Bloody Abyss

Chapter Three

Flying Problems

A/N: I was going to merge this chapter with the last, but considering that the last time I was on was my last day in a week that I'd be able to get online... I cut it in half and made some aditions so there'd at least be an update until the next time I could get to a computer. This is another short update, since the library is now back open I'll be able to work on this -and my other stories- more frequently.

Unaccustomed to flying the first time he had "barrowed" the airship and its pilot, Asch had tried to sleep in the bunks provided while Ginji continued flying at night. That had been a disaster, and when he was in a good mood –a rare thing, fast becoming rarer in the last days of his life- Asch would crack a smile while Ginji would exaggerate his falls and curses. It had been that bad, truly it had been hell, and Ginji trying to act like him had been funny.

The first or second time it was funny, after the fiftieth Asch had cuffed the boy and told him to get back to flying.

Ginji sniggered, and Asch speared the brat with his most hostile glare in his repertoire of glares, vile looks, and biting sarcasm mixed with grating harshness.

Rubbing his bruised shoulder, Asch rumbled a few threats under his breath.

Ginji only choked; lifting a hand he turned laughter into coughs and proceeded to look at the purple highlighted white mist that surrounded their ship.

"I haven't forgiven you for this morning." Asch snarled, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"I haven't forgiven you for last week. You promised me a good dinner for all this hard work."

"If you want to be mad at someone…" Asch began.

"And it's not Luke's fault, you could have brought something from your manner or something."

"I." Asch said with a dangerous detached coolness. "Will not steal from my parent's kitchen to give you an extravagant meal."

"I'll do another loop." Ginji snapped.

"You want to die?" Asch snarled.

Paling at the genuine threat Ginji went back to working the Albiore's controls, muttering something about slave drivers.

The boy knew nothing about slave drivers. Absently tracing a scar -one of many- that ran from a point above his left temple and wound across the back of his skull, Asch growled. Ginji didn't know cruelity, the boy was sheltered, protected by a sib, sheltered from the intrigues of the world by his studies and the isolation of his homeland from the centers of the world.

Two capitals, two countries, two centers of ambition and power.

Sighing, Asch leaned back into his chair, his blood shot eyes closing for the first time in hours. Would he sleep? If Ginji wasn't stupid, taking out his childish anger by flying wildly with the Albiore, could he sleep? Perhaps, he was weary enough, physically spent, so much so that Ginji had noticed and tried to get him to travel to Belkend to seek treatment before this little stunt had began.

With a shaking hand he traced the scar, a souvenir of a training session with Largo. Seeing Ginji's concerned gaze on him he dropped his hands and folded them over his stomach and leaned back. The chair, one of the marvels of intelligent reclining design, gently folded back. In a few moments he was nearly lying on a mattress like surface, the only flaw to the device was that the platform that elevated his legs was too short, and his feet dangled over the edge. They were going to be asleep, whenever he woke up...

Sparing a glance from the shadowy surreal mists Ginji saw that Asch was falling asleep.

Biting down on his frustration and irritation, the young Sheridan pilot swallowed something tasteless and large -probably his bruised ego. Grimacing, wincing, Ginji eased up on the Albiore's controls, slowing their travel to a mere crawl so that the hum of fon stone powered accelerators and thrusters and the like quieted to a bare whisper.

Asch would complain of course. The man would whine about the loss of time, and pace the length and width of the ship, and curse Ginji... But Asch always did that.

"Why do I like you, again?" Ginji asked the sleeping black clad man under his breath.

Asch's only answer was a quiet snore.

X

Jade hued eyes flicked upon him and picked him out of the darkness with startling ease. The pale lips curled into a thin watery smile as he considered all around him. Here, at his beckoning, Ion had gathered his enemies around him for dinner. Had the Fon Master been malicious Asch would have never come. He remembered history, how one distant dynasty of Malkuth had been wiped out when a cunning foe had gathered all his enemies around him and had poisoned the meal set before his guests after carefully dosing himself with the anti-venom before joining them for their final supper.

"Please, Asch, it's been so long, sit."

Grudgingly Asch sat, took his seat between Largo and Dist. His skin crawled as he joined them. Dist sported a sizzling black hole in his chest and seemed oblivious to it. Wining and dinning, the egocentric god general adjusted his pink boa with a wide smile. The gaudy fathers that had been set in place to bring emphasis to his smile did little more than to guild the eyes down, to emphasize the horrible wound. Despite himself, Asch shuddered, and mechanically began to eat the bowl of soup set before him. Largo was to his left, and Asch didn't look up, couldn't look up. But he was aware of the man because the widening stain of red that ran around Largo's bowl was slowly dribbling into Asch's part of the table. Occasionally Largo would growl for some condiment to add to his meal -the pepper more than anything else, the raw amount needed to appease the large man's pallet made Asch's head reel and his eyes water- and the red that ran from Largo's wounds would slick the shakers of bowls that were handed to him.

Asch reached for something... something didn't taste right. The soup was like air, he reached for some seasoning and the blood from Largo's touch made the bowl of salt fall from his hands.

From ahead an the left, Legretta tisked, Van rumbled deep in his throat his disapproval. Asch did not look up, he shook, holding in a torrent of emotion that would have exploded into violence if he dared give it any leash.

Small feet wearing smaller boots clicked across the polished dun hued tiles of chapel. A child's hand touched his elbow. Startled, he jerked his head back. He hated to be touched, would have roared that, save the tears that were barely hidden in the Fon Master's eyes stilled him.

"Are you sick? You seem sick."

"I'm fine!" He snapped, pushing back from the table, he stepped back, and was standing again in the rain swept streets of Batical.

Ion stood besides him, his young face so pale, the pallor of his face like that of a dead man's... He felt a tug on one of the pockets of his robes, and only the slight tightening of those small hands on his arm stilled him. At the boy's gesture, Asch knelt, and Ion leaned forward, to whisper in his ear.

"I know what it's like, to be sick and you can't do anything about it. Get medicine for your friend, what's her name?"

Numb, his lips pale as death, Asch said one name. "Noir."

"I'll pray for Noir, tonight. Rest well, Maestro Asch Sahguin."

And Ion left him, a child alone in Batical, with only the rain and steam wraiths to keep him company.

X

Eyes wide yet empty, his facade a mask of horrors seen and unvoiced, Asch jolted awake. His sword cleared it's sheath before sense had returned to his mind. Ginji, who had come abandoned the controls, setting the Albiore to autopilot to do so, walked up to the shaking God General. His motive was that of friendship, only wanting to know what was wrong, seeing the sword out he stepped back and tripped over his own two feet. The sword followed him, even as he fell. It pressed against his throat, drawing a thin line of red. After a long stress filled moment, where Ginji whimpered in terror and Asch stood over him panting in an animal rage, the wild blaze cast in emerald eyes was slow to die. Sense returned to the older man's cat green eyes by degrees, at last with an apologetic sounding grunt, Asch sheathed his sword and watched as Ginji crawled to his feet.

"By Yulia's score!" Ginji cried out. "Don't ever do that to me aga-"

Eyes wide, Asch looked to some point beyond Ginji, at the darkening mists outside and turned an interesting hue of milk white.

"Mushroom!"

So much for sense returning to the god general. With an exasperated snort, Ginji turned, beginning a hash lecture on how a mushroom wasn't going to stop the Albiore Three. He saw and then froze, his words becoming a senseless gurgle in his throat. The last thing that happened before he passed out -and they made impact against the largest mushroom Ginji had ever imagined could exist- was Asch leaping past him, reaching for the controls with the wild idea that he'd steer them out of the way.

Impact occurred with an interesting squelching sound and the world went dark.