A/N: Basically this chapter just sums of Asch's demons... as well as his priorities.

Line of Impiety

Chapter 3

Demons housed in Silence

A bell rang. Its call was distorted by distance, by depth, and a maze of earthen walls. Still Asch lifted his head to count, oblivious to how his hair was plastered to his face around his eyes. Had someone come in to check on him the light would have reveled him to be a ghastly shade of white. Licking his lips, he wondered why they felt so dry and raw when he was doing everything to keep them moist. After the last peal died the hellish quiet of his solitude reasserted itself. It was quiet here, so much so that the silence seemed a heavy waterlogged cloak, smothering, cloying. And no actions of his could wrench the silence from his shoulders, his voice when he rose it soon fell flat, and thus all distractions he had tried so far had failed. He could do nothing to dislodge that which smothered him, for his agony came from within.

"…the demons that dwell in your soul…"

Nervously running his hand through his hair Asch considered Ion's words. He'd avoided obsessing over everything else; his past failures were a bleak grey avenue that he could have spent a lifetime trodding. But he dared not, Van would not find his pupil shattered by solitude and quiet, because if he did…

Asch had skirted to the edge many times in his young life. Normally Noir gently propelled him back to a more steady ground. If Van ever found Asch weakened though the man Asch called teacher would act in only one way. He would shove Asch over the abyss, confident that a broken, dispirited soldier would be more effective at his tasks than a rebellious questioning one.

After all, consider Largo. Largo had come out of this rite looking dispirited and weak, and Van had "helpfully" rebuilt the emotionally drained Cassadonian mercenary into a being obsessed with strength. While Largo had probably been going in that direction already what was wholly unnatural –as far as Asch was concerned- was how placid… how utterly obedient Largo had become. Strength bread power, power discouraged submission… But under the right circumstance Largo would probably, no gladly, slash a child's throat to further the Commandant's cause.

Largo was utterly submissive to Van's will. Any of the man's original thoughts were quickly suppressed, broken, and the shards quickly cleaned away.

In short, it was disgusting. The absolute control Van exercised over Largo… it was so powerful that he had wondered... And if it hadn't been for certain sounds he'd heard while spying on his Master knowing very well that Legretta and Van were together. Well the Cantor would have suspected Van and Largo's relationship to be more intimate. However, time had shown that his vilest thoughts were not the case.

Demons were said to dwell in the darkness and silence. And it was then, in that silence while he shivered and thirst that he unwillingly came to encounter the first of them.

Jealousy.

He had seethed every time when Van had left him to go to Batical, to train the replica. Asch mentally raged every time he remembered that while he was living in little more than a closet, his clothes for the most homespun wool robes to declare his rank of a mere Bravo while his replica ate and drank the best Kimlasca had to offer. So powerful was the anger when he imagined his replica courting Natalia he would physically shake. He'd used those images to brush off blows that would fell more powerful men and used his hate to stand even after Largo would beat him bloody and broken during a "sparing session". His jealousy and accompanying hate allowed him to make their mutual master's orders of "bloody Asch up a little" harder to achieve, because every time he crossed blades with the Lion he was crossing them with his replica.

Every time he drew blood from one of his foes he drew it from the replica. The knife he had twisted into the gut of one enemy had been sliding into his other's innards. Their screams were Luke's screams, and lost in his word of hate the torment had sounded beautiful…

He'd been falling and had not realized he was falling. His love was his hate, and what gentle memories he'd held to before had faded into obscurity. For a short time he'd been whole, the wounds of loss and grief faded from him. He'd been like Largo, eagerly doing as he was told, not thinking.

X

"A murderer? Our Cardinal? I won't believe it!" Snorting Urushi crossed his arms in front of his chest. Or at least Asch imagined him to have, from his hiding place by the door. He was in Daath, of course, soon to go through the ritual that would raise him from Bravo to Cantor. The ritual was tomorrow in fact, he was to fast today and had spent the last few days mute.

It had come to his complete shock when, while heading down the steps of the main chapel at dawn, to see Urushi, Noir, and York mounting the stairs in full Dark Wing's garb. As if aware of his vow of silence and restraint they honored the ritual -though York did have to rib Noir to keep the red haired thief from running up and hugging him. As a group they waved then went inside. Asch who had to complete the beginner's pilgrimage by noon wanted to waste a few moments gapping, he ached to say something…

But he couldn't. The priests had foisted off some fonic symbol on him that made it impossible to talk and he dared not take it off. He also dared not be late for his return, so he had dashed down the stairs. Feeling oddly elated at seeing that his friends were here, Asch managed to ignore their reasons for the moment. He was confident that whatever they were all would be explained to him soon enough.

Ritual demand that after the brisk walk from monument to monument he be secluded off from the others to silently pray. He endured the seclusion, and while he didn't pray he did anoint his throat and wrists with the rose scented "holy" water set aside for him. After spending a long moment looking in the mirror and taking his wind tousled hair the fifteen year old Bravo used some of the sweet smelling stuff to slick back the more unruly locks. It wouldn't do to appear before the Maestro's of Daath looking like a sweaty child after all.

He'd gotten his freedom after putting on a set of black robes. Those around him ignored him, from the moment he left the room he abandoned his Bravo status, and it was not time for him to be acknowledged as a Cantor. A man who had no ties to the church was not real, he did not exist, and so those he knew in Daath turned away.

But those who weren't from Daath, they could acknowledge him. The ritual didn't say anything against it, and he knew from talking to those who went through it that he was allowed to meet whoever he pleased…

Now, after finding where they were he hesitated on the threshold, their dire conversation making it nearly impossible for him to gather his courage to knock on the door.

"I don't want to believe it Urushi, to think Asch is playing Van's pet killer. 'specially after what the bastard did to one of our own…" York let the last bit trail off. Dark memory made his throat thickened and stilled the thief's speech.

Silence fell, pained silence from within the small guest room and without. Asch bit his lip; he wanted to say how that wasn't true. He wasn't fighting for Van! He was just trying to go home...

"That bastard son of Fende killed Darithin." Noir growled. "Asch would never side with-"

Whatever Noir said faded from Asch's thoughts. He staggered back; face pale, eyes wide in shock. His mouth opened to form some denial, but the fonic seal held his vocal cords in place, he couldn't even manage a gasp of shock. They'd told him Darithin had died on that final day, but not how. How could his Master kill someone like Darithin? Yes the large man had been a thief, but that fact paled against all the good the man had been doing...

"But Asch doesn't know." Came Urushi's voice, the bow legged bandit's suppressed agony cut through Asch's internal pain. Like drew to like and the unspoken emotional pain brought the soon to be Cantor back to his senses. "The Boss said not to tell the kid. Didn't want Asch to hate Van that hard, was scared the kid would try to knife the bastard in the back."

"But was he scared Asch would succeed or scared that he wouldn't?" Noir grumbled. There was a thump as the female thief threw herself onto the room's cot.

"That's unkind Noir. You guys are both putin' too much ice in that boy's actions. Van's forcin' him to do his dirty work. And that only stands if Asch's done anything at all."

"Don't be a sentimental idiot Urushi. You know he's capable of murder. If Darithin saw it in him before and Van's got a free hand with Asch… Our "Cardinal" changed his name you know, was just fine and dandy with Cardinal a while back until that bastard got his hooks in him and started twisting." Having seen someone die like that, by hooks twisting organs to a crimson mass, Asch shuddered. Oblivious to the state of his hidden audience, York went on. "We gotta get him out of here Noir. I don't want him here anymore than you do."

"It kinda makes me wonder." Urushi snapped at York. "We know what Darithin did. We made no bones about it. But if yer seein' it York I'd have to think on what the hell makes you so sure he's a killer."

"Boys..." A creek from the bed told Asch that Noir had risen, presumably to break up the inevitable fight. " York's past is York's business. I know it only because I had to know, you don't want to know."

"Really? You don't think I could take it, girl? I wasn't exactly sheltered and pampered like you, Lady. I lived in the damn gutters and saw men kill others for reasons almost as stupid as the damn Sc-."

Pale, shaking, Asch realized that he had to act. Noir couldn't stop the fight; she wasn't strong enough to physically hold Urushi or York away from each other when they really got into it… And if the Dark Wing's fight got any louder someone might overhear them.

No, someone would overhear them, and everything would play into his Master's hands.

He raised his hand to rap on the door, and when Noir answered she looked into his pale face and she knew he'd overheard some of it. Not all, her green eyes seemed to silently beg him, please don't tell me you heard it all.

The rueful smile he cast her, one so filled with bitter pain it nearly overflowed into tears, told her all she needed to know.

She offered her hand to him, ever the lady, and he took it in his own playing the part of the gentleman. And together they crossed the threshold to greet the pair of chagrined thieves.

"Heyla Asch." Urushi dredged up a fake smile. "Long time no see."

Urushi flinched at the sad smile Asch used as a reply. The older thief flinched back from the gesture as if it had been a drawn blade or a spoken threat. York only nodded, seeing he accepted, even if that acceptance made his conscience and stomach turn into writhing knots of tension.

"You have some explaining to do, young man." York crossed his arms over his chest. "Quite a bit. And I've the quill and parchment so you can get to that explaining."

Nodding, Asch rubbed the talisman and its accompanying fonic glyph. Understanding York dredged up a small sympathetic smile.

"Sorry kid, I can't take it off and put it back on without the sparrows noticing. I know you'd rather just talk but you're going to have to make do."

X

Nothing new with that, Asch would have said if he could. He had been "making do" for years before York had told him to do so, and he had been doing so ever since. It was almost six years now since his world had shattered around his ears.

And he'd fighting every moment since he'd been exiled from the manor. Demons from within, devils in the guise of men without, his blade had become part of the truth that held him afloat. Noir's good will and attempts to save him had come too late to stop him from embracing a love of war. But she'd helped him from going half mad with jealousy; she'd forced him to see what it was doing to him. What it was making him do.

But seeing and containing were different from exorcising.

And he was too far gone to come back, to be the old person he had been before. He wasn't Luke, as he told Noir that day, but the charred remains left by the sacred flame.

And Ashes were the homes of demons, desolation their love, death their passion.

Asch could do nothing to deny them. Denial was death, ignorance the executioner's blade. He wasn't ready to die, not yet, maybe not ever. He clung to life for it was in truth all he had. His life, the lives of those he loved, it was all he had.

And it was the one thing he'd willingly die for to preserve.