When Schu got up to open the door for his returning teammates, he had had some time to simmer down and smoke a couple of cigarettes. Fell had his own and now the apartment stank of cigarette smoke, but if the pretty healer minded, she didn't show it. Of course, that block of ice in female form didn't show much of ANYTHING. As for Fell, he was intriguing. Handsome in the extreme, even more beautiful than Cross, but with a biting tongue and the same jaded flash in his black eyes that Schu saw in his own. He was as powerful as Schuldich too, though the German telepath knew exactly why. He had seen it in Fell's eyes the instant they had locked with his.

Psychic vampire.

They weren't particularly rare creatures, but they were, very often, mostly human and not at all dangerous. They were the people who always seemed to have problems, who convinced others to care about their plight and then latched on, literally feasting on the attention until their victim was mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. Needy people, and often enough, their only psychic ability was empathy so mild they didn't know they had it.

Every once in a while though, a powerful one would show up. These creatures didn't occur naturally. The problem was usually their metabolic energy flow, thrown far off-kilter by some incident or another. As a result, their own bodies burned energy too quickly and they were forced to steal other peoples' energy to survive. Though the two kinds of psychic vampire were, in reality, two separate parasites, they carried the same name and most psis referred to the first type simply as "leeches".

Fell was the powerful type. Schu had been feeling his hunger since he'd walked into the apartment and kept his gun nearby, but the telepath made no move toward him, nor toward the blue-eyed Katerina. Instead he sat, playing with the bandage on his mauled shoulder and chain-smoking.

The knock on the door came over an hour after Schu had gotten home, and it had started to rain as he'd bolted up the stairs. He got up and slid his hand into his blazer, gripping the SIG beneath it and peeking through the peephole.

Then he unbolted the door, releasing his gun, and flung it wide to allow Farfarello to carry a quietly crying Sabbath into the apartment, followed closely by Nagi, who was pale as a sheet and looked grim. All three were dripping wet, and there were bits of dried gore matted in Sabbath's hair, though the rain had washed much of it away. They tracked water, dirty water, into the apartment and Schu groaned at the thought of what Crawford would say about it if they didn't manage to clean it up before he got home.

"I suppose there's a decent explanation for this," he said, hand on hip, his other hand still holding the cigarette as his eyes demanded answers from Farfarello.

The madman shrugged and headed for Sabbath's room to put her to bed.

Schu watched them go, turning a baleful gaze and a deadly smirk, somehow combined into one unsettling look, at Nagi. "Well, Naggles?"

"I told you. Two of Sabbath's friends died in the Bronx today. She had to go there, for some reason, so we went there. It started raining. She saw the bodies. There… wasn't much left and now she's in very bad shape."

"I noticed," Schu said with a dry smirk. The girl's thoughts were a jumble of exquisitely dark feelings, all of them sharp and jagged and none of them fitting coherently together. In short, the girl was a wreck and nothing even slightly composed would be coming out of her for at least half a day. They'd incapacitated their witch… wonderful.

"Brad's going to be SO happy when he hears all this," Schu murmured, dragging deeply on his cigarette. "And guess who he's going to take it out on?"

Nagi sighed. "Well, while you waste time pitying yourself when you very well know he'll scold all three of us, I'm going to change." He stumbled toward his room and Schu felt a brief flash of concern. What all had happened out there? Sabbath had killed her own friend earlier, hadn't she? So why was this death hitting her so hard that it'd effectively knocked her into orbit? And why was Nagi so distraught over Sabbath's distress and why was Farf now lying in bed with Sabbath, he noted as he walked past her room where the door was still open, still sopping wet and murmuring to her in Irish?

Schuldich shook his head and closed the door, returning to the living room. Fell looked up at him, his physical pain tainting his features just barely, but mostly under control. "Your psycho has a thing for our Sab," he said casually.

"Well, your Sab has a thing for our psycho," Schu shot back, sitting in the armchair and crossing one leg over the other, slouching back to lounge.

Fell chuckled. "But it's not going to pan out, is it? You're going to screw us over. Don't bother denying it, I can see it."

Schu threw up shields, upper lip pulling back in a sneer, only to be met with Fell's laughter.

"Not in your head. I just… saw it. In you. I can read people as well as minds, you know. It's a skill you might think about developing." His tone turned scornful. "But then again, I suppose Eszet's pets have no need for the kind of paranoia we've cultivated."

Fury flamed in Schuldich for half an instant, but he brushed it aside and grinned wickedly at Fell, leaning slowly forward. "Do you know what Eszet is, Inconnu?" he asked silkily. "It's the Devil trying to play God. You think you have it hard? You have it FREE. Survive Rosenkreuz and then maybe I'll consider taking you seriously." He snickered at Fell's expression and leaned back, exhaling a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.

"Is that a suggestion or a threat?" Fell inquired, voice as light and sharp as a dancing rapier.

Schuldich laughed. "Now, now," he scolded, "that would be telling."

X-X-X

Farf lay curled protectively around his witch, petting her without really thinking about it, his mind lost along other paths. His witch… yes, his. Fragile, powerful little witch who belonged nowhere but fit into his psych like a missing puzzle piece. Serendipity? If it was, he wouldn't question it. God? Whether it was or not, he'd be vigilant. Sabbath continued to weep. Piece by piece, The One was taking her family away, just as God had taken his away. Except that God had done it in one fell swoop, thus shattering him in a single blow. Sabbath was breaking, piece by piece.

He heard the door close and knew it had been Schuldich. He hadn't heard the man's familiar tread on the carpet outside, but somehow he had registered it, unthinkingly. With the door closed, he felt he had a bit more freedom. Sabbath would recover, he was confident. As he had told Schuldich, she took pain and turned it to rage. But first, she would have to not get sick. So he slid off the bed and picked her up, taking her into the attached bathroom to get her wet clothing off. Methodically, he wrangled the tank top and jeans from her body. Dammit, she looked very nice in tight jeans, but how did she get them ON, never mind off? He would never understand women's clothing. He preferred his clothing to be comfortable first, functional second, and decent-looking third. She was awake enough that she could sit up and move sluggishly to help him with this. He wrapped a towel around her shoulders and turned the bath water on just a notch below hot, eye straying back to her slender frame.

Her skin was flawless. No, wait… there was a tiny brown speck, smaller than a pin head, just below the crease of her elbow. And another about half its size a short distance further down. So, not flawless, but that somehow made it more endearing, those two little specks of color. She had an hourglass figure and a strong, athletic frame. Small and spitfire. Unmarred.

A thousand visions rose in his head. He could carve that skin, draw pictures on it with razorblade lines or a red-hot strip of metal, mark it, make a canvas of it, of her. He could peel her skin back and watch her muscles jump, peek into the workings of her body, twist the toes of those tiny feet until they snapped off….

He reached for her foot and began to finger the second toe, the longest of the five. It was small and slender and the little ball at the tip rolled between his fingers. His fingers tightened. He could squeeze and twist, and it would break….

The other foot suddenly smacked into his wrist. "Stop that," she murmured huskily, eyes puffy and swollen. She sniffled, looking very dull and not-quite-awake.

His hand slid up across the bridge of her foot and closed around her ankle. "You'll become ill if you don't warm up," he told her. "Bath." A single pointed finger got her attention in the right direction.

She nodded. "Yeah. Go…?"

He slipped out, leaving her to her scrubbing and searching down something warm to wear. That rain had been unseasonably cold, almost like sleet. As he stepped into the hallway, he glanced toward the window and wondered. Could a witch's grief disturb the weather?

Shaking his head, he went and locked himself in his own room.

X-X-X

By the time Farfarello emerged, having opted on gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, sleep clothes, Sabbath had stripped the sheets from her bed and replaced them with dry ones. She was in her pajamas and looked a lot less distraught than earlier. He was glad for that; he sat on the bed next to her. She was not under the covers, and he noticed that her grayish pajama pants had black spiders all over them, some marked with little hourglass symbols. The white t-shirt had a chibified spider on the front and said "The Itsy Bitsy Spider"… he had to smile. Sometimes she was just too cute.

"You wanted to hurt me earlier," she said quietly, flatly. "I saw it."

"I'm sorry." He didn't sound much concerned, or remorseful.

"Would you have?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

He tilted his head, thinking that over. He wanted to destroy anything else that hurt her. Why hurt her himself? And he had wanted to. He had wanted to very badly. Part of it was his fascination with deconstructing a human body, hearing bones snap and ligaments tear. But part of him had wanted to break a toe, something small and inconsequential, because if he did that she would attack him in a fit of rage. And fending off her sharp little teeth was preferable to seeing her crying and lost. He didn't know how to deal with her, crying and lost.

"I want to hurt everyone," he said simply. "And something in me wanted to make you angry so you would stop crying."

She was quiet for a moment, eyes trained on the ceiling. Then she laughed, a fragile, broken sound. He stiffened. He didn't like this. Sabbath was not weak prey. She should not act like weak prey. She was a powerful witch, a child of the Goddess….

"I'm human, Farf," she whispered, her voice thick as though her tears had congealed there. "I'm all those things, but I'm human too. I loved them. I miss them. But the worst part is that I failed them. I made this deal, I sold my soul to the devil, so that they could survive and be happy. And I never thought we'd all come out of this unscathed – I'm not stupid. But knowing it and seeing it are two different things, you know? You cried when your family died. I KNOW you did! And they're my family and now I'm crying, but it's the same." She drew a deep, shuddering breath and finally looked at him. Her voice was steadier now, and dark as the abyss. "It's the same as you."

"How so?" he asked her seriously, his eye searching hers, trying to read these new emotions he saw there.

Her jaw set and a muscle jumped as her eyes darkened and hardened. "Because now I hate them," she choked. "I'm still sad. I feel like I'm shattering in here." Her fist pressed between her breasts. "But they crossed the line. They made a fatal mistake. I HATE THEM." Now her eyes flashed and her voice was venomous. "And I'm going to destroy them. Every last one. I want to rip them apart now, I want to hear them scream a thousand screams while I send them to hell, I want to SMASH them and in the name of Morrigan, goddess of wronged women and of vengeance, THEY WILL KNOW their destruction when it comes. I don't care what they do to me, I'll tear the last one of them in half before I fall." She was forcing words out through gritted teeth now, shoulders heaving, panting with rage. "And you're going to help me," she snarled.

Farfarello appraised her for a long moment, then smiled. "Is it the right thing to do, to hate so much?" he lilted.

"I don't give a SHIT. I want to HURT them."

His smile widened to a grin. "I love you," he said simply, and watched her eyes widen in shock. "And I will help you. We will all help you hurt The One until the last scream fades into the dust."

She blinked. "Farf…."

"Yes?"

She sighed, deflating somewhat. "You don't love me."

His tone turned dangerous. "I am NOT lying."

"I didn't think you were. But don't… don't love me. God takes away all the ones you love and you're the last person I want to hurt. You're the only person who gets it."

"Gets what?" he inquired innocently.

Brown, almost-black, eyes met his own. "Me."

He chuckled. "You aren't so hard to understand. You're a person, Sabbath Summer. You aren't one of us yet. We are all broken."

"I'll be broken too, before too long," she said, and he let her crawl into his arms and cuddled her. "Will I be one of you then?"

"Perhaps. If you are or not, I doubt that will change anything. You will still be Sabbath. You are possessed of an essential nature."

"Elemental," she said ruefully, and he smirked.

"You're a Leo, aren't you? You're your own needfire. Even if you go out, you'll re-spark yourself and keep on burning."

She grinned. "Awwww, Farf, that was sweet! And you've been studying." She poked him.

He shrugged. "Witchcraft hurts God."

She eyed him for a moment before he cracked a smirk, and then they both laughed. Long and bitterly, but it was still laughter, and therefore ten times better than the tears.

X-X-X

Outrage was a voracious beast. It needed to be fed or it would lose its strength. Farfarello knew this to be true as he watched Sabbath in the two days that followed. Crawford helped to organize their offensive, as a few animal-empaths among the Inconnu sent spies into the depths of The One's territory. Most of those spies never returned, but some did, and from them, they learned that they had found the wrist of an arm that stretched for miles beneath the city, into deeper and deeper levels of the sewers, away from all human interference. Amazing how The One resided in the sewers and yet no grime ever clung to their clothing, nor the stench, but it was not noteworthy. Things were hectic as they scrambled to and fro, organizing, planning, hashing and rehashing details, drawing maps and exchanging information. And Sabbath worked with the fury of a woman possessed, dragging Farfarello AND Nagi along on a few more shopping trips. Her aims had become more complex now. They could only hope she had the strength to accomplish them all.

But in the midst of this frantic cacophony came a call: Takatori was no longer pleased with one of his employees. He had found this man to be responsible for some of the failings at two of the corporations, and for collaborating with some of his competitors. He wanted Schwarz to teach the man a lesson he would never forget.

An assassination was a welcome diversion from their other plans, Schuldich thought as he boredly looked over the file on their target. Nothing special… get in, kill the man, get out. Except that fool, Takatori, couldn't leave things lie. He had threatened the man and the target was taking measures to protect himself, surrounding himself with bodyguards and the like. Nothing Schu by himself couldn't handle, but even though Crawford hadn't seen a need for all of Schwarz to participate, he'd instructed Schu to take Farfarello along.

Schuldich was looking forward to it. Farfarello was really his preferred partner… brain and brawn respectively, but they both possessed good quantities of each, thus balancing and complimenting each other. The target was scheduled to be moved into the building of one of the competitors tonight, and that would be the perfect time to strike – in transit. Schuldich was busy cleaning his firearms, Farfarello his knives. Sabbath was locked in her room doing something that apparently involved stomping on the floor every so often, and a little bit of chanting. Nagi and Crawford were both out, having been conscripted into going with Takatori to put on a show of power for his other employees at the meeting tonight. When news came of the target's death, his other company heads would be properly chastised and fall into place, or that was the plan at least.

Schuldich took the opportunity to talk to Farfarello, who was curled up in the couch corner, digging the tip of one of his knives into his forearm and making soft crooning noises under his breath.

"You know, sometimes I think you're really losing it," he said casually, sighting down the barrel of his gun. He sighted it at Farfarello's head, not that the Irishman took any notice.

"Coming from you, that's amusing," Farf replied, fingers twitching.

"DON'T," Schu snapped just before he knew the madman was about to dig the blade into his own arm. "You'll get hurt plenty later, remember? No sense wasting the blood now."

Nodding, Farfarello put the knife down and trained that single golden eye on Schuldich. "According to all of my files, I have already 'lost it'. What does it matter if I sink further into insanity?"

"It matters to us," Schuldich sneered. "We have to work with you. And that's going to get annoying REALLY quick if you turn into a love-obsessed pile of mush."

"I know," he said flatly. "God waits to be given something with which he can hurt me. He offers gifts so that he can snatch them away. But I do not think this is part of his plot. Sabbath is not manipulated by him and neither am I."

"She's canon fodder," Schu reminded him. "And we aren't staying in America forever. If you're going to fuck her, fuck her, but don't get yourself wrapped up in this 'love' business. It's not worth it in the long run… believe me, I know." He removed the remains of a spent cigarette from his mouth and dropped it in the ash tray. "Love is poison, Farf. It'll bring you down and screw you over. Stick with hate… at least hate has a purpose."

"I have not forgotten my purpose," Farfarello said coldly. "Do not believe that my hatred ebbs just because I have decided to love as well."

Schuldich just laughed. Tossed his head back, flame-colored hair spreading against the printed upholstery, and laughed. "Oh, Farf…" he managed when his amusement faded somewhat. "Baka. You can't love. You're too broken, just like me, just like Crawford. Cold shells, all of us. Power and wickedness are all we have left, and the capacity to enjoy what we do. You're a killer; you don't deserve love or happiness. None of us do and that's how we LIKE it, remember? We're the darkness, we're the shadows, we're the bloodstains in everyone's past and future."

Farfarello shook his head. "It is not the love of God. It is the love of mankind. There is nothing about it that is holy or pure. It hurts Him just by being… between two blasphemous, prodigal children, it offends Him even more. He weeps for me, to see me drawn into the witch's coils. And He weeps for her, for the loss of one who SHOULD have been his, submitting to the hands which have destroyed so many of His treasured ones. It is blasphemy, this thing, and so it is beautiful and ugly and real, and you will not convince me that it is a lie."

"All right," Schu said disdainfully. "Fine. You love her. I won't challenge that. But how about THIS: If you fall for her, your usefulness to Schwarz is OVER and Crawford will either put a bullet in your head personally or ask me to do it. And I don't want to do that, Jei."

"I'm not Jei," came the answering snarl.

"Whatever. You're you, and I'm me, and the me that I am doesn't want to kill the you that you are, got me? When this is over, we're leaving. We're going back to Japan. Don't you dare put up a fuss or I won't be able to protect you, and then Eszet will have taken YOU away from HER. At least this way, it's just dumb luck… circumstance, not God's hand. But if you force Crawford to kill you, you'd better believe that Eszet's yanking his trigger finger. And you can't hurt Eszet after you're dead," he said meaningfully. "You have to be patient."

Farfarello stilled and considered this. Schuldich was right, after all… they had plans for the future. Plans that had to be carried out before any of them had a chance to live their own lives. If he wanted the freedom to pursue God to the edges of the universe and back, if he wanted the freedom to spit in God's face with his life, he had to temper himself now so that when the time came, there would be nothing entangling him, nothing forcing him to deny his destiny.

"I understand," he said, and Schuldich sat back, smirking in satisfaction. He looked away before his insane, but comprehensive, partner could see the glitter of sadness in his lapis-blue eyes. He knew what Crawford had wisely decided to keep from Farfarello and Nagi; Eszet would, indeed, betray the Inconnu. And though Crawford had said nothing about her, Schuldich did not believe Sabbath would survive the encounter. After all, he knew she would fight to the death for her friends. He had seen her rage and it would not be quenched until she was dead or her enemies were.

So really, he was just trying to help his teammate. Farfarello might have been crazy, but he was also incredibly intelligent, perceptive, and oddly wise when the mood struck him. He got lost in the world inside himself, while Schuldich got lost in the world outside. In all honesty, Schu finally admitted to himself that he didn't want to share the psychopath. They had a bond that would change greatly if Farfarello's affections awakened to Sabbath, and Schuldich did not like change. Not in his friends and teammates, the only family he'd had since his mother had left him at Rosenkreuz.

Farfarello was silence, simplicity at its best, everything Schuldich needed to escape from himself sometimes. And he didn't want to lose it.

Didn't want to lose him.

X-X-X

Sabbath stared at the small box in the palm of her hand, about the size of a jewelry box and carved of quartz crystal. The sides and hinged top were thin. It was almost delicate, and Sabbath let out a sigh as she shut the lid and latched it. There was nothing physical inside the box except for a few drops of her blood, and what little bit of Griss she had been able to rescue from under her nails and between her fingers, but to the witch, it practically shone with energy seething angry and red inside it. This was her first infusion. She would not open the box again for the others. Instead, she would send the energy into the box through the closed lid… the quartz was an excellent conduit for magickal energy. She sighed, setting the box on her altar and picking up her paint. On each side of the box, in deep blood red, she painted the rune Thurisaz, the thorn. On the lid, she painted the rune Kenaz, which stood for both the element of fire and an opening. Dealing with Griss's spirit had been torturous, and not because he was unwilling to cooperate; on the contrary, he'd been very cooperative, and the energy inside the box was filled with his protective fury. Jordan was nowhere to be found, and Sabbath could only assume that her friend had gone off toward the light. It was well… Jordan's family had preceded her beyond The Veil and were most likely waiting to take her home. Griss's family was still alive, though very estranged. On The Other Side, he was alone.

Not anymore, though. Now, he was contained in this box, having literally given up all the energy that had been holding him where he was to their cause. And then he had vanished, off to the Summerlands, Sabbath hoped. She had wanted to cry, but she had not. The time for weeping was over. It was a time for retribution now, and as she cast her circle, invoking all the darkest goddesses, she knew her patrons agreed with her.

"Morrigan," she chanted as she sprinkled salt on the quartz box, consecrating it with the elements. "Hecate. Kali. Freya. Anath. Sehkmet. Hear me, your warrior daughter invokes thee. Power I would have from thee, power to punish those who threaten your chosen! Morrigan, goddess of vengeance and wronged women, hear me! Hecate, goddess of the crossroads and of all witcheries, guide me! Kali, goddess of destruction, my own dark mother, aid me! Freya, mistress of the runes, warrior goddess, strengthen me! Anath, goddess of war, goddess of rage and death, strengthen my anger! Sehkmet, goddess of war, predators, and protection, defend me! I invoke thee all, and invoke thy power. I will give you blood in sacrifice. I will give you anything you demand. Only give me my vengeance. Give me power."

Most witches in their right minds would never ask for such a thing. Wicca was a gentle religion and dark desires such as these went against everything it stood for. But Sabbath couldn't bring herself to care.

These, she told herself, are extenuating circumstances. Desperate measures are called for, or hundreds will die. And if it takes everything I have to give us a fighting chance, I gladly give it. My soul is clean, my Goddess. Shirk not your justice.

She sighed and flicked drops of holy water onto the box, then passed a candle over it, before picking it up and swiping it through the smoke that coiled lazily upward from the stick of incense she had burning. And then, with a sigh, she gave up. She put the quartz box into a wooden box lined with velvet, for safekeeping, and painted the rune Nauthiz (constraint, movement in neither direction) on every facet of the box, including the lid. It would keep the energies inside, and all corrupting influences out. Satisfied, she left the box and went to take a cleansing shower. She was drained, as well she should be; all of her rage and all of her energy had gone into that little box. All her sadness was there, and all her pain. And now she had nothing left in her except weariness, and she showered quickly, crawling back into bed and curling up with a stuffed cat. She needed more energy for her magickal grenade, but she didn't know where she could find it. If more of her friends died at the hands of The One, their spirits might help her, but she didn't want that to happen. She had a few vague ideas about putting curse after curse after curse on The One and storing the physical components inside the box. If she could only think of a method, she could turn the considerable might of the runes against The Collective, but she couldn't determine a suitable carrier for those energies except for more verbal curses.

She sighed again. She would do what she could, but she'd need so much power, so much power she didn't have….

Feeling like she was already defeated, Sabbath snuggled down into the bed and closed her eyes.

X-X-X