, regular human beings were such boring creatures sometimes…

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By noon, I was going positively stir crazy. I had already showered, dressing in a fitted t-shirt and exercise pants to assure that I would be comfortable and uninhibited in my workout. I was glad my room was large; I wouldn't have to leave in order to execute my normal routine.

I ran through my katas, feeling off balance without the reassuring weight of my Kodachi behind the long ingrained movements. My father, the legendary Yakuza assassin Shimazu Yo, had been a master swordsman of the Hejian Mitsanuki style and I was his heir. I had been very small when I first picked up a Sakura twig and tried my best to mimic papa's movements only to prompt gales of mirthful laughter and a breath-stealing hug from his powerful arms. I had not desisted in my attempts to join him though, and gradually, he was lured in by my dedication to learn. I had been ten when my father was finally taken from me by a lucky shot during an assassination attempt on a rival Klan head. His last gift to me had been a Kodachi short sword crafted by the smithy Dosaki Riuji. I hid the sword when I was pressed into service by my father's former employers--adamant that the blade would never bite the flesh of man in the service of dark beasts. It was the only pure thing my father ever bequeathed to me, and it will remain so, locked away forever in the dark of a sepulcher filled before its naturally appointed time. I stumbled in the final movements and only then realized I had been crying silently the entire time.

Wiping my tears away with a shaking hand, I squared my shoulders, returning to ready position. Clearing my mind and silencing my writhing heart, I took a cleansing breath and forced it out in a vehement gush. The last of the tension rushed away on that exhalation, I moved flowing into the first stance of the Shi-hu a low crouch, imaginary sword raised for an upward block, one hand tightly grasping near the guard, the other palm supporting the lower hilt. I tensed, my hips rising slowly, shifting my stance, bringing the envisioned sword up and over in a flashing arch and stepped through into a front stance, body facing front, weight balanced over the forward knee to stab my imaginary opponent in the heart. The move had served me well over the years… quick, efficient, nearly painless. The rest of the kata flowed in a series of twisting movements that, if done correctly, perfectly mimic the positions of a traditional fan dance.
The successful completion of the exercise made me feel somewhat more at ease, but still far too susceptible to reflection. I decided to take another quick shower to wash away the tell-tale signs of my exertion and then find some welcome distraction. I stepped into the bathroom and stripped off my sweat-dampened clothes, pulled the tie out of my tail and turned the water on, adjusting the temperature before I entered the pounding stream. The lavender scented soap I used removed the light salty tang of perspiration from my skin and replaced it with a faint floral scent. I was glad I hadn't washed my hair earlier; I would have hated to repeat the process since I have quite a lot of hair to deal with. Not only does it hang past my shoulder blades, it is extremely thick and holds moisture for hours. It also has an adverse reaction to rain or humidity of any kind- can we say scary? Yes we can! I combed my fingers through the heavy black curtain letting the water trickle in to bathe my itchy scalp and wet the mass thoroughly before adding a generous dollop of strawberry lemon shampoo. I scrubbed, twisted and clawed the unruly soap slicked turban until I was sure any last traces of grime were eradicated before rinsing the suds away.

Satisfied that I was as clean as a person in my line of work was able to get without an indefinite stint in Christian purgatory, I cut off the water and stepped from the shower, towel dried my body and wrapped my dripping mop in a smaller swath of terrycloth. I was on my way out of the room when the dull shine of Farfarello's wristband caught my attention; picking it up, I slid the piece of jewelry on and went to dress.
Making sure the door was locked for the third time in a row; I dropped my towel, pulled on a pair of charcoal bikini panties and wrangled my adequate chest into a solid black bra. Rummaging in the closet, I selected a pair of black jeans with an impressive scattering of needless zippers, a long-sleeved, black fishnet shirt and a red midriff tank top with Living Dead Girl stamped across it in sparkly silver letters, a psychotic, gothed out rag doll propped up against the last letter.

Finally, clean and comfortable, I emerge from my room and wandered down the hall to Nagi's, detouring along the way to flick the lock on the imprisoned Irishman's door. I didn't wait around to find out if he was coming out, just continued down the hall and into the buzzing darkness of the computer guru's private domain.

I flipped the switch and waited for my eyes to readjust to the light before crossing to the bed and pulling up the blankets around the bottom to reveal a neatly categorized and labeled storage space. I found the cd cache and headsets easily enough and also found out that Nagi's sexual preferences ran in both directions- he had a pretty extensive collection of skin magazines featuring both genders. I suppose it's only normal to be curious, but…

Dropping the covers back into place, I crawled onto his bed with musical distraction firmly in hand. I was glad to find that he had an eclectic taste in music- the ever popular techno, German metal, Japanese and American punk, Hip Hop from several cultures, American Goth-rock, classical orchestra and traditional folk. I selected a cd titledFallen by Evanescence and loaded it into the player. With the push of a button, the first searing strains of “Going Under” crashed over me. I was instantly hooked; the singer's voice held a barely contained strength despite its frail timbre, a devastating purity that wrenched something deep in my soul.

Settling into the pulsing rhythm of the drums, I lay back, head at the foot of Nagi's bed, hair hanging off into space and lifted my left arm to study the bracelet dangling from it. It was a heavy, wide band that spanned the entire girth of my small wrist and slid easily up to the initial swell of my forearm. The surface was an intricate etching of Celtic designs, twisting knots and interlacing, distorted geometric shapes formed by interwoven bands of silver.

I hadn't even thought to return the thing yesterday, but I figure Farfarello was not one to let thievery, unintentional or not, go unpunished. I had gotten the impression that it had been a loaner, but maybe I was more correct in hoping that it was a gift. It is kind of silly I suppose, but I am attracted to Farfarello. I don't know why, just something about him…

The last strains of the song died away, replaced by an eerie quiet as the bereft angel's voice floated out to me as if from a mist…

How can you see into my eyes like open doors
I envision his pale skin and brandy wine eye as the voice of the singer swelled, taking on a mournful husk. He seems so cold, until you look into his eye and find that the apathy is only a thin sheen …
Leading you down into my core

I am draw to him…

Where I've become so numb

Not because of his cruelty but in spite of it…

Without a soul, my spirit sleeping somewhere cold

I have the feeling there is a lost child crying somewhere deep inside of the madman…

Until you find it there and lead it back home

Maybe someday I will find him and set him free…

The drum beat picked up, and a honeyed, male voice joined that of the lead singer, as alternating vocalist make a desperate plea for redemption. Salvation from the darkness of isolation…

Wake me up inside
Wake me up inside
Call my name and save me from the dark

Learn his given name and save him from the shadows of his own making.

Bid my blood to run
Before I come undone

I know I must be as crazy as he wants everyone to believe his is, but I think there is hope for the Irish.

Save me from the nothing I've become…

Maybe for me too.

I let my eyes drift closed, folding my arms across my stomach as the second verse increased in intensity…

Now that I know what I'm without
You can't just leave me
Breathe into me and make me real
Bring me to life

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++

Unheard by the approaching boy's ears, “Bring Me To Life” played on as he crept toward the bed on silent feet. The girl's eyes were closed in repose, her head tipped back over the edge of the bed, the sable curtain of her hair a shimmery patch of darkness across the slate gray of the bedclothes. His fantasy loomed up before his eyes superimposing itself over her recumbent form. His gut clenched and his throat constricted; she had shifted on the bed, throwing her left arm back to nestle against the nest of her hair- the bracelet was stark against the severe backdrop.
Her thought-hazed voice murmured the lyrics to whatever song she was enraptured by …

Frozen inside without your touch
Without your love darling
Only you are the life among the dead
All this time I can't believe I couldn't see
Kept in the dark but you were there in front of me

He reached out to brush the metal with calloused fingertips…

I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems

He was not altogether surprised when long, sharp fingernails buried themselves in the space between the tendons and muscles of his extended forearm just above the wrist. If it had been anyone else, the gesture would have arrested the motion instantly, but Farfarello was hardly anyone. The biokinetic was completely immune to pain and nothing short of a killing blow would ever end his personal vendetta against the jealous Giver who had stolen his family and transformed a once devout disciple into the murderous insane. The pressure of her talons increased before disappearing.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++

Chills ran down my spine as instinct took over… I flicked my wrist, sunk hard nails into pliant flesh and dug. I felt the tendons bend and the muscles roll beneath the steady, clamping pressure. God, please… don't let this be Schuldig. If it is, I really am a living dead girl.

Got to open my eyes to everything

My eyes snapped open. Peering down at me was one golden eye, blazing from a sea of bisque paleness. The scars on Farf's face stood out in pinkish gray slashes against the otherwise smooth planes of his cheeks and bridge of his sculpted nose. I tensed unintentionally, stabbing deeper into the well of flesh and felt the unyielding plane of bone. I relinquished my hold…

Without a thought, without a voice, without a soul

I didn't know what to say…

Don't let me die here

There must be something more

There must be something… He is looking at me so strangely…

Bring me to life…

I sat up, spinning to face him on the bed as the headphones were ripped from their perch on my ears by the movement. He hadn't moved since I dropped his wrist. I could see the crescent indentions filling with blood, but he didn't seem to notice. “I cut you…” Good, shove it in his face, I admonished myself.

“Ya're getting the boy's bed wet.” It seemed a strange thing for the Irishman to be concerned about. He was staring at the end of the bed where my hair had rested against the comforter. The gray hue had been deepened to near charcoal by the moisture it had absorbed.

I wasn't sure what kind of reply to make to that, so I decided to change the subject.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++

He had stared at the comforter stupidly, avoiding her jade eyes at all costs. Strange that he should feel comforted instead of enraged by the blood that she had just drawn. If it had been anyone else, he might have already ripped the inflictor's head off just for the sheer elation it brought him to desecrate one of Hosanna's living incarnations. Besides, it would displease Nagi were he to start without him.

The scarred youth looked up when a circlet of silver was thrust into his field of vision. Her voice was furtive, almost penitent sounding, “I meant to give this back to you earlier, but you were in your room.” She was leaned forward on the edge of the bed, knees tucked beneath her, her other hand positioned between them for balance as she stretched her thin frame over the empty void toward him. Her eyes were a roiling den of shifting hues brought on by whatever thoughts were battling behind the tranquil mask.

He had been reaching out earlier to touch the surface, trace the familiar etchings, still warmed by her supple skin. Now the metal was cooling-- less appealing; the life force that fueled the attraction currently absent. “Ya cun keep it…” he heard himself say as he backed away, spinning on his heels.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++

No, don't go… I wanted to cry out after him, as I watched the muscles of his back shift beneath the taut fabric of the black, sleeveless t-shirt. He was nearly to the door before I slipped his bracelet back onto my arm and slid from the bed.
I overtook him at the door, leaning casually on the frame. “Wait,” I spoke in English, “I had hoped we could talk…. You know, get to know each other a little better since we seem to be stuck together.” I chose to address him in the more familiar language because I wanted him to be comfortable, even though it was more of a mental exercise for me. I had learned to speak English well by the time I was four… my father's live-in girlfriend had been American and she was insistent that I learn her language. I guess she considered it a unique form of bonding; I had actually grown fond of the lessons. But that was all behind me, they were behind me… in a past best left locked away. The use of her native tongue had fallen to the wayside…gathering cobwebs in a corner of memory. Until now…

He rotated his head to regard me with the functional eye. When he spoke it was also in English, his brogue heavy, “Stuck in deed…”

He made as if to leave again, and this time I actually caught hold of his arm near the defensive wounds I had given him. He allowed me to flip his forearm so I could take in my handiwork. The cuts weren't too deep, just small gouges really and I was sure that my nails had been clean, so that decreased the risk of infection, but why waste a perfect ploy to keep him around. “I should wrap these for you.”

“Dunna bother, they'll be gone before long…” He tugged his arm gently from my hand, but didn't persist in trying to leave, which was an encouraging sign.

“Yeah, like in a day or two… they could get infected before then though.”

“They won't be there long enough for that,” his voice was flat, stagnant like his body on the threshold.

Okay, I'll bite. He had piqued my curiosity, and his stoic indifference while I had been inflicting the wounds had to have a better explanation than simply mind over manner. That can carry a person a long way, but then reality wrings the truth out of you. “Why will they not?”

The white-haired boy finally turned fully to me. “Ah'm a biokinetic.”

Okay…? I gave him an incredulous look, one eyebrow inching slowly toward my hairline.

He scowled then, “Ah can heal anything save a killin' blow.”

“Then that little scratch is nothing to you is it…” I nodded toward his lowered arm. I wondered vaguely if it had even hurt.

“Aye… Ah cunna feel pain like other people,” voice low.

So it hadn't left an impression. I feel sorry for you, “Pain is what makes us who we are. We are the sum of our memories, good or bad- without them we are incomplete.”

“Ya like ta psychoanalyze people, du ya?” He was sneering at me with blatant contempt now.

I didn't understand the source of the sentiment. What I had said was simply a personal observation, unworthy of his scorn. Of course, thinking back over my encounters with this particular boy, my patent brand of philosophy could be rather- life-threatening. “I'm just trying to understand you a little more.” I stood my ground as his eye narrowed to a glittering slit, and he used the five inches of height he had on me to loom threateningly above my head. I tilted my face up to peer into his countenance before continuing, “I think you feel pain more acutely than any of us… that's why you battle your demons every second of every day.”

The line of his jaw sang with tension, “What would ya know about anything?”

“Enough to make you defensive, apparently,” I kept my tone soothing, but infused with an underlining edge of steel. “Truth hurts, doesn't it?” I expected him to lash out, strangle me, but the violence never came. He stared for a moment, clearly taken aback by my determination to push the issue and then withdrew.

He strode away on purposeful legs, chords of muscle visible through the material of his cargo pants. His parting shot was mumbled-- barely above a whisper. “Truth is relative…”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++

The little bitch was nancing around on dangerous ground as far as he was concerned. Those bastards at the Paradise Asylum had spent years trying to discover what made him tick. The inner cognition of a serial killer was what the men and women in white lab coats had been after-- not Jei, the lost Irish child that suffered in reclusive silence. He had endured test after test, undergone shock therapy and been tortured by the orderlies on a daily basis for three wasted years to finally be liberated by Eszet and Schwarz, having not revealing a single iota of feeling. Everything he had suffered, from the attack of one particularly brutal orderly who seemed to find pleasure in raping preadolescent boys to the absorption of over a thousand volts of electricity, was endured in stoic silence.

Why was it that in less than a week, the girl had caused him to betray more feeling with her ceaseless forbearance than the years of systematic abuse affected by the entire staff of that forsaken place? An acceptable answer was not forthcoming as he eased his way down the stairs and into the living room.

He decided to abandon his worries in favor of a more light-hearted distraction-- the current remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Nagi had given it to him for his birthday, and it had become a source of solace during the lows that sometimes accompanied the reprieve from lunacy his medication provided. Locating the DVD and cueing up the screen took less than a minute; then the troublesome girl and her uncanny grasp of his psyche were shoved into the abyss.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++

Schuldig returned home hours later, appetite for malicious debacles thoroughly whetted. The flowers were cradled protectively in the crook of his right arm. Wouldn't want to mar their beauty now would I? he mused, kicking his sneakers off at the inner threshold to the kitchen. The grocery bag he dangled from the other hand slapped against his leg as he walked to the refrigerator and placed the entire unopened package onto a shelf. Closing the door and resuming his course for the den, he noted distractedly that the digital display on the stove clock read two fifteen.

Crossing into the living room, he was surprised to find Farfarello sprawled face up, limbs akimbo on the floor in front of the blue-screened TV sound asleep. The pale-skinned man made quite a visual feast. His tight shirt riding up to reveal a sculpted set of abs and a thin tracing of white hair just above the waistband of his dark cargo pants.He would kill me if he caught me looking at him like this, the viewer reflected with a smug grimace.

A quick mental scan revealed that the Irish teen was in no danger of waking if the German treaded lightly at a distance. Exercising extreme caution, the lanky red-head skirted the sleeping boy and mounted the stairs; glancing back to make sure his passage had gone unnoticed. Satisfied that he had accomplished his goal, Schu located the girl's sleep muffled thought patterns and followed them to Nagi's room where the door stood ajar. Poking his head in, the teen was intrigued to see the female's svelte form curled in tightly upon itself, shoulders swaddled in a dark cloak of satin, face partially obscured by a stray swath of the covering. Her mouth was drawn in a tight line, tiny wrinkles visible at the corners even from the doorway. The flesh under her eyes was puckered and tender looking. Had she been crying?
The rapid shifting of her eyes behind thin lids betrayed her dreams… even as Schuldig slipped through the lax shields and into her Alpha plane.

The dreamscape was a sun-dappled courtyard with a rain of Sakura blossoms fluttering on the mild winds. The sound of girlish laughter danced among the fallen pink- tinged petals. Drawn to the sound, Schuldig's mind's eye roved over the scene finally locating a dark-haired child of no more than six leaning over a rock-lined pond at the center of the grove. The child was examining the pool intensely, the invisible spectator noted that just below the tranquil surface the body of water was teeming with brightly colored Koi flittering beneath countless lily pads. Acting out of what the German could only surmise as sheer whimsy, the child placed her hand above the water's surface, allowing only her tiny fingertips to break the motionless repose. She giggled with quiet wonder as the Koi came to honor her with pecking kisses on the pads of her proffered fingertips.

Without warning a shadow rippled to life from the fringes of the dream and advanced on the still oblivious child. Schuldig was tempted to cry out in warning, but the small girl suddenly stiffened, uninhibited mirth dying into silence, and darted away into the labyrinth of trunks that had failed to defend the secrets of her sanctuary. The shadow was a black outline, completely devoid of defining characteristics; the absence of detail could mean anything… suppression or denial uppermost on the list of possibilities. Whoever this hulking shape had been was a point of discomfort for the female assassin, one that she had yet to consciously acknowledge.

As the featureless apparition tromped off in pursuit of the wing-footed sylph, Schuldig withdrew from the hunt and back into his body. He wished the girl a successful evasion before switching off the still glaring overhead light, extricating himself from Nagi's doorway and ambling off to put his fragrant prop in some water aimed at preserving its vitality for later.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++++

Nagi stepped off the public transit bus and onto the walkway that would lead him home. He was aquiver with anticipation; the drudgery of cram class had seemed a never ending torment. He didn't have to attend often, just when work prevented him from making daily appearances at the temple of the mind. School really sucked… it was hard to exude an air of tolerant interest when he was just as well learned and perhaps more mentally endowed than ninety percent of his teachers. Over the last five years, Nagi had earned a reputation as a gifted, if troubled, child prodigy. Troubled-- yeah, living on the streets, fending for yourself could do that to a person, he snorted inelegantly to himself. Despite not starting school until he was ten, he had caught up with and surpassed his schoolmates easily. There was nothing beyond his scope of comprehension, he had only to be exposed to it, to master it; hence his entrancement with his reluctant teammate.

Hefting the laden satchel onto his sparsely muscled shoulder, he turned in the direction of the house. The jade-eyed Nippon was an enigma. She was bloodied, but surprisingly pure- bent but unbowed. The patient tolerance with which she seemed to endure all things was disturbing. It has to be an act, at least in part, he decided as his self-sufficient feet deposited him on the front stoop of his shared dwelling. He fished the key pad out of his uniform pants, fingers blurring over the surface too fast for any spying eyes to follow. The tumbler of the lock clicked, shoving the gum-pack sized device into his pocket, he removed his shoes while still outside. Crawford-san hated tracks on the carpet and as with every other menial task, it seemed to fall to Nagi to remedy the situation. Albeit for their fearless leader to stoop to cleaning the house once in awhile might do the man some good. At least it would give the boy a break from picking up after the inconsiderate German. He really disliked living with Schuldig, though he truly had nothing else against the guy besides his constant barrage of sexual innuendo and loud taste in clothes. He supposed the twenty-one year old couldn't help that he was a walking hormone with a panache for self-advertising.

Nagi shut the door behind him with a soft click and padded along the short hallway to the living room. The sudden grating whirr of the blender put a burst of speed into his step as he rocketed across the empty living room and into the fluorescent lights of the kitchen. Yup, Farf was making one of his putrid concoctions that consisted of goodness can only imagine what. At least this time he had remembered to put the lid on before pressing puree. Thank the spirits for small favors. “Bored?” the Japanese teen asked quietly, moving to the table to drop his bag on the honey-colored surface.

“Aye, the girl is asleep in yer room and the cocktease is holed up with his porn. Dun't think he could get the sound up any louder if he tried…” the other grimaced, eye trained on the turbulent churning particles of slowly liquefying food.

“Were you able to get a hold of your pills?”

The grinding chirp of the blender had evened out to a high pitched whine as the largest chunks of matter were sliced apart.

“Aye…” the boy unzipped a previously hidden compartment on the side of his pants and fished around for a moment. Quickly locating what he was after, he extended his offering to the smaller youth who accepted it in cupped hands. He was not really sure why the boy had asked him to pilfer so many of the blue capsules, but he had complied easily enough. His German teammate had been deeply distracted that morning and hadn't noticed when he palmed the bottle from his back pocket then replaced it a moment or two later.

“Good work.” The pills were pocketed, a somber smile playing across the blue-eyed boy's face.

“Why so many? Givin' her that much will kill her.” Farfarello turned to face his companion as his functional eye watched the smile slowly dissipate.

“Some of them are for you.” The cessation of blending noises and a quirked eyebrow demanded he continue. “I thought it might be beneficial to everyone involved if you were… sedate during the course of play.” Why did he feel like such an ass saying this to his co-conspirator?

“Afraid I might hurt her?” Not entirely put off by the precaution. The plan was to tarnish, not destroy after all. There are demons and ghosts that hunt without sound and sometimes in rapture they tend to come unbound. No matter his hold on reality, he was still a monster that slaughtered for vindictive thrills and the bloodied pain of innocence was a long past acquired taste. Best to err on the side of caution lest he bring the wrath of Eszet down on himself and Nagi if something tragic should occur.

“No, but I personally would rather not be electrocuted if you frighten her,” the silken voice replied as the distracted youth reached into a cabinet for the cookware he would need to prepare dinner. It had been bad enough being shocked the first time and that was with the current being distributed between three conductors. He could just imagine what might happen if that force were applied to a single body. The thought caused him to falter in his quest for the electric rice cooker. Shaking the image away, he resumed his preparations. The plan was simple: drug Farfarello shortly after dinner; dope the girl during the treat he had asked Schu to pick up for him and then make the first move. Her counterattack, if it came at all, would be sluggish. Hopefully, whatever part of her brain controlled her power would be suppressed by the medication, he prayed silently. “Would you please dispose of…” he took a moment to eye the pitcher wearily, “that?”

Fighting the sinister tug at the corners of his mouth, Farfarello complied readily enough. He knew full well that his puttering in the kitchen made his friend nervous. This room had always been one of the places that Nagi excelled… not that the kid didn't succeed anywhere he went. After cleaning up his experiment with the left over sauerkraut, bean curd and half a pint of praline ice cream, he hopped onto the countertop nearest the stove and watched the chef work his magic. It was interesting to watch the kid use his powers to retrieve the necessary ingredients from the fridge or cabinets only to do all the dirty work by hand. The Irish supposed it was the same reason he himself was into masochism-- a reminder that they were merely human, if only outwardly.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++++

I awoke to a strangled gasp and the sound of ragged, panting breaths. I was mistaken; I had not escaped the darkness! I scrambled up the soft planes of the mattress and looked around in alarm, heart beating like the frantic wings of a caged bird; my back slammed against an unyielding surface… where had it gone-- that thing that stalked the once innocent child I had been? Was it lurking on the outskirts of this pliable realm of lightened darkness?

“Hikari-chan?” The sudden presence of white light nearly blinded me. Throwing up my left arm to ward off the saving intrusion, I felt the brush of warm metal across my feverish forehead. Suddenly, realization struck and the reigning panic began to subside at a dawdling rate; it was Nagi's voice. Nagi who was crossing to the bed with worry etched in every line of his handsome face. “Hikari-chan, what's wrong?”

As he came to light on the bed beside me, I did the one thing the fleeing child inside me had longed for… I dove into his arms and buried my face in his uniform-clad chest. He had called my name and saved me from the dark…

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++++

What the hell is going on? The boy was stunned. He had come to call her down to dinner, ready to initiate the first phase of his plan, and here she was clinging to him as though he were a favored teddy bear kept at hand to ward away midnight inklings of living nightmares. He hadn't realized how small she really was until he curled his long arms about her hunkered shoulders and nearly lost her. Her hair smelled of strawberries with an undertone of lemon as he lowered his mouth to the top of her head to murmur reassuring nothings to her. His first move had been countered with an appeal for succor. Why did she have to go and make everything harder than it need be?

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++

Farfarello had already swallowed the four pills that Nagi had requested he take and eaten his fill of the chicken and vegetable ramen the teen had prepared. So, he decided to retreat to the isolation of his sometimes cell until the game was well underfoot, just as they had agreed earlier.

He was unsure of just how active a participant he would become. The girl had enraged him earlier, trying to play shrink with that stony expression on her face-- the velvet steel of her tone. She had put him on the defensive and made him give ground. For that trespass alone, she should be punished.

A hushed chorus of lilting Japanese accosted his ears just before he made Nagi's door. The silent observer, peering undetected around the doorjamb, gave into the ire that pleaded for release and allowed his pale, scarred lips to stretch in a thin, half smile. He wondered vaguely if the other boy was aware of the shocked widening of eyes and gaping, slack jawed expression that sprang to his countenance as the girl lunged into his reflexive embrace. The look was short lived as the embraced engulfed the tiny form in the circle of his long arms. The boy's eyes were darkened with a mix of what the voyeur assumed was carnal desire and consternation. The white-haired youth listened to his youngest teammate's whispered inanities, “It's all right. Nothing can hurt you now that I'm here…” Too bad the statement was one of the Japanese teen's infamous half-truths--`save me' or `without my permission' hovered unspoken in the air, a threatening haze over the otherwise benign scene.

They made an infinitely corruptible portrait. All bowing curves and softened angles, innocent supplication awash in aggressive hues of darker emotions that gave the older youth pause despite the heat that curled in his lower belly. If the besmirched angel was already drawn to the deceitful benevolence of the incubus, would their coupling take place in its own time untainted by violence? Was the artful posturing of affection enough to draw her virtue in the open in order to be desecrated at their pleasure?

The ethereal vision in front of him lasted only a few minutes, before it shattered with the slithering sound of flesh on roughened cotton. No doubt the girl had calmed enough listening to the unyielding rhythm of his friend's stoic heart to have gotten uncomfortable with the contact.

Farfarello let his smile fade away as he turned from the sight of the two outwardly guileless teens and disappeared into the darkness of his own domain, still pondering his role in the grander design.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++++

It's been so long since I've been held and not felt as though I'm trapped. I didn't deserve to be loved or held after all the failures in my life, but still Nagi's arms gripped me tightly. Finally, the raging of my personal demon's clamored in my inner ears and washed any easiness I had found in the touch away. I slid my hands from Nagi's sides to the center of his chest and levered myself up, experiencing only a moment's resistance before his arms relaxed their hold and fell away.

“I'm sorry.” I looked up into his somber, doubt-darkened eyes and suddenly didn't know for what exactly I had intended to apologize. I wasn't sorry I had hugged him, or showed a moment of weakness before him. I suppose the plea for forgiveness sprang from the knowledge that I had caused the light to go out of his gaze even for a short time.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++

You wouldn't apologize to me if you really understood me. You see the darkness in my eyes, the doubt… but you cannot fathom the saving grace that that dimness holds for you, Nagi berated the green gaze fervently. “Don't be… I'm just glad I was here to help,” he lied easily.

Her smooth face was pale, despite the lingering flush of sleep. He noticed that the bruises on the left side of her face were finally turning a deep, blackened plum. They would soon fade out to a sickly yellowish-green and eventually vanish. Her eyes were haunted looking, foreign in her usually reserved countenance. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

The ambiguous glaze of her soul's mirrors was a morose aphrodisiac as far as the teen's sadistically bent sex-drive was concerned. A vision of her long, dark lashes adorned with quivering tears of soul-shattering pleasure pain was nearly enough to warrant braving a few hundred volts of electrical current. Reining in his hedonistic impulses, the brunette decided to keep to the plan. A tiny smile pursed his lips as he shrugged almost bashfully. “I think you're worth it.” He was pleased to see the blush that lightly colored her cheeks and hoped to see it often over the course of the night. He wondered if she blushed with her entire body or just those high, sculpted cheeks. She really is attractive… and so naïve.

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I felt my face heat at the compliment and wonder vaguely at the value of such a remark. If he truly knew me, he would never say such a thing. I shivered as the memory of my teammates' paralyzed bodies accosted my awareness. The use of forbidden power to defend against the rise of a blessedly indistinct trauma had ended with barely veiled accusations that I was something other than human. They have no true conception of what could have happened… to be quite honest, neither do I.

“Are you ready for dinner?” Nagi's voice tugged me gently from the grips of introspection, and I focused on his boyishly handsome face.

Nagi really is beautiful- like a china doll with his almond shaped blue-eyes, tilted just a touch at the corners, a mark of his heritage, well-proportioned nose a rising summit in a blemishless sea of taupe skin, softly rounded cheeks and his lips… kissable. I had no idea why that particular word came to mind, but it was an adequate enough description.

“Sure, I am hungry, now that you mention it,” I replied, making sure all my clothes were set to rights before slipping off the bed and making my way to the door. It was rude to turn my back on my rescuer, but I needed a little space. The sensory memory of Nagi's good night kiss had just pressed itself to my lips and sent my heart hammering in my chest. I had never had the chance at a normal life-- no dates, no boyfriends, and now I found myself attracted to not one but two of my teammates. Given, Nagi was much more receptive to my presence, but Farfarello today… he had sought me out. I cannot fathom his intentions, save that he had been reaching out to me. In hatred, lust, curiosity, protectiveness, jealousy, maybe not even he knows.

I have to admit his growing interest is both flattering and terrifying. I have never been one to relinquish total control to anyone, but maybe for him? I know the lunatic inside Farfarello couldn't accept me any other way, but can I give myself completely over to someone else and still remain unbowed?

And what about Nagi? Am I willing to simply accept what he claims cannot be changed? I have an odd feeling that there are depths to Nagi's soul that roil with the fire and ice of hell and that I will have to endure their burning cold to see that faint glimmer of hope blaze to life in earnest. The prospect intrigues me, even as it makes my blood run icy.

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The house was rampant with lust, cryptic intrigue and the bittersweet poison of self-doubt. The three teenagers' heads teemed with odd images. Farfarello, the little shit, had thumbed his pills out of Schu's back pocket that morning and was now as at peace with himself as he could hope to be thanks to the innovation of medical science. Schuldig normally didn't bother with the Irish boy's thoughts, but his brain waves had been odd. No wonder, considering he had taken three doses at once. He kept switching off between two conflicting images-- a rather Gothic scene of incubus and supine, crucified damsel dying in the throes of decimating passion, and an image of Hikari draped at full length on a sea of gray, arms thrown behind her head singing quietly to herself in English. The words had had an odd affect on the nineteen year old Berserker. He had found them fitting, an out-crying of the lost Jei and a begrudging admission from the madman. That idea provoked a foreign emotion to suffuse the man's mind, flavoring his thoughts with the bittersweet essence of what the mind raper identified easily as fear.

The realization made the German bark with wicked laughter until tears leaked from the corners of his gray-green eyes. The most brutal, unrepentant murderer in the known world was afraid of falling in love with a fallen angel with blood tipped wings and an indomitable, remorse besotted soul.

He was seated at the desk off in the corner of his room, chain smoking per usual and filing the footage of his newest conquests, thanks to the spy cam that Nagi had installed in his room a few months ago, as he waited patiently for his debut in the evening's drama. He had no doubt that the girl would be able to evade the advances of both Nagi and Farfarello if their current states were any indication. Whatever it was about the girl that affected the knife-licking Irishman had not spared the fifteen year old Nippon.

Eaves-dropping on their dinner conversation revealed that they chose to stick mainly to the mundane order of school, food, work, anime and finally dessert. Nagi had asked him to pickup the makings for s'mores while terrorizing the Weiss and interfering in the blossoming romance between Oauka Takatori and Omi, the little blonde bishounen from the Koneko. The images that had accompanied that request had been intriguing, so Schu had agreed with his best devil-may-care smirk before sending a few silent suggestions the boy's way.

The meal was long, drawn out and full of too much chatter as far as the psychic interloper was concerned. The mental barrage from the two teens was a little more interesting, but not quiet angsty enough to hold his attention long. Some level of Nagi's mind was battling with the nagging doubt he had not altogether silenced as to his true objective. Hikari, for her part, trusted him, no matter how foolish Nagi found her; he couldn't deny he enjoyed that privilege. On another level, he was a healthy teenage male, and the girl had been `given' into his care after all. At his awareness level, Nagi was calculating the probability that the half of a downer he had crushed into the girl's food would not take effect in time to keep him from getting fried; therefore, negating any guilt he should feel for wanting to see her innocent façade stripped from her. Of course, electricity could be quite stimulating if used at low settings.

The oppressive fog that was creeping across the planes of the girl's subconscious drew the gaze of Schu's mental specter. Nagi had little to worry about if that small dose was taking effect this quickly. By the time the boy made his first move, his victim would be pliant enough, if the kid had the balls to follow through.

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Crawford had been having visions periodically throughout the day, which was in and of itself typical; however the nature of one image in particular was unsettling -- a dark-haired child being pursued by a relentless silhouette through a grove of dead Sakura trees to descend a winding path lined by numerous doors. The progression of the pair was followed by a set of insubstantial, pale green eyes so the American clairvoyant surmised it was a dream being harvested by the Mastermind.

The rest of the images he received were fairly normal, Schuldig disobeying orders and leaving the house to torment their rivals; Farfarello causing pharmaceutically suppressed mayhem in the kitchen; Nagi contemplating the subjugation of his newest challenge and the girl wreaking her own peculiar brand of chaos on the home front. In less than seventy-two hours, she had turned the dynamics of the team on its ear.

The evidence of her powers was undeniable. Crawford himself had absorbed several hundred volts not forty-eight hours ago. But was that fount of power worth having an adolescent girl in their midst? She was tedious and troublesome in her own right, but she also made the younger men less predictable. The quality of his visions as the day progressed gave clear testament to that fact. The vivid projections of lust and barely suppressed savagery that Farfarello exhibited shortly after the gaijin bodyguard had arrived at the Takatori Towers had given way to something akin to fear. Nagi's carefully crafted strategy began to gape at the seams as doubt took hold in the wake of a fleeting moment of unexpected comfort. The tantalizing unfolding of three naked, sweat slicked bodies, backlit by the glow of a forgotten video that had been so solid around noon was becoming vague, difficult to interpret- except that the scent of orchids and lilies kept teasing at the back of his throat and the flicker of candles cast fragmented shadows on the fading image.
Seeing the future was not a gift characterized by precision, but it was odd for a course of fate that had seemed so immobile hours before to suddenly vaporize into obscurity. He contemplated excusing himself from the business meeting that Takatori was holding to discuss the procurement of campaign endorsement to use the phone, but decided it could wait. Besides, Nagi could handle himself and Farfarello too. The girl was rather docile, if emotionally unstable, and had thus far proved infuriatingly resilient. The German was the only real problem, but then again that was per usual, the man reminded himself with an inward grimace.