The Gods Would Laugh
Chapter III
Disclaimers: Have I mentioned anytime recently that none of this belongs to
me?
Well, maybe a tree does. Er, or something.
Notes: I've decided there's definitely going to be shounen ai here. I'm
going to build up to it, though. Things like that just don't happen over
night, you know!
Ken was pissed. Schwarz appearing on this mountain definitely changed everything. Here he was, ready for a quick kill and then maybe kicking back and chilling in this house while waiting for the rain to go, maybe enjoy some of the provisions (Anything beat MRI's) before going home. (After all, with this much money, the guy had to have a well-stocked fridge, right?) His spirits had been lifted by the lack of any sort of guards or defense, and for a minute, things seemed to have really been looking up.
Then reality had to kick in.
Their target was already dead, which Ken supposed was a good thing, but it was Schwarz that had killed him. Even if their interests had been the same on this mission, it didn't matter. They were still going to fight. They always fought. It was a sort of tradition now. Sure, Ken didn't really mind that. Fighting was good for the soul, and he did hate them. He couldn't deny that. He hated how they were so smug and holier-then-thou. (Maybe that was the wrong word to use, but the term fit.) More then anything, he hated Farfarello. He always got paired up with the Irish man. Not only did he hate him, but there was always a small bit of primal fear that filled his soul when he fought. Farfarello enjoyed killing and causing pain. How were you supposed to win against someone who didn't feel and didn't care what you did to them? Ken imagined fighting zombie's were much the same way. He had seen Resident Evil. He knew that the bastards kept coming back and back. Damn, what if Farfarello really was dead?! Ken wouldn't be surprised, that was for sure.
Also, Farfarello licked his knives, and that was disturbing, too. Ken had always wondered if he had ever cut his tongue. What if he cut his tongue off? Would he notice? The Irishman didn't feel pain, so.
So anyway, here they were: the White and the Black. In their world there were never shades of gray. The only way this night would end was in a fight. Maybe this would be the one where someone finally died.
Ken fell into his fighting stance with the sigh of one who knew he had to accept his fate.
The two teams hesitated. They had no reason to go against one another. Their paths just had happened to cross. Aya's eyes strayed to the body of their target. The man looked to have been dead a while. It was obvious the other team hadn't just killed him, but what were they doing, standing around him like that? Why hadn't they disposed of his body yet? The whole room stank of death, and that suggested that the dead man had been in here for more then just a few minutes.
Aya's ponderings were brought to a quick halt when Ken and Farfarello launched simultaneously at one another. Cursing silently, he knew he had to fight now. Sighting out Crawford, he gave him a quick salute and launched into battle.
While their teammates were fighting around them in a deadly dance, Nagi and Omi had only locked eyes. Omi was not looking forward to this battle. There was nothing he could do against the telekinetic. Besides, he had no grudge against him. He hadn't been there when Ouka died and he had never instigated anything. In fact, out of all of them, he was the only one whom he had ever seen compassion in, for that member of Schreient, no less.
Omi was beginning to feel Nagi might be feeling the same and would agree not to fight, but then he felt the familiar surge of energy. In a futile effort, he threw his hands up in a X-block across his face. He was thrown back a few paces, and just as he felt a lull in Nagi's pushing, he darted forward, throwing the darts that were already in his hand. He didn't have to be Crawford to know these weren't going to hit, and with a certain accepted detachment he watched as Nagi calmly blocked his attack. Turning cobalt blue eyes to that of his enemy he suddenly tried to dodge. Midway in the air he was caught and thrown violently back into the desk. Omi felt the wood splinter around him and the computer monitor fall with a crash onto him. Struggling, he tried to climb up and move away. Nagi walked calmly toward him. In a desperate move he dove towards the nearby door and began running as fast as his legs could carry him. If he was going to win, he was going to have to take Nagi by surprise. Running through the hallway, he looked for somewhere he could hide. He caught sight of another door, opened just a crack. Glancing back, he made sure Nagi hadn't made it to the hallway yet. Feeling a shiver down his spine as he realized he was being stalked like an animal, and not taken as a serious opponent, he slowly opened the door and stepped in. Hopefully this would give him a moment of surprise when he launched at Nagi. All he needed was a second throw his darts. That would be enough.
Aya was surprised when a stab at Crawford actually hit flesh. He tried not to show his amazement, but he had never ever gotten a hit on the American. His opponent usually used his precognitive ability to see where the next attack was coming from. Here he was, however, grabbing at his shoulder, blood welling up between his fingers. Crawford caught the look on Aya's face and smirked.
"Congratulations."
Aya stood for a moment, confused. Crawford had been knocked down from his untouchable perch that Aya had unconsciously put him on. Yet, here the man stood, smirking at him as if this wound was nothing. And it was true, it really was nothing to be proud of. Suddenly Crawford's eyes darted away, and Aya turned slowly, wary of a trick. He caught sight of Omi dashing through the door. Behind him Nagi walked calmly with the attitude of one who knows quite well his opponent isn't any challenge, but is getting a kick out of it anyway. It reminded Aya of a cat and the way it would spend time with it's food, playing with it before killing it. Turning back to engage in combat once more, feeling the lull had been long enough, he saw Crawford's brow crinkle. "I have a bad feeling." He turned back to Aya. "We'll have to put this battle on hold, yet again," The American said shortly before turning and running after where the two youngest members had gone. Confused, but also worried about the well being of Omi with two Schwarz after him, he followed.
Shuldich abruptly broke away from Yohji, having just knocked away an incoming wire. He tilted his head to the side. "My dear Balinese. it seems there are other matters I must pertain to," he focused again on Yohji with one of his grins playing on his face. Without another word, he jumped away and bounded down the hall where Yohji had caught Aya and Crawford escaping scant seconds earlier. Confused, but not one to be left behind, Yohji wound in his wire and quickly followed suit.
"Oi! Yohji! Wait!" Ken glanced out of the corner of his eyes in the middle of a block, and quickly realized he and the madman were alone. Catching the eye of the Irishman Ken said quickly, "Our teammates." Farfarello studied him a moment before nodding, though if it was because what he had said, or because the Irishman had gotten some signal from another of Schwarz, he wasn't sure. Nevertheless, Farfarello went towards the door, Ken on his heel.
Omi's face was cut in numerous places from where the glass from the monitor had torn his flesh. The door he had opened had ended up being another door to the outside, and Omi realized that hiding in the dark and the rain would be a better way to catch the telekinetic by surprise. As he waited, rain mixed with blood formed a pink liquid that ran down his face and through his eyes. Aya would probably feel what he done was cowardly, but he had fought Nagi on even grounds before, and he had always lost and painfully. He hadn't been having any luck in the cramped computer room, so maybe here in the trees where Nagi couldn't see him, Omi would have at least a temporary advantage. . The dark of night, which had just fallen, would be an asset as well. Eyes darting back and forth quickly, he found an outcropping of rock and dove behind it just as Nagi came through the door. He was quite surprised, however, when Crawford and then Aya rushed out as well. In the floodlights from the house, Omi saw a dark splotch of blood on the American's shoulder. Crawford called to Nagi, walking up to him briskly. The two began conversing in what seemed to be a hurried manner. What was going on? Omi's attention was suddenly drawn to the appearance of Yohji and Shuldich and then Farfarello and Ken rushing through the door scant moments lately. None of them were fighting. Something weird was definitely going on. Hesitantly Omi stood up and began making his way towards where the rest of his team and Schwarz were gathered. As he made his way over, he suddenly stumbled and fell. Grimacing he pushed himself up, looking back at the culprit. He blanched suddenly when he saw that instead of a wayward root, he had tripped over a body on its back, the eyes widened in what seemed to be horror. Omi let out a small cry.
To his surprise, it was Crawford who came up next to him. Omi scrambled to his feet, looking warily over at the older American. "A bodyguard," The American said simply. His face was wound up in one of slight confusion and annoyance. Omi watched Crawford study the dead man. The man had a completely flat affect. Omi considered himself pretty good at reading people, but any hints at what this man was thinking were elusive. Was he this impenetrable to his teammates, too? Then again, he supposed, Aya could be compared to this one. Hmm, maybe not. Aya had more emotion than THIS. Absently, Omi noted a roaring noise that seemed to be growing louder. Turning from Crawford, Omi looked over to his teammates.
"Do you hear-"
"Watch out!" Nagi suddenly called, interrupting Omi. Blue eyes darting to Nagi, he saw what he was looking at and turned his gaze towards where Nagi was standing. Omi's mouth dropped open as he saw a huge wall of water quickly descending upon all of them.
"FUCK!" Yohji shouted. It was the last thing said before the water suddenly engulfed them all.
As the water grabbed him, Omi reached out blindly to grab onto anything. It was instinctual and the chances of him finding anything were low, so when he felt something solid beneath his grasp he was pleasantly surprised. Of course, these thoughts were running through his subconscious, but when he felt something beneath his grip he tightened his hand around it, not willing to let go for anything. Fear had seeped into the core of his soul as he was caught in the tumult of water. He couldn't even begin to fathom where the wall of water had come from or how he was going to survive. He couldn't begin to tell where the surface was, and he began to doubt if there was one. Around him trees and other debris rushed by and he felt something slam into him-or maybe he slammed into it-knocking what little breath he had out of him. With a last kick born out of desperation, Omi suddenly found himself on the surface and with a relief he had never knew before he brought in great gulps of air. With his free hand, for his other still had a death grip on the thing he had grabbed at the start, he grabbed for something floating or something stable that would keep him up before he was sucked under again. Gritting his teeth he pulled himself onto a limb that was coasting down the rapids. With his one arm he held onto the driftwood with a death grip. Now that he had made it to relative safety he had the presence of mind to see what he had grabbed at the beginning.
"Crawford," Omi gasped, staring at the unconscious American. Pulling Crawford further up on the large limb, Omi felt quickly for a pulse and felt his heart sink when there was none. Looking around desperately, he saw the opposite bank wasn't far away. Kicking as hard as he could, he slowly made his way towards it. His energy was low and the water fought against him but, albeit quite a few feet down from where he had initially planned. Exhausted although he was, he quickly pulled the leader of Schwarz from the water, checking his pulse and bringing his head near his nose to try to hear breathing, his head faced towards Crawford's chest, trying to detect any sign of breathing. Finding none he turned back, tilted the unconscious American's head back, pinched his nose and held his mouth open, and breathed into it. From there he began the compressions on the chest, trying to force the heart to restart. How many was he supposed to do for CPR? 12, wasn't it? Or was it 15? Frantic, he counted off 12 (did it matter THAT much?) before checking the pulse and breath again. Omi clenched his teeth, what if he was too late? He repeated his actions from before and was nearing despair when Crawford suddenly gave a shuddering cough and spat up water. Omi sighed in relief, watching Crawford carefully as the consequences of his actions caught up with him. He had saved his life, but now what? Crawford breathed in deeply after a few attempts. He had lost his glasses in the flood, and that seemed to give him a softer appearance. As he floated back to consciousness he winced slightly, hand automatically going to his shoulder. After several almost panicked attempts for air, (As if anything Crawford did was panicked, Omi mused) he finally managed to fall into a normal breathing rhythm. After handling all the affairs that went on inside his body, he turned his gaze to where Omi was crouching next to him.
"Bombay."
The two stared at one another as they measured up the situation. What could Omi say in return? He had just saved his enemy's life did Crawford realize that? Omi had to get out of here. He had to find the rest of the team. Would Crawford be willing to meet a temporary truce?
* * * *
When the water came down, Nagi had instinctively thrown out a telekinetic shield that caused the water to crash down harmlessly around him. It involved intense concentration, but as long as he wasn't disturbed, it wouldn't be a problem. Nagi wondered idly where this river of water had come from. He HAD noticed they were in a slight valley, but this amount of water this close to the top of the mountain was odd. Unless there had been lots of snow that had melted suddenly, there was almost no explanation for it. Maybe some sort of damn had broken? Nagi began working out his next course of action when he realized he felt someone else in the bubble with him. Turning warily, he discovered- much to his annoyance- Balinese. As their eyes met, the playboy suddenly grinned.
"Nice play there, Schwarz. I appreciate the bubble. Great view," Yohji said agreeably. And it was true, there was a great view of the rushing water and the debris that sped by. "I'd also like to thank you for killing our target."
"We didn't. He was dead before we even got there. We were supposed to protect him."
"Bloody good job you did."
"You can't protect someone who's already dead," Nagi shrugged.
"A philosopher at heart, I see."
"Is all of Weiss like this?"
"What do you think?"
"I think I can see what Abyssinian becomes so irritated with you."
"You spy on us?"
"Only when you're displaying yourselves all over the cameras as you hiked up the mountains."
"You're bull shitting me."
"No. It was quite humorous to watch you take all those precautionary actions, too. So much for being alert. Never even noticed the cameras," Nagi smirked. Yohji looked over at him, his brow furrowed in annoyance.
"Damnit."
"Heh."
"Well.while I appreciate this view, I would absolutely love to step onto the land above."
Nagi shot Balinese a look of annoyance. He didn't need to be told what to do. After a moments hesitation, however, he looked for the walls and began the short climb out. Balinese was now disturbingly close, and Nagi glared back at the tall blonde. "Woah there. No need to get offended. It's just my personal preference to walk closer to the one holding up this shield then farther."
"If I wanted to, I could drop the shield so it protected only me, and then it wouldn't matter where you stood," Nagi replied coldly. "I'm strong enough to hold up a little water, but unless you want to try my patience even more which might cause for a slip in my concentration, I suggest you stand back."
"Don't get so testy," Balinese replied. Nagi noted with a note of satisfaction however, that the member of Weiss stepped back a few paces.
* * * *
Shuldich washed up on the shore of the river, coughing and sputtering violently. He had managed to drag himself out of the water and now here he was, on his hands and knees, bringing in huge gulps of air as his lungs allowed it. How he had survived the turbulent trip through the water he wasn't sure. His muscles ached from the strain he had put on them, but besides the ache from his muscles and minor bruises and scratches he had taken from passing blows of debris, there didn't seem to be any serious injuries. As the German began to calm down, he realized he was going to have to reach out and locate everyone else. The total lack of injuries somewhat confused the German. Because of the rush of water and the velocity at which things had been carried through, Shuldich counted himself lucky not to have been impaled by a branch. The fact that he had escaped virtually unscathed was incredibly lucky. Shuldich grinned suddenly. Maybe Farfarello WAS right. Maybe the devil was protecting them, just to spite God. Of course, Shuldich didn't really believe in all that God business, but someone was definitely spiting someone on this.
Still, the German wished whoever was trying to get rid of them would get off this drowning fetish. This was the second time they'd almost drowned.
The sudden water completely baffled the German. They were far enough up the mountain that there should have been no cause for so much water to come rushing down at them. Just before the wall of water had come too, he had felt something. It had been a sort of influx in psychological power, almost akin to Nagi's. He wondered idly if the two were connected.
As Shuldich caught his breath, he took in his surroundings. He had washed up on the same side of the bank from where they had all been torn. The water rushed by him now, and he watched it with the same amusement that he held everything in. Trees of all sorts surrounded him, and they came up close to the bank. Several were leaning over the water, threatening to tumble. Their stretching root systems clung to thin air, and as Shuldich looked around, he got the impression that the dirt had been ripped away from them abruptly. Because of the moist ground and lack of support, already some of the trees had begun to slant. Shuldich frowned. Not only was this weird, but things hadn't gone as planned. Why hadn't Crawford warned them of this? Shuldich noted this as something he was going to have to harass the American on later.
If he was alive.
The prospect that his teammates might be dead had just occurred to him, and the more he thought about it, he realized the prospect that at least one of his teammates was dead was fairly large. After a moment, Shuldich found himself feeling out for the rest of Schwarz. He had been with them for so long that their signatures were familiar, and even if he couldn't paw through their minds, he knew what they felt like. He detected Nagi first.
~Yo, Chibi.~
~Do you know what happened to the others?~
~Found you first~
~I have Balinese with me.~
Shuldich chuckled.
~He's a pain in the ass.~
~I'm not surprised. You haven't killed him yet?~
~You know we decided not to kill Weiss. Besides, something is wrong with this whole situation. Contact Crawford. ~
~Now you're telling me what to do, too? You've been hanging out with our dear leader entirely too much.~ Nevertheless, Shuldich cut the connection with the teenager and began searching for Crawford. Just as he felt the signature the defined the American, something seemed to come up and physically grab Shuldich's psyche, sending it roughly back into his body. The German stumbled back, grabbing his head.
What the FUCK! Shuldich cursed. This could end up turning into one of those huge migraines. He didn't need one of those right now! Keeping a type grasp on his head, as if that would help him at all, he stumbled back into a tree and slumped against it. Where had that come from? Shuldich groaned as the migraine came on in full swing.
* * * *
Aya swam in a world of black. He had been unconscious enough times to know that he was slowly fighting his way back to the world of living, but it was a painful climb. The same moment the water had hit him, a wayward limb, or some other form of debris had slammed into his left arm. The rest of the ride down the river was hazy, and even now the redhead wasn't certain how he had managed to not drown. The pain was more intense now, which Aya took as a sign to being conscious. Slowly, he opened his eyes. It was night, and through the trees he could see tiny pinpricks of light. Apparently the storm had finally blown over. Despite this relief, he realized that though it was August, it was fairly cold. With a slight groan, he pulled himself into a sitting position. His arm protested, sending a wave of nausea through him.
Aya glanced around warily. Where was he? How far had the water washed him down? First and foremost in Aya's mind was the need to find something warm, or at least keep from becoming frozen. All he had, however, was his sodden jacket. As he shifted his position, the dead leaves beneath him rustled softly.
Leaves.
Aya picked up a handful, looking at them for a moment. With his good arm he formed a pile of wet leaves. After he had what he thought was a sufficient amount, he pulled them over his body. Hopefully this would provide the insulation he needed. There wasn't he could do anything until morning, anyway.
As Aya lay in the leaves, looking up at the cold sky above him through tiny gaps in the tree branches, he pondered how they had gotten there and what would happen to the team. He hoped they had all survived, and he acknowledged the possibility that the last fight with Schwarz was the last time he would fight side by side with them. Every time they had gone to a mission, this knowledge was present somewhere in his mind. It was a big part with why it took so long for him to be just a little less cold, a little more accepting to his teammates. How could you be nice when you knew there was the chance they were going to die at every moment? Why grow attached when you knew they could be ripped away at any moment? It was pointless.
Then when he wasn't looking his loneliness and the basic human want for companionship had won, and he had somehow grown fond of his teammates. He knew them better then anyone else ever would. He knew their quirks and their habits, had been with them long enough to realize certain things, and now they could be dead. He had never imagined it would be like that. Then again, you never did.
* * * *
Brad Crawford wasn't in a good mood. Of course, the rigid American really never was, but it would be fair to say his mood today was worse then usual. Granted, he had more then one reason to be pissed. His precognitive power still hadn't come back to him, and that alone would be basis to be sour. However, compounded to this was the fact that something had gone on back at the drug lord's house that he didn't understand, he'd lost his glasses and couldn't see a damn thing, AND his teammates had been washed away in the flood that had taken place during their fight with Weiss. He didn't even want to think about Bombay, because he had a sneaking suspicion the young Weiss boy had saved him from drowning. Of course, his shoulder was also bothering him, and the fact that Abyssinian had gotten a hit on him bit into his pride.
Crawford frowned deeply. This wasn't a situation he wanted to be in. He wasn't in charge of it and he didn't like that. He couldn't direct it to where he wanted it to go or if the actions he were taking would be beneficial to the future.
Crawford paused for a moment. He had never realized how dependent he had become on his ability to see into the future. Sighing internally, he shot a look over at Bombay. The boy was sitting huddled against a tree trunk, and from what he could make out, his arms were wrapped around his naked knees, head resting on it. No doubt the boy was freezing. After all, he was only wearing shorts. It was cold for an August night, but then, the recent weather had been anything but normal.
Crawford couldn't understand the Weiss boy. "Why did you save me?" He finally asked bluntly. Bombay raised his head from his knees and met Crawford's steady gaze.
"You were drowning."
Crawford frowned. That whole matter had wounded his pride. Still, Bombay hadn't really answered the question. Crawford wasn't going to let him go until he did. The boy stared back, and Crawford thought he was going to have to pry answers when his opponent spoke again.
"I couldn't let you drown. You can't die like that."
"You know that I wouldn't have done the same for you?"
"Yes."
"And that by doing this, you've possibly forfeited both your own life and the rest of your team?"
"Yes." A pause. "But it wouldn't have been right to let you go."
Crawford blinked. It suddenly dawned on him that this boy had a conscience and morals. How could that ever happen? He was an assassin. He'd been trained as one from an early age. All things considered, Bombay SHOULD'VE been a cold and ruthless killer, brainwashed from the start. Crawford knew that wasn't the case, and he wondered who had failed so miserably in Kritiker to have produced THIS. An assassin with compassion was a failure.
Bombay sniffled. Was the boy crying? That wouldn't make any sense.unless he was getting sick. Crawford didn't need to deal with that. The American hated sick people. Somehow, getting sick seemed to be a show of weakness. Crawford couldn't stand that.
"I think we should stay here, at least until morning. I want to give the sun a chance to dry out my clothes. We should also try to reunite with our teams," Bombay broke Crawford's musing. The American looked at the Weiss boy evenly. Once again, Bombay returned it. It seemed the boy wasn't as much as a pushover as he first thought. His bright and genki attitude could be put aside when needed, it seemed. Crawford could respect that. "Can you get in contact with the rest of your team?"
"That's not my ability," Crawford answered shortly.
"I know, but I thought as a team, you might have some sort of link or- "
Crawford waved his hand slightly, as if signifying the end of the discussion. He did not want to talk about the rest of this team.
The two sat in the dark beneath the wet trees silently. Bombay had started to sniffle constantly, and Crawford's shoulder had begun to seriously pain him. Unconsciously he lifted his hand to his shoulder and grasped it tightly, hoping to numb the pain. He needed to clean and wrap it up. The last thing he needed was an infected wound. He touched around the wound gingerly as he frowned deeply. Ignoring Bombay, he slowly took his jacket off as not to aggravate the wound too badly. He didn't allow the Weiss boy to know this movement caused him pain which doubled as he peeled his collared shirt of the sticky sword wound.
* * * *
Farfarello couldn't remember when he had first started liking knives. It was an obsession that seemed to go back as long as he remembered. He liked the way they glittered, and the way blood stuck to the blades. Knives, and swords for that matter, were works of arts that most people simply didn't appreciate. To temper the blade until it was exactly as you wanted took immense skill. Back at the Schwarz penthouse, Farfarello had quite a collection. All cultures had their versions of the sword. There were scimitars and rapiers, and the katana, just to count a few. Farfarello also appreciated the cruel genius of some of the people who had created weapons. The knife that you plunged into someone and then pressed a button, enabling the blade to open up inside your opponents stomach, so what when you pulled it out, you took their guts out with it. Yes, these were things Farfarello truly appreciated.
It was with this in mind as he stared at the red haired member of Weiss Kreuz, the so-called leader. Ran had jumped to his feet-albeit a bit stiffly-at hearing Farfarello's arrival. He stood now shakily, katana grasped tightly in his right hand. He had his left arm held tightly to his chest, and his whole face was pale and held the look of someone who was in intense pain.
Pain.
Farfarello was jealous.
The urge to fight was strong, but there wouldn't be any fun in it. A crippled kitten. The two faced off for a moment before Farfarello suddenly broke his fighting stance and stood straight. "Nice sword."
Abyssinian stared at him.
* * * *
Shuldich was just getting over his migraine. The German had his back pressed up against a tree and was only now slowly letting go of the tight grip on his head. Damn, but he missed his drugs. The German was prone to migraines because of the nature of his powers. Sometimes the voices were overwhelming, so he had some specially issued drugs to take him out for the day. It had been a long time since he had suffered such severe backlash, and he couldn't remember having suffered like that because of a match in mental power since Rosenkreuz. Shuldich paused. This definitely wasn't a good thing. When had they gotten an enemy that matched them in powers?
Shuldich tentatively reached out again, but not for Crawford. Not yet. He searched for Farfarello first. He quickly found the stirrings of the chaotic mind and touched it mentally.
~Farfie.~
~Shuldich.~
~Faired well, I imagine?~
~I'm not dead. God is still sad,~ Farfarello replied in his usual manner.
~Found anything?~
~A broken kitten. The red haired one.~
~Abyssinian. What's wrong with him?~
~A broken arm. He still has some fight.~
~Don't kill him.~
~No,~ Farfie paused, ~not yet, anyway. Have you reached out leader?~
~Something's blocking me.~
~Competition. Not the kittens?~
~No. Yo Farf, we're going to need to get Nagi and join up. We'll go from there.~
There was a sound of agreement on Farfarello's side, and then the madman went silent.
And that was it. It seemed like he would be the one in charge until they found Crawford.
Shuldich sighed dramatically. Him? In charge of the team? That was absolutely ridiculous! Oh, the things life just had to throw at him! It looked like he was going to have to put up with a bit of what the American had to deal with on a daily basis. However, the German decided he was NOT going to be such a stuck up ass about it. That whole sticks-in-ones-ass thing was largely an American thing, anyway. No, come to think of it, it was largely an English-as-the-primary-language thing. There were a lot of anal British, too. Shuldich concluded that the reason they were like that was probably because they didn't drink enough beer.
It was while Shuldich was contemplating beer that the sun had finally begun to rise, casting the woods into that dusky color of in-between times. Had Shuldich been paying more attention, he would've noticed the shadows in the woods shift unnaturally. He would have noticed one of the shadows actually unattached itself from its surroundings and begin a quiet stalking of the German.
~End Chapter III~
Hmmm, hope this chapter wasn't slow or anything! Lol, and btw! I don't personally have anything against British, so don't flame me! This chapter was a little (a page!) longer then the two previous. I'm trying to keep all the chapters around 12 pages for you guys! Reading short chapters makes me somewhat sad, because I know I have to wait a long time sometimes for another update, and I want to read NOW, damnit! Not that I'm complaining to people who DO write short chapters. I've been known to do the same thing. I like to generate more reviews that way! But reviews really aren't everything (something I'm coming to learn) and people can still appreciate without writing anything. Besides, I like to write! So, hope you liked this chapter! I'll come out with the next one as soon as possible!
Ken was pissed. Schwarz appearing on this mountain definitely changed everything. Here he was, ready for a quick kill and then maybe kicking back and chilling in this house while waiting for the rain to go, maybe enjoy some of the provisions (Anything beat MRI's) before going home. (After all, with this much money, the guy had to have a well-stocked fridge, right?) His spirits had been lifted by the lack of any sort of guards or defense, and for a minute, things seemed to have really been looking up.
Then reality had to kick in.
Their target was already dead, which Ken supposed was a good thing, but it was Schwarz that had killed him. Even if their interests had been the same on this mission, it didn't matter. They were still going to fight. They always fought. It was a sort of tradition now. Sure, Ken didn't really mind that. Fighting was good for the soul, and he did hate them. He couldn't deny that. He hated how they were so smug and holier-then-thou. (Maybe that was the wrong word to use, but the term fit.) More then anything, he hated Farfarello. He always got paired up with the Irish man. Not only did he hate him, but there was always a small bit of primal fear that filled his soul when he fought. Farfarello enjoyed killing and causing pain. How were you supposed to win against someone who didn't feel and didn't care what you did to them? Ken imagined fighting zombie's were much the same way. He had seen Resident Evil. He knew that the bastards kept coming back and back. Damn, what if Farfarello really was dead?! Ken wouldn't be surprised, that was for sure.
Also, Farfarello licked his knives, and that was disturbing, too. Ken had always wondered if he had ever cut his tongue. What if he cut his tongue off? Would he notice? The Irishman didn't feel pain, so.
So anyway, here they were: the White and the Black. In their world there were never shades of gray. The only way this night would end was in a fight. Maybe this would be the one where someone finally died.
Ken fell into his fighting stance with the sigh of one who knew he had to accept his fate.
The two teams hesitated. They had no reason to go against one another. Their paths just had happened to cross. Aya's eyes strayed to the body of their target. The man looked to have been dead a while. It was obvious the other team hadn't just killed him, but what were they doing, standing around him like that? Why hadn't they disposed of his body yet? The whole room stank of death, and that suggested that the dead man had been in here for more then just a few minutes.
Aya's ponderings were brought to a quick halt when Ken and Farfarello launched simultaneously at one another. Cursing silently, he knew he had to fight now. Sighting out Crawford, he gave him a quick salute and launched into battle.
While their teammates were fighting around them in a deadly dance, Nagi and Omi had only locked eyes. Omi was not looking forward to this battle. There was nothing he could do against the telekinetic. Besides, he had no grudge against him. He hadn't been there when Ouka died and he had never instigated anything. In fact, out of all of them, he was the only one whom he had ever seen compassion in, for that member of Schreient, no less.
Omi was beginning to feel Nagi might be feeling the same and would agree not to fight, but then he felt the familiar surge of energy. In a futile effort, he threw his hands up in a X-block across his face. He was thrown back a few paces, and just as he felt a lull in Nagi's pushing, he darted forward, throwing the darts that were already in his hand. He didn't have to be Crawford to know these weren't going to hit, and with a certain accepted detachment he watched as Nagi calmly blocked his attack. Turning cobalt blue eyes to that of his enemy he suddenly tried to dodge. Midway in the air he was caught and thrown violently back into the desk. Omi felt the wood splinter around him and the computer monitor fall with a crash onto him. Struggling, he tried to climb up and move away. Nagi walked calmly toward him. In a desperate move he dove towards the nearby door and began running as fast as his legs could carry him. If he was going to win, he was going to have to take Nagi by surprise. Running through the hallway, he looked for somewhere he could hide. He caught sight of another door, opened just a crack. Glancing back, he made sure Nagi hadn't made it to the hallway yet. Feeling a shiver down his spine as he realized he was being stalked like an animal, and not taken as a serious opponent, he slowly opened the door and stepped in. Hopefully this would give him a moment of surprise when he launched at Nagi. All he needed was a second throw his darts. That would be enough.
Aya was surprised when a stab at Crawford actually hit flesh. He tried not to show his amazement, but he had never ever gotten a hit on the American. His opponent usually used his precognitive ability to see where the next attack was coming from. Here he was, however, grabbing at his shoulder, blood welling up between his fingers. Crawford caught the look on Aya's face and smirked.
"Congratulations."
Aya stood for a moment, confused. Crawford had been knocked down from his untouchable perch that Aya had unconsciously put him on. Yet, here the man stood, smirking at him as if this wound was nothing. And it was true, it really was nothing to be proud of. Suddenly Crawford's eyes darted away, and Aya turned slowly, wary of a trick. He caught sight of Omi dashing through the door. Behind him Nagi walked calmly with the attitude of one who knows quite well his opponent isn't any challenge, but is getting a kick out of it anyway. It reminded Aya of a cat and the way it would spend time with it's food, playing with it before killing it. Turning back to engage in combat once more, feeling the lull had been long enough, he saw Crawford's brow crinkle. "I have a bad feeling." He turned back to Aya. "We'll have to put this battle on hold, yet again," The American said shortly before turning and running after where the two youngest members had gone. Confused, but also worried about the well being of Omi with two Schwarz after him, he followed.
Shuldich abruptly broke away from Yohji, having just knocked away an incoming wire. He tilted his head to the side. "My dear Balinese. it seems there are other matters I must pertain to," he focused again on Yohji with one of his grins playing on his face. Without another word, he jumped away and bounded down the hall where Yohji had caught Aya and Crawford escaping scant seconds earlier. Confused, but not one to be left behind, Yohji wound in his wire and quickly followed suit.
"Oi! Yohji! Wait!" Ken glanced out of the corner of his eyes in the middle of a block, and quickly realized he and the madman were alone. Catching the eye of the Irishman Ken said quickly, "Our teammates." Farfarello studied him a moment before nodding, though if it was because what he had said, or because the Irishman had gotten some signal from another of Schwarz, he wasn't sure. Nevertheless, Farfarello went towards the door, Ken on his heel.
Omi's face was cut in numerous places from where the glass from the monitor had torn his flesh. The door he had opened had ended up being another door to the outside, and Omi realized that hiding in the dark and the rain would be a better way to catch the telekinetic by surprise. As he waited, rain mixed with blood formed a pink liquid that ran down his face and through his eyes. Aya would probably feel what he done was cowardly, but he had fought Nagi on even grounds before, and he had always lost and painfully. He hadn't been having any luck in the cramped computer room, so maybe here in the trees where Nagi couldn't see him, Omi would have at least a temporary advantage. . The dark of night, which had just fallen, would be an asset as well. Eyes darting back and forth quickly, he found an outcropping of rock and dove behind it just as Nagi came through the door. He was quite surprised, however, when Crawford and then Aya rushed out as well. In the floodlights from the house, Omi saw a dark splotch of blood on the American's shoulder. Crawford called to Nagi, walking up to him briskly. The two began conversing in what seemed to be a hurried manner. What was going on? Omi's attention was suddenly drawn to the appearance of Yohji and Shuldich and then Farfarello and Ken rushing through the door scant moments lately. None of them were fighting. Something weird was definitely going on. Hesitantly Omi stood up and began making his way towards where the rest of his team and Schwarz were gathered. As he made his way over, he suddenly stumbled and fell. Grimacing he pushed himself up, looking back at the culprit. He blanched suddenly when he saw that instead of a wayward root, he had tripped over a body on its back, the eyes widened in what seemed to be horror. Omi let out a small cry.
To his surprise, it was Crawford who came up next to him. Omi scrambled to his feet, looking warily over at the older American. "A bodyguard," The American said simply. His face was wound up in one of slight confusion and annoyance. Omi watched Crawford study the dead man. The man had a completely flat affect. Omi considered himself pretty good at reading people, but any hints at what this man was thinking were elusive. Was he this impenetrable to his teammates, too? Then again, he supposed, Aya could be compared to this one. Hmm, maybe not. Aya had more emotion than THIS. Absently, Omi noted a roaring noise that seemed to be growing louder. Turning from Crawford, Omi looked over to his teammates.
"Do you hear-"
"Watch out!" Nagi suddenly called, interrupting Omi. Blue eyes darting to Nagi, he saw what he was looking at and turned his gaze towards where Nagi was standing. Omi's mouth dropped open as he saw a huge wall of water quickly descending upon all of them.
"FUCK!" Yohji shouted. It was the last thing said before the water suddenly engulfed them all.
As the water grabbed him, Omi reached out blindly to grab onto anything. It was instinctual and the chances of him finding anything were low, so when he felt something solid beneath his grasp he was pleasantly surprised. Of course, these thoughts were running through his subconscious, but when he felt something beneath his grip he tightened his hand around it, not willing to let go for anything. Fear had seeped into the core of his soul as he was caught in the tumult of water. He couldn't even begin to fathom where the wall of water had come from or how he was going to survive. He couldn't begin to tell where the surface was, and he began to doubt if there was one. Around him trees and other debris rushed by and he felt something slam into him-or maybe he slammed into it-knocking what little breath he had out of him. With a last kick born out of desperation, Omi suddenly found himself on the surface and with a relief he had never knew before he brought in great gulps of air. With his free hand, for his other still had a death grip on the thing he had grabbed at the start, he grabbed for something floating or something stable that would keep him up before he was sucked under again. Gritting his teeth he pulled himself onto a limb that was coasting down the rapids. With his one arm he held onto the driftwood with a death grip. Now that he had made it to relative safety he had the presence of mind to see what he had grabbed at the beginning.
"Crawford," Omi gasped, staring at the unconscious American. Pulling Crawford further up on the large limb, Omi felt quickly for a pulse and felt his heart sink when there was none. Looking around desperately, he saw the opposite bank wasn't far away. Kicking as hard as he could, he slowly made his way towards it. His energy was low and the water fought against him but, albeit quite a few feet down from where he had initially planned. Exhausted although he was, he quickly pulled the leader of Schwarz from the water, checking his pulse and bringing his head near his nose to try to hear breathing, his head faced towards Crawford's chest, trying to detect any sign of breathing. Finding none he turned back, tilted the unconscious American's head back, pinched his nose and held his mouth open, and breathed into it. From there he began the compressions on the chest, trying to force the heart to restart. How many was he supposed to do for CPR? 12, wasn't it? Or was it 15? Frantic, he counted off 12 (did it matter THAT much?) before checking the pulse and breath again. Omi clenched his teeth, what if he was too late? He repeated his actions from before and was nearing despair when Crawford suddenly gave a shuddering cough and spat up water. Omi sighed in relief, watching Crawford carefully as the consequences of his actions caught up with him. He had saved his life, but now what? Crawford breathed in deeply after a few attempts. He had lost his glasses in the flood, and that seemed to give him a softer appearance. As he floated back to consciousness he winced slightly, hand automatically going to his shoulder. After several almost panicked attempts for air, (As if anything Crawford did was panicked, Omi mused) he finally managed to fall into a normal breathing rhythm. After handling all the affairs that went on inside his body, he turned his gaze to where Omi was crouching next to him.
"Bombay."
The two stared at one another as they measured up the situation. What could Omi say in return? He had just saved his enemy's life did Crawford realize that? Omi had to get out of here. He had to find the rest of the team. Would Crawford be willing to meet a temporary truce?
* * * *
When the water came down, Nagi had instinctively thrown out a telekinetic shield that caused the water to crash down harmlessly around him. It involved intense concentration, but as long as he wasn't disturbed, it wouldn't be a problem. Nagi wondered idly where this river of water had come from. He HAD noticed they were in a slight valley, but this amount of water this close to the top of the mountain was odd. Unless there had been lots of snow that had melted suddenly, there was almost no explanation for it. Maybe some sort of damn had broken? Nagi began working out his next course of action when he realized he felt someone else in the bubble with him. Turning warily, he discovered- much to his annoyance- Balinese. As their eyes met, the playboy suddenly grinned.
"Nice play there, Schwarz. I appreciate the bubble. Great view," Yohji said agreeably. And it was true, there was a great view of the rushing water and the debris that sped by. "I'd also like to thank you for killing our target."
"We didn't. He was dead before we even got there. We were supposed to protect him."
"Bloody good job you did."
"You can't protect someone who's already dead," Nagi shrugged.
"A philosopher at heart, I see."
"Is all of Weiss like this?"
"What do you think?"
"I think I can see what Abyssinian becomes so irritated with you."
"You spy on us?"
"Only when you're displaying yourselves all over the cameras as you hiked up the mountains."
"You're bull shitting me."
"No. It was quite humorous to watch you take all those precautionary actions, too. So much for being alert. Never even noticed the cameras," Nagi smirked. Yohji looked over at him, his brow furrowed in annoyance.
"Damnit."
"Heh."
"Well.while I appreciate this view, I would absolutely love to step onto the land above."
Nagi shot Balinese a look of annoyance. He didn't need to be told what to do. After a moments hesitation, however, he looked for the walls and began the short climb out. Balinese was now disturbingly close, and Nagi glared back at the tall blonde. "Woah there. No need to get offended. It's just my personal preference to walk closer to the one holding up this shield then farther."
"If I wanted to, I could drop the shield so it protected only me, and then it wouldn't matter where you stood," Nagi replied coldly. "I'm strong enough to hold up a little water, but unless you want to try my patience even more which might cause for a slip in my concentration, I suggest you stand back."
"Don't get so testy," Balinese replied. Nagi noted with a note of satisfaction however, that the member of Weiss stepped back a few paces.
* * * *
Shuldich washed up on the shore of the river, coughing and sputtering violently. He had managed to drag himself out of the water and now here he was, on his hands and knees, bringing in huge gulps of air as his lungs allowed it. How he had survived the turbulent trip through the water he wasn't sure. His muscles ached from the strain he had put on them, but besides the ache from his muscles and minor bruises and scratches he had taken from passing blows of debris, there didn't seem to be any serious injuries. As the German began to calm down, he realized he was going to have to reach out and locate everyone else. The total lack of injuries somewhat confused the German. Because of the rush of water and the velocity at which things had been carried through, Shuldich counted himself lucky not to have been impaled by a branch. The fact that he had escaped virtually unscathed was incredibly lucky. Shuldich grinned suddenly. Maybe Farfarello WAS right. Maybe the devil was protecting them, just to spite God. Of course, Shuldich didn't really believe in all that God business, but someone was definitely spiting someone on this.
Still, the German wished whoever was trying to get rid of them would get off this drowning fetish. This was the second time they'd almost drowned.
The sudden water completely baffled the German. They were far enough up the mountain that there should have been no cause for so much water to come rushing down at them. Just before the wall of water had come too, he had felt something. It had been a sort of influx in psychological power, almost akin to Nagi's. He wondered idly if the two were connected.
As Shuldich caught his breath, he took in his surroundings. He had washed up on the same side of the bank from where they had all been torn. The water rushed by him now, and he watched it with the same amusement that he held everything in. Trees of all sorts surrounded him, and they came up close to the bank. Several were leaning over the water, threatening to tumble. Their stretching root systems clung to thin air, and as Shuldich looked around, he got the impression that the dirt had been ripped away from them abruptly. Because of the moist ground and lack of support, already some of the trees had begun to slant. Shuldich frowned. Not only was this weird, but things hadn't gone as planned. Why hadn't Crawford warned them of this? Shuldich noted this as something he was going to have to harass the American on later.
If he was alive.
The prospect that his teammates might be dead had just occurred to him, and the more he thought about it, he realized the prospect that at least one of his teammates was dead was fairly large. After a moment, Shuldich found himself feeling out for the rest of Schwarz. He had been with them for so long that their signatures were familiar, and even if he couldn't paw through their minds, he knew what they felt like. He detected Nagi first.
~Yo, Chibi.~
~Do you know what happened to the others?~
~Found you first~
~I have Balinese with me.~
Shuldich chuckled.
~He's a pain in the ass.~
~I'm not surprised. You haven't killed him yet?~
~You know we decided not to kill Weiss. Besides, something is wrong with this whole situation. Contact Crawford. ~
~Now you're telling me what to do, too? You've been hanging out with our dear leader entirely too much.~ Nevertheless, Shuldich cut the connection with the teenager and began searching for Crawford. Just as he felt the signature the defined the American, something seemed to come up and physically grab Shuldich's psyche, sending it roughly back into his body. The German stumbled back, grabbing his head.
What the FUCK! Shuldich cursed. This could end up turning into one of those huge migraines. He didn't need one of those right now! Keeping a type grasp on his head, as if that would help him at all, he stumbled back into a tree and slumped against it. Where had that come from? Shuldich groaned as the migraine came on in full swing.
* * * *
Aya swam in a world of black. He had been unconscious enough times to know that he was slowly fighting his way back to the world of living, but it was a painful climb. The same moment the water had hit him, a wayward limb, or some other form of debris had slammed into his left arm. The rest of the ride down the river was hazy, and even now the redhead wasn't certain how he had managed to not drown. The pain was more intense now, which Aya took as a sign to being conscious. Slowly, he opened his eyes. It was night, and through the trees he could see tiny pinpricks of light. Apparently the storm had finally blown over. Despite this relief, he realized that though it was August, it was fairly cold. With a slight groan, he pulled himself into a sitting position. His arm protested, sending a wave of nausea through him.
Aya glanced around warily. Where was he? How far had the water washed him down? First and foremost in Aya's mind was the need to find something warm, or at least keep from becoming frozen. All he had, however, was his sodden jacket. As he shifted his position, the dead leaves beneath him rustled softly.
Leaves.
Aya picked up a handful, looking at them for a moment. With his good arm he formed a pile of wet leaves. After he had what he thought was a sufficient amount, he pulled them over his body. Hopefully this would provide the insulation he needed. There wasn't he could do anything until morning, anyway.
As Aya lay in the leaves, looking up at the cold sky above him through tiny gaps in the tree branches, he pondered how they had gotten there and what would happen to the team. He hoped they had all survived, and he acknowledged the possibility that the last fight with Schwarz was the last time he would fight side by side with them. Every time they had gone to a mission, this knowledge was present somewhere in his mind. It was a big part with why it took so long for him to be just a little less cold, a little more accepting to his teammates. How could you be nice when you knew there was the chance they were going to die at every moment? Why grow attached when you knew they could be ripped away at any moment? It was pointless.
Then when he wasn't looking his loneliness and the basic human want for companionship had won, and he had somehow grown fond of his teammates. He knew them better then anyone else ever would. He knew their quirks and their habits, had been with them long enough to realize certain things, and now they could be dead. He had never imagined it would be like that. Then again, you never did.
* * * *
Brad Crawford wasn't in a good mood. Of course, the rigid American really never was, but it would be fair to say his mood today was worse then usual. Granted, he had more then one reason to be pissed. His precognitive power still hadn't come back to him, and that alone would be basis to be sour. However, compounded to this was the fact that something had gone on back at the drug lord's house that he didn't understand, he'd lost his glasses and couldn't see a damn thing, AND his teammates had been washed away in the flood that had taken place during their fight with Weiss. He didn't even want to think about Bombay, because he had a sneaking suspicion the young Weiss boy had saved him from drowning. Of course, his shoulder was also bothering him, and the fact that Abyssinian had gotten a hit on him bit into his pride.
Crawford frowned deeply. This wasn't a situation he wanted to be in. He wasn't in charge of it and he didn't like that. He couldn't direct it to where he wanted it to go or if the actions he were taking would be beneficial to the future.
Crawford paused for a moment. He had never realized how dependent he had become on his ability to see into the future. Sighing internally, he shot a look over at Bombay. The boy was sitting huddled against a tree trunk, and from what he could make out, his arms were wrapped around his naked knees, head resting on it. No doubt the boy was freezing. After all, he was only wearing shorts. It was cold for an August night, but then, the recent weather had been anything but normal.
Crawford couldn't understand the Weiss boy. "Why did you save me?" He finally asked bluntly. Bombay raised his head from his knees and met Crawford's steady gaze.
"You were drowning."
Crawford frowned. That whole matter had wounded his pride. Still, Bombay hadn't really answered the question. Crawford wasn't going to let him go until he did. The boy stared back, and Crawford thought he was going to have to pry answers when his opponent spoke again.
"I couldn't let you drown. You can't die like that."
"You know that I wouldn't have done the same for you?"
"Yes."
"And that by doing this, you've possibly forfeited both your own life and the rest of your team?"
"Yes." A pause. "But it wouldn't have been right to let you go."
Crawford blinked. It suddenly dawned on him that this boy had a conscience and morals. How could that ever happen? He was an assassin. He'd been trained as one from an early age. All things considered, Bombay SHOULD'VE been a cold and ruthless killer, brainwashed from the start. Crawford knew that wasn't the case, and he wondered who had failed so miserably in Kritiker to have produced THIS. An assassin with compassion was a failure.
Bombay sniffled. Was the boy crying? That wouldn't make any sense.unless he was getting sick. Crawford didn't need to deal with that. The American hated sick people. Somehow, getting sick seemed to be a show of weakness. Crawford couldn't stand that.
"I think we should stay here, at least until morning. I want to give the sun a chance to dry out my clothes. We should also try to reunite with our teams," Bombay broke Crawford's musing. The American looked at the Weiss boy evenly. Once again, Bombay returned it. It seemed the boy wasn't as much as a pushover as he first thought. His bright and genki attitude could be put aside when needed, it seemed. Crawford could respect that. "Can you get in contact with the rest of your team?"
"That's not my ability," Crawford answered shortly.
"I know, but I thought as a team, you might have some sort of link or- "
Crawford waved his hand slightly, as if signifying the end of the discussion. He did not want to talk about the rest of this team.
The two sat in the dark beneath the wet trees silently. Bombay had started to sniffle constantly, and Crawford's shoulder had begun to seriously pain him. Unconsciously he lifted his hand to his shoulder and grasped it tightly, hoping to numb the pain. He needed to clean and wrap it up. The last thing he needed was an infected wound. He touched around the wound gingerly as he frowned deeply. Ignoring Bombay, he slowly took his jacket off as not to aggravate the wound too badly. He didn't allow the Weiss boy to know this movement caused him pain which doubled as he peeled his collared shirt of the sticky sword wound.
* * * *
Farfarello couldn't remember when he had first started liking knives. It was an obsession that seemed to go back as long as he remembered. He liked the way they glittered, and the way blood stuck to the blades. Knives, and swords for that matter, were works of arts that most people simply didn't appreciate. To temper the blade until it was exactly as you wanted took immense skill. Back at the Schwarz penthouse, Farfarello had quite a collection. All cultures had their versions of the sword. There were scimitars and rapiers, and the katana, just to count a few. Farfarello also appreciated the cruel genius of some of the people who had created weapons. The knife that you plunged into someone and then pressed a button, enabling the blade to open up inside your opponents stomach, so what when you pulled it out, you took their guts out with it. Yes, these were things Farfarello truly appreciated.
It was with this in mind as he stared at the red haired member of Weiss Kreuz, the so-called leader. Ran had jumped to his feet-albeit a bit stiffly-at hearing Farfarello's arrival. He stood now shakily, katana grasped tightly in his right hand. He had his left arm held tightly to his chest, and his whole face was pale and held the look of someone who was in intense pain.
Pain.
Farfarello was jealous.
The urge to fight was strong, but there wouldn't be any fun in it. A crippled kitten. The two faced off for a moment before Farfarello suddenly broke his fighting stance and stood straight. "Nice sword."
Abyssinian stared at him.
* * * *
Shuldich was just getting over his migraine. The German had his back pressed up against a tree and was only now slowly letting go of the tight grip on his head. Damn, but he missed his drugs. The German was prone to migraines because of the nature of his powers. Sometimes the voices were overwhelming, so he had some specially issued drugs to take him out for the day. It had been a long time since he had suffered such severe backlash, and he couldn't remember having suffered like that because of a match in mental power since Rosenkreuz. Shuldich paused. This definitely wasn't a good thing. When had they gotten an enemy that matched them in powers?
Shuldich tentatively reached out again, but not for Crawford. Not yet. He searched for Farfarello first. He quickly found the stirrings of the chaotic mind and touched it mentally.
~Farfie.~
~Shuldich.~
~Faired well, I imagine?~
~I'm not dead. God is still sad,~ Farfarello replied in his usual manner.
~Found anything?~
~A broken kitten. The red haired one.~
~Abyssinian. What's wrong with him?~
~A broken arm. He still has some fight.~
~Don't kill him.~
~No,~ Farfie paused, ~not yet, anyway. Have you reached out leader?~
~Something's blocking me.~
~Competition. Not the kittens?~
~No. Yo Farf, we're going to need to get Nagi and join up. We'll go from there.~
There was a sound of agreement on Farfarello's side, and then the madman went silent.
And that was it. It seemed like he would be the one in charge until they found Crawford.
Shuldich sighed dramatically. Him? In charge of the team? That was absolutely ridiculous! Oh, the things life just had to throw at him! It looked like he was going to have to put up with a bit of what the American had to deal with on a daily basis. However, the German decided he was NOT going to be such a stuck up ass about it. That whole sticks-in-ones-ass thing was largely an American thing, anyway. No, come to think of it, it was largely an English-as-the-primary-language thing. There were a lot of anal British, too. Shuldich concluded that the reason they were like that was probably because they didn't drink enough beer.
It was while Shuldich was contemplating beer that the sun had finally begun to rise, casting the woods into that dusky color of in-between times. Had Shuldich been paying more attention, he would've noticed the shadows in the woods shift unnaturally. He would have noticed one of the shadows actually unattached itself from its surroundings and begin a quiet stalking of the German.
~End Chapter III~
Hmmm, hope this chapter wasn't slow or anything! Lol, and btw! I don't personally have anything against British, so don't flame me! This chapter was a little (a page!) longer then the two previous. I'm trying to keep all the chapters around 12 pages for you guys! Reading short chapters makes me somewhat sad, because I know I have to wait a long time sometimes for another update, and I want to read NOW, damnit! Not that I'm complaining to people who DO write short chapters. I've been known to do the same thing. I like to generate more reviews that way! But reviews really aren't everything (something I'm coming to learn) and people can still appreciate without writing anything. Besides, I like to write! So, hope you liked this chapter! I'll come out with the next one as soon as possible!