A/N: Sorry I was gone for a few days. Well...actually, for most authors this would be fast updating, but I'm used to typing every day--God, i have no life...lol, kidding. I do...sort of...? Anyway, it's a pretty long chapter--ten pages on Word, when they're usually seven at longest for this story--so I hope that makes up for it. Oh, and as a random bit of nothingness...I JUST FOUND OUT I'M GETTING MY BRACES OFF NEXT WEEK!! And i have a Halloween party tomorrow, so we'll see if i can finish...well wait, the next world is Celes right? Never mind then. No way I'm going to rush that. It's going to be much too fun. Major KuroFai in that one. Anyway, I'll stop rambling so you can read the Great Tsubasa Depression.

Chapter Ten: Infinity

If Tokyo was the war than Infinity must've been the post-war depression. The atmosphere was always stifling—like a choking collar buttoned to your chin; a collar made of hot-raking coals and cement.

"Damn right it was," Kuro-kun says. "Even the manjuu bun was serious—which is saying a hell of a lot, that is."

You all smile faintly, still reeling from the last world and probably are still replaying that scene over and over and over in your undeveloped minds….

Your parents will murder me.

"I'll murder them first." He looks out at all of you. "Got a problem with that? No, right? Good."

Calm down, Kuro-pii. No one's murdering anyone.

Now. I've called myself an idiot and I've called myself a fool. But in Infinity, I surpassed both of those. I have to admit that during Infinity I was positively awful, horrible, terrible, cruel, stupid. In short, I was a complete bastard.

It was directly after our first battle—also our first win in what would be a sequence of many—that I first drank from Kurogane.

Now, of course, Yuuko-san—at Kuro-tan's request—had changed my vampirism back into my magic (No, I never regained my eye). It's nearly as strong as before my magic was cut in half, but not quite. I must say though, I do miss Kuro-chi's blood. He arches an eyebrow. I smile brightly and continue on.

I had just escorted Sakura to her room and was doing my best to ignore the boy and the dry aching in my throat and stomach—and partially in my chest, although that had nothing to do with my vampiric anorexia. But I was weak, and that couldn't be overlooked—my malnutrition would soon manifest into my abilities and I would be an easy target during the games. Sakura would lose confidence and that would result in Kurogane and…Sy…and Syaoran's strength lessening. And then they would die.

But I wouldn't drink. I couldn't.

Neither could I call Kurogane by anything except his real name. He was a grown man and a ninja and should be given the amount of respect he was due. The nicknames had been ridiculous from the start, anyway. I'd just fallen in deeper that way. I'd won and I couldn't take the victory back. He'd lost, after all. He had to comply.

Syaoran—"Syaoran"—was sitting quietly on the sofa, a cup of water in his hands. He was staring into it blankly, Mokona resting on his knee. "Fai…" it began. I smiled at it, and petted its ears, before walking past them and letting the smile drop.

He was in my room, of course. Waiting. His hands were in his pockets and he was looking at me indifferently. He held up his left arm, sort of offering it to me, and his eyes narrowed. I didn't pause. I simply continued to move my legs until I reached the bed.

"You need to drink." It wasn't an impassioned declaration or a confession or surrender or anything of that like. It was merely a statement—a truthful one at that. I didn't respond. I sat down on the bed, and propped up one leg, allowing the other to remain on the ground.

He stepped toward me. I just then noticed something glint in his hand and…was that…Sohi? He lifted the sword and brought it down casually on the inside of his wrist. There was a flash of red and then the blood was streaming around his arm and dripping onto the tiles. The darkness made the pooling of liquid seem more sinister. "If this is the only way I can get you to drink, I'll do it, mage."

I smiled and laughed emptily. "How did you know? You do think so much of yourself, don't you, Kurogane?" Every time he would try to retaliate, I'd shoot back with ten times the force. There was no reason for him to do this without waiting for something to happen—something from me. I'd had enough. I really had.

But that didn't mean that I didn't take the bait. I stood up and gingerly held his wrist in my hands, lowering my head and closing my eye. I wondered what it would taste like. Would it taste the same as before—whenever blood appeared in my mouth from injuries—or would it taste differently?

The latter turned out to be the correct one. It tasted wonderful. I didn't know whether it was only because of the near-starvation state I was in or if it would always taste this deliciously delectable to me. I wanted all of it. I wanted to drain him of it. It was warm and sweet and salty and tangy and every flavor I'd loved in my food all in one. I wanted to drink him dry of it.

And then something inside of me clicked. Stop. Stop. Why won't I stop? I want to stop, why can't I? I'm scared. Kurogane, stop me. Stop me. I'm taking too much but I want to keep drinking but I have to stop and I can't why can't I oh no, Kuro-ta—

I yanked my mouth away. The slip brought me to my senses. I would have to train myself with this. There was now no way at all that I would be able to stay away from that…temptation for long. It was too good—brilliant. The taste was forever etched into my mind.

His eyes were slightly hazy, but he appeared determined to look as if a disgustingly repulsive creature had not just been about to take all of his blood and kill him. He gazed at me steadily and stubbornly. I was still thirsty, but something won over the intense need—I simply licked my fingers and then turned away. "Please leave, Kurogane."

I didn't want to see his face. I wouldn't be able to watch the disappointment and disgust play through his features and continue to live. It'd be unbearable. I knew he had to regret saving me now. If only I could turn back time and tell him that—tell him that this choice would only bring him pain and burden him. Then, he would be able to have let me die. I wasn't able to tell him because I'd been too weak. I knew that he wished he could've taken back his choice as well.

I heard him say so softly it was almost a whisper, "'Night."

Once he was gone, and I'd closed the door, I collapsed onto my bed, stared at the ceiling and said, "I'm sorry. You never have to forgive me. Kuro-sama. You never should've saved me."

And the worst part was…I couldn't even hate him. I still loved him.

I couldn't even keep that part of the promise.

"Mage," he says, shaking his head, "You are one depressing storyteller." He gestures towards all of you with his head. "They're gonna need a hell of a lot more tissues for what's coming up next."

You all glare at him and grumble about how he's "ruining the mood". I look up at Kuro-tan and ask him if he's depressed, too. He snorts and hastily busies himself by pressing his nose and mouth into my hair. I raise an amused eyebrow.

The games continued. We were the pawns and Sakura was the queen. Her spirit, her confidence, it never wavered. Not when she was questioning herself about Syaoran—both of them—or when she saw how black everyone had turned and how hopeless the situation seemed. If only the same could be said about myself. I tried to absorb some of her drive, but I still ended with nothing. Yes, I fed from Kurogane regularly, but every single time I couldn't look at him. I could stare straight into his eyes before and during the feeding but never after. Afterward, I always told him to leave immediately—then, I'd lock the door and fall face first into my bed.

We talked. We talked about the games, about strategies, about our stalkers, about this world—about many things concerning the well-being of Syaoran and Sakura and Mokona. But never about each other. Never about the things that we really needed to discuss. I'd shove him away before he ever got a chance to bring them up.

And then one night, I was feeding from him again. We would win the next day's match, of course. I was used to this pattern. He'd come in with Sohi—or any other sharp object—slit his wrist and offer it to me. We might talk and we might not, but besides my mouth on his wrist, there was no contact.

I licked away the last traces of blood and straightened, carefully not meeting his eyes, as always. But he was quieter, and he'd been spending much more time with Syaoran than usual. I was curious as his footsteps neared the door. He was cleaning up, and I thought—just this once—it might be safe to meet his gaze.

I looked up and my heart combusted.

He was staring straight at me, and his expression was one I'd never seen on his face. It was…impossible. I didn't know…no one…Kurogane wasn't allowed to wear that expression. That was my expression. That was anyone's expression but his. He couldn't wear it. I would as soon skin his face off before I allowed him to look at anyone or anything like that.

His crimson eyes had somehow lost their fiery luster, and his mouth was set into a sigh. His hand loosely held Sohi and he was half-turned towards the door, seeming to be thinking if he should leave now or wait for my command.

He looked vulnerable, very destructible, very weak and very tired. Things Kurogane should never have been. Those were all me. I was vulnerable and destructible and weak and always tired. Kurogane wasn't. He was strong and sure, and indestructible and never worn or weak. I'd kept myself away from him for that purpose. To keep that burning flame alive. And…I'd only succeeded in doing the opposite by dousing it.

How was this fair? How was it fair to him that just because he'd had the terrible luck of falling in love—no, I doubted it was true love—with someone like me that his world was destroyed in one swooping move?

"Kuro…" My mouth began without my permission. His facial change was instant. A glimmer of hope shimmered in his eyes—briefly, but it was there. I caught it and savored it. Maybe it was just temporary. It didn't mean anything. He was never one to be like this for long. He'd soon forget about me and get on with things. Oh wait. He couldn't. I was his responsibility now, after all. Unless he decided to leave me and let me die…which he should.

"Kurogane," I forced it out. "Please leave."

His gaze now knew no more boundaries. He was past it all, and he was resigned—given up. He closed his eyes slowly…and then opened them. The steadiness was back…but it was different. It was uncaring now. Brisk. But there was an underlying emotion that couldn't completely hide. "Sorry," he said. "Later."

He left.

Sorry. Sorry for what? What was he sorry for? Sorry for saving you? Sorry for forcing you to live when you didn't want to? Sorry for giving you my blood, knowing that you would hate me for it? Sorry for saving someone as worthless as you are? Sorry that I ever did something like this? Sorry that I wasted my time even trying? Sorry for showing you that I would care past boundaries of sanity?

Sorry for loving you?

I went into Sakura's room after that. I snuck out of mine and padded quietly down the hall—carefully passing Syaoran's and Kurogane's rooms. I knew Mokona would most likely be with one of them. Even my little friend was less than pleased with me. Only Sakura understood. She knew what it was like…to push someone away to save them. To feel worthless because you couldn't save them. To feel like you had to save them, because that was the only way they'd ever love you—and you'd actually deserve it.

She wasn't asleep, as I closed the door behind myself softly. I did love her. It was in no way the same way I loved Kurogane. It…was more like she was a daughter. My childhood wasn't exactly filled with the kindness of adults…which made me look at every child in a different way. Especially Sakura. She was pure and sweet and soft…but she could be deathly determined when she wished to be.

Sakura sat on the edge of the bed, her expression thinking hard—I could almost hear the gears of her mind working. She glanced up at me, and the tiniest of smiles pulled up a corner of her mouth. Mechanically, I forced my mouth into a smile as well. "'Evening," I said.

She brushed her hand on the mattress, indicating for me to take a seat beside her. As I did so, she said, "Did you have dinner yet?"

I stared at my knees. "Of course I did."

"That's good." She sighed, clasping her hands in her lap and crossing her slender legs at the ankle. "We are going to win tomorrow."

"Are we?" I looked at her, smiling quietly.

She met my glance firmly. "We are." Then, in an undertone, "We have to." The voice she said this in was so small…so frail…it showed how she really was still just a young girl that had been devastatingly hurt.

We were two of the same. Kurogane, I loved; but Sakura, I could relate to. She never questioned anything I said. She never asked about my smiles, the way I laughed—how I never laughed any more. She gave her trust so willingly to everybody it was concerning. But it was a nice change against Kurogane. He never settled for anything less than what he thought he should be hearing.

Yes. This was good. Perhaps if I continued with this line of thought, I would be able to quell whatever I thought I felt for him. It would be so much easier if it were possible for me to hate him.

"I'm sorry," I said suddenly, placing my hand against the back of her head and stroking out the slightly tangled hair—baby fine.

"He still doesn't hate me, does he?" she asked quietly. "Even after how I'm treating him all the time. I can tell. I wish he would hate me. It would make it easier. Then, if he hated me, he'd be different from…from him. If he still looks at me with those eyes…if I'm still important to him even after I treat him like this…" her voice caught—hitching up a few notes. "Then they're the same…"

Her head was bowed and I knew she was trying not to show me the tears. I could see that her small hands had fisted into pale fists and she was grabbing the sheets. I gently guided her head into the corner of my chest—right beneath my shoulder. "Shh…" I murmured, resting my cheek against her head. "I'm sorry," I repeated. "I'm sorry."

Her apologies escalated into crying, and that escalated into a slightly hysterical round of sobbing. She had every right to be this upset—this angry and frustrated. Sakura wasn't the type of person who would easily be able to change. And even if she were, no one would be all right after what'd happened to her. All I could do was be here for her—comfort her, stroke her hair when she cried, dry her eyes, whisper soothing nothings. I couldn't help her. But we could keep each other from becoming soulless beings.

Once she'd calmed, her large wet emeralds stared up at me, her mouth in a frown. "I should have noticed. I'm so selfish."

I smiled. "Never, my princess."

"Something happened between you and Kurogane-san, right, Fai-san? That's why you're upset. That's why you're smiling more than usual." She took one of my hands in both of hers.

The smile latched stuck onto my face. "Why would you think that?"

She let go. "You don't have to tell me. But I wish he'd stop hurting you like this." Her eyes were painfully sad—something I'd sworn (no matter how untrustworthy all of my vows were) I would never make her.

I laughed an eerie little chuckle. "Hurt me?" I smiled, looking vaguely into my lap. "I'm the one doing the hurting. Every single time…all the time…" My next laugh turned into the beginnings of a sob, and I covered my remaining eye with my fingers. "Always…and he never…"

She smiled sadly. "You, too. But it's different…"

"I do wish he'd hate me, too." I snorted, closing my eyes. "But yes, for different reasons." I didn't finish that sentence. She knew me too well to have to ask—"that I can't tell you". And she loved me enough not to ask. It made me wonder sometimes. Kurogane asked—he interfered and intervened much too much. Did that mean that he didn't love me?

Why had I ever thought he'd ever loved me? No one should. The thing was, I never ever had to ask why someone would love me. That was too obvious. I wasn't arrogant, but I knew what I was. I'd looked in too many mirrors—I'd contemplated and had been complimented and praised too many times.

I was beautiful. I knew that. I was angelic, and brilliant, and feminine, and I floated when I walked. My mind was razor sharp, and I was the archangel of death—of destruction. I was magical and transcendent and ethereal. I didn't flirt—I seduced. I made women bat their eyelashes at me; they envied my hair, my skin, my eyes. They'd fawn and flirt and giggle when I glanced even once at them. Men's heads automatically turned when I entered a room. They smiled when I did—unknowing of the lies. I easily spun them a tale, and they'd invite me to come home with them. They'd desire me and I would give for a price.

I was perfect.

In appearance.

I knew why someone would love me. It was simple and at times even fun to make someone love you. To make them fall for you—to lead them around by a little leash and make them pant after you. But it was near impossible for anyone to continue loving you.

Continue to love me after they found that my beauty was only inborn. That I was a devil with angel's wings, that I was only sadistic not brilliant, that my femininity could be turned deadly, and the only reason I floated was because of my disgusting magic. My mind was razor sharp and ice cold—it'd been used and manipulated until it manipulated others to keep sane. I was the archangel that would've been banished with Lucifer. My magic harmed, my transcendence and ethereality were superficial. Once women saw that my passionate seductions were done after the first night they left. When men found that I was far smarter than they were and therefore, not an option for a plaything they wanted when their wives were not around, they acted as if they'd never met me.

Only Ashura had ever loved me past what I first appeared as. But then again, he'd raised me. He never saw my "first impression". He only ever saw me—and loved me for it.

Kurogane…he'd seen what I first appeared like. He'd seen me seducing men and women alike for information…he'd seen me in battle…he'd seen me when I gave up, when I was sad, angry, happy, lying. He'd seen me in all of it. He'd seen everything but my past. Everything he saw was everything there was. He knew that I could be happily lying one second, and morosely telling the hidden truth the next. In one moment I would be massacring our enemies, and the next he'd have to save me. I would be cheerily teaching Sakura a recipe, and then I'd be going off on my own.

He knew me scarily well. He knew how my faults outnumbered my features by more than half—much more. And yet…

Could he still love me?

As if answering the unspoken question, Sakura placed her hand over mine, fingers curling strongly over mine. She looked up into my face with her mouth set. "It doesn't matter what reasons. Just because I have to treat Syaoran like this…you can't this to Kurogane."

"He saved me when I—"

She interrupted my pathetic excuse, "Because he didn't want to lose you. It's what you do when you love someone. You do things that they might hate you for…even if they hurt you…even if they don't even care about you anymore…" She finished in a tiny voice, "because you're terrified of what it might be like to live without them."

I used my sleeve to carefully wipe away the little drops of saltwater that had rolled down her cheek. "I'm sorry to make you say that. Thank you."

"I do agree that it was selfish of Kurogane-san to do that, though," she went on, wiping her wet face with her own hands. "But what I'm doing is selfish, too."

"Not at all," I lied. "You have good reason for doing so."

"Thank you, Fai-san." She sighed again; we were both staring at random directions. Pondering. "You should go back now. I don't want you to be too tired to fight tomorrow. We have to win."

My smile then dropped utterly, and I took her hand against my lips, and murmured, "We do, my princess."

I place my hand beneath my chin and tilt my head to the side. It's gotten extremely quiet in here, hasn't it, Kuro-pyon? "Hell right it has," he says. "Goddamn, it isn't that depressing. Though the next thing that happens is fucking freaky."

I'm sprawled over Kuro-tan's legs now, and I smile up at him. It's somewhat of a sad smile. Only freaky? I think it's positively tragic and abhorrent. The abhorrence being on my part, of course. He scowls. "Don't let me hear you say anything like that again, mage."

Some of you are still staring open-mouthed. It's better if you close them, really. You might get bugs in there. The rest of you had brought snacks from when the last intermission took place, but they're held loosely in your hands. A few had even accidentally spit some of it out.

"Tomoyo ain't gonna be happy 'bout this cleanup," Kuro-rinta remarks. "Shit. I don't care. I'll just tell Souma to do it."

I shake my head with an exasperated smile.

We won chess game after chess game. And then of course…it was that game. Most of you probably don't know what it feels like when a curse is activated, as I dearly hope none of you would have any reason to.

If one was cursed, one didn't feel it every single minute of every hour of every day of their lives. It was something that was simply there—like breathing. And with breathing, you didn't notice much about it until you suddenly couldn't.

A curse was the same. I never felt anything until the split second it happened. And in that split second, I knew absolutely nothing except one single sole goal.

Kill her.

My own mental voice would state the goal in my mind, and abruptly that was the only thing that had ever, ever did, and would ever matter. Sakura had to die and that was it. I couldn't see anyone or anything but her. And I knew no names, no faces, no memories of anything except for her. She had to die. I didn't know why or how, but she had to be disposed of. I did know when—now.

In relation to the breathing, once you were able to breathe after a period of time when you couldn't, you of course, immediately and instantly—and gratefully—began gasping and taking huge inhalations of much-needed air.

The minute a curse's objective was finished, everything else came flooding into your head simultaneously—you weren't given a chance to sort out what'd just happened. The fact that it was a sensory overload was reason enough to cause someone to have a panic attack. But that with the fact that I'd just murdered Sakura was more than enough to send me into a panic attack.

And yes. When I had a panic attack, everything within a twenty-mile radius was in danger—maybe even more when I was outraged. I couldn't think, I couldn't comprehend, I couldn't…anything. Only those three words remained in my mind: I killed Sakura. I killed her. I murdered her. She was gone. Dead. Once again, I'd brought misfortune. Once again.

My magic came pouring out—flooding out. It knew no boundaries when its master was upset. It destroyed to ease its master's pain—even when the master couldn't make sense himself. My magic was a dangerous being. Always wounding never healing.

I wasn't conscious of anything occurring around me. I was vaguely aware of someone screaming, some others shouting, crashes of wood and metal, and sparks of something else. But mainly, I was in my own closed off mental state. I could only see Sakura—everything we'd done together, everything we were to each other.

She was outside staring at the sky, and I'd tell her about the constellations. I was cooking in the café, and she'd ask me to teach her. We teased Kurogane. We embarrassed Syaoran. I held her when she cried, and she did the same for me. She told me about Syaoran, and she told me about Kurogane. We hugged Mokona. We spoke about how alike Syaoran and Kurogane were—how much we loved them.

And then those slender, young arms wrapped around me, and that sweet, soft voice murmured in my ear. My mind came back to my body with a heavy thud. Then she was gone.

My mind was blank, my body instinct. My hand lifted itself—the sword's bloody hilt still in my hand—and the blade leveled with my neck. But that hand…another hand…his hand…wrapped around my wrist. "Don't hurt anyone else with that sword," he growled. "Yourself, included."

His face at first glance looked furious…but when I really looked…it was pained—sad. Syaoran's expression next filled my eye. The boy's pain was unmasked—both versions had always worn their hearts on their sleeves…vulnerable for the entire world to have a stab at. I couldn't be one of the ones to do that.

So of course, the only thing I'd ever been able to say was an apology, before conveniently blacking out like the weak coward I was.

I pretended to be unconscious for much longer than I really was. I pretended so I wouldn't have to open my eyes and walk down the halls with my companions betrayed gazes on me. I pretended so I wouldn't have to come back to Mokona's terrified and worried expression. I pretended so I could feel Kurogane's arms carry me even though he should've killed me instead.

And when I finally "woke", I'd erased every emotion on my face. Deceiving through my emotions had gone badly, showing true emotion just as wayward, the only thing left was no emotion at all. Surely that'd be a neutral compromise.

My mind was dead. My body tired. My heart with another. I was an empty shell and absolutely nothing could bring any care into me again. There was no point in anything. Sakura was gone, Syaoran…a complicated situation, Mokona must hate me, and Kurogane…Kurogane was out of the equation completely. I'd terrorized him enough.

There was only a hint of emotion that sparked involuntarily—completely involuntarily—when I heard that I nearly killed Kurogane and Syaoran. And even if Mokona cut off the last statement, I knew how it would've ended. I wished it would have. I'd have gone to hell and that would've been that.

I only ever had one purpose for living. On the journey, I thought I might have gotten another. But apparently, that'd always proved impossible in the long run. For now, however temporarily, I had second purpose. To fix what I'd caused with Sakura.

And although I'd sworn to an emotionless state, there was just the tiniest pinprick of excitement and adrenaline when I heard the Dimensional Witch's words.

"Then go. To Celes."

I was going home.