Descent By Genkischuldich [farfarello@psychopath.co.uk] Pairing: SchuldichxCrawford. SPOILER WARNINGS: Farfarello's real name, Sally & Schwarz CD dramas, the outcome of the anime series ("Zeremonie" & "Ende des Weiá"), and some Schreient ("Miteid"). Other warnings: Shounen ai, bad language, potentially offensive occult themes, Tot, Sally. Disclaimer: Characters are (c) Project Weiá and Koyasu Takehito. I don't own them, nor do I make any money from this. Thanks to everyone who commented on my last fic -- you're all so kind!! I know this isn't the fic that I said I was working on in my profile, but this idea has really stuck in my head. Please read the 'other warnings' section above, though. This fic takes place after both the anime series and the Schwarz CD dramas. Hopefully, you don't have to have listened to those to understand this. All you need to know is that afterwards Farfarello went away to be with a witch named Sally. She's a little difficult to write because she spends most of the CD dramas screaming for help ...As for what actually happens to the rest of Schwarz, I made that up. I adore feedback ...please send some if you have the time! Remember, if you really hate certain aspects of my writing (or all of it!) and you don't want to give your name, you can review this anonymously. Isn't ff.net great? ^_- -#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#- -- Descent: Prologue -- ((So this map 'allegedly' leads to the artifact, Crawford? Stop me if I'm wrong -- and I know you will -- but isn't what we have here a forged map that leads to nothing? How tight is our budget right now, anyway?)) Crawford did not answer Schuldich as they walked up a wooden stairway in a Tokyo hotel. The steps were carpeted in a design from either a Hokusai woodcut, or an imitation of one; it was difficult to tell as the pattern had been worn down to mere threads in places. The rotting banisters didn't look safe, and the precog felt his team-mate's presence inside his mind, so that the telepath would have full warning before he put his foot through a floorboard. At the top, they were confronted only with corridor of peeling paint and flickering fluorescent lighting. They began to walk in step with each other, business-like as usual, when Crawford broke stride. As he did so, he removed his revolver from the concealed holster inside his jacket. He heard Schuldich follow hastily behind him, making little effort to move silently. What Crawford saw, even converted from premonition to reality, was not numbered amongst his experiences of death. He had never known someone to die on him in that manner, nor had he caused any similar deaths. He would have been impressed if he had. "Jesus ..." A moment of awe, a moment of nausea. "I don't think He had anything to do with it... Mm, he smells like a Sunday roast." The man lay naked, stretched out on the bed. His mouth was twisted out of proportion to his face and eyes were wide from shock. Yet not a mark on him. All his clothes, all his possessions, were scattered over the floor. Crawford walked over to the wardrobe and began to pull the inner drawers out, systematically searching each one. Behind him, he could hear the splintering sounds of his team-mate doing the same to the floorboards. "Did you ever work with him?" asked Schuldich as he picked through the carcass of the pillow that had clearly been thoroughly examined by the previous visitor already. "I think so, but one agent looks the same as another after a while." Crawford moved onto the mattress, then briefly examined each article of clothing on the floor. He glanced up when he realised that the sound of searching had stopped. Schuldich was sitting on the bed, arms folded across his chest. "Correct," Crawford responded, without even waiting for an explanation. "It's not here." Without further justification, they stood up and left the room. "Whoever did this gets ten out of ten for style," remarked Schuldich as he closed the door behind them. -- End Prologue -- -#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#- -- Descent: Chapter One -- Once, Schwarz were at the peak of their powers and four kills away from owning the world. Now look at them. In their latest residence, there were mere shadows where Farfarello should have been crouching. He was gone now, victim to a new-found belief in 'love', and living on the other side of the world. The remaining members had decided that a replacement was required; preferably an unthinking yet passionate fighter with a capacity for violence. What they got was the last surviving member of Schreient, Tot. Nagi sat next to Tot with his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, watching her attempt a one- sided conversation with her toy rabbit. With the deliberateness acquired from his leader, he picked up the toy and placed it out of her reach. His mouth twitched to parody the grim smile usually displayed by Schuldich. Schuldich leaned against the wall at the very back of the room. Every now and then an unspoken idea from one of the others would strike him and his smile would mirror Nagi's. Crawford finished sorting through his notes and began. "I received a call from Jei." He paused long enough to allow Nagi to speak. "Jei?" he asked curiously. "Is he going to pay us a visit yet?" "Jei?" imitated Schuldich joylessly. "Is he going to pay this month's rent for us?" "Quite possibly. Someone has been considerate enough to send him a photocopy of our map and the manuscript that came with it. Now, I *know*," he pre-emptively scowled at Schuldich, "it sounds suspicious, but it would appear that in the West he's known as an expert on religious matters." "Are you going to visit him?" inquired Tot. There was silence. Nagi eventually broke it. "Are you?" "Jei thinks the map is genuine," Crawford convinced himself. "Naoe, log on to the 'net and book two plane tickets to Munich, departing as soon as possible. Economy class, of course. Don't forget the car hire. Schuldich, start packing." "Papa, will Tot and Nagi-kun be staying behind?" asked Tot, oblivious to the look that passed between Schuldich and Nagi as they observed Crawford's involuntary shudder. He recovered quickly. "Certainly. It is possible that someone wants us to be somewhere else, so we need you to remain behind. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some research to do." *** "Here's my theory; you, being a telepath, have always known how he felt. He found out about how you felt. Now, instead of *acting* on this knowledge, you're just strutting around like peacocks, feeding each other's egos." Nagi stood at the entrance to Schuldich's room, watching as he loaded a patterned green shirt into his suitcase. "Stop trying to live vicariously through us." Nagi frowned. "My girlfriend would rather sleep with a stuffed rabbit than with me, and yet what we have is still way more satisfying." "Touch‚. There's hope for you yet. But," he paused thoughtfully, "the rest of us still made a mistake inviting her here, and we trapped you. When we get back, we'll give you a good night out without her." "It's okay," Nagi smiled. "I like having her around." "You can't possibly like living this way," stated Schuldich. Nagi looked shyly to the floor. "You say that, but a person can be unusual, but still make you happy." "She's certainly *unusual*." They were interrupted by Crawford knocking on the door panel just above Nagi's head in order to attract attention. "Research completed. Remember how our victim smelt?" "Like a really well-cooked roast chicken," Schuldich answered. Nagi made the appropriate gagging noises. "I spent some time in negotiations with the new Eszet directors this evening." "You mean grovelling, don't you?" "I still remember what they said to us the morning after the ritual hall collapsed: 'you're either the most incompetent team we've ever had, or you're the most untrustworthy.'" Nagi resigned himself to this with a sigh. "And they have a good point there. So, I spent some time in negotiations with the new Eszet directors and I was eventually allowed access to their floating database. We now have a few candidates for whom might have caused that death, or at least plausible examples of with what we might be dealing." Crawford handed over several pages of text to Schuldich. Nagi's eyes narrowed and glared at them both. He reached out to try and snatch the paper from the telepath, but Schuldich held it above his head and smiled condescendingly. "Uh-uh. Crawford gave it to me. Right?" Crawford smiled in a manner similar to Schuldich's. "Patience is a virtue, Naoe." Schuldich ran his right hand along the print-out and nibbled on his forefinger on his left hand. "A microtelekinete, a pyrokinete and a micropyrokinete. I sense a pattern here." He deliberately licked the length of his finger and glanced up to see if anyone had noticed. "Hey, Nagi, do you think you could get the same effects?" He was looking at Crawford. "Probably," he said, then he rolled his eyes and smiled ruefully. "...Maybe one day." Crawford either didn't notice the way Schuldich looked at him, or ignored him. "I don't think that anybody on this list is capable of it either. Too weak. Nevertheless, please investigate them. When was the last time you hacked the Kritiker servers?" Nagi thought briefly about the question. "It's been at least three days." *** Crawford turned on his mobile while he waited for his luggage to appear on the conveyor belt in Franz Josef Strauss International Airport. He scrolled through his address book and selected the number of Schwarz's Tokyo residence. He knew it was ten past two in the morning in Japan compared to early evening in Germany, but he didn't need precognition to know that Nagi would be awake despite this. "Naoe? I thought you'd be awake ...Look, I *foresaw* you answering the phone and you have, so I was right." He paused, and held the receiver away from his ear. "Did Schuldich teach you those words? Did he mention that you don't use them towards me?" Another pause. "Fine, fine. Send the Kritiker information to my online e-mail account then. Don't forget to encrypt ...Of course you know that. Goodbye." He disconnected the call before Nagi could say anything else. As he had predicted, Schuldich threw one of two suitcases at his feet a few seconds afterwards. "He'll send the information to us later," Crawford informed him, and picked up his luggage. The next stop was customs, who waved them through while under the influence of mind control. They took the escalator and passed through passages with achingly bright red and blue neon lights. Then there were more escalators, some tourist shops, and eventually they reached the outside of the modern-looking glass structure. It took longer than they expected to find the car that Nagi had hired, and once they had dragged their cases into the boot, they sank into the two front seats. Crawford took the driver's seat. "I really fucking *hate* travelling," declared Schuldich as he stretched his legs out. "How far is the airport from Farfarello's house?" "*Jei*," Crawford automatically corrected. "Don't call him *that* under any circumstances." "Or he'll go into a Farfarello-like rage?" Schuldich laughed. "Denial is such a beautiful thing." "Could you get that for me?" said Crawford, as he put the car into gear. "Get what? Oh, I see." He picked up Crawford's mobile from the dashboard just before it started to ring. "Speak." He paused to listen briefly. "Have you really? *Really*?" His unexcited drawl could only begin to indicate his contempt for the people on the other end of the mobile. "That's really nice for you. Really, truly *fantastic*. Unfortunately, we're one step ahead of you, being in Germany already and having figured out the secret to the map as well. So simple, really." He pressed the 'call cancel' button. "Bastards!" He turned to Crawford. "Someone sent Eszet a copy of the map too, only *that* one had notes in it. Apparently, when we get it, we have to *decipher* the fucking thing as well, and *they* already have the answers. *Bastards*." The car suddenly swerved into the side of the road and he pulled on the handbrake violently. The driver, Crawford, lay back his seat and spoke calmly. "If other people have a copy of the map and the key to it, then the version we are about to obtain is worthless. I was hoping that phone call could have been avoided." "Maybe we could sell it really quickly?" suggested Schuldich. For his trouble, he received a harsh slap across the face. Not one designed to hurt, but to humble. "Idiot," growled Crawford, as he exited the car. Schuldich followed. "Listen to me, Crawford. *Listen*. I think you can do it. I, personally, am counting on you being up to the challenge, okay?" "Don't talk so much," Crawford ordered, and threw himself down onto a litter-strewn bank of grass at the side of the road. Schuldich sat down beside him. "It's like in Indiana Jones, isn't it? He goes looking for these priceless artifacts and despite everything manages to outsmart the Nazis who are after him." "*Indiana Jones*?" repeated Crawford with disgust. "I really hate you." "No, that's you alright. Which state are you from then?" Despite himself, Crawford answered. "California." "Hmm ...'California Crawford'. Fuck no, you sound like a porn star." Crawford frowned and looked away. "You're smirking. That was definitely a smirk I just saw." "Don't be an idiot." "Fine. I won't be, and just point out that *they* aren't even in Europe yet. If we're quick enough, we can beat them to it." "You are certain they're not here yet?" Crawford already knew the response as he picked himself up off the slope and walked towards the car. "Oh, and Crawford ...?" Crawford turned around to find himself eye-to-eye with Schuldich. With no evidence of surprise, he started back to the car again. Schuldich caught him by his jacket's lapel and jerked him forwards. "Next time? Don't. Shoot. The. Messenger." With every word Schuldich's face got closer to Crawford's, until the end when he pushed him away as if nothing had happened. *** "He's changed a bit since we last saw him," stated Crawford as they finally pulled up outside Jei's house. "New and different obsessions. Try not to be too horrified." "Will I be injured if I go in alone while you park?" asked Schuldich, off-hand. "No, not at all," Crawford said firmly, braking to allow Schuldich time to get out of the vehicle. Crawford guided the car up the gravelled drive-way and switched off the engine. Jei's house had an expansive front lawn, immaculately kept. The perfectly cultivated rosebushes nestled around a pond which even had a luridly-coloured garden gnome fishing in it. Casting his eyes around the remaining area of the grounds, Crawford's eyes came to rest on a sandpit that contained a small plastic slide decked out in bold, primary colours. A vision of Sally exclaiming how they had the neighbour's children over so often that they had bought playground equipment trilled in his ear. He rubbed his temples. Jet lag had finally caught up with him. Schuldich stood in the centre of the lawn, right next to the sign which, in neat hand- written German, informed visitors that they should keep off the grass. Now, he leaned over a young dog, which he picked up by the scruff of the neck and carried to the front door. The breeze carried his words across to Crawford. "So he's into animal sacrifice now? It could've been worse." Crawford said nothing as he carried the luggage to the front door, taking care to keep to the paved pathways. The door was opened and he saw Schuldich dump the puppy into the hands of the former Schwarz member that he thought he knew so well. His eyepatch was missing, replaced by what Crawford assumed to be a glass eye. It was difficult to tell when he took into account the man's miraculous healing ability these days. "The sacrifice was trying to escape," Schuldich said amicably. "She's our pet," growled Jei, glowering at the German. "Welcome." He didn't sound as if he meant it. "Thank you," said Crawford politely. "You set me up," murmured Schuldich and placed a hand on Crawford's shoulder. "You're getting better." "Come in, come in," insisted a female voice from within the house. "You must be utterly exhausted." "Sally," smiled Crawford, shaking hands with her. "It's a pleasure to see you again." Farfarello took the luggage off him and, with no further comment, carried it inside. The decor was now exactly what he expected. The wallpaper was an old-fashioned floral design showing gentians stained in pastel blue. They clashed mildly with the orange curtains, which featured yet another flower-based pattern. Crawford despised it immediately and hoped that they had not inflicted their tastes on the guest bedrooms. "What a beautiful house," he observed aloud. "Did you decorate it yourself?" Sally nodded. "We spent hours trying to agree on the colour scheme. In the end though, Jei chose the wall paper, and I chose the fabrics. It's fabulous, don't you agree?" "Fabulous," echoed Schuldich. Crawford had realised immediately that they would have to get the formalities over with first. Some general conversation had to be employed, appreciation of all the effort that had gone into creating this house had to be shown. And only then, when they were convinced that they weren't simply here for the map, they would direct the conversation towards the only reason as to why they were here. Until then, it would feel like a long wait. *** "You decorated this yourself, hm? I can tell." Schuldich stood in the middle of Jei's private study. The walls were painted white, with a padded white carpet, and white office furniture. A white bookshelf engulfed one side of the room. The books themselves were not white, but dark, ancient-looking leather. "I got used to white walls," he admitted. Crawford circled the room admiring the framed prints that were on the wall. He recognised the distinctive pale blue and red watercolours instantly, but didn't want to bring them into the conversation. Instead, he looked out of the window and up into the night sky. He thought back to when he could last see the stars so clearly, seeing as the bright neon lights of Tokyo weren't really designed for star-gazing. He recalled the time when he lived in this area of the world, when he was barely a teenager. All the bad memories, all the abuse, were safely locked away where his conscious mind couldn't reach them. All that remained were memories of looking up at the stars and wishing for more than what he had. Maybe a universe or two. "William Blake," Jei directed his attention to the prints he had been examining minutes ago. "Illustrations for Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy." "I thought so," said Crawford. "You did not want to say? I thought you two would be ..." Jei searched for the correct word, "...dying to remind me of the person I was." "Would it be possible to view the map?" Crawford changed the subject politely. Jei crossed over to the ivory-coloured desk and unlocked the lower drawer. He removed a white box and opened it. Crimson silk spilled out, contrasting sharply with the paleness of the room. He ran a slender finger across a ridge of material, pleased with what he saw. Crawford had thought for the past half an hour that the book that would be presented to him should look more professional. Instead, Jei held a child's scrapbook with photocopied pages carelessly glued in place. If he hadn't foreseen this, the shock from the difference between what he had imagined and what he saw now might have made him give up. He took the book and flicked to the page he remembered so clearly. An etching of a chalice bathed in blinding light from above. Their prize. "So this is it? The thing that'll pay our bills?" Schuldich drawled, reading over Crawford's shoulder. Jei snatched the book away and slammed it shut. "You don't understand. It's an important Biblical relic." Crawford ...You didn't tell him we weren't going to donate it to a museum? ((It hardly belongs on display. This chalice was carved from a large ruby and given as a present to Samael -- otherwise known as Lucifer -- from God, only to be taken back later when the angel rebelled. Many scholars once thought it to be the Grail, but Eszet believe it was so dangerous that a group was formed to hide it. With such a history, only a private collector would take it.)) "I hate that." Crawford and Schuldich faced Jei. "That silence that means you are talking telepathically. About me. Or about matters a *madman* could not understand." Crawford thought it ironic that nowadays the reason a telepathic conversation would take place between himself and Schuldich without Jei's knowledge was that a sane man couldn't understand it. He debated briefly as to whether he should remark on this aloud. Jei would most likely be flattered. A brief glimpse of the future demonstrated that he was wrong. "My apologies. We were merely remarking on our disappointment that you feel we are unable to comprehend the importance of the map and the chalice." "Smooth-talking liar," accused Jei flatly. "You used to be my idol, but now I ..." he trailed off, his pupils dilated. Crawford caught the scrapbook as it fell from Jei's fingertips. He tucked it under one arm and crossed over to the desk, where he concentrated on folding up the blood-coloured cloth that it had been wrapped in. "We could've saved money and bought just one plane ticket, but you brought me along anyway. This was why. You knew you'd need me for this." Schuldich grasped both of Jei's upper arms firmly and manoeuvred him in front of the chair behind the desk. He forced him to sit with a loud 'thud' and addressed him: "When you wake up, you'll believe you gave us the map willingly." Almost as an afterthought: "Then you'll return to your bedroom and have fantastic sex." "With Sally," added Crawford. "Yeah, with Sally." Schuldich confirmed. They left him sitting rigidly upright in his study chair, and returned to the hallway. The lights were switched off, but the moon played along the walls. The blue-tinted gentians that decorated the walls at day now looked darker, as if they were stained in blood. "Farfarello's choice," murmured Crawford, noticing it immediately. "How poetic," smiled Schuldich. He stretched out his hand and squeezed Crawford's shoulder. "We'll get him back." Crawford placed his hand over Schuldich's and hoped he was correct. -- End Chapter One -- -#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#- -- Descent: Chapter Two -- "Go to bed." Crawford noted immediately that Schuldich did not ask him to 'come to bed', suggesting that the telepath genuinely wanted him to get some sleep, rather than it being a request for anything further. "If you prefer those kind of tactics, I'll be waiting in my room, legs spread --" Crawford tuned him out at that point, concentrating instead on the scrapbook in front of him. The map was crudely drawn, but he refused to think that would be a problem. Many experts who had seen a copy of this had firmly believed that if it were followed it would lead them to the chalice. Therefore, there was a key to it all. Now he had the chance to look at it more closely rather than second-hand from visions, he was relieved to discover that it was indeed of an area near to where they were staying now. Before he was murdered, the Eszet agent had previously told them that was the case, but Crawford had always been wary when he needed to trust another person's judgment. It was, of course, no surprise that the site was nearby. After all, they were also near the original Rosenkreuz, and Eszet always chose areas of high psychic energy for their bases. However, the mountains were depicted using just a few jagged lines, and the villages were of an equal distance apart, with no effort having been made to place them precisely. He had even matched it against a twelfth century map of the area, found in Jei's study. The trick to it must be to find the precise key, hidden within the map, that would let them readjust the scale to one that would show where the chalice was buried. He became aware that Schuldich was asking him something. "Did you hear what I said, Crawford? Whipped cream or peanut butter?" He looked up, making sure he gave nothing away by his expression. Schuldich apparently chose to pursue his original line of argument. "There's no way you'll find the answer when you're in this state. Sleep on it." "I can't. The answer's in here, but I'm just too *stupid* to be able to see it." He picked and the book and it appeared for a second as if he were about to throw it across the room. Instead, as he knew would happen, Schuldich caught his hand and placed it back on the table. "So unlike you. If you're serious about staying up all night, try telling me about it. See if we can't get a fresh perspective, hm?" Crawford gave an exhausted grunt of agreement. "What do we know about this chalice?" "I told you everything I know about it. The real question is: 'what happens if you drink from the Devil's cup?'" "Sounds like the opening to a bad joke," retorted Schuldich. Crawford sighed. "I've yet to figure out the punchline. Eszet clearly wants it to replace the ritual that was disrupted." "Eternal youth? There must be better things for which to sell your soul." "You would think, wouldn't you?" "That reminds me. I checked your e-mail for you. The Kritiker information was useless; just duplicated what we knew already. There was some information Nagi included on weapons that work similarly to a microwave, but they're still far off from even putting together a prototype." "I know." Schuldich shrugged. "I figured, which was why I didn't rush to tell you. The autopsy results on the Eszet agent was more interesting." "Internal organs slowly roasted. No other marks on him. I *know*." Schuldich scowled at him. "So what do you know about this map?" "It's inaccurate to say the least. Drawn in the twelfth century by a monk who somehow hid the location in the hope that only the right people would find it." "Presumably. Or else he was too lazy to use a ruler, hm?" "They got up at four a.m., recited morning prayers, worked in the fields all day, recited evening prayers, and went to bed in the early hours. Clearly the twelfth century definition of 'lazy' is very different to mine." "And who's going to bed in the early hours this morning?" teased Schuldich. "You ...were right. This needs a fresh perspective," confessed Crawford, getting up from his chair and closing the scrapbook. "*My* fresh perspective." "Finally," he said, with just a hint of exasperation. "Coming to bed?" *** He needed to be needed. He needed to be wanted. And the thought that it would all stop if he gave in to what they both wanted ...the flirting ...the carnal glances the other man gave him when no one else was looking ...and, above all, the *need* ...it pushed his emotions somewhere beyond the usual ambivalence. Crawford stood in the ensuite bathroom and towelled his hair dry from the shower. He briefly debated whether he should emerge naked or put on a dressing gown. The future told him that Schuldich was already in Crawford's bed, naked under that lacy pink quilt cover. The idea of it all both amused and excited him. It was wonderfully, wonderfully *wrong*. He quickly decided on the dressing gown, if only because if he gave it much further attention Schuldich would pick up on his thoughts. ((Already have done. Come to bed. As you are.)) Crawford groaned inwardly and grabbed the black dressing gown from where it was hanging on a hook on the door. He hurried out. The doubts kept coming as to whether he should go ahead with this. New ideas concerning the code and the chalice kept leaping into his mind and he was tempted to take another look at the map. On a few particularly dismal occasions in the past, he had even been known to plan future missions while in bed. It was clear to him that he could never sleep with a telepath if he couldn't keep his mind on the task at hand. Without even looking at the man lying on the bed, Crawford crossed over to the east- facing window. He could hear the sounds of a city stirring from sleep and was reminded how close to dawn it was. The clear starlit sky brought to mind his conversation with Schuldich earlier. There certainly *were* better things for which to sell your soul ...if only he could be sure he hadn't already given it away for free. ((Hurry up, or I'll start without you.)) He turned towards the bed and Schuldich, and remembered why he hadn't looked at him to begin with. He had wanted to make up his own mind about sleeping with him for the first time without being swayed by mere appearances. Now that he was certain it was what he wanted, his eyes consumed the image of the other man stretched out on the bed. Locks of rough bronze-coloured hair snaked round his shoulders, artificial orange light from the street lamps outside gave him flame highlights. The pastel pinks of the sheets and quilt that hid his physique only made his skin seem paler and his hair seem redder. Already, Crawford was standing beside the bed, bending over Schuldich. He pushed the hair that he previously admired away from his face and ran his finger along the other man's jawline. Schuldich's arms shot upwards and dragged him onto the bed. As expected, Schuldich tugged at the silky cords that fastened the night gown and with one 'snap', Crawford felt them give and fall away. He lay on his back, black silk folding like dark blood around him. He suddenly felt conscious of being on display. The room felt hotter and he felt warmth creeping into his face. He sank into the covers, and pushed himself against the red-head. Grasping long hair, he jerked Schuldich's head backwards, leaving his neck exposed and vulnerable. He bit, sucked and licked until he heard the telepath's breathing become harsher, then pressed the side of his head against the other man's chest. He lay there for some time, feeling Schuldich writhe against him. He curved an arm around him, held him still for as long as thought possible. He listened to the throb of the other man's heart and, outside, the whispers of traffic grew louder. Cold blue daylight began to replace electric orange as the night crept away and the city awoke. With a frustrated hiss, Schuldich shifted position. The other man drove his shoulder into the mattress and, with a moan that could have been from either one of them, the Schwarz leader found himself lying on his front with his deputy astride him. Crawford was barely aware of Schuldich's erratic breathing at the edges of his consciousness, each exhalation burning against his chilled skin at the base of his neck. He was drawn deeper. Every movement slowed to a crawl. The whispers of traffic, of business being conducted outside in the city, all of this changed. They sounded alive. They sounded as if they were occurring within that room. Crawford embraced this drug-like haze, and pulled Schuldich even closer into him. Dark tendrils grasped and stroked his arms, his thighs, and pinned him to the mattress. Sleep deprivation, or a telepathic trick? Crawford let that question hang, moving into their grip so they could take him harder. They held him and reached into him, forced him to suck on their etheric tips. With a start, he twisted his neck around and the whole room snapped into focus, white light outlining every detail and magnifying it against the blackness. He sought out his partner's eyes, his face, which he somehow expected to belong to someone else now. But, it was still Schuldich, whose demanding eyes questioned his uncharacteristic hesitation. Crawford glared back at him, momentarily angered by the other man's pretence of control. No words were exchanged, instead they sank back into their languid rhythm, until Crawford came with a murmur and a sigh, flooding the sheets. The world sped up, and he gulped down the rapidly cooling air as his chest tightened. He felt the weight lift off him, and Schuldich lay beside him, running his fingers through his hair. Beads of sweat had formed on his face, and his pale skin had acquired a healthy reddish glow. "You've an amazing selection of psychic tricks," Crawford said steadily, trying to control his breathing. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly as he shuffled further down into the tangle of sheets, expecting to be woken in a few hours. He was not awake to answer when Schuldich drawled, seemingly only half-interested, "Psychic tricks ...?" *** The late-morning sunlight wrapped around his naked body and drilled into his eyes, causing him to see multicoloured after-images when he glanced about the room. Crawford stretched out, and was satisfied to see that Schuldich was still sound asleep from the events of last night, curled in a foetal position. The pink lace of the quilt warped around him and sunbeams played across his muscular thighs. With a wry smile, Crawford thought of the etching of chalice depicting the holy light from heaven illuminating their prize. "Eureka," he intoned softly. He had it. He had the answer. He hurried out of bed and briskly went through his bathroom routine. As he went for breakfast, he passed Sally on the landing. "I've come to change the sheets," she explained, with a knowing look in her eyes. She held in her hands black sheets with a simple floral pattern picked out in blue. She noticed that Crawford was examining it from a distance with a certain amount of relief in his eyes. "Pretty, isn't it? We've just moved in and were in the middle of redecorating when you arrived." She had begun conversationally, but she soon began to speed up, trying to get out all that she wanted to say. "Most of what you see here reflect the choices of the previous occupants. We tried to joke about it but ...well, we soon realised you were patronising us." She let Crawford take it all in. There was no other word appropriate to describe it. "Shit." "Please be careful when talking to Jei," she continued. "You know how he is. If there's a problem he'll go into denial, but he'll stew about it for ages. And, believe me, he's stewing about this." He attempted to get a grip on what she was about to say and failed, but he couldn't work out if it was her Malefici powers, or a more serious problem with himself. "Something wrong?" she asked. He shook his head. "I'm fine." "Are you sure? I mean, Jei and I ...we couldn't help but hear last night ...." She stopped looking at him, and fixed her eyes on a point on her shoes. A door opened behind her and Jei emerged from his study. He appraised Crawford coolly. "We thought something was being killed." A spark of interest appeared in Jei's eyes, then died. "Sally wanted to check you were safe." Crawford remembered the lazy rhythm he and Schuldich had created, the slow movements that seemed to affect their surroundings as well as their bodies. He couldn't remember either of them calling out at all. Sally put her arm round Jei's waist and pulled him close to her. He ran his fingers through her slightly curly blonde hair. Crawford watched him tilt his head to one side and stare at him in the dispassionate way that he remembered. This time, he felt no accompanying vision to warn him of what the man might do next, but nevertheless he stood his ground. "I don't think the noise was all our doing," he began. Normally, he was the master of words. He considered himself to have the English, German and Japanese languages under his command, not to mention certain ancient languages that Eszet required that he learn in order to perform their rituals, but without the future to enable him to detect another person's reaction to every single nuance, he felt off-balance. And, the thought pressed at the back of his mind, he would find it difficult to describe exactly what occurred under most situations. Somehow, Schuldich had used his powers in a strange new way and he had gone along with it, no questions asked. The sun shone through a window at the end of the landing, casting each flowery detail in shadow. So different from the dreamlike state he had experienced last night. With a shudder, he asked himself how he could possibly have thought it was Schuldich's doing. Why did he give in to something that clearly was not achievable by Schuldich's telepathy in its current form? He felt like retreating back into the guestroom and beating his head against a wall. "Go on," prompted Jei. He tried to force his mind into the future to find out exactly what the telepath would say when he asked him about last night. Again, the visions refused to respond to him. "There may have been something else in the room with us." "Most likely. Think about the object for which you are looking. You thought you could escape the attention of the other worlds?" Sally interrupted, "I did want to check you were safe, but Jei told me there was a large gap in his memory around late evening, when he should have warned you. Together, we worked out exactly what you'd done, and ...well, I did tell you he was brooding over it." "I was not brooding," he insisted. "I would have warned them if they had let me." Crawford rested a hand on Jei's shoulder. "My apologies," he said. With a snort of anger, Jei swiped Crawford's hand away. "It's not good enough." Sally gently forced Jei's head onto her shoulder. He closed his eyes and was silent. "Why don't you have breakfast and try to solve the map code?" Crawford nodded, not giving away his suspicions. "When we have the chalice, we'll return and start again. We had a bad beginning, I think." He smiled warmly at Sally, an expression he usually reserved for clients with whom he had just completed important negotiations. It was one that he loathed, but always got him good results. He left for breakfast. *** Crawford used a piece of baking paper torn from a roll he had found under the sink in the kitchen. On it, he traced the etching of the chalice with a technical pencil, taking in every detail from the light shining down from above, to an outline of the crest in the middle. He took a slice of toast from the rack in the middle of the table and buttered it thinly before laying it on his side plate. "Well?" asked Schuldich, on the other side of the breakfast table. Crawford looked across at him over his rimless glasses and said nothing. He flicked to the copy of the map and fitted the tracing over it. It was a perfect match. The angle of the light paired exactly with the eastern compass point. Either side of the chalice base rested precisely on two small villages. The crest lay somewhere in the centre, on no special point of interest. Crawford's mouth twisted upwards into a smile. He compared this to the twelfth century map he had previously found in Jei's study, and confirmed the location of these two places, approximately seven miles apart. Ignoring all other landmarks as mere noise, that would place the crest, and presumably the location of the chalice, as being roughly twelve miles away from either of the two villages. "Schuldich, get me a recent map." The telepath left the room with no comment. Crawford took a bite of toast and barely noticed it had gone cold. Schuldich returned five minutes later, clutching a tourist guide. "It was the best I could manage. These people have a local map for every century except this one." Crawford looked over the group of charts in the back of the book. They pointed out the best places to eat, to visit, or to buy gifts, but no mention of where one could get a deal with Lucifer. Nevertheless, he managed to pinpoint the two small villages, now large population centres. Exactly twelve miles away from both of them was a small collection of ruins. The guide devoted one line of text to the site and declared it not worthy of a visit. "We have to get going," Schuldich told him. "I Persuaded some officials at the airport to give me a telepathic shout when those Eszet agents arrived. They're already on their way." *** Crawford had wanted Schuldich to drive, but the telepath had insisted that he had some projects he wanted to work on. That would only mean one thing; that somewhere nearby a mind was being manipulated. Hopefully, the result would bring about an increase in Schwarz's bank balance. "Actually, it's far more important than that." "Hm?" Crawford tried to keep his mind on driving. "Nagi." Schuldich leaned back as far as he was able in the car seat and waited for the questioning to begin. "Naoe?" It was less of a question, more a reminder of what Crawford felt they should be calling him. "He finds that name embarrassing." "It's an indication of his status as an adult." "No, it's not. He's not you." Nagi was his student and his disciple. He liked the same things that Crawford liked, and wanted the same things Crawford wanted. "No, Brad. He no longer wants the same things as you. You should face the facts. Children rebel from their parents. My father was a good man. And so what did I do, hm? I ran away as soon as I hit those teenage years. Nagi will be no different." Crawford allowed a pause, hoping Schuldich would explain himself without actually having to ask. "What are you doing to him?" "Showing him the truth. Showing him what he really wants and what he really is." Crawford clicked his tongue, annoyed that now his powers had temporarily vanished he had to beg for Schuldich to keep talking, rather than to shut up. "He must kill her. Last night, I made lots of progress when I forced him to see Farfarello and Sally through our eyes. He told me how different Tot was from Sally. His 'voice' trembled as he said that it would be different for them. I think he might have been crying." "Anything goes as far as outsiders are concerned, but we don't use our powers against one of our own." Crawford's knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. "But we --" "Those are the goddamn rules!" he snarled. "You're fiery when you've no powers to focus with." Schuldich grinned in a way that took all the power out of Crawford's argument. Against his will, the other man returned the smile. "You used to think he'd be happier ruling the world alongside us rather than living an ordinary life with the bunny girl. What changed your mind?" Crawford opened his mouth to speak, then shut it, choking on the emotions he could never vocalise. The car cruised for miles with neither of the two men saying a word. Crawford stared ahead at the road and urged his brain to focus on the road signs that no longer seemed to be written in German. His vision started to blur around the edges and the blue sky faded to storm black. He breathed in viscous air and kept driving. The tarmac separated out into soft stone tablets, then rotated until he could see they were scales. It seemed as if the car no longer moved, but rather the reptilian skin writhed underneath it. With a start, Crawford heard Schuldich emerge from his trance with a softly-spoken babble of different languages and streams of consciousness. The road seemed to obey this sound and retracted back into itself. Crawford grasped at his partner's voice. He strained, and with a snap of pure reality, he turned to face Schuldich. By the look in the other man's eye, and the way he was looking him over, he could tell that he knew something had gone wrong. "Crawford," he breathed, "What the hell *are* you?" -- End Chapter Two -- -#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#- -- Descent: Chapter Three -- Schuldich refused to discuss what he had seen in the car, nor would he explain why he'd said what he had. Crawford only observed that he seemed more protective of him. Now they were at the site of the ruins, he led the way and was keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. Anyone else would have run away, Crawford thought, but not Schuldich. That was true strength. "Eszet are already here," Schuldich told him. "They've already dug the site up. I imagine that the agents that 'phoned us passed the information to contacts who were stationed here." "Have they got the chalice?" Crawford asked immediately. "No," Schuldich said slowly. He squeezed his eyes shut and looked as if he was concentrating intensely. It was no surprise, considering how much psychic protection an Eszet agent in this situation would use. "In fact, many of them have been killed by traps left by the monks who guarded the place." "Traps?" "I told you," he grinned. "It's Indiana Jones." Crawford sighed inwardly and ignored this. "Can you get any more information from them?" Schuldich shook his head. "There's three of them. I can show you where they are, and the entrance. After that, it's up to us to kill as many of them as we can before they can kill us." Crawford nodded grimly, and felt for the gun that Schuldich had made the security at the airport ignore. They walked further, treading over eroded blocks of stone embedded in the grass. The surroundings were remarkably bland, as the site was was not built high enough even to offer much of view of the ordinary country roads along which they had just travelled. Crawford could appreciate why this place was not highly recommended by the tourist guide. As he walked on towards the direction that Schuldich was indicating, he felt a tingling sensation right between his eyes. It travelled down his body and pushed against every part of him. He struggled to stay upright, and to keep walking. Over the next grass dune, they spied two agents standing guard beside a medium-sized tent. Mounds of earth surrounded it and they noticed that the stone slabs scattered around it formed what could loosely be termed 'foundations'. Crawford considered it to be a reasonable assumption that this was where the entrance had been hidden over eight hundred years ago. He took out his revolver, and waited until Schuldich did the same. They were near enough to be within range for their type of gun, although it was still a difficult shot. Crawford held out the weapon and waited for the familiar feeling he got when he knew he was right on target. It never came, and he had to finally admit it to himself; his uncanny ability with a gun had little to do with skill. Schuldich didn't wait for him, and one Eszet agent collapsed in a fine spray of blood. The second looked horrified for a fraction of a second, then this expression was transferred to movement as he used the tent for cover and started firing in their direction. Schuldich returned the shots, but only achieved the destruction of the tent. Crawford held up his revolver and pulled the trigger. There was only a 'click', which confused him. He no longer understood the object in his hands and he threw it to the ground. The raw sensation that he felt when he first arrived crept up on him again. This time, he embraced the feeling. Hell, it was benefiting him, so why not? He breathed in boiling air that bubbled into his lungs and penetrated his mind. He pushed his arm out and, just like the night before, everything slowed. The person that soundlessly dived over the dune, whom fired randomly without a gunshot to be heard; his soul was wrapped inside out and repossessed. When the third team member emerged from the tent, he received the same. Crawford calmly noted the expression on these agent's faces and the smell of burning flesh in the air. He smiled. Schuldich did not. "It's got its claws in you. It already knows that you'll be the one to succeed." Crawford saw the scowl on his partner's face and it no longer seemed to be enough to just smile at what he'd done. He broke down into laughter that shook his entire frame. Schuldich grabbed him and held him close until the breathless gasps ceased. "This is a test. If you can't deal with this now, then you're not fit to possess the chalice," Schuldich told him, then sighed. "At least, I think that's the message we're meant to be getting." Crawford pushed the other man away. "Forget what just happened. Please." He gritted his teeth and breathed in deeply. Without waiting to see if Schuldich was following, he entered the tent. It was cold inside, sheltered as it had been from the early afternoon sun. Now, yellow streams of light pushed through the bullet holes in the material, giving the area a supernatural glow. A ladder led down at the far end, and Crawford descended without hesitation. At the bottom, the rusty aftertaste of blood permeated the air. Crawford looked around the cavern and spotted an Eszet agent propped up against a boulder to his left. Her ribcage was shattered and strings of flesh trailed from the wound. Her blood flowed through the soil, turning it to sticky mud. Crawford observed from a distance. If only Jei were here, the sight would surely remind him of the simple pleasures he'd enjoyed as Farfarello. He pushed this thought from his mind and concentrated on the area around the corpse. There were no obvious traps, but most likely she had been carefully placed there. If he were to examine her more closely, most likely something would be triggered. Once he had decided they were safe as long as they left the body alone, Crawford turned his attention to the far side of the cavern. The area was paved with square stone slabs, some of which had fallen away allowing crimson light to filter through to the top level. Beyond it was an opening to a tunnel. He approached carefully while making sure that Schuldich copied his steps exactly. It was no use him avoiding the traps if his companion triggered them. "I'm inside your mind," the telepath reminded him. "I know your every move." Crawford stared at him before returning his gaze on the flickering red of the section ahead of them. He shifted his consciousness, but still couldn't feel a thing. That tiny space inside his head that he'd reserved for his lover felt empty. Now he was closer, he could see that there was a symbol on each stone. There were intricately carved loaves of bread, fish, babies, locusts, swords, and many other images as well. Taking into account that some had fallen away and that Schuldich had referred to the monks' traps, Crawford thought it likely that there was only one way across. The obvious solution, he considered with a smile, was to check underneath the slabs. He began his approach in order to check, but it was was almost impossible as the heated atmosphere was unbearable. The humid air condensed immediately when it hit him and slid down his spine. He shivered. Schuldich's voice interrupted his thoughts. "There were a lot of loaves and fish in the Bible, right? Maybe we've got to step only on those slabs." "No, I don't think so." Crawford clenched and unclenched his fists at what he could only describe as the stupidest suggestion he'd ever heard. "There'll be a definite connection between the symbols." Schuldich laughed. "I still think you should think about Bible references. They were monks who wanted only the *right* people to find the chalice, after all." Crawford flipped through the manuscript to see if there was any additional information. He had to admit that it probably contained hundreds of years of secret knowledge hidden amongst the poetry and prayers, but he just didn't have the time anymore. He returned it to his inner pocket. "Didn't you study any Biblical texts for the ritual?" he asked. "I know some passages off by heart just by talking things through with Farfarello on his 'off' days." "You know your enemy," Schuldich said, his voice echoing eerily around the cavern. "Yes, exactly." Crawford searched Schuldich's eyes for any evidence that the Being might also have got hold of his partner. He was momentarily wary of that attractive blue glint in the irises, but it had always been there. "But I ...During the ritual, I was draining the information off you." "How would we manage without you?" Crawford sighed. Still, despite his claims of knowledge gleaned from Farfarello, that man often had a method to his madness, the most common being afflictions and plagues against humanity. He remembered the very last time Schwarz were together in Japan and the way Farfarello hung upside down in his straitjacket incoherently chanting a list of punishments that God had brought upon mankind and begging Him to inflict one -- just *one* -- upon him. He had started at the beginning, at Genesis, and had only just reached the New Testament after five hours. There used to be a lot of days like that. He ran his eyes over the tiles again, his attention drawn to a black one in the middle, clearly made from a different type of stone than the rest. Maybe 'Schwarz' was the better term, since he was in Germany. He almost smiled at this, but instead concentrated on the way it stood out so clearly, that he felt it must form one of the stepping stones. Did it represent darkness? How many instances of darkness were there in the Bible anyway? Creation? The crucifixion? It hit him. The afflictions and plagues in Egypt. The list to which Farfarello had always given the most attention. He was delighted to see that all of them were represented as carvings before him. The darkness, of course. A river of dark water, frogs, lice, flies ...all of them were there. Schuldich clicked his tongue in disgust. Crawford turned to face him. "We summoned The One for a brief period of time, and you don't believe in this?" "Course I believe in this. I also believe in florist-assassins, but it still doesn't mean I like them all that much. It's my job, you understand." Crawford started to walk back in order to get a run up, looking from the first stone and back to where he was standing. "I understand," he said, without taking his eyes from the stones. He began the run up, taking perfect evenly-paced strides. "Wait!" Crawford skidded to a halt just in time. The tile just in front of him, the one he had knocked ever-so-slightly, crumbled and fell away. "I just remembered something! Indiana Jones was named after his dog, not a state at all!" "What!?" For the first time ever, Crawford experienced it. A sense of utter surprise and disbelief, not to mention exasperation. "Did you have a dog as a child?" "Yes!" he snapped. "It was called Goliath!" He returned his attention to the tiles. "Goliath..." Schuldich grinned and shook his head. "That's not even worth the effort. ...Oh, and *practice* the jump first, yeah?" Crawford turned to face Schuldich, stunned at the obviousness of the statement. "You could have just said that. Why do you put so much effort into trying sound like an idiot?" "It's called 'feigning ignorance'. You should try it some time, then maybe people wouldn't think of you as so pompous." Schuldich drew a line in the dirt with his foot, then threw a small pebble a few metres away from it. "Still, what d'you expect from those kind of morons?" he grinned. "Aim for the rock." Crawford took the same run up, made the same kind of jump he had planned in his head, and overshot his target by what would have been several tiles had he made the attempt over the pit. He deliberately chose not to meet Schuldich's eyes as he practiced what should have been a very simple task. Judging distances was impossible now that he didn't have that reassuring feeling in the back of his mind that told him when he was right. After the first few tries, he was becoming aware that that was what he had to do, as more Eszet agents were liable to be arriving soon. When he was landing right on the pebble every single time, Crawford made the leap. As his feet left the ground, it occurred to him that he really hadn't double-checked that his guess about the tiles was at all plausible. Only the practice that he had gone through previously stopped his body from reflexively twisting in the air at the thought of failure. The tips of his shoes touched the target tile and he felt the ground give way beneath him. He instinctively put out the palms of his hand, and felt surprise when they hit something hard and flat. Just his legs had given way, not the floor. Shaking, he got to his feet and looked to the next tile. This jump felt easier. He accomplished it successfully enough that he felt he could turn around and look at Schuldich again. His partner landed cat-like in the space he had been occupying previously. He smirked and threw back his head so his long red hair fell back into place and out of his eyes. There it was again. That feeling. The knowledge that Schuldich was his equal. Could match him in anything. He managed a small smile and made the remaining jumps without incident. Crawford looked ahead at the tunnel opening and became aware of a grinding sound emanating from the entrance. He remembered that he had a torch back in the car. "More Eszets've arrived," Schuldich told him. "We should keep going." Schuldich took his turn to to lead. The shadows twisted to surround him as he entered making him seem darker than their surroundings. The swish and grate got louder until it drowned out the pair's footsteps. Schuldich turned round and began to open his mouth as if to speak. Instead his eyes grew wide and glimmered pale blue in the blackness. "Crawford ...!" "What? Keep moving, or the agents will catch up." "You ...For a second I thought ..." He continued walking. "Why is Lucifer only chasing you? Only affecting you? Am I ...Am I not good enough?" "I've no idea," said Crawford a bit too quickly. He gave Schuldich a quick push to speed him up. "You've worked it out, haven't you? Only one of us can possess it, right? After all, you never drink to friendship or love with the Devil's cup and it's already chosen you!" He lunged forward using his momentum to spin himself round and brought his fist upwards, striking Crawford's jaw. "So what the fuck happens to *me*!?" he screamed. Crawford staggered and just managed to block the next blow. There was no follow- through, and when he looked up he could see that Schuldich had drawn back into a defensive fighting pose. Schuldich broke into a satisfied smile. "But if I give up because the future tells us I won't succeed, then that's a self-fulfilling prophecy." "You'll be killed. Either way, you can't win this one." Without even acknowledging what he was doing, Schuldich began to bite his fingernails and tear at the skin surrounding them. Still smiling, "I'd rather die trying than watch you become more powerful than me." Crawford stared at him, struck by his fierceness. "I respect that." It occurred to him then that Lucifer would never be so obvious. It would allow them the truth ...sometimes. It would lie to them easily most other times. If he wanted to understand, then he himself would have to look at what was actually being done to them. Right now, it all seemed like a large-scale practical joke with the mastermind behind it having no clue of the outcome either. It surely meant that the changes he was experiencing did not reflect who would benefit from the chalice at all. One look at Schuldich told him all he needed to know about the man's audacity, his independence, his intelligence ...*Schuldich's* worthiness, not his own. His attention was dragged to the situation at hand as the tunnel opened out into a chamber lit by torches that burned endlessly blue. He could also see what was making those noises. Thousands of scythes and knives moved across through the floor, the walls and the ceiling. The atmosphere buzzed with the movement of millipedes, their black segmented bodies wound their way in and out of cracks and the slits in the rock that provided a path for the blades. Again, Crawford could see a pattern to it. He forced himself not to think of the revolting creatures with which the room pulsated. If he had anything which might be considered a 'phobia', millipedes would be it. They had far more legs than were necessary. It was Crawford's opinion that their Designer -- whosoever he or she might be -- should have restricted themselves to just eight. "Aha! This one's easy!" crowed Schuldich. "We jump onto the scythes on the ceiling and jump our way across to the other side." It was a good plan and it would be easy to get on top of the scythes that swung from side to side on the ceiling. The little grooves on the handles would make hanging on very simple. Little grooves ...? Oh. "Go on, jump up," Schuldich encouraged him. "Wait, there has to be another way across," Crawford said, putting his hand in front of Schuldich to form a barrier between him and the machinery. "Ah. I see," said Schuldich, having glimpsed Crawford's mind. The scythes had channels cut into them that probably contained daggers or a similar weapon Could the handles really be touch-sensitive? After all, the torches still burned after hundreds of years. He didn't give in to the urge to shiver. "So, we have to run through all *these* things at just the right time. I can do that." "I'll go first," insisted Crawford, although he knew he couldn't practice the course this time. "Why is that?" asked Schuldich, wrapping his arms tightly around his partner's waist. "Is it so you'll be able to justify my death at the end, hm?" "Your death?" He squeezed tighter. "The only part of your soul you haven't given away is your loyalty to Schwarz, but my death would neatly solve that problem, wouldn't it?" Crawford turned around and kissed him roughly, pushing his tongue deep inside Schuldich's mouth, exploring every jagged edge and every moist corner. It was over all too soon, and Crawford broke off contact to walk over and pick up the nearest torch. "I'll do what I can," he said. "And so will you, I'm sure." Even though his hand was far away from the ember, he could feel its icy glow against his face. He brought it nearer and stared at the frosty flame until a silver bead of sweat -- or was it something else? -- ran down his cheek. His lover was strangely quiet, he noticed. Turning around, he saw him sitting in the mouth of the tunnel. His eyes told Crawford that he'd retreated to another's mind, not for the first time today. It wasn't hard to guess to whom it belonged. "Naoe?" "... Has snapped and tried to kill Tot. Thank God," he snickered. "I thought I was going to be the only one left. Just a little more encouragement to stop him holding back and he'll be mine." Crawford held his hand out to Schuldich. The other man accepted it, and he hauled him to his feet. "We're second-guessing ourselves. That stops now." Schuldich shrugged. "I thought you always believed in preparing for the worst." Crawford turned to face the bladed machinery again. "That was when I knew what the worst would be," he murmured as his eyes traced the path that they'd have to take. Beautiful in its simplicity and rhythm, it required that he run a few steps and then lie down while keeping his feet tucked away. Then, he need to stand and repeat until the tunnel entrance. He did, at least, know that he was capable of this. The problems were that there might be variations in the blades' patterns over a certain time scale. Then there were the millipedes. The more he watched them surge and fall in the same winding patterns as the machinery, the sicker he felt. He casually leaned against the tunnel so as not to alert Schuldich. Nevertheless, he saw Schuldich jerk his head up and knew he'd been found out. He deliberately walked to the beginning of the metal labyrinth and, with a steely-eyed glare behind him, he ran a few steps immediately after the first two buzzsaws zipped past. "Makes me so fucking sick, you know," called out Schuldich from behind him. Crawford ignored him and looked down at the living tapestry of insects throbbing at his feet, then at the axe that swung towards him. He fell forwards and felt the brief gush of heated air just glance past the top of his head. "The previous room ...?" Schuldich's voice cut through his thoughts as surely as the blades would cut through his body. Was he trying to make this more difficult for him! He almost forgot about the need to tuck his legs in and brought his knees quickly up and under himself, scooping up millipedes and pushing them towards his face. A loud 'clunk' informed him that he almost hadn't been quick enough, and that the saws had removed a chunk of shoe. "It was a Biblical knowledge quiz on information that only you'd know, almost just to see if you were paying attention!" The millipedes had gathered around his neck, around the entrance to his collar. His heart pounded in his throat, blood roared in his ears. "Now this, a test of courage aimed exclusively at you." Now he was lying on top of a bed of spindles that punched through the floors at various intervals. He thrust himself to his feet and lunged forwards, arching his back suddenly as a spear shot across the room. "God, you'd think I'd take the fucking hint, wouldn't you?" Schuldich stamped his feet and dived into the mess of insects and steel. Crawford ran past the next set of buzzsaws and began the cycle again. When he reached the other side of the room, he inspected the damage that the room had done to his clothing and wondered why he ever thought that wearing white was a good idea. Brown- green insectoid smear covered his jacket, with thousands of tiny limbs smooshed against the knees of his trousers. When Schuldich emerged, his jacket was in the same condition. Somehow Crawford felt the blood, whether insect or otherwise, suited him nicely. "Thanks," said Schuldich, disdainfully brushing the worst off anyway. He blinked twice. "You told Sally where we were going, didn't you?" "Yes," he winced. Even without precognition he knew what was coming next. "She wanted to make us packed lunches and needed to know how far we were travelling so she could use sandwich fillings that would survive different lengths of journey ..." "Deceitful bitch. Bet you feel pretty stupid, hm?" "Who's here?" "Pretty stupid, yeah?" Crawford grunted in a way that could be described as agreement. "Only Jei." He grinned and started towards the next room. A sinking feeling hit Crawford that hammered inside him. Maybe this was the ending that had been planned by Lucifer all this time. Farfarello had always been his most affectionate disciple, and he was the one whom had been sent the manuscript. And, for all Schuldich's claims of the previous tests being tailored to him, there was that one other person who would be able to navigate the rooms as well. The room had a immense feeling of space and openness, despite the low ceiling. An incredible gorge dominated the room and the air roared agressively between the two sides. The only way across were seven keystone bridges, each assigned their own number. "Say, do you think all those bridges are safe?" joked Schuldich. They looked at each other and mouthed the word 'no'. Crawford stared at the bridges and tried to link their numbers together. Seventy-two. Twelve. One hundred and thirty-one. Sixty-one. Forty-two. Seventy. Sixty hundred and sixty-six. What did all but one have in common? Or why was only one significant? He kept staring in turn at each bridge, and was struck by the tranquility of the place. He closed his eyes and let the refreshing air wash over him, blowing his fringe back and drying the perspiration that had formed in the previous two rooms. His entire body spasmed as a familiar cry rang out behind them. He took in deep breaths of the cool breeze in order to slow his rapidly beating heart, and turned around to meet the man who had made that sound. The scream. The blood dripping from his hands. Still standing, despite the gashes over his entire body. This wasn't Jei. Farfarello sprung forwards, grabbed a handful of Schuldich's hair and wrenched it downwards, smashing his his head into the ground, face first. He struck him once with his boot, hard. "Hell ...has many forms. Today it was a sixteen year-old sobbing desperately down the phone while his girlfriend screams as he tries not to kill her." Schuldich tried to push himself upward, but his arms failed him. "Sorry." Crawford immediately took advantage of the attention that the other man was paying to Schuldich. An elbow strike to the floating ribs sent Farfarello to the floor. His eyelids fluttered pitifully, but he was still alive. Shame. Crawford had hoped that bone fragments would puncture his lungs. Schuldich managed to sit himself upright. "You're too late." In reply, Farfarello coughed up grey blood over his jacket. He hacked up more unknown fluids before he was able to speak. "I ...will come back to you ... and Schwarz ...if you don't take Nagi ..." "It's a deal," Schuldich managed to choke as blood bubbled down the side of his mouth. Schuldich pulled at Crawford's sleeve and tried to stand. The other man held his wrist tenderly, and helped Schuldich as he began to stand. Without warning, Crawford swept Schuldich's nearest foot from under him, sending him back to the floor. He twisted into a Dragon stance and brought his fist down into the telepath's ribs. Crawford liked breaking bones. They made a loud cracking sound that he could really appreciate. He now turned his attention back to the bridges, truly invigorated. It was simple numerology, after all, and he had studied that in detail to perform the Eszet ritual. Some were numbers associated with heaven, and some were associated with the demonic. Six-six-six stood out. So very obvious, and a distraction for amateurs. Others, such as seventy-two, twelve and forty-two were the numerological values of various names of God. Each character in the Hebrew alphabet was represented by a number. Therefore, important Names had their own number that could be found by adding up the letter values. Once this was done, fascinating patterns could be discovered. An example? Man became naught, value sixty-one, through association with the Devil, value seventy. Add them together and you got one hundred and thirty-one, the number of Samael. Or Lucifer. Whatever you wanted to call him. Maths was a holy language. Crawford smiled. Rightly or wrongly, he knew which bridge he would take. Maybe it was divine inspiration, but he knew then the side to which he belonged, the side that owned him. He could remind himself all day that the traps were supposedly set by God-fearing monks, but when it came down to it he was here for a pact with Lucifer. And that ...entity, for lack of a better word ...was watching over him. He took the bridge labelled one hundred and thirty-one with no further hesitation. His legs did not crumble when he reach the keystone in the centre of the bridge. Neither, he was relieved to discover, did the bridge. It was only when he had crossed safely did he look back. Something had tugged at the limits of his hearing. A dripping sound. An uncertain foostep. Schuldich had started his way across the bridge. His body rocked back and forth, but he was standing nevertheless. ((I never give up,)) he gasped. ((Crawford ...Brad? If I get the chalice, I'll live. So please ...)) Crawford spun on his heel, turning his back to Schuldich. It was the final insult, a way to tell the other man that he was no threat to him anymore. *** The final room. Crawford had reflexively closed his eyes when he had entered. The ruby burned with unearthly brilliance, shooting straight into his eyes. Blinding, shining light. No wonder its original owner wanted it back. Crawford examined the room. No obvious traps, just that amazing gem standing in the centre. He walked forward carefully, making sure that he set off no more traps. It soon became clear that there weren't any. What was there was was a series of carvings in the wall, the floor, and the ceiling. He recognised them, of course. Holy words, secret and mystical symbols, protective prayers. All forming a powerful magical barrier against unholy influences. It suddenly became clear. This was the only barrier that the monks had created. The one obstacle that would ensure the wrong person didn't acquire the chalice. Everything else had been designed by Lucifer ...A Creature whose only weakness was the seals. A muffled thump. Not for the first time that day, Crawford jumped, heart beating fast. He turned around, only to find Schuldich slumped just outside the entrance. The man just shook his head sadly. Crawford walked onwards to the centre. He double-checked the stone stand that the chalice stood on. It was solid and, since the monks were the ones who had built this room, he had no real reason to think it would be booby-trapped. He took it, and held it. He caressed its flawlessly cut sides and wondered what the hell he was meant to do now. He heard a sound that he realised, with a stab of self-doubt, was Schuldich getting to his feet again. ((You'd kill me? Me, who's been your companion and your lover all this time? You'd ...kill me?)) Crawford looked him up and down. The blood dripping from his face, and the jacket soaked in crimson. The pitiful expression. He grinned, and walked over to him, holding the chalice as far away from Schuldich as possible. ((I ...love you.)) "How convenient for you to tell me that now. You must be desperate." Crawford put his free arm around Schuldich's shoulder, rubbing gently at the wonderfully tense muscles. "All I can offer you ...is a quick death." His hand moved swiftly to Schuldich's neck, and snapped it with a crack. Whatever had been special about that room vanished. It felt empty, and the chalice seemed worthless. He suddenly felt very cold, and he hugged the dull, colourless cup to his chest, hanging his head to stare downwards at it. He felt arms round his own neck, hands that worked at the tight knot of muscles at his own neck. Instead of hurting him, they stroked and welcomed him. He moved into their embrace with just a hint of resignation. "You'd kill me? Me, who's been your companion and your lover all this time? You'd ...kill me?" Crawford's head snapped around to see Schuldich grinning at him. The wounds had vanished, although the blood remained. No matter. Schuldich had always looked more beautiful that way. "I like that in a man." Schuldich snickererd, and Crawford couldn't help but join in. He looked at the Chalice and offered it to the other ....man? "This belongs to you, I suppose. Evil, scheming bastard that you are." Schuldich ran his fingers through Crawford's hair. "The question always remained --" "Do I have the courage to agree to be your equal?" Crawford finished for him. His precognition was slowly creeping back to him in warm waves of recognition, with just a little fear. He realised that Schuldich, or whatever you wanted to call him, was waiting for an answer. Crawford nodded with the self-belief of a man who has seen everything, and followed his eternal lover into the darkness. -- Descent: Owari -- -#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#-#-*-#- Brief explanation follows, if you need it ;-) ) Explanation: Crawford gave the Chalice back to its 'original owner' and the person with whom he'd been seeking a pact: Lucifer/Schuldich. Tot and Nagi will be back together and happy, thanks to Farfarello's own deal with Schuldich.