(A/N) Sorry it took so long to come back to. Life and all. It has this annoying way of keeping me from writing. Not like too many people are reading anyway . . . Thanks to everybody that is. Really.


Chapter 3:

Into the Depths

Again and again Vanille read the last entry, her mind unable to read what it had seen time and time again. Fang was watching from the underworld. Fang was dead. Fang had protected her against this monster, fought him to her last breath. And now, now she was gone, never to be seen or heard from again. She was in the underworld now and only because she had tried to protect the kid l'cie that followed her. Not like it mattered. There was no way out of this hell hole anyway. Fang's death would be in vain.

NO!

That took things to far. Rage burned through her, strengthening her limbs like seam fueled an engine. Even the soreness in her shoulder that came from raming it into that wooden door seemed to fade away in light of this fury. Consumed by it she threw the book as far away from her as she could. It struck hard against the far wall, between the two pictures, and fell to the floor with a muffled thump. Whether Fang was dead or not Vanille would not let it be in vain. Fang would not die for nothing. She would find a way out of this prison.

Doing that though, was a lot harder said than done. This place really was some kind of fortress of a basement. Every passage sealed, every option closed. The monster that held her here had been doing this for who knows how long. He was ready for just about anything she could try. But there had to be something she could do. Some trick that the countless l'cie that had been imprisoned here before failed to try. And she would be the one to do it, if only she could find it.

She went back to fiddling with the door, pushing on the door, pulling on the handle, trying to find things to stick between the door and the frame. But nothing worked. She shook her head disappointed. The only way she was getting through that door was with the axe on the bloodied table. But she wasn't about to fight with those flies again. Her arms were still sore and stinging from the last time. She wasn't sure if she could take it again. If ever she found a way to be rid of them then she knew where she would be going next. Maybe wherever that door led had a way outside somehow. Considering what she had that door was her greatest hope.

She went back to the bookshelf and flipped through every book. The journal that told of the monster's descent to madness had carried a key in the back of it. Maybe she could find another if she looked hard enough. But every one was empty. Angry at the empty find she tossed a book carelessly at the shelf, but she missed and the book landed next to the case. Grumbling she went to pick it up wondering to herself why she bothered but glad that she did at the same time.

There, leaning against the side of the bookshelf was this strange little golden figure. Just looking at is she couldn't tell what it was. It almost looked like some sort of tool, but couldn't think of what it could fix. The little object was plated with gold and was no thicker than a reed. The thin metal was completely straight, putting even the best made arrows to shame, with the exception of a single right angle bend. A bit of wiring stuck out on one end but that was all that she could see of it's insides. Curious more than anything she took the little tool and put it with the rest of her findings.

Two scraps of trash paper, an empty spray can, a lamp stand and a little golden cylinder. So, basically she had a little pile of junk and a key to get her out of there. Instinctively she looked to the steel door at the top of the stairway. That was probably going to be her way out, but there was no keyhole. Only the . . . mail slot.

This time her body moved faster than her mind had thought of what to do. She reached for the old phone and dialed the number on the yellow scrap labeled "Handy man." She had remembered how the phone met no answer before when she had tried to contact fang and hadn't thought about using it should the attempt meet the same end. But since then her captor had been able to talk to her. A shiver ran through her body at the thought of that terrible laugh. But this, this had to go through.

She was met with ring after ring, more progress than she had on her last try. She stood, leaning against the desk hardly daring to breath. But she wasn't greeted by a cheerful voice, or even a happy voice. This strangely distorted deep voice spoke, not even giving her time to do so much as form a thought, much less a sentence.

"Handy man on the way." It said and then the line went dead. The Handy Man had hung up.

"UGH!" she slammed the phone back on the receiver, actually enjoying the sound of it clanking as she did. "What do you want from me?" Anger, fear, and disappointment boiled and she let herself fall on the desk, her arms spread across the surface. Her hand thumped against one of the bubbling glass jars and a small drop of the red liquid dropped on her hand. Pain seared through her and she let out a horrible scream as she jumped back holding her hand. "How the . . .?"

For the first time she took a closer look at the jar she had bumped. Inside the jar was what looked almost like a tiny, disfigured person. The liquid had burned through most of the figure leaving only the skeleton and pieces of flesh. The tiny person seemed to have tried to get away, it's arm was locked reaching above its head, the wilted flesh hung off it's fingers where they were frozen just above the top of the jar. She didn't know what this stuff was, but she didn't need to to know anything it touched would be dead.

That was when her second brilliant idea came to her. What if she had somehow found a way to get this foul stuff to those vampire flies? Kill them all in one fell swoop and leave her free to do as she needed with the axe to find her freedom.

But then she stopped the thought and looked at the flies buzzing around the scent of blood. That wasn't a thought that was like her at all. Sure she was afraid and all, but Vanille had never been one to resort to killing, even the tiniest little creature, ever. Yes she would lie all to easily, and run from every trouble, but killing was never an option in her mind. It almost surprised her how easily the thought came to her. Might have even scared her a bit.

"What's this place doing to me?" She moaned to herself looking up at the light that still flickered dimly at the ceiling as if it could give her some answer. But the light that came from the ceiling was no god or deity, it would offer no help and she was foolish to expect any.

Her thoughts ceased the moment she heard a sound above her. Someone was knocking on the door of the house on the floor above her. The boy who had called to his father had stopped pacing. Vanille's gaze snapped to the steel door, her heart frozen. Had he finally gotten tired of waiting? Or had his uncle, her hunter, returned to finish the job he started. Vanille grew tense, her limbs almost rigid and solid. Her breath became short and shallow and her heartbeat began to pound in her ears as the boy answered the door.

"Who the hell are you?" The boy asked the stranger outside.

"Handyman," The newcomer answered in the same strange voice she had heard before. The man she had called, he was there. Perhaps he could save her. As silent as stalking an animal Vanille crept up the stairs, her steps becoming more cautious as she climbed, until she reached the steel door and crouched beside it.

"Handyman?" The boy questioned, "I didn't call for anything. What the hell are you selling? Don't you know how late it is?"

"There was a call. I came."

"Let it go kid." The voice of the boy's father interjected. "Never mind the runt. Just a tad touchy since he hadn't had 'is dinner yet. What is it you got for us?" There was silence for a moment, then a rustle of paper. "Now I'll make sure this gets to the right hands. Thank yeh for stoppin in an' all." Vanille's heart sank as her would be rescuer grunted his approval and left. The door continued it's rhythm-less banging against it's frame.

"What was that all about?" The boy demanded after a few moments.

"It's just your uncle's nonsense. Let him just play his dumb-ass games and get 'em over with. Wench'll die one way or another." The voice grew louder as it approached her door. He was coming for her! Involuntarily she let out a small whimper as he got within arms reach of the only thing separating the two of them.

"Wait." The boy called and his father stopped for only a moment. The mail slot, only accessible on the side of the door Vanille wasn't on, lifted and stayed that way. Through it Vanille could see a small baron room. The floor was rough, made of dark wood and scraped away by what looked like many claw marks. Hunting dogs perhaps? Or just another result of the madness in this family. On the far wall she could see a small tv and above it some pictures, but it was impossible to tell who they were or anything like that. For a while everything was still and quiet. She just looked out this little hole wondering what it would be like to be on the other side, free again.

The boy ended all that with a monstrous roar, enough to startle young Vanille into screaming, falling backwards over the first few steps, bruising her already sore shoulder, as she tumbled. Her pain was met only with the boy's laughter.

"Stupid l'cie," He laughed. Somehow this laughter Vanille found much easier to handle over his uncle's, "so easy to mess with." A moment later an envelope fell through the mail slot.

Vanille grumbled angrily to herself as she rotated her shoulder around in the socket to make sure it wasn't damaged. Relieved to find it was still alright she sat at the top stair as the boy continued his pacing and she opened the envelope. There, peeking out at the top, was a screwdriver with an oddly crafted head made to look like a human eyeball.

"now why would anyone make something look like this?" She said to herself almost solely for the pleasure of hearing her own voice again. The boy beat on the metal of the door, yelling profanities about her being quiet. Vanille answered by hurrying down the stairs and sitting on the desk as she thought more about how she was going to get rid of those pesky vampire flies.

She started simple, picking up the jar. But even the jar was hot to the touch and she nearly dropped it before finally putting it back down. There was no way she was going to carry it by hand to the little buzzing demons. Then the miracle of the right answer came to her, though she knew not how. She would have to hand it to that Lady Luck Fang always talked about. She was such a sweet lady.

With the idea Lady Luck had given her she took the empty spray can she had found in the trash bin and filled it with the vile red liquid. With only a few sprays the flies died instantly, littering the ground with their tiny little bodies. Vanille stepped carefully around their remains and pulled the axe from the table, staggering a bit from the weight of it.

The blade was beyond disgusting, the whole of it completely drenched with the stain of blood to the point where she had to search to find the smallest specks of gray. She wondered how many of inhabitants of Gran Pulse, l'cie or not, met their end at the blade of the weapon she held.

None of that mattered now. She faced the wooden door and threw her entire being into swinging the blade as deep into the wood as possible. The first strike yielded barely a scratch on the surface. The second brought a fracture in the plain wood. A third a fourth and a fifth strike stretched the crack, forcing it to reach for the edges of the door. After what seemed like forever the door finally gave way and broke in two pieces.

"Finally," She whispered running the back of her hand along her forehead. Her shoulder burned with the effort of swinging the axe. But she held it in front of her as she pulled the door the rest of the way open. She saw the beginning of a small set of stairs but no further. Her own shadow fell only on the shadows of the room. She could see nothing but a few outlines of objects in the room, but still she had decided to step down. With each step she hesitated, listening, waiting, unsure of what to think or do.

"Hello?" She finally called, taking another slow, fearful step. The walls of this second basement absorbed the sound of her voice as she spoke. She wasn't sure why she had called, but she did. "Is anyone else in here?" Much to her surprise she was met by a moan, long and low and pitiful. At first Vanille thought perhaps she was making a mistake and called out again and was answered by the same moan.

She was not alone in here.


(A/N) Much much longer than I had meant . . . ah well. Hope you're having fun so far. Please do get around to reviewing.