Chapter 13
Nothing is Sacred

Anil and Kasha had finally gone home. Ringing the hour of seven o'clock through out the empty house, a lone grandfather clock provided an eerie, sonorous break to the silence that Trowa and Quatre found themselves sitting in. The entirety of the small summer home was dark, sans the single light they sat under on the patio by the garden, both carefully studying the tarnished golden cross on the table between them with a hint of fear. Since its discovery earlier that morning, neither had let it out of their sight. It provided a fearful realization, and seemed to place up a boundary around them and the rest of the world…as well as between the two of them. It threatened to drive them both insane, leaving their heads teetering between reality and dreams—sanity and madness.

"We're not insane…?" Quatre asked in barely audible whisper, white teeth worrying the inside of his cheeks bloody. Trowa shook his head, hands grasping his pants desperately, keeping a safe distance between himself and a piece of jewelry that seemed to possess all the mystical and haunting qualities of every holy apparition he had ever heard about. They couldn't have been more frightened had the devil come up and tap danced on the very glass top before them.

"No more than Wufei," Trowa replied after a few steady breaths. Quatre winced. It was true. They were no more insane than Wufei, who was either locked up for being completely right…or possessing a contagious disease of the mind.

"Who do you think it belonged to?" Quatre murmured. Trowa gave an odd look to Quatre, brows furrowing in disbelief. They had both agreed on one thing about it earlier—that it had belonged to a strange, long haired pilot. Someone they were just now beginning to recall. A piercing purple gaze that seemed to laugh and draw them in to the warmth of a gentle smile and a soothing touch. A wisdom hidden behind a Cheshire grin. A lump formed in the European's throat, causing him to rub at his eyes as an unexplainable sadness permeated his senses. Longing squeezed his heart, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to hear a voice he didn't even recall…

"We know who's it is," Trowa rasped out, green orbs shut to block out tears. Quatre's hand on his cheek surprised him at first, then comforted, causing him to lean into it as he lifted his gaze to his sweet lover.

"I know that…I just wonder what his name is," Quatre stated soothingly, brushing away a stray droplet from Trowa's cheek.

"I have no clue," Trowa replied quietly. Scooting closer, Quatre closed the distance between them so they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, and quickly curled up in the comforting hold of his lover. A soft smile lit through the pain on his face, and Trowa felt himself relax a little. Both were still stiff, both were still anxious and nervous. But at least they had each other.

That was more than Wufei and Heero could say at the moment.

An odd urge sparked in him, suddenly as a certain realization hit him. Whoever this fifth pilot was…whatever happened to him…was he alone? There were no friends to smile when he couldn't, no arms to support him when he was weak. And the sadness he felt at his absence made him want to reach out and touch him, despite the distance of miles he wasn't sure even existed. Perhaps they were both wrong? What if he didn't exist? But how to explain the cross? Long, slender fingers reached out of their own accord, the acrobat's hand hesitantly extending to touch the weatherworn necklace, as if by touching that, the nameless face would feel the love and comfort Trowa wished to give.

Quatre watched as he reached for it, nervousness filling him. It wasn't as if the necklace was possessed, but it provided a clue to something that shouldn't be. A person who had literally been wiped out of existence. No pictures, no memories…even the history books, the friends, the home, and the life…everything that should possessed some clue as to who he was. Every document to prove that they existed. Gone. What could have done that? Idly, his mind drifted back to all the movies he had seen as a child. Shows of people being abducted by aliens and eradicated from existence. CIA agents and government spies. Could something like that really exist? And besides…if it did…wouldn't someone have found out before? Trowa's fingers paused over the chain, and Quatre could feel the breath held in the shoulder under his head, and he slowly lifted himself up, feeling as if something were going to happen. As if that necklace could unlock the secret with just a touch. As if it could unlock the truth.

His fingers lowered down. And then were immediately torn up in surprise.

The song "Iron Man" by Black Sabbath shattered the surreal moment and broke the tension, quickly slamming them both back into their bodies and back into real life.

"Sweet Allah!" Quatre cried out, grabbing his chest as the familiar tune registered, sending him into relieved giggles. Trowa blushed, quickly fumbling to get his cell phone out of his pocket. "I love that song, now…"

"Yah…I'll bring that up when you say you hate it at the next executive dinner," Trowa grumbled sheepishly, flipping it open. Upon seeing the name on the caller ID, instinctual worry branched through him. "Heero!" he exclaimed. "Is everything all right?" Heero's shaky breathing greeted him from the other side.

"I just got a call from Wufei." The Japanese man's voice was heavy, filled with shock, sounding as if he had just run miles. Trowa's stomach dropped, and he leaned back in his chair, brows furrowing as a cold feeling washed over him. Could the cross have been the least of their problems?

"What happened?" Trowa demanded harsher than he meant to. Quatre looked up, face paling.

"He and his therapist put him under hypnosis. They told me to check for the writing again," Heero whispered, voice cracking.

In his kitchen, the Japanese man sat back heavily, cradling the icepack to his neck with shaking hands, knees tucked up to his chest. He felt as Wufei must have just days ago, pans sprawled out, sweat pouring down his face, trying to connect the pieces in a puzzle that shouldn't fit. Hell…it wasn't that they shouldn't fit. It was that the pieces shouldn't exist. That it couldn't exist. How could it? How could something like this happen? How could someone be forgotten? How the hell could Wufei be right?

"Didn't you do that already?" Trowa asked. Heero nodded to himself, tugging on the cupboard door that he had ripped halfway off its hinges, foot kicking aside a pot and sending it clanging across the tile.

"Yah," he finally replied out loud, looking into the corner right cupboard. Something so simple had become such a catalyst in his life. How stupid it seemed.

"And?" Trowa's voice betrayed the hope and fear, which Heero found strange but comforting. Little did he know of the discovery the two had also made.

"The cabinet…there was second board placed over it to hide the actual top," Heero explained, shifting to look inside once again. "It looked smaller…I mean, I measured it when the therapist said too…and it was. So I ripped it out…" It wasn't like the Japanese man to babble, making Trowa shift nervously.

"And?" the European demanded, breath held anxiously. Heero turned his gaze back up to the top.

"Here, you see for yourself…" Heero whispered, turning on the video feed. Trowa pulled the cell phone away from his face to watch, and Quatre moved to peer over his shoulder at it from around him. They caught a glimpse of the broken wood of the door—the scattered soup cans and broken shelves. He moved it to focus on a dark area on the cabinets' top, the screen black until a flashlight kicked on. A few moments passed while the camera's resolution adjusted. And then, the world once again was ripped apart.

In permanent, thick black marker, in a familiar looping calligraphy, was the writing Wufei had predicted.

And the name they had all forgotten.

"Duo Maxwell…"

In the distant realms of dreams and the beyond, Mneme screamed her rage.

oOoOo

"TRIEZE!" Wincing at the shrill yell, the General of the Greek hell gave an annoyed, yet slightly apprehensive huff, feigning exasperation to save face. Externally, he put on the façade of aggravation, seemingly fed up with Hades constant bitching. Inside, he was near panicking. Had his creator managed to somehow discover Trieze's little trip up to see Zechs? To see the person who was not only an angel, but the one creature capable of shattering Trieze's loyalty to his lord and turning him against everything he was made for? Sighing, telling himself to calm down (after all...it was rumored Hades could smell fear), he stood reluctantly from his card game and gave a pained grimace to the others.

"Uh oh," Eros taunted, the god of love leaning back and tossing blond banana curls over a wide set shoulder. "Someone pissed off his Tiny and Aggravating." Rolling his eyes, Trieze snuffed out the clove cigarette he had been working and rubbed over the golden band digging harshly into his arm. Though normal bands didn't bother him, this one had 8 spikes that pierced through flesh and muscle to rub the bone directly with every twitch the wearer made. It was the way Hades demanded his minions show loyalty—by proving their ever present desire to suffer for their lord. For those who would live in pain would surely die in victory. Right?

"When isn't he pissed off at something?" Trieze murmured, tossing back a few stray strands from his eyes. "I'll see you all later. Eros…take my winnings. You'll need them," he remarked with a cool smile. Eros smirked, Psyche leaning her head on his arm as he gave a little chuckle. It was true…Eros was a bit of a compulsive gambler, after all. And he never really was in the habit of winning.

Giving one last, reluctant look around Sanctuary, the earth realm club he and others of his kind would normally come to just to avoid the gods when they had a chance, he gave a sad little grumble. Why couldn't he ever go a day without hearing his name shouted by a boy with short man syndrome and, what he was starting to predict, was a male's version of menopause? Jesus Christ…

"TRIEZE!" Another yell, this time louder, shaking the walls of the room located on the mortal plain…damn, he seemed pissed this time. Waving his hand, he quickly banished himself from the private room of the club, appearing, as was custom, outside of Hades study so he may be able to make a proper entrance.

Quickly, he pushed open the door, fist going over his heart and body dropping down to a kneeling position of complete submission before his lord. Head bowing, he closed his eyes and clenched the muscles in his upper arm to drive them in deeper. It was a symbolic gesture that he had gotten used to over the ages. Eyes closing, he took a deep and calming breath.

"My lord, you have summoned me," he half stated, half questioned in a servile tone. Hades huffed, standing above him with his chin held high, flame blue hair flickering around his cheeks and twisting with life down his back as he glared with matching eyes. Standing only 5'5 with a whipcord body and a personality of a flamboyant gay man, Hades was not just a man to be reckoned with. He was a spoiled rich Princess…at least, that's what people called him when he wasn't listening. Sandal tapping the ground, he pulled back pale lips to snarl at the general.

"It took you long enough," he hissed in disapproval. Trieze resisted the urge to sigh at the apparent hissy fit his lord was once again throwing, eyes slightly slitting open to survey what he could of the room without being caught. Vases were shattered on the ground, scattered randomly across the onyx flooring. Narcissus flowers were ripped apart, and clothing lay ragged and tossed in piles. In the corner, a small pup of Cerebus sat, all three heads buried under a discarded toga, the foot long beast fearful of its master's spoiled wrath.

"Forgive me, my lord," he replied, never daring to rise. A familiar, condescending chuckle echoed through the room. Lucifer. The one person who had ever been able to claim and control the spoiled ruler of the Greek Underworld. Over 8 feet tall, the white haired man was a site to behold. Skin burnt black after his fall from Jehovah's realm and his adaptation to his new kingdom, he was a fearful but attractive beast. Ice blue eyes, the color of arctic water, were freezing yet warm at the same time, his large body so perfectly sculpted it would have made even DaVinci blush and cry from the glory of it.

Huge, white wings were always drawn in to look like bleached tattoos across the back of his ebon body—such as what Zechs had. Except Lucifer's wings, upon closer inspection, were clearly like the fur of a polar bear. Clear. Hollow. Capable of great strength and perseverance of the coldest and hottest of temperatures. Small spots near the base of his wings were where only a few sensitive, regular feathers were located, stained black from his betrayal of the lord. But the rest were left to glow in the beautiful, snowy light that gave him his title of the North Star. Still the most beautiful of all the angels made.

He was a man that Trieze admired and adored all at once. Someone he wished he could serve. Dominating and powerful, he was what Trieze, since he had first met him, had modeled his personality to be like. The person he had tried to imitate when he went to Earth to lead Oz. A man who rose from nothing, to god.

Someone who was free. Blessedly free.

"You have to understand, Little Mislead," Lucifer stated, referring to Trieze in a name the General never could understand. "Hades is in one of his moods. A few pieces of his potential collection seem to be sliding out of his reach again." A loud smack resounded as Hades hand made contact with Lucifer's cheek at the same moment Lucifer's hand made contact with Hades…lower cheeks. More laughter rang out as the white haired ruler rose to his feet, towering over the tinier god with a look of cruel mirth in his eyes.

Hades was an avid collector of the beautiful. From Persephone and on, he demanded sacrifices and received such of gold, silver, carvings, and the most stunning of all creations. Man, woman, child, sentient, living, and dead, he possessed what other gods could only dream. His riches were the tears and pain of the living, and his joy was that of other's sorrow. It wasn't uncommon for him to dispatch Trieze or others of his forces—only few of whom he ever let leave his realm, for he was a selfish god who wanted nothing to ever escape him—to retrieve another beautiful subject for his harem.

"It's the two that bastard Death stole!" Hades cried out in his rage, foot stomping down as he spun to face Trieze. Still, the general did not rise, remaining as he was, muscles still clenched and head still down. "He took them from me once, and now he's going to try and take them from me again," he continued to rail, smacking another vase of Narcissus flowers from a table.

"Oh, honestly, how did he do that? He's been returned to Mneme to be her little sex toy again for what, month now? He hasn't even existed to them for over six months!" Lucifer sighed, sliding back down gracefully onto his seat. Hades hissed his disapproval.

"They remember him…how can I convince them to come with me if they remember him?" he snapped. Trieze's interest perked. Did this mean there was hope for Democritus yet? "I was supposed to get them this time!"

"And you would have, too, if it weren't for those meddling kids and their stupid dog," Lucifer replied with disinterested wave of his hand and a budding yawn. Hades literally bristled, blue hair lifting around him like a wet cat on steroids, lips pulling back in a snarl.

"Mind your own business!" he screeched, quickly turning on heel to once again face Trieze. "Stand up, boy! Don't just sit there like a worthless dog!" Quickly, Trieze rose, lifting his gaze to his Master's with as much respect as he could muster. People like Hades drove him mad, and he wasn't sure why Lucifer tolerated him when the man had the power to wipe them all out. But Trieze was sure there was some great reasoning behind it. After all…Lucifer never did anything without a reason. Kind of like Jehovah. Only…more confusing, and normally much more amusing.

"I have a task for you," Hades continued, eyes lifting to him. "I want you to trap them as I trapped Persephone." Trieze quirked an eyebrow, mirroring Lucifer's movement, both staring blankly.

"You want him to give them a pomegranate?" Lucifer deadpanned. "I doubt they'll eat it on the full moon like they're supposed to…honestly. What's he going to do? Walk up and force it down their throats?" Another hiss as Hades turned a ruffled, rage filled glare to his lover.

"Do you ever shut up?" he demanded.

"Not really," Lucifer replied. Hades swung out to smack Lucifer again, only to have his wrist captured as another mirthful laugh lilted through the air, clashing with Hades rage filled growl. Idly, Trieze remembered days when his god was considered noble and calm, capable of handling anything with a cool head. Watching as Lucifer held the struggling Hades at bay, his eyes were locked on the swaying of the white strands, falling like a waterfall across dark skin. Ah, what sex could do to the mind.

Speaking of sex…an image of a naked Zechs seemed to lift into his head as his eyes raked over Lucifer's familiar white main, the same color and length of the angel's….

Quickly, he shook the image from his mind, turning his gaze back to his lord just as Hades ripped back, done but defeated, from the larger man. But not before Trieze noticed Lucifer's knowing grin in his direction. Did Lucifer catch that? Had Trieze not hidden his thoughts well enough?

"Democritus was enslaved because he took my sacrifices from me, and took their place so they wouldn't have to suffer," Hades stated with a huff, trying to gather his composure and interrupting Trieze's nervous thoughts. A calmness slowly started to sleep into Hades demeanor, leaving it clear that he had thought out his plan and he knew what he was doing. This was the Hades he remembered. This was the Hades he feared. "Now…he is to become free, leaving his two lovers he's fought so hard to protect as fair play once again." Trieze felt a touch of cold trail down his spine at the realization. He was right. Heero and Wufei were back on the playing field, just waiting to be taken into the chains they had escaped millennia's ago due to Duo's love for them. They would still be separated, even if Death were freed. Because either way…someone was going to be Hades torture toy. And if Duo couldn't do it…

This wasn't right.

"By the next full moon, Democritus should be in the process of his release," Hades continued, a slow, self satisfied smile forming on his lips. "What I want you to do is prepare them to come to me. Peel the skin from thirteen seeds of a pomegranate on that night, and slide the pulp and juice into a glass of red wine. They must drink it together at exactly midnight, and in your presence, for the binding to work. That way, when Democritus is freed, they will immediately be pulled into my realm…ready to be trained. Do you understand?" Trieze wanted to scream. This wasn't right. This wasn't right. He knew what it was like to be kept so close but so far from the one you loved. To have the person your heart ached for within arms reach but never be able to touch them. To have Duo's sacrifice be played down to nothing, all because a spoiled god refused to let go of an ancient grudge?

Could he bring himself to hurt Wufei, the boy he respected so, in such a way? To do to them what he every day railed against the gods for doing to him and Zechs?

Swallowing hard, Trieze gave a slow, but obedient nod.

Did he have a choice?

"As you wish, my lord."

All right, now I know this one is early, but what can I say? I couldn't help it! The part where I had written it down with pen and paper actually ended after Heero called Quatre and Trowa, so I'm truely just making this up as I go now. I hope you enjoy!

Oh, and thank you to everyone for reviewing the last chapter. I do hope you continue to enjoy as I post! I'm really starting to get back into the swing of this story again! -Sarin