Sorry this took so long, everyone. I just moved out of state, from Las Vegas to Kansas, and have been trying really hard to get settled. Also, I have to admit, there was a while there where I had no fracking clue how to end this. Well, the other night after reading "To Tame a Highland Warrior" I was struck by a very, very stunning image for this story, and suddenly, my writers block crumbled and here it is.

I apologize to everyone, and even as I publish this, I'm working on putting the next few chapters from my writing notebook onto my computer. Now that I actually think I know how this will end, and actually have time to get it TO that end, I'm hoping the updates should start again! THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who waited! And without further ado...on with the story!

Chapter 14
Gods Can Bleed

Mneme slid her hands adoringly over the liquid mercury, fingertips tracing small circles along the flushed lines of her cheeks in the clear reflection offered. After feeding, she was always baffled by her own beauty. The rosy complexion of her face, the smooth, cool, milky paleness of her own body. It contrasted with the striking blush that she only produced in reaction to the blood and pain of her pet. And it was perfection. Aphrodite could claim to be the goddess of love and the most beautiful of women created, but Mneme knew the truth. There was neither man nor beast alive that could compare to her own radiance once she drank from the well that was Democritus' agony.

Once she cast aside the cursed, frigid coldness Zeus had given her and taken Death's heat for her own. He had so much passion and life to give…so much emotion and so much warmth. The ice that seemed to surround Mneme's heart was lit ablaze with every ounce of pain she gave him, and it made her feel high on the intensity and depth of Duo's feelings. Senses and sensations she was cursed to forever live without, experiencing vicariously through the touch of the memories she was surrounded with had for so long seemed out of reach. But not anymore. Not now that she had Democritus. Not now that she could drain his memories and emotions and take them for herself. Through Death, she found life. And she was addicted.

A slow smile lit the corners of crimson lips. Never would she let Democritus go. Not now that she knew the true value and exhilaration of feeling. Not know that she had a taste of love, hate, and everything else that came with being human. A soft sigh lilted from her, filled with content as it drifted to the mists of memories. Behind her, the soft blood filled gurgling of her pet provided a sort of ambiance to her giddy and vain ponderings. People believed that gods couldn't bleed. How wrong they were, she thought with a smile.

As her fingers slipped down to trace another worshipping path across her reflection, the image beneath them wavered. Brows furrowing, she jerked her hand away and watched with consternation as the traitorous viewing pool brought up a scene without her command. She attempted to change it back, ordering it with her powers to return to just showing her face, but like a determined child it continued, easily out maneuvering her. Normally, she would feel rage at this point. But something told her to watch. And as she did, the slow outline appeared of Solorick, AKA, Solo…Loki's high priest.

Giving a huff, she crossed her arms in a manner resembling a five-year-old. Her delicate slipper clad foot gave a not so delicate stomp to the ground as she grimaced.

"What manner of trickery is this?" she demanded, bottom lip pressing out in distaste. A warm breeze in the chilled wind brushed across her shoulder, forcing the mist to retract from her as if fearful of the coming heat. Slowly, a form took shape as a being solidified by her side.

Red and black hair like tones of partially cooled lava whipped with life around the pale white face of the god. Eyes to match the moving tendrils seemed to flow with their roiling heat, lined with thick black coal that caused them stand in even starker contrast to the marble that was his face. Onyx lips were drawn back in a style more becoming of an angry dog than a 6'5 deity. But Mneme knew the frightening expression for what it really was—an attempt at a smile.

Long claws tapping across the pale skin of his arms, Loki took a slow step to stand by the goddess's side, dark leather pants creaking slightly as he moved.

"What are you looking at?" he slithered, forked tongue touching across cruelly sharpened canines as he spoke. Mneme shuddered as the utter heat of him, seeming to channel the flames of the Hell Loki was normally cursed to, piercing through her frozen flesh to bite her bones.

"What manner of foolery is this, Loki?" she snapped angrily, her voice standing in stark contradiction the apprehension the old Norse god always made her feel. Slowly, his magnum eyes lifted from the now steaming mercury to bore their scorching stare into hers. Hate rose, mingled with a touch of awe as she stood a helpless captive of those orbs. What would she give to be so powerful? Why Loki was never more outward with his abilities—more flamboyant or controlling, she would never know.

"Because irony needs not a loud voice, and cruelty is more potent when whispered," he purred softly, his smile transforming into something seductive as he read the questions posed at back of her mind. She resisted the urge growl at his arrogance. How she hated when this man did things like that.

"Well, Mr. Psychic," she replied sarcastically, forcing her gaze away to stare back down to the viewing pool. Looking at Solo, the liquid, the rim of the bowl. Looking at anything but those eyes. "Mind explaining to me why your high priest's image is in my mirror?" she snapped.

"It's your mirror," he smirked. "I would imagine…"

"I didn't do it and you know it!" she suddenly screeched. Her voice echoed off the walls, a blitz of small particles stylized like crystals erupting into the air as she bristled. The fading echoes were answered by the clunking of chains and a terrified whimper from the momentarily forgotten pet. Loki let out a hiss. Leaning back on his heels, he gazed towards the room the boy lay in, studying the bloodied, shivering form through a crack in the curtains.

The once proud, rambunctious Death lay tangled in the mass of his own hair, caked with the dark red liquid that was drying around his body and covered him so fully he was nearly unrecognizable. A sick grin licked Loki's features. He felt a touch of sympathy for the boy, but it was a fleeting feeling, and nothing showed through to the woman who stood before him.

Black, soulless, desperate eyes lifted to stare blankly out at him through Death's chestnut mane as he stared out to the tall god. Pink lips parted as if to beg for help as tears streaked visible paths down mottled and bruised cheeks, but no cry emerged. The only noise that escaped was the sound of blood bubbling in his throat.

Loki moved back to block the image out. The nail marks, embedded like stab wounds in his chest. The lash marks, baring ribs to air….

"Your harsh treatment never fails to impress me," he stated dryly, disguising easily his distaste behind his disinterest. Laughter tinkled like bells as Mneme fanned herself, apparently finding the statement flattering. Tugging on the violet crystal that contained the Death's soul around her neck, the batted her eyelashes.

"Oh, come now, Loki. Stop dwindling," she giggled. Loki resisted the urge to snarl. What was it with women?

"You see, I brought that up for a reason," he murmured cockily, quickly getting on with the point so he could return home to his wife. Motioning to the viewing pool, he gave a lazy yawn. "I figured you could use a warning…" Mneme paused in the dramatics, the prized pink color draining from her face as fear flooded her.

"Warning?" she squeaked, then coughed. "Warning?" she tried again, this time more in control of her voice as she silently cursed herself for being unable to better hide her emotions.

"I fear your pet may soon need to leave. My priest has been rather…nosy…"

Turning her eyes down, she watched, terror melting into rage as the three pilots slowly approached the "therapist's" front door. Inside sat a silent Wufei with Solo, and before them were scattered papers filled with notes about the forgotten pilot of the 02 Gundam…

In the other room, Duo listened to the conversation, barely able to make out the words through the ringing in his ears from his head wounds. All he could do was hope that Loki's appearance may stand as a sign. A sign that maybe Chris had succeeded. Or maybe he had failed. Maybe he was finally going to be put to death…? Yes…death…all he wanted now was for a swift end to stop the pain. Something to make him stop existing.

He knew he should be fighting to stay strong, to get free, but this time had been different. She had done things to him, been crueler to him, than he had known was possible, and he could no longer bring himself to care about his own escape. Now he just craved a way to make it stop. A way to never wake up…

A way for the pain to end….

oOoOo

Space stretched. The world fell and ripped apart as three dimensions turned to four, molecules gathering and forming where none had been before. Breaking all laws of physics, atoms popped into existence as mass was created from the empty, hollow plains of space, capturing the writhing spirit in it's torrent and forcing it into the prison of a physical form. A scream wrenched through the growing hurricane of particles, sucked up in a place where noise had no meaning. Skin stretched across materializing bone. Sweat beaded from freshly made glands. Sensations of pain, chills, and heat licked across freshly made nerves as muscle formed around it. When the chaos of creation became too much for the entirely too conscious being it was centered on, he thought he would explode. Pressure formed in his head as the demonic power lurched and sizzled inside of the skull of a body meant only for beings without the abilities to transcend the realms of god and men. It threatened to make him erupt. To shatter or break him.

Wind whipped around the helpless form as the stretching of existence seemed to suddenly compress, carrying with it the howling of muted sound and senses that only humans possessed. Cursing at the entrapment once again of his normally powerful form, he tried to will himself into the wind, but found it impossible. He was stuck inside a body of flesh and blood. Stuck inside his bones.

And then everything stopped.

Trieze Kushrenada lifted tired eyes as the weight of his physical body hit him like a god bolt to the chest. Groaning in pain, he struggled to move his limbs, but was greeted instead by a stinging pain. Every atom seemed to protest at their new arrangement, sending electrical volts shooting through him as they attempted to break apart and send his Earthly form scattering. Gritting his teeth, he felt his mutinous body twitch, causing even more tremors of torment to resonate through out him. This was why all creations started with a single cell. Because of the inevitable, volatile, and always excruciating reaction that came when the body was crammed together. Grown particles sparked with energy as they fought to pull away, but made even worse was the even more overwhelming force of the conscious mind that joined it. It was the cruelest of punishments, but Hades had no mind for mercy, even unto his servants. If they loved him enough, they would gladly suffer for him…

…right?

His head reeling from sensory overload—the sense of smell, taste, touch…everything that came with being a human and lost to a higher being—he tried to take slow gulps of air to stop the panging and provide some type of relief to his roiling stomach. Had he anything throw up, he probably would have by now, and he thanked Lucifer for small favors. What an irony it would have been to be recreated, and die by drowning in his own vomit…after all, even if that blasted Nataku Gundam had been standing over him at that moment, he doubted he could have moved to even make an obscene gesture towards it, much less be able to roll over to stop himself from choking.

He resisted the urge to curse Hades, knowing such an effort would not only increase his nausea, but probably piss off the god even more. After all, he had already banished him to this cursed form so Trieze would be unable to return until his job of capturing the two ex pilots was complete. Which made no sense to the general. Wouldn't he be able to better function and threaten if he were able to show just what he was, and frighten the two into submission? But Trieze had not questioned. For it wasn't Hades idea, but Lucifer's. And because the god he so admired had been the one to say it should be so, Trieze had gone along, trusting the King of Lies more than he trusted his own master. He let out a shaky sigh. Maybe after this experience, he would begin to doubt even the fallen angel's judgment.

'Are you all right, Mislead?' came the low, sonorous voice of Lucifer, murmured like a lovers whisper through his head.

"I hurt." He wasn't sure if the words were only a thought or if he managed to groan them through the rising stomach acid in his throat. It didn't matter. Lucifer heard them either way.

'I know,' Lucifer whispered softly, voice filled with a fatherly understanding that warmed the general beyond explanation. "But trust me, my tragedy, it will stop hurting soon. Everything will stop hurting soon…." Trieze winced as he peered through the fog in his vision, body running cold at the words. No physical sign of Lucifer could be seen. Then again, he couldn't see anything clearly at the moment. Just hazy blurs of green and brown earth at the side of his head with jutting gray structures that seemed to match the sky above.

"Where am I?" he murmured, this time aloud. His tongue was thick and swollen, and the coppery taste of blood stunned him. Experimentally, he ran licked across the roof of his mouth and lips, but was unable to locate the source.

'On your grave, of course,' came the silken reply, filled with amusement. As if he should have known…Trieze grunted as one elegant brow quirked. He forced his vision to clear, straining to see his surroundings more closely.

"Why?" he half demanded, half rasped as the tombstone slowly took shape before his eyes.

'Because this is where your princess prayed to find you….'

"Who is that?" The familiar voice of the child crashed through him, bringing every fiber of his being to stark alert as his heart skipped a beat in pain. Struggling for control of his limbs, he tried to force his body to roll, to get a good look at the source of such an angelic noise, but was unsuccessful in even making a finger twitch.

"Mary," an older woman hissed, "Stay back!" Could it be? Was it really his princess? His daughter?

Heavy boots crunched across the fallen leaves as Lady Une made her way to the man collapsed back on Trieze's grave. His head lolled as sandy blond hair skewed his features, but it didn't matter. Rage filled her and she pondered sinking her military issue, steel toed boots into those muscular hips until they broke. How dare a drunk pass out in a graveyard, much less on the General's grave! Adding insult to injury was not just the fact that the man was stark naked, but that it happened to be on Trieze's on birthday, which made Une's mood that much more sour. Grinding her teeth, she looked back to make sure Mariemaia didn't have to see her father's resting place so desecrated. Assured the girls eyes were still covered by her own small hands, she moved to stand above the bastard…

…only to stop dead when she saw the trademark rose tattoo over his heart, pierced through by the double bowed bow and arrow…and that strange golden arm band that he never once removed….

Blood running cold, she moved to straddle the shaking, gasping frame, feet planted on either side of his exposed abdomen. She dropped to one knee and was struck immediately by the heat emanating from his flesh, especially on the overall damp and chilled day. Roughly, she grasped at his face, pulling it up to gaze at him through the mess of golden hair.

Realty crumbled.

"Don't touch me!" he growled out violently, body twitching and convulsing as he resisted the urge to scream. The touch on his sensitive skin, still not fully stable in its creation, felt as if it would shatter his brittle bones. Even the brush of her long hair across his cheeks felt like the sharpest of knives serrating into his skin. But Lady Une apparently couldn't resist her own startled outburst, and her shriek added to the already blinding pressure in his head.

Une leapt back, flying off of him and stumbling backwards, skittering across the ground as she tried to squelch the cry. Deep amber eyes glared as he writhed in pain, struggling to move.

"That didn't help, Lady," he growled out, panting as his hands finally seemed to listen to him, coming up to clutch at his ears and block out some of the noise.

"Daddy…" Mary whispered in shock. Une snapped out of her daze, quickly pulling off her jacket to throw it over the general's more private areas. He hissed, as if the fabric too seemed to hurt to the touch, but Une wouldn't relent. Better he hurt than Mary have any image of that emblazoned on her memory.

"Trieze, is that really you?" Une asked. Familiar eyes slowly turned to delve into her as an equally unforgettable smile twitched the corner of dry, full lips.

"Lady Une…do you doubt the impossible?" Albeit pained, that voice was smooth and confident as ever, removing all questions in her mind as to who it was. But how? How could it be possible? He was dead…

Even in the back of her mind the lingering, haunting voice whispered as it had so many times "They never found his body…" But why now? Where had he been? What had he been doing? What about during the time his own daughter had tried to follow his lead? What had stopped him from appearing then? Why now? And why…why naked? She was consumed by the barrage of demands, and could only watch helplessly as he struggled to sit up, shaking in what appeared to be pain. A slight whimper touched his lips as he dragged the coat up to cover himself more fully. He blinked heavily, clarity slowly gracing him.

'Why naked?' he mentally demanded of Lucifer. 'Couldn't you have at least given me some underwear? Boxers? Tighty-wighties? For the love of god, even a jockstrap or something?'

'Now Trieze…honestly. We all know how good that butt of yours looks in a jockstrap, and while I will keep that in mind for the next time, it's so much more fun this way! And I really love seeing that uptight little Une of yours blush every time she sees how well endowed you are...'

Trieze resisted the urge to hiss, fisting the jacket tighter over his groin. He felt suddenly bashful by the blunt wording, and tried to will himself into a pair of pants. Of course, it didn't work. He was helpless as a human….

'For starters, there will be no next time. And beyond that, you're a dickhead,' he replied hatefully, the only sign of the internal argument with the pitch black god the scowl that formed on his lips.

'Why, thank you…I do try…'

"Lady, how about we find some clothes so I don't feel like a pedophile when I hug my daughter," he suggested, trying to take back control of his mind and the situation. Une just continued to stare, white as a ghost. "And you, Ms. Mary…." Turning his gaze to his daughter, he felt his heart break at the sight of the tears streaking her cheeks as she clutched the wheels of her chair in a death grip. He had planned to wait until properly clad to show any too forward signs of affection, but the sight of her grief made those plans crumble. "Come here," he ordered gruffly, voice thick and nearly breaking with the weight of his own emotions. Timidly she advanced, watching untrustingly as she moved to side. She assessed him a moment, taking in the ragged look of his features and the twigs tangled in his hair from sitting on the ground. She drew in a shaky breath, then suddenly launched herself from the chair and into his open and waiting arms. They tumbled back together in a hug.

Keeping one hand gripped tightly on the coat, he gathered his daughter against him, holding her desperately to his chest. Shoulders shaking with sobs, she clung to him as if afraid he may disappear once again. And he would…she just didn't need to know how brief his time was here. For some reason, Lucifer had decided he should see her, had given him this chance to hold his beloved princess in his arms. The one gift he had craved more than to once again be with Zechs. And he would not squander this chance. His time was limited until the next full moon. And he would fill that time with as many memories of his daughter as he could. Swallowing back his own tears, he tightened his grip on her, and gave silent thanks for small blessings.

He wished he could do more for her. Tell her the truth of his life and her creation. Show her that she wasn't a forgotten child by her mother, but instead a cherished being that Zechs never knew he helped to make. How many times had he banished the impossible dream of having a home with Zechs and their daughter, away from the bloodshed and slavery that was his eternal life? He had created her, from their essence, in the sea of birth, and granted her all the blessings he could give. He had done it in an act of fading hope, taking all that was good from him and his love and forming one being. No one knew but he and Lucifer of the truth of her birth. No one knew it was one desperate attempt to create a balanced, free being who would transcend the earthly realm and become something more. His last attempt to hold onto a life he could never keep. The only good thing he could ever hope to do in a life of ruthless murder his master forced him to lead.

How many times had he wished to have just one day spent with her and Zechs in peace?

But those desires were impossible. Wasted energy spent on things that could never come about. Even now, the metal spikes scraping his now human bones in the arm band reminded him of his eternal captivity. So long as he wore it, his life would never be his. And he had no right to dream of peace when it wasn't even his life to dream about.

He was created a slave, and he would die a slave. His one gift he could give his daughter was the gift of freedom. The less she knew about her father's damnation, the better.

Pulling away, he stroked his hand over her wet cheek and realized he too had begun to cry. A sad laugh came from his lips as he pressed their foreheads together.

'Why, Lucifer? Why did you make her see…she's already lost me once. This is cruel,' he stated hopelessly, staring into her loving eyes.

'Because, every child has a right to hear "I love you" one last time, Mislead. To know their father is not disgraced by them…' The pain in Lucifer's voice was the type born solely from experience, and Trieze was tempted to pursue it. But instead, he just pulled his daughter back against him and cradled her to his shivering form in a possessive hold, despite the still shooting ache such contact sent through him.

"I love you," he whispered fiercely into her hair. "And I am so, so, so incredibly proud of you, Princess. So proud…"

Une watched as Trieze and Mary rocked back and forth in each others arms, the man whispering assurances to Mariemaia that the girl had wanted to hear from him for years. She would make demands later, she told herself. Even as something in her screamed that was useless.

Somewhere in her, she knew there would be no later….

oOoOo

Lucifer closed his eyes against the pain that filled his chest, fisting his hand against the window of his chambers which he used to view the mortal realm.

"You have no right, Hades," he hissed past the growing lump in his throat. Black skin rippled as he took in a sharp and shaky breath, knees feeling weak. Hate made his muscles twitch as he thought of the arrogant blue bastard who caused this all to happen. Lifting sky colored orbs to the glass, he conjured the image of the white haired Zechs and splayed his fingers over the projection as if he could somehow reach through and touch that precious face.

"I swear to you, Gabriel…I will make this right. For our grandson, I will make this all right…"

Yes, yes, yes...it's long. Hope you all don't mind. I just had so much to fit into here :-)

Please comment! I haven't written anything since "His Eyes" mini fic for Cantarella, and even that sucked : lol