Introduction

Sometime near the end of the 10th Century, a wealthy gentleman, whose name is now lost to history and need not concern the readers, abandoned house and fortune for the love of a wild eyed country girl. His family, the owners of vast lands from the east, disinherited him. But with the aid of providence and the support of the country girl's family he was able to establish the Passing Goose, a cross-roads tavern in the outskirts of the town.

The east was expanding by the close of the 10th Century, and business boomed for the Passing Goose with all of the pilgrims and travellers crossing into the thriving western towns. The tavern had good fame for hearty spirits, succulent venison and partridge, and a graceful, wild eyed hostess. It soon came to be that a visit to any town, be it east or west, was not complete without a visit to the Passing Goose. And the disinherited gentleman was very happy, and never thought of dark things.

When the 11th Century dawned, though, the gentleman's wild eyed wife died, the victim of a senseless brawl at the tavern. The entire town mourned her passing, and news of her death circled for days. A few pilgrims stopped by the Passing Goose to leave flowers beneath the wall that still bore the stain of the beautiful wife's blood, spreading outwards as if in the shape of a rose.

But as the months drew on, fewer people stopped by, and the tavern fell on hard times. The disinherited gentleman strove his hardest to salvage his business, but following the death of his wife, he had succumbed to heavy drinking. He would engage in long bouts that would leave him unable to walk and limp and useless in the arms of the dockside prostitutes he frequented.

He had been returning home one dark night, drunk and listless, when he toppled off from the old town bridge. Bundled in heavy winter coats, his splash had been a muted, easily dismissed affair. Too drunk to move his arms or swim, he had gone under quickly, his moans buried in the ice and slush. His body, frozen and stiff, had dawned by the sewage rails, covered by refuse and stripped of all valuable possessions by street urchins. Naked and heavy, they had pulled him up from the water, to be buried at the town church the next day.

Existing records mark his burial date as January 6th, 1018, and his burial place as the Convent of the Sisters of Our Lady of the Sacred Veil.
 
 

January 6th, 1028 11.27 PM

It was a cold night, the snow lying packed and undisturbed by the roadsides, colouring the landscape a shimmering, blinding white. Piercing winds blew in from the north, biting at the skin, numbing the senses. A preternatural silence hung in the air, cutting to the bone with its uneasy stillness. Nobody in his right mind would be walking outside in such weather. Nevertheless, there was.

With a curse, rising from his throat like a growl, he tried to wrap his miserable cloak about him. The winds found their way through every crack nonetheless, chilling him. He stopped in the road for a moment, hugging his shoulders, doubling over as a fit of violent shivering overtook him. He tried to curse again, but he couldn't work out the words. His lips stung, and he knew they must be cracked. He had to find some shelter soon, or he'd freeze to death.

Darting a wearied look to the side, he felt sharp pangs of hope warm his heart. There, standing by the far side of the road, lay a ramshackle house. Its windows were boarded up crudely, most of the glass panes having shattered over time. The door had been bent in, allowing him easy entry. He could see the splinters had been capped off and around by thick icicles. But a shelter was a shelter, no matter how dilapidated. Murmuring a prayer of thanks to his saint, he trudged towards it, hoping that he could find some loose boards to build a fire with.

As he stepped through the door, he fumbled through his coat pockets for his box of matches. His hands shook uncontrollably as he tried to light one, and it seemed as if he would never get the flame going. Disgusted, he threw away his third damaged match and pulled out a new one. He was about to drag it over the ignition strip when he heard a sound, he could not tell from where, rise up in his ears. It was like a low growl, but no animal he knew of made such a sound. It sent shivers up his back, causing him to drop his box of matches. Taking a few steps backwards, he darted hurried looks into the corners of the room. Thick darkness met his gaze, thick and intangible, rising up almost palpably before his eyes.

OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod

The growling came again, above him, answered by the groan of the rafters. The skittering of many fingernails rushing over wood flooded the silence for a minute, seeming to flutter across his temples and lodge at his heart. Pressing his back against the wall, groping for the door, he prayed they were only rats, nothing but rats. With a choked cry of relief, his hand alighted on the cold, metal handle of the door. He wrapped his fingers around it.

A shiver ran through him, as if someone had dropped cold water down his back. The handle shouldn't be so warm, not so firm and pulsing with life. A scream rose in his throat, but he never had a chance to utter it before he felt the raking of claws, thin and cruel, race across his stomach. He heard, more than felt, his thick blood spatter into the wall and the sleeve of his coat. Red needles of pain shot into his brain, a sickening pulse lodging into his throat.

Through a haze of pain, he looked up into two bright yellow orbs, which narrowed in cruel pleasure. He would have screamed again, but the pain in his stomach would not let him. He watched, helpless, as the two orbs roved over him, the claws digging into his stomach tightening as he was lifted off the ground. In his pulsating pain, he could not tell whether he had been moved from his place, or simply lifted for inspection. All his thoughts scattered in white flashes rising from his belly. The room seemed to be spinning around him. He could feel something moving inside of him, flicking over his bloody, gored organs, then climbing upwards into his rib cage. He heard tearing sounds, followed by sharp rushes of pain, then the sickening sound of jaws chewing. The next moment, there was a heavy pressure on his chest, and the ground was rushing up to meet him.

He lay there for what seemed like the longest time, crumpled, broken, and bleeding. He felt felt the rush of a whistling wind come from above him, and in the next instance somebody, or something, was standing beside him, poking at him with its foot. whatever it was wore boots. He heard himself groan, the sound accompanied by a low laugh, which rose higher and higher till it made the rafters ring. It was not a human laugh, but high-pitched and feral in quality, freezing his blood. Panic, a helpless, maddening panic, was rising in his throat, choking his heart.

He heard a faint whisper of rustling fabric, and then there was a breath at his ears, causing him to shudder. He tried to pull away, but found that he could not. The pain it caused was too great. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling as the breath slowly became lips, then a voice, low and mocking, whispering to him.

"You're frozen stiff, man. Your stomach has been the worst thing I've eaten in some time."

The words scarcely died away in his ears before he felt himself being lifted. His lucidity was beginning to abandon him, and could no longer make out anything around him, only movement, as if he were the pivotal point in a spinning world. He could feel nothing, see nothing. He knew he was dying, but the shock of how he had met his death took any fear he would have had away from him. He spared one, fleeting thought to the thing that had killed him, wondering what it was, where it had come from. He had a vague notion of some sort of commotion going on in the northern regions. People spoke about an Azel and a Rauresu, but he had never paid much attention. Maybe he should have. But maybe it wouldn't have mattered.

"You're a lot cuter than I expected," came the voice again. But it died away quickly, his senses closing faster than he could realize, till he was enveloped in darkness. In soothing, forgiving darkness.
 
 

3.12 AM

The fire was beginning to die out, the few, worm eaten pieces of wood he had fed into it cracking and smouldering. With a sigh of disgust, he poked at it with a stick, stirring up a few, weakling flames that died down as quickly as they sprang to life. With a curse, he abandoned the miserable fire to itself, rising to go to the door. Outside, darkness still enveloped the land, the stillness of the undisturbed snow making it seem as if he stood at the mouth of some strange desert, where the sands were white and glittered in a feeble attempt at echoing the night stars.

He looked up at those stars now, his thoughts drifting over a million inane ideas. Stars are stupid. Stars are pretty. I did not think that. Stupid balls of gas. He shook his head, trying to clear it of his ridiculous thoughts. Stiffling down a yawn, he leaned back against the dilapidated posts of the door. His stomach hurt. It was empty save for the frozen entrails of that man he had attacked earlier, and they had left a vile taste in his mouth. He spat at the snow, drawing his hand over his mouth afterwards. He knew there was no other food to be found in this place. Everything was either burrowing underground, or freezing to death, and therefore inedible. He liked his meat raw, and he wasn't about to cook it just to warm up the hide.

He was about to give in to his desire to yawn when he heard a groan come from inside the house. A grin spread across his lips, and he pushed himself away from the doorway, walking to where the sounds came from. He squatted down and reached out to pat the man's head.

"About time."

He saw the man start up and try to move away from him, only to double over in pain and grasp at his stomach. His misery was evident in every line of his body, but soon, as soon as the man realized that he was moving, actually alive, and touching what appeared to be bandages, surprise began to register in his eyes. A disconcerted surprise, one that could not grasp anything, and was probably not even trying to. Leaning back against the wall, the thing that had attacked him grinned to itself, delighting in the man's actions as he looked first at himself, then at his surroundings, and, finally, in its direction.

The man tried to move his lips, striving to form words. The thing watching him allowed him to muddle at it for a couple of minutes before it bared its teeth at it, noting with satisfaction as the man shrank back, trembling. He seemed about to cry, and his companion snorted.

"Ke. You're not gonna start crying on me, are ya? And shut that mouth of yours, something'll crawl in, fester in there, and you'll die."

The man wrapped his arms tightly around his stomach, shivering as he watched the creature with a mixture of terror and curiosity. It looked like a man, just like any other man. But this man had pointed ears, which he reached up to scratch at, much like a dog would, with one curved, clawed hand. His other hand, the left one, seemed to be perfectly human, but his eyes were none a human would have, and his teeth were much too sharp, fangs showing when he grinned. This seemingly half-beast man was watching him quietly, and it seemed to the man that he too was curious.

"W-what do you want f-from me...?"

His companion snorted again, picking at its teeth with a fingernail from its right hand. The man swallowed and repeated his question, this time more clearly. The beast across from him did not seem intent on hurting him, its body was too relaxed. Besides, hadn't it said he did not taste good? Perhaps he had a chance to escape from his nightmare situation. He was certainly trying his chance.

"I'm not gonna do anything with you," the beast said, eyes closed in annoyance as it tried to pick out a piece of meat stuck between its lower canines. Its, no his, eyes fluttered open, and he smiled at the man cowering away from him.

"But you might do something for me. If you want to live, my friend."

The man set his lips in a thin line, believing he had found his chance with this beast. He tried to hold its eyes, praying to God, His Holy Mother, the Angels, and every saint he knew of that none of the paralysing fear he felt showed in his eyes. He supposed God had chosen to be particularly benevolent with him that night, because the thing seemed satisfied with what he saw in his eyes.

"What do you want?" he asked. "I'll do anything. Just don't kill me."

The beast man grinned, spitting at the ashes of the dead fire at his right. "I already said I wasn't going to hurt you, little man. Now listen."

Leaning towards him, the beast put its hands over the man's shoulders, drawing him close in a conspirational whisper. The man tried not to shudder or pull away, sitting rock still under the thing's pungent aroma of flesh and frost. It placed its clawed hand over his neck, and he could feel his pulse begin to throb.

"I want you to kill somebody for me."

The man blinked, taken aback. "K-kill somebody...? But can't you--"

The claw tightened around his neck. "You're not listening, my friend. I need you to kill for me because I am under an obligation to not do so. Not this one man I want dead. So you will do it for me."

With each one of his last words, the beast tightened his grip on the man's neck, its nails digging into the skin. When he finally released him, the man doubled over, gasping for breath. The thing watched it for a moment, rising to stand above it. It smiled.

"You will start tomorrow. I don't expect you to do it in one day."

Looking up at it, the man narrowed his eyes. "But how will I kill him?" he asked, for in his desire to live, he could not even give one thought to taking another man's life. His companion merely smiled again at his question, fangs showing in the dim moonlight.

"You'll see when you meet him. His name is Roderick, and he bears the mark of Azel. But you will kill him for me, you little, precious human. You will kill Roderick."
 
 

January 1028

The day had dawned downcast and gloomy, thick dark clouds gathering in the horizon, spreading till they surrounded all the expanse that the naked eye could see. Perched atop the unsteady rafters of his dilapidated shelter, the demon Zaadei gazed down in silence as his frost-bitten human hobbled out of the house, wrapping his cloak about him and shivering. He could hear the sound of his shattering teeth and the shallow intakes of breath. In his hands he carried a sword, which he gripped tightly, close to him, as if he were afraid of even dropping it. Zaadei watched him through narrowing eyes. The man below him seemed like a complete idiot, but he wasn't about to admit that to himself. Not yet.

He didn't even find Roderick that day. He had returned home, cloak torn and filthy, a deep, bleeding gash on his right side, gasping about wolves and the frozen lakes. Zaadei had taken one, disgusted look at him and tossed him in a corner. The following day had been wasted, the man lying in his cloaks all day, healing from the wound. He had set out the third day filled with a steady, defeating doom.

Stopping by a brook, he fell on his knees, his breathing laboured. In the still ice, he could see a dim reflection of his face. What he saw scared him. His thin, silvery hair hung matted and lifeless around his face, his blue eyes now sunk and muted. He ran his fingers over his face, feeling the bones underneath. It had been days since he'd eaten anything truly nourishing. That beast that kept him a prisoner seemed content to live on bones and bark. And...

The man shook his head, a shiver running through him. He mustn't think about those things. He had to find that man the beast wanted, that Roderick, or else he'd never survive. With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet, surveying the woods around him. He could see nothing save the snow capped stillness of nature all around him. With a sigh, he pushed forward, dragging his numb legs, head bowed.

He thought about escape, many times. He had a sword. He knew how to use it. All he needed was the perfect moment, catch the beast unawares and just kill it, kill it and be done with it. His body trembled at the thought, his blood running hot and fast. The idea churned in his mind, feeling him with dread. It seemed so simple, and yet so worthless. He could not kill that beast. The idea was ridiculous.

I would die just trying... Damn. But I could just as well die at the hands of whoever that Roderick man is.

With a curse, he stopped in his tracks. Casting a glance above him, he could see that night was beginning to fall. Fumbling in his coat, he pulled out his box of matches, pulling out one of the few, remaining pieces. He lit it with a grunt, holding it before him as he moved on his way. He had only been walking a few minutes when he came upon a cross roads sign-post. His heart skipped a beat and he rushed towards it, arriving out of breath. With shaking fingers, he held his match up to it, straining his eyes to read what it said. His face fell. Old and worm eaten, the writing on the post was illegible. He could just make out the shape of a W, but little else. With a curse, he kicked at the post, watching helplessly as his match slipped from his fingers and was lost in the snow.

"Damn it," he sobbed, "God damn it."

Dropping, he buried his head in his hands, his sobs lost in the stillness. He had no idea how long he stayed like that, hunched over and despairing, but the oppressive hand of time soon made its weight be felt and he straightened. He would return to the house. It would be fruitless to go on searching tonight. But his body would not work. He could feel his legs giving way beneath him, holding him in place, bringing him down again. He was not sure anymore if it was the force of the cold or his fear of that beast that awaited him. One hand reached up to grasp the sign-post, hoping to pull himself up with it. He lay there, holding fast to the post, gasping, for what seemed like hours. He tried to move again, but only found himself face down in the snow once more, his head throbbing from the contact.

I'm freezing to death... Oh, God, I'm freezing to death...

He could feel himself loosing consciousness again, the sounds of the world becoming deep, pleasant echoes in his head. He thought about that last time he thought he had died. It had all been worthless. Awaking to find himself alive, foolishly agreeing to do what that beast had asked of him. Worthless. and now he lay there in the snow, dying a second death. There would be no coming back this time. His lips parted, a hopeless prayer escaping in a breath. He wished to God he had never come to that place...

There was a sound then, coming up in a fury of echoes through his head. It came nearer, till he could almost make out what it was. The sound of someone walking towards him. He tried to groan, but his body would not work at all now. He could only lie where he was, hope that whoever it was would not give him up for dead. The sounds came again, closer now, till they came to a stop beside him. He felt a dull pain lodge it self in his heart. He knew, without knowing how he knew, who it was that had come for him. Even before he had pulled him up roughly from the snow, flinging him over his shoulder, and turning his head to pierce him with a feral look, he knew it was the beast. Through hooded eyes, he could see its brilliant yellow orbs rove over him again in disgust.

"Asshole," it said, "how fucking long is it going to take you to find one friggin' village?!"

The man groaned, feeling the world spinning around him as the beast began to walk. He could it hear it talking, cursing him and lacing his comments with a dozen profanities, till it seemed to him that the only sounds in the world were curses. He closed his eyes.

It had been twice now, twice that this beast had saved his life. He couldn't understand it. He could get anybody else to kill that Roderick. Why did that thing seem so intent on having him do it? It made no sense to him. And yet...

Opening his eyes, the man tuned his head to take another look at the man-beast carrying him. Its dark, matted hair waved idly in the night breeze, the muscles of its back stretching under fluid, feline movements. He gazed at them as if hypnotized. There was something, a something he could not name, in the way this beast moved. It was something familiar, tickling at the back of his head, striving to get out. The thought scared him and he heard himself let out a choking moan.

"Don't tell me you're going to catch a cold now too, moron," the beast's voice came again, "I've had enough with nursing you. Cripes, you'd think a guy like you would be tougher than this."

But the man could not hear anymore. Turning his head, words dying in mid-sentence, Zaadei gave him a puzzled look. His lips stretched into a grin, fangs showing. He patted the man's bundled behind, chuckling as he went on his way. The man had fallen asleep, the easy movements of Zaadei's body underneath him and his steady barrage of obscenities lulling him into an uneasy rest. With any luck, Zaadei hoped, he would not sleep for a whole day again...
 
 

Mid-January 1028

The fire burned steady and cheerless between them, the flames bathing the room in a golden, but warmthless glow. The man sat huddled into his cloak, warming his stiffened fingertips as best as he could. A suffocating silence hung in the air, unperturbed by the crackling of the fire. He could almost taste it in his mouth, feel it crawling over his skin. It was the silence of two people who are disgusted by one another. Wishing with all their might that they could be someplace else, away from each other. The demon, for now the man was fully aware that his companion was a demon, and that his name was Zaadei, spoke few words to the man, save to curse at him. The man never spoke unless spoken to. They merely shared the roof over their heads, and gathered around its fire in silence.

The man had spoken even less than he used to in the last few days. Ever since that day when the demon had saved him from freezing to death, something had changed in both of them. Some nights, he would wake to find Zaadei looking at him from his own corner, golden orbs glittering in the dark, studying him. The demon's steady gaze made the man uneasy, and he would turn his back on him, shutting his eyes tightly. At other times it would be the man looking silently at the demon, hoping to tease from his mind why the man, in all his crudity, seemed so familiar. He would watch him as he perched atop the house's roof, his gaze turned northward, the winter breeze playing with his hair.

He looked across at him now. He was watching the fire, one eye closed under the hand resting at his cheek. His other eye seemed a liquid fire, light turned inwards in thought. At those moments he appeared more man than demon, and it was easy to overlook the fangs and the pointed ears and the curved claw that rose to play idly with his hair. He seemed unaware that the man was looking at him. Turning away, the human stood up, going to the door.

"Where are you going?"

He stopped in his tracks, eyes fixed on the crudely bolted door. He heard a splinter crack and give way to a brilliant flame behind him, felt the demon looking at him. He took in a deep breath.

"Outside. It's not that cold. I want to see the stars."

Zaadei made no reply, merely gazed down at the fire again. He figured maybe he should stop the stupid human from going out there, but, for some odd reason, he didn't want to. It wasn't as if he couldn't catch him if he tried to run away. He heard the man's footsteps as he went to the door, the wood creaking as he forced open the door. A chill wind blew in as he stepped out, flakes of snow cavorting in as he forced the door back into its place. His footsteps in the snow only sounded a few feet off before they stopped. Looks like the idiot was going to watch the stars after all.

Standing up, Zaadei stretched, feeling all of his muscles groaning underneath his skin. He was hungry. Very. But he couldn't think about that. His human had already found Roderick, had even had one confrontation with him. It had been pitiful. One look at him and Rod had walked away, calling back at him that he shouldn't be so foolish. Watching from his vantage point, Zaadei had almost laughed, seeing the look on the man's face as he had stood there, worthless and ridiculous with his sword clenched in his hands. But something had kept him from laughing. Something in the man's eyes as he looked at Roderick, as he looked down at the sword in his arms and then tried to charge at the young man. It was a strange sort of determination, something deeper than a mere desire to survive by fulfilling his promise to Zaadei.

None of that determination remained in the man's eyes now. Curled up into the window ledge, Zaadei watched him as he stood outside in the snow. His silvery hair was a knotted mess, a few, thin lines of blood caked into it from that night when he had gored his stomach. His eyes were turned inwards, cornflower blue and lifeless. Merely looking at things instead of really seeing them. He waved his arms about him, flapping at his sides to keep away the cold. He cursed under his breath, and Zaadei saw his lips move, forming a curse that he had undoubtedly picked up from him. Looking at him, Zaadei felt a familiar pang well up in his heart. This man, with all of his human flaws and shortcomings, was beautiful. He was...

Zaadei shook his head, teeth baring at the emptiness. It would do him no good to think foolish things. He had to keep his priorities in view, or he'd remain bound to that spindly Karon for as long as that twerp deemed it necessary. Standing up, Zaadei threw open the door, watching with a hint of malice as the man started and swung around to face him, fear evident in every line of his body.

"You, the jerk freezing to death for the third time this month, get yer ass in here."

The man looked at him for a moment, one hand rising to move away a few stray bangs. With a sigh, he moved forward, passing by Zaadei without he word. He started again as the demon slammed the door closed behind. The door had scarcely settled before Zaadei was pushing the man towards the fire again. He stumbled, but obeyed, sitting at his place again without a word. The demon sat across from him. He looked at him for what seemed like hours, an uneasy feeling thickening in the air around them.

"Sixty seven," Zaadei said.

The man's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "What...?"

His demon companion looked at him in disgust. "You know, I always thought this world would ruin you somehow, but you're really pitiful. Look at me."

Eyes wide, the man tried to move his lips, to get any sort of words out, but he couldn't. Across from him, the demons eyes were locked on his own, golden to cornflower blue. He was studying him again. But there was something different this time. He was not merely trying to make him out. To the man, it seemed as if the demon had already come to his conclusions about him, and was merely waiting for the man to do the same. He tilted his head to the side, eyes still locked on his. Then, for no apparent reason, he tossed his head, hair moving away from his forehead and settling once again as he turned his head, a smile playing across his lips.

Looking at him, the man could once again feel that something at the back of his head, whispering to him, striving to bring out memories he did not even know where his. He knew this man, this demon. He was certain of it. The demon smiled at him again, and the man felt his heart threatening to stop, his throat tightening in apprehension.

"Elena," he whispered, as if the sound were being torn from his throat. In his terrific fright, he was more than willing to believe that the demon was tearing the sounds from his throat. "W-who the Hell is Elena?" he whimpered, one hand rising to clutch at his forehead. Whirling visions were beginning to form there. He was afraid of what he saw. Deathly afraid.
 
 

Groping in the Darkness

Mist. Thick, winter mist engulfing all that the naked eye could see. He could see nothing in front of him. He knew he was stretching out his arms, but he could not see past his own hands, unable to see even his fingertips. In a choked, hoarse voice, he called out to the darkness, the seeming nothingness, pleading.

"Gods, no!" he heard himself shout. But it was not his voice. It was deeper, much more masculine than his high, frail tenor. He heard the voice as if from a great distance, the sounds washing over him without making any sense. A panic was beginning to rise in his chest, squeezing at his heart till he thought the blood would burst from his mouth. He needed, had to reach into that darkness.

Blinded by the mist and his own terror, he pushed on, every step taking him closer to a fathomless darkness he knew he did not wish to uncover. But he moved on. At each step it seemed as if his body were becoming heavier, his movements clumsier and uncoordinated. Reaching out a hand he called out again, the alien voice coming from his throat echoing in his mind. He was calling out a name: Elena.

He stumbled against what appeared to be a thick, brick wall. He felt the hard stone scrape against his skin, and he groped at it, held on to it, as if it were his salvation in the darkness. His fingers raced over the concrete, searching for something. In the turmoil of his mind, he didn't even know what it was he searched for. Reaching upwards, his fingertips brushed against a heavy, unsteady something. Feeling the tip of it with his fingers, he discovered that it was a wooden board. A sign. Looking up at it he squinted, till the words carved out over its surface came into focus: The Passing Goose.

Mesmerized, he stared up at the sign. Something about the sign caused a tremor to go through his body, and he took one wavering step back, coming up against the hard wall. His mouth would not work for a moment, his thoughts jumbling in his mind, becoming a nightmare labyrinth of voices and hair, fingertips and lace. The images choked him. He doubled over, a keen, sharp pain racing up his belly. Disoriented, he stretched out one hand--

With a cry, he drew it back, but before he could move away from the wall, another hand had reached out from the darkness, pulling him close into its owner's sight. All he could see of the person that held him tightly was the mouth, thin and cruel. It stretched out into a grin of mockery and the madness romance of the dark. He heard a voice whimper, felt his wrist as it cracked, waves of pain shooting up his nerves, screaming into his brain.

The person in the darkness pulled him closer, and the mouth was soon joined by a pair of faintly luminous eyes, overshadowed by dark bangs so that he could not really see them. He felt the person's mouth come close to his earlobe, the breath tickling the hairs at the nape of his neck. He closed his eyes, cringing away. The voice was smooth, quiet. It spoke into his subconscious, promising the dark and madness.

"Look," it said, "look now. Isn't it beautiful."

A hand reached out to grasp his chin then, forcing his head to turn towards the wall. Under his captor's tight grip he felt a scream well up in his throat, his eyes refusing to see even as they saw. Blood. Thick, ruby fine blood, spreading over the walls in a careless, artless pattern. At the centre, body emerging from the rock, broken and twisted, lay a woman. Her thin, golden hair hung in blood matted rivulets over her face, tangling in the deep red of her parted lips. Her eyes, hazel kissed by liquid gold, looked out, lifeless, into the nothingness. She seemed to plead to the darkness around her. Her eyes, seeing nothing, seemed to see all, begging for pity. Tears trailed down her eyes, running into her mouth, trailing down her ivory skin.

Tears blurred his vision, the garish scene before his eyes becoming a meaningless shattering of red and black. Crying, he slumped to the ground, unaware in his grief that the person in the shadows had released him. One hand hung limply at his side, the pain from the wrist forgotten by the maddening grief spreading across his heart. He clutched at his head, helpless, as the tears continued to flow. He reached out a hand, groped in the dark till he found hers.

Bringing his crumpled body up to its knees, he raised that hand to his lips. He kissed it once, his lips trembling against the cold, white skin. A tremor ran through his body, his hand trailing up that cold, ivory skin till his fingertips were resting against her sad, still face. He looked upon her, the tears rolling down his cheeks unchecked, his heart threatening to stop. She was beautiful. Even in cruel death, she was beautiful. He smiled tremulously, moving the hair from her face, searching out her skin with his fingertips.

"Elena," he whispered, his tremulous voice betraying a madness he could feel tearing at his senses. "Elena... It's me... I'm here.. see? Elena..."

Throwing back his head, he cried out, his cry ringing out in the darkness till it threatened to shatter it. Beside him, he could feel the presence of the man who had pulled him from the darkness. He knew now, he knew who that man was. Lips drawing back in a feral snarl, he glared up at him. He stood towering above him; hands dug casually into the pockets of his tight, black leather pants. His shirt had ben ripped open, a superficial wound running tender and red across his chest. He knew that scar. He had used the rake to fend him away when he had come. He had been foolish.

The man smiled, thin lips drawing back over canine sharp teeth. A pair of liquid gold eyes flashed momentarily in the dark. Chuckling, the man tossed his head, dark hair moving away from his forehead and settling again as he smiled down sweetly, with the gravest gentleness, at the crumpled man at his feet.
 
 

Mid-January 1028 Part II

The fire crackled between them, bathing Zaadei in shadows, throwing the man across from him into garish light as it wavered. He looked up through his silver hair, through the hand that clutched at his head, and beheld the demon sitting before him. There was no smile on his lips, only quiet fires in his eyes. Swallowing, the man lowered his hand.

"That happened years ago," he whispered, his voice sounding petty and frail. "That wasn't me... It couldn't be... I don't know that woman..."

"Oh? You don't?"

Head snapping up, the man's mouth struggled to form words of protest and denial. The words died in his lips, his eyes widening in frightened surprise. Across from him, the demon sat gazing at him, one hand rising to caress idly at the thin golden strands of the young girl that sat seemingly tangled around him, eyes muted in the bright light of the fire. One hand rested over Zaadei's chest, her tiny, rose red lips tantalizing inches away from his skin. The demon smiled, savouring the complete disconcert coming over the man. Letting out a breath, he looked straight into the man's eyes.

"Ten years ago, you asked something of me. I granted that wish. All I asked in return was something very simple..."

"Elena," the man whispered, his voice cracking as he said the name. The golden haired girl's head moved slightly at the mention of her name, her lips parting slightly, her eyes lost behind a curtain of hair.

The demon sighed. "Yes, Elena. But you didn't give me Elena... Your wish remained unpaid. I intend to have it repaid now."

"Roderick..."

Zaadei grinned, one hand rising to rub at his chin. "Yeah, that damned Azel freak. You're fucking smart, little man. When you don't think about it."

Standing, the young girl crumbling to the ground as he moved, he walked over to the man. He bent down to lift up the frightened man's chin with one curved fingernail, his smile seeming to stretch to both corners of his face. Now it seemed completely familiar. It was the same smile from the darkness, the same cruel grin that had torn Elena from his arms, laughing at his foolish attempts to fight him.

"Hey, Sixty Seven," the demon said, "I don't need you to give me Elena anymore. But I will receive my due, eh?"

Straightening, he patted the man's head. As he moved away, he held out one hand to the young girl still lying crumpled across the fire, thin, ivory hands running over her shoulders, playing with the thin fabric of her plain, white dress. Zaadei cast one look back at the man looking at him, flashing him a cruel smile as the girl's hand rose to take his between her own.

The man looked on as if hypnotized; his eyes wide and muted. His hands lay limp and helpless at his sides, his lips moving over broken thoughts as he watched the nightmare theatre unfolding before him. With a cruel, liquid ruthlessness, Zaadei had begun ti rip away the young girl's frail clothing, her tiny cries smothered beneath the sounds of lips running over flesh, tongue flicking out to taste the skin. His hands tightened behind her back, holding her crushed to him. Eyes closed, she cried out in silence, her body moving along with his as he trailed his fingers over her ivory skin.

He brought her to the ground, and there had her amidst a sea of dying embers, choked cries, and a frenzied uncovering of what lay beneath the clothing and skin and hair. Her frail cries became lost in the quiet grunts escaping his clenched teeth, rocking to and fro in a dance set to no music as he came into her. His hips rose and fell, fingers digging into her skin as he sought what eluded him. He could feel the cold sweat begin to form at his back, his hair falling into his eyes. Yet, in the midst of his animal actions, his eyes found their way to the man held prisoner by the sight set before him.

His lips parted once, forming no words. A tear trailed down his cheek, echoing the fine silver of his hair. His thin chest rose and fell with the sobs that could not escape his lips. Zaadei groaned, driving harder into his golden haired girl as the sight of that silver beauty sent shivers through him. He gazed at him through a thick curtain of hair, feeling the young girl's body move under his own, hearing her cry out as she reached her climax in solitude. He felt her grow limp, then try to grasp at his body, as if drowning. He held her then, removing himself and lying in her embrace as he continued to gaze at the man in silence.

Sitting across from him, his eyes only betraying the grief in his heart, the man, that man reminded him of only one other. One other whose eyes he had filled with pain, a pain that cut to the bone as he drove it out mercilessly. Teteiyusu. The fucking man looked just like Teteiyusu, whom he had not known when he had desired the golden Elena. Kissing her cheek softly, absentmindedly, he closed his eyes, shutting out the vision of broken grief he had set before himself. Darkness rose up almost at once, engulfing him in its serene stillness, keeping the thoughts that plagued him at bay. Brows knitting together, he held fast to the warmth of the young girl's body.

Across from him, sitting helpless and shaken, the man cried, his sobs lost in the darkness.
 
 

Unfinished
 

Author's Note

Well, once again, thank you all for taking the time to read this crappie thing. I know it took me long enough to put it up. I wrote this out in my Word 97, and I believe I was reading one too many issues of Angel Sanctuary at the time, so please forgive me. Ha ha.
 

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© October 20th-November 21st, 1997 Team Bonet. Seimaden and all of its characters are © 1994 You Higuri and Asuka DX. Thanks f'r reading, y'all. We've got some Wong Fei over here, and boy is it good. Ha ha.