I must apologise beforehand that both Ran and Asami may be out of character. I will try my upmost to retain them in their respective dispositions, and should this story get good reviews that encourage its continuation for the sake of curiosity, I shall do my best to keep them in character. Also, some things may not make much sense now but they will as things progress; and there might be some grammatical mistakes, as it is late, I will make the necessary amendments tomorrow. This is my first time writing for either the Weiß Kreuz or the Finder Series fandom so please have a little patience with me!

Disclaimer: I neither own Weiß Kreuz or the Finder Series nor make any profit from this story. I am only writing this to please myself and for the possible enjoyment of others. With that said, please enjoy.

The Sardonic Prince

Chapter 1: Crimson Droplets Staining the Snow

He lay elegantly sprawled on the thin cheap covers that one found at one of those rental spaces used precisely for this sort of thing, his head titled to one side, oblivious to the happenings of his body. His eyes saw nothing; distant as they were and accustomed to this sort of dealings he undertook each night. Towering over him was a middle-aged man, thrusting madly into him, coming near to his climax. It was all relatively disgusting, each aspect that formed what was occurring now and in general terms of his current life: the filthy room, the sweaty man and the shameful knowledge of what he had succumbed to. There had never existed a person in the world who could claim to have had such a pride and sense of worth as he. However, where were they now, his pride and worth? They had abandoned him, or rather; he had abandoned them, as everything else in the world had.

Coarse hands took hold of his unfazed shaft, and it was like having sandpaper grating him. At last, Ran showed emotion and flinched with pain as his manhood, which was certainly something to look at, was cruelly abused by the bastard. His express of emotion was interpreted as a sign of encouragement, —of pleasure!—which only yielded to more pain for Ran. He closed his eyes and became discrete from his body, no longer wishing to have any conscious part of what was going to happen next.

It was all so vile and repulsive; the bastard had cum inside him and urgently brought Ran to kiss him, his beautiful red tresses entangled in the man's grasp. He tugged on them, tearing some away, and forcing himself yet again onto Ran. He could no longer take it; no longer could he ignore the humiliation of having another man abuse his body and do as he pleased with him. With a surge of vehemence that he could not tell from where it originated, perhaps stored away for this moment of decision, he shoved the vile bastard from him and dealt him a punch that toppled him away. Ran covered himself with the elaborate robe he wore for such administrations and got off the bed, only to suddenly have his hair caught and dragged backwards. Without the slightly warning or chance to react, the man grabbed hold of him and viciously beat him, not caring where his fists landed, so long as they dealt damage. Reality seemed to melt away, as if nothing were real anymore; even the pain was lost to him.

Is this what I have become? Who am I now, I wonder.

When Ran could no longer move, the man quickly got dressed and gathered the money he had paid for his sexual gratifications from Ran's long coat, which he made sure to tear. Before he left, he spat in Ran's face and snarled, "That'll teach you not to act like a smartass, you fucking filthy whore!" and slammed the door on his way out, leaving also the cost of the room on Ran.

For a considerable amount of time, Ran did not move or even attempt to lift his arm to wipe the blood and saliva from his face. Gradually the sensation of pain hit him fully, and caused him to gasp. His fingers clawed the sheets as he turned over on his stomach and tried to push himself up into a sitting position. He needed to get away quickly before the manager came knocking on the door and demanding his fare. He stumbled out of bed, gathering his clothes from the floor and putting them on. As he slipped on his torn coat of deep purple leather, he caught sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His face was bruised and bloodied, his neck imprinted with scratch marks and other bleeding injuries. The sight startled him for a very brief second before he coldly looked away and left the room, making sure no one was around.

The back door opened and he slipped out into the alleyway right as he heard someone yelling after him. Without looking back, he was assaulted with a fierce breath of frosty air that sliced through his battered body, almost making him lose his balance. He looked up into the azure depths of the sky and saw snow falling, already having coated the ground with two inches. He could not recall the night having been this cold, or for that matter of having shown any indications of snowing. Ran fought against the wind and merged with the stream of people who still inhabitant the streets late at night. He staggered forward, his hands bowered deep within the coat's pockets, having no real destination in mind, only to get as far away. He walked two blocks before taking a right and that was when he felt it.

One of the many lacerations he had received during his time as an assassin had reopened. He seized his side and clenched his teeth against the excruciating pain. He cursed under his breath and slumped against a wall, momentarily closing his eyes and trying to organize his thoughts.

Damn, what am I going to do now? If I do not stop the bleeding quickly, I am going to freeze to death. But would that be such a terrible thing? What have I to live for now? Aya-chan is well and alive, the others have gone their separate ways, and Weiß has finally been dissolved. I am the only one living in the past and look what has become of me…a man without dignity, pride or self-worth left within him. Not even Schwarz has hit this low. Would it be such a sin to just die out here and get it over with? What is stopping me—nothing. I am tempted, it sounds like the best alternative, to make it all end, right here, right now. I will just keep my eyes closed and when I next open them, I will be where I belong—Hell.

Regardless of the choice he made, his body took the initiative to shut down at that moment. He slid down the wall, his head hanging to one side and the lovely rivulet of crimson growing well into a stream of blood. Each droplet stained the immaculate snow a beautiful shade of red that obtained its unique luster from Ran's unforgivable sins.

The strands of his fleeting life were grasped within Death's slender pale hands and right as She was ready to usher the sinner away to his corresponding Hell, a door opened, releasing a brilliant mass of light and a tall handsome man dressed in a sharp business suit stepped out, lighting a cigarette. There were voicing coming from behind, which he ignored. He calmly looked down both sides of the alleyway, for reassurance that no one was waiting to try assassinate him. It when then that alluring amber eyes traveled over to where Ran lay. He instantly caught sight of the blood and exhaled the smoke through his nose and mouth, his eyes narrowed as he took the scene in.

As one drawn to the aid of a defenseless animal, so Asami made his way to Ran's side. A mirthless smirk formed on his lips and he said amusingly, "What do we have here?" whereas he reached out and swept a strand of deep red from Ran's face and admired the beautiful face that was sadly marred with bruises and turning an unappealing blue. Inhaling deeply from his cigarette, Asami reached a decision. He took a final drag from his cigarette before flicking it away and gathered Ran into his arms, making sure to be gentle with him so as not to aggravate his wound. Asami was taking him home.