VPM / GW fusion
by whizbang
~~ To Stray from the Path ~~
Zechs drew the sleeve of one arm over his eyes, in a more or less futile attempt to clear his vision. Futile, because the heavy fringe of platinum bangs that fell over azure eyes would not be deterred from obscuring his sight. Frustrated, he moved off the sidewalk to rest under the shelter of an overhang, just barely out of the misting rain. That had to be it. The drizzle, combined with the overall weariness of an overcast day, seemed to leach the color out of everything, bleeding. And it seemed to be playing tricks on his eyes in more ways than one. Just a glimpse, a bare tantalizing hint...
But that was impossible. He couldn't have seen Treize. Treize was dead.
But why after all these years, was he suddenly presented with a vision of his old friend and mentor? He shook his head lightly, dropping one of the grocery bags he carried to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "Mirialdo, you must be more tired than you care to admit." Not a comforting thought, considering. Work had kept him later than expected, shopping had taken longer, and there was yet a ton of chores awaiting him at home. And Lucrezia. Thought of her brought renewed urgency to his evening commute, as she would likely be worried, and he gathered up the bag, grateful he'd had the foresight to ask for plastic. The bottom would have torn out of a paper sack, after resting in a soggy puddle as it had. Back into the rain, not really caring that it dampened his clothes and hair just as it dampened his spirits.
Mind half on preparing dinner, half on nothing at all, he was startled to catch sight of the familiar form once more. Quite a ways on down the street, but there was no mistaking the height, the build, the easy confident stride. For all that he had stopped, the figure had gained no distance on him, still roughly in the same place he had first seen it. And it was - beckoning? Blinking again, when he next looked up the sidewalk was empty. Although now his head was not. No point in even trying to return home, at least not until he'd satisfied himself that it was not Treize he'd seen. Otherwise sleep would be an impossibility tonight, as what ifs and maybes ran maddening circles in his brain. Even if Lucrezia did not keep him awake with pained and feverish tossing and turning. Unlikely, as bad weather generally made the sickness worse. And with a slight sigh, he picked up pace.
When he reached the spot he'd last seen the form, there was no one there, of course. He stood a moment on the street corner, scanning in all directions. And was rewarded with another glimpse of a trailing coat, as the person, if indeed it was, turned down a side alley the next block down. Cursing his own stubbornness and well aware that he was straying from his route, the sodden blonde followed. <It's not him, it can't be. I was with him the night he died. I saw his body, saw the blood. Kissed his cold cheek before they put him in the cold ground.> And again, at the alley, reality appeared to be in agreement with his thoughts. A dead end, and no one in sight. Partially relieved, though ten times more frustrated then before, Zechs entered into the darkness cast by overshadowing buildings.
Somehow even with the rain, he knew the alley was possessed of a perpetual state of dankness, and his feet sloshed through seemingly ancient puddles. No sign of the form, and no possible exit either. Yet he knew he'd seen it turn down this way. Straying further into the alley he tried a couple of unmarked doors, even though they were visibly chained and bolted, and looked to have been for quite some time. A row of smart store-fronts at one time, from the look of the architecture, though all windows had long been boarded up, and the few signs still hanging were faded and peeling beyond legibility. All, save one. At the very end of the row, a small and incredibly grimy window, caged by heavy bars, displayed a gaudy sign of flickering neon light that reflected dancing off puddles. It read 'Junque', or would have if the u and e had been working.
One last glance into the shadows of the alley, and Zechs convinced himself that the figure must have entered this store. There was simply nowhere else for a person to hide. /This is quite stupid of you. Best to forget the whole incident and return home as quickly as possible./ Not that he was listening to himself. The berating was given in advance, for the act of foolishness he knew he was about to commit. And with no further hesitation he pushed open the door, which he had known would be unlocked, and slipped inside.
VPM / GW fusion
by whizbang
~~ In Sickness and in Health ~~
A small brass bell sounded tiredly at his entrance. He caught a glimpse of it overhead, tinged green with a patina of age. And an equally tired looking and wizened shopkeep glanced up at him over a pair of smudged wire rimmed bifocals. His expression sour, as if customers were not actually welcome in the store. And perhaps they were not, as Zechs could almost believe he was the first patron this place had seen in years. /How... predictable./ He almost had to laugh. The entire scene was like something from a bad dime store novel, and would have been surreal if not for the dirt. Which clung to everything, even the floor, a blanketing layer of dust, thick and choking. Zechs was certain that quaint antique stores in bad novels were never so dirty, or so disorganized. As his cool eyes surveyed the ramshackle shelves of the shop's interior, he noted with faint surprise a set of footsteps leading from the door to deeper inside. Careful not to tread on them, he approached the proprietor, who scowled fiercer, annoyed that the blonde had the temerity to disturb him.
"Is there something you want?" The growl precluded any speech from Zechs.
He shifted his bags to a more comfortable position. "Yes, actually. I was looking for... someone. I followed them down to this street, and then lost them. You haven't seen anyone, a man in a long coat?"
A curt shake of graying head was all the answer Zechs could apparently expect. Even with the evidence of freshly wet footprints on the floor. More irritated than surprised by the man's attitude, he moved to follow the footprints, pretending to browse. Whoever had left them was male, judging by their size, and moving with a purpose, stride wide and swinging. Zechs had difficulty matching it within the confines of the narrow isle. And the track led in one direction only. Briefly buoyed on hope, he turned a corner only to be met with another dead end. The tracks halted impossibly, after turning to face a shelf, as if intrigued by its contents. And Zechs followed still, despite so obviously loosing his quarry. Mimicking, he placed his steps precisely in the prints left behind, turning also to face the shelf. And his eyes were immediately drawn to one item in particular.
Later, he could not say what made him notice the mask, for indeed something had caused it to leap out and snatch his attention. It had rested a bit behind a blue vase, quietly accumulating dust just like everything else in the shop. Simple, a little too much so to be decorative, he was not certain what it was made of. Though when he picked it up it felt... exactly right in his hand, neither cold nor sullen, fragile nor clumsy. A predominately white visage, bordered with an indeterminate dark color, one eye appeared to be winking knowingly at him. Most intriguing were the four drops of scarlet that ran on forehead and cheeks. It was not priced, but the shopkeep had not looked at all surprised when he set it down on the counter, oddly reluctant to let it out of his grasp. In compromise, he reached a finger to stroke carefully over one of the red streaks. Completely smooth, like glass.
"I'd like to purchase this."
He received a grunt in reply, as the man readied his voice for use. "You don't even know how much it is." He was obviously a bit bothered by Zechs' behavior, and squinted at the blonde, appraising. One is, after all, expected to haggle over price in small shops such as these. "Two hundred." He named a figure five times what the piece was worth, guessing the customer had no intentions of leaving the store without it. And he was right.
Wrapped securely in a bit of yellowing newspaper, the mask now resided in one of Zechs' grocery bags, resting atop a bunch of carrots. He'd left the shop to find darkness not restricted to the confines of the alley anymore, as dusk was quickly settling its shroud over the city. He hurried now, glad the rain had slackened rather than grown, and before long found himself at the front stairs of his apartment. His and Lucrezia's. Feeling guilt at having tarried when he should have been making dinner, he fished for keys in his pocket, pulling the jingling wad out before tackling the puzzle of fitting the correct one into the lock. On the third try he made a match. /Perhaps she will be sleeping. Goodness knows she needs the rest. And I can give her the mask as a present, to make up for being late./ She slept much these days, under the strain of the odd sickness that had taken her in her prime, claimed her and put its mark on her. She belonged to the pain now, more thoroughly than she had ever belonged to him, even in health when he still held hope of placing a wedding band around her finger.
Thoughts of his lover, her illness, his duties, and the mask were massive stone blocks that formed the base of his awareness. Sifting like silt down between the cracks, lost and forgotten, was the figure he'd seen.
Bolting the stairs two at a time, he winced as the bag that carried his gift rebounded off the wall sharply, with a dull thud. Thankfully not the sound of something breaking, but perhaps the sound of bruised vegetables. Stew for dinner then, even though it took a while to cook, as the abused produce needed to be used quickly. The bags he laid in the kitchen with a soft rustle of plastic, and he followed an even softer sound to find Lucrezia in the living room. The softness of labored breathing, though unfortunately not trudging the rhythm of sleep.
"I was worried about you." Rising from the darkness, he could almost believe the filmy words belonged to a ghost, and to bring light to the room would be to frighten it away. He flipped on a lamp.
Two strides took him to the sofa, and he leaned to draw her hands from under the blanket over her lap, clasping them in his cold ones, worried that hers were colder still. "Why aren't you in bed? I'm sorry to be late." And a brushing kiss was dropped to wan cheek.
Idly, she twisted a strand of shimmering gold, only slightly damp, through her fingers. Fingers nimble and steady still, for all that the strength had been sapped from them. "Think I'll be satisfied with that?" And she took another kiss from him, nevermind that he had to lean to permit, a working of cool fine lips on his. When he drew back, laughter was in her dusky eyes, faint and tinged with relief, but there. He laughed aloud, striving to create enough cheer for them both.
"There's more where that came from, if still you need convincing, and I've a present for you as well." The pale lips opened again, this time in protest, and he halted their movement with his hand. "No complaints. I'll shower you with gifts if I want." He turned to gather another blanket, tucking it about her already cocooned form. "But dinner first," he announced crisply, booking no argument. And convinced by her small and tired nod, he returned to the kitchen and began to cook.
~~~
A stolen glance to the clock above the sink warned him that it was well past a reasonable time, and that he ought to have already joined Lucrezia in bed. Sleep would come dear after the disturbance of earlier, but if not to sleep at least to keep her warm. If she had calmed and was speaking to him again. In a practiced motion he worked loose the drain stop, watching with dull interest as the water fled down the drain, and dried his hands on a towel. Evening routine always the same, he left the kitchen and killed all the lights, checked and double checked the door, and finally headed down the hallway for the bedroom. The only difference this night, and marked because it *was* a difference, was the hesitation that slowed his steps, nipping at his heels. /And if she hasn't forgiven you yet? Will you sleep on the sofa, like the loser of a lover's quarrel?/
Needless, his worrying had been. She was already asleep, but woke as he entered, shifting a little as if to make room for him on the enormous bed, that her slight form did not even begin to monopolize. Before he'd even slid between the sheets she stretched her arms out with a lazy murmur. "I'm sorry, Zechs. For... overreacting. And, thank you."
More relieved that she seemed to be alright than grateful he was being allowed to bed, the blonde tucked her tightly against his body, and nuzzled his face against her sweet-smelling hair. "I'm sorry too. I didn't know the... it would upset you so. I promise to get rid of it tomorrow." He was leery of even speaking of the mask to her, now. After what had happened.
After dinner, he'd placed the gift on her lap, still in its wrap of yellowed newspaper. And with something close to delight, slender hands had delved beneath the brittle paper to smooth along the mask's surface, bringing a look of concentration to her features as she attempted to guess at her present. Hesitant, the glance up at him, but more solid was the smile she wore. Until suddenly she'd jerked her hands away from the mask, as if badly burned. With more strength and speed than he'd known she still held, she'd leapt to her feet, spilling the package to the floor, knocking the mask free at last. He'd not been sure then, and still was not, the precise order of emotions that cascaded over her face. Loathing being prominent, and disgust, fear was there too, mixed with pain and panic. They all came one after the other, fleeting, to finally leave her face a mask of its own, forcefully stilled to a semblance of normalcy. And she'd demanded he fetch the mask from the floor and put it outside, her only explanation for behavior beyond acceptable limits that the mask was unsettling, disturbing, and that she did not wish it in their home.
~~~
Shrouding sleep, clever sleep, eluded him as always. He was sick to death of playing this game. Sweet beckonings and desperate pleas all failed to charm the beast to his side, as it instead preferred to pounce upon him when least expected, and drag him swiftly under it's mantle before he could protest. Already Lucrezia had succumbed, her cold body nestled snugly against his, leaching the warmth from him slowly but surely. He didn't know where she kept the warmth she took, as she never seemed to use it, perhaps hoarding it away for the inevitable day he would no longer be able to provide that comfort.
Blessed (or cursed) with a particularly stubborn tenacity, Zechs refused to let go the struggle, and tried once more to summon sleep. Tried to breach the portal in his mind that led to blissful rest and peace, the black bubble that repulsed his every attack with slippery wile. And defeated, he tried yet once more, anger burned away in frustration and the ashes released to despair. He felt, gently, against the oily surface, probed and leaned, and suddenly fell through. He was on the other side.
The realm of dreams took on a different aspect each time he visited, but never before had it appeared so foreign to his eyes. Nor so peaceful. Harsh and stark colors bled and ran together, mixing unconcerned to create impossible new colors, beyond imagining. The landscape was open and free, uncluttered by the trappings of civilization yet oddly subdued. He wandered beneath the crippled limbs of ancient and withered trees, over sprawling flows of loose rock and boulders, all constrained under the weight of a dusky sky lit by an even sickly-faint glow. The drowsy surroundings cast their charm on him well, slowing his stride to a dragging amble, blunting the sense of incompleteness he felt, that should have translated into urgency. He was searching for something, though was apparently in no hurry to be reunited with whatever it was.
Beneath another of the pained and naked trees he halted, not to rest, but to merely take in the landscape, the jagged horizon. Brittle bark beneath curious fingers was faint of warmth and tinged surprisingly with an energy he normally associated with living things, for all that tree appeared dead. But perhaps it was not the tree he sensed, but through it the figure perched on a low branch, bundled to obscurity by a dark cloak and swinging its feet. A figure that had for certain not been there a moment before, else he would have seen it upon his approach. A figure that caught his attention now by kicking off the branch to fall - no, float - to the ground, coming to rest a generous pace in front of where he stood. "Hello Mirialdo," said Treize. "It's about time you finally showed up." And with no further sound from either of them, he swept himself up in his friend's arms.
VPM / GW fusion
by whizbang
~~ Interlude ~~
Treize spent only the briefest time stumbling over harsh and hungry landscape before he gave up. And took to the sky. /Much easier,/ he thought with smug satisfaction, hovering several inches above the ground. At least this small talent was left to him, though he was pained to admit fear, of learning what might be lost. Likely much, as entrapment in the realm of dreams was akin to death for one such as he. Shinma, god and demon both.
/Foolish and *human* as it is to say this, but.../
"Consider that your situation could be worse, Treize." He took to speaking aloud, not to share his thoughts with anyone - he could do that other than through speech anyway. But the silence was so damn dreary and dare he say, boring?
Slender hands and wrists protruded from the dark formless garment that cloaked his body from neck to ankle. And if desired, head, though the hood was rarely used. He crossed his arms, an act of stubborn defiance against the oppressive landscape. All told, an unpleasant place to spend eternity. Though the alternative... Compared to being sealed in the dark, this warped and twisted land was paradise.
/Was that why he banished me here? To keep me from the dark?/
Treize resumed his slow wanderings, not that he expected to gain an accurate lay of the land from them. Around him, he could sense his new reality slide in a viscous and sluggish flow, ever changing. No passage of sun or moon to mark the hours, he began to keep time to the beating of his heart. The landscape blurred to an endless monotony that pained the eyes as he drifteded at length, unhappily learning the full depths of his salvation. The initial relief he'd felt, just to cling to existence however meagre, was being eaten away by a harsh regret, that he must endure where time warped in meaningless forms, folding back on itself.
/Does it do so at his whim? Does he even know about this place?/
He could feel the taint of Zechs' bloodline on the realm of dreams - at least that sense was dulled but intact - though not the actual presense of his beloved student. His minion, his toy, his sweet and loyal friend, his master.
/How could it have gone so wrong?/
Treize laughed, a quick and sickening sound, filled to brimming with derision and self-contempt. The surrounding quiet immediately swallowed it up, so that he was left with only a soft pattering in his ears as proof of silence's weakness. /Because you were careless. Enraptured with your selfish pride, you held yourself too highly in esteem. And underestimated the lure of the Vampire clan's seductive gifts./ The last of that bloodline Zechs was, though he was unaware of his heritage. Such a prize the orphaned youth had been, when he'd fallen almost literally into Treize's lap. The promise of great power held within was better than the finest heady wine, especially to one who feared and desired it both in equal parts.
But far from possessing the golden Vampire, he'd fallen under Zechs' unconscious charm. It would have been a kindness to Treize, to say they owned each other, for it was more one-sided than that. He'd left the boy in ignorance, first to keep him pliant and controllable, and later because he feared the truth would drive them apart. He'd known that eventually Zechs would discover the truth of his existence, as the hunger that marked his clan would not content itself to lie in the dormancy of youth forever. Only, eventually sounded so sedately calm and distant, when it had been trailing the pair all along, one small step behind. And all it had taken was a single falter for eventuality to catch up. *That* night would remain forever fresh and sharply burning in his mind...
/The Vampire clan is enemy to wayward Shinma, captor and jailer, and sometime destroyer. Bad enough that you failed to take his power for your own, and worse that you could not bring yourself to slay him. But only one other's crime has been so sad as yours./
The Servant.
Lost in reminiscence, Treize's wanderings were directed by the hand of whim. Around him the landscape remained steadfastly unbroken by more than stunted withered trees and open wounds of rock, bursting its way through the skin of the ground, seeping. But then the realm shifted again, melting and reforming to another mold, causing Treize to learn his first lesson of navigating in the dreamland.
/Unconscious thought leads even an unknowing seeker to his goal./
He halted, confronted suddenly with a towering dark cliff face, mirror smooth yet lackluster, absorbing in all light unfortunate enough to scrape its surface. The stark plane dominated unworthy landscape, so that instead of thrusting out of place it brought a sense of tyrannical completion. And bound crucified against it was an even darker figure, held aloft by thin sharp lines of gleaming quicksilver that cut impossibly deep into wrists and limbs and throat, and pressed tight everywhere else. Treize sensed that the figure was the guarded stolen heart of this place. It wore a cloak much the same as his, with the hood drawn concealing over head and face, and he did not have to look to know it wore a simple mask of white on dark.
/My thoughts wander to the Servant and here he is presented me./
~~~
In this and all their meetings to come, the Servant never spoke. But Treize knew enough of his story to guess at the rest, for it was his own. Once a proud Shinma from beyond the western sea, the Servant spent quiet years in fascination, stalking the young successor of the Vampire's line. A young girl, Miyu. But he held back, faltering, until the fatal mark trudged past, and the Vampire blood kindled to awakened fire in her veins. One private night, on a cold beach backed by slashing waves, she took his will with a swift and crimson kiss, and made her will his own. In her defense he betrayed and murdered one of his kin, Shinma and close friend also, and his face was banished behind a shameful mask of silence as punishment.
He was firmly her servant after, and labored unfulfilling years helping to banish his loose and earth-roaming kindred to their place in the dark. He lost his name also, to time and condemnation, until legend called him after vile duty, never breathing that he'd worn another title. All told, very little remained in the Servant's possession. But when grasping so little, the loss of a single grain is devastation. For certain only the dark guardian knew the outcome of his mistress' existence, but histories hinted at a weakening of that bloodline, till one day it and the Servant both faded out of view.
~~~
The Servant never spoke, but Treize spoke enough for them both, in contempt of the disparaging silence. "I've heard she was beautiful, willful of spirit and fresh. And in her line that beauty runs true." His unnaturally bright sapphire eyes grew distant, falling on sights hidden in memory. "I've seen. He is the latest, the last, and my Mirialdo is a creature of such beauty it was sweet pleasure just to look upon him. I craved his soul, sought to hold that searing fire..."
/And was devoured in the flames. I was also a fool, to sacrifice my life for his own. And yet, and yet... I would do it again, in a minute, in a moment, in a heartbeat./
"You will see." Treize sat hovering in the air, roughly level with his masked and silent companion. "One day he will awaken from the shroud I placed over him that night. He will awaken and come for me. And loose us both." The soft Shinma voice fell with heavy and surprising conviction, and for a time, bitterness. "I hate him, you know, for trapping me here. Kinder to have let me die." The voice soothed on, purring. "Too bad the one who imprisoned you is dead. But as her descendant, you can take your revenge on my precious Zechs. And I'll be forced to stop you."
VPM / GW fusion
by whizbang
~~ Longing's Shadow ~~
Nevermind that it was only an apparition, that Treize was still dead and the form before him a figure spun from the mist of dream and the decay of old memory. Summoned, no doubt, by the imagined chance encounter earlier that day. "Treize..." For a ghost, the man felt comforting and whole, though there was less of him than Zechs remembered as they embraced.
"You've grown, Miri." Dream-Treize was apparently as adept at reading him as the real Treize had been. "It has been five years, and so much I've missed! I tried to watch you from afar, watch over you as I used to. But so precious little strength remains to me, after-" Breaking off, he broke the embrace as well, pulling away to clasp the sweetly confused golden face between his hands. And, something the real Treize would never have risked, he bent to place his lips on the others'.
"Treize...?" And then those lips covered his, warm and demanding. He'd longed for this so many times in guarded fantasies, and despaired when death severed all possibility of fulfillment. Bittersweet, to finally receive it now in shadowed dream. With his eyes closed blind against the world, he could almost believe it real.
Treize abruptly drew back, studying the other with a remembered keen intensity, searching for confirmation in slow glassy azure gaze of what had been discovered in the kiss. "You still don't know..." Treize's soft voice, ever caressing, sounded almost giddy under the weight of relief and disbelief. "I was meticulous that night, too skillful in my manipulations, and my blanketing forgetfulness too strong for you to break."
The young blonde searched his friend's expression, concern visible in a tiny crease that knit the center of his brow. The real Treize never behaved so erratically as this one, but perhaps dream spirits were influenced by his own emotional state, presently that of turmoil. Zechs finally found his tongue again, but paring it up with speech for another dance of words was a different matter entirely. "Treize? I don't..." Why did he have to speak about his death? Zechs felt a strong compulsion to leave that night buried deeply in time's furthest catacombs, sickened at the thought of exhuming its corpse to the light. "Please, Treize. I don't understand. I want to, but I'd rather you just take me in your arms again, and let remain in peaceful ignorance."
The man-thing continued on, unheeding, although the temptation of his student's request was almost too great to deny. "I sought to shield you in false belief. How was I to know the danger persisted, in form the same though faced different than before?" Here, Treize clapped swift hands over his ears, perhaps to shut out the soft keening moan that fell from him, seeping, as if oozing from his every pore.
"Treize...?" Concern immediately overrode all else, and Zechs reached a hand to lay it comforting on his friend's shoulder. Or would have, had not the ginger-haired Shinma intercepted it in his own, turning it to expose smooth golden wrist.
"More than strength I need time. Strength can be mustered given that..." Treize stared at the small patch of flesh peeking between sleeve and palm, his thumb smoothing possessive even strokes over it, slow and absent, as if to help him think. And perhaps it did. Too-bright sapphire gaze suddenly snapped up to Zechs' face, inquiring with insistency. "Do you trust me?"
"Do I...? Yes..." The word drew out in a fragile thread, whispered.
Satisfied, Treize drew one of his hands into some hidden fold of the cloaking garment he wore, and extracted two objects. A sharp glint, and a slither of white. Zechs' wrist held firmly still in the other, he laid the edge of a small knife across the map of veins beneath skin. "Foolish. You shouldn't." And Treize laughed.
~~~
Zechs had given his word, and he refused to jerk his arm away, regardless of being startled and shaken by Treize's unbalanced laughter. And one glance to the fiercely intent expression on his friend's face opened floodgates he'd barred against rising apprehension. In a small gleaming twist, the knife drew a line of red across Zechs' wrist, followed quickly by a welling of lush scarlet. It was all the younger man could do, to stand in disbelief as fine rivulets of blood trickled over his hand and Treize's, and pattered in fulfilling rain to the ground, where parched soil drank deeply of the precious drops. Then came the pain, a shock of sharpness so exquisite it bled into rapture. Zechs could not have moved then even had he wanted, as the air seemed to condense, thickly restraining and choking, holding him transfixed though free to savor the dual sensation, the heady scent of blood...
Treize's hand suddenly released its deathgrip on the younger man's, and it convulsed into an agonized fist, making the bloodpaths beneath pale skin leap into sharp contrast. And he brought the knife against his own wrist, quick and reckless, the stroke parted pale skin to release another crimson flow, this one swift, deep. Rapt, Zechs watched as his friend's blood splashed to the ground, not understanding why his heart beat so unnaturally fast within his breast. Not noticing that his tongue darted to wet soft lips at the whim of hunger's kin, anticipation. And Treize... The Shinma didn't help matters any, as he raised his good hand to his mouth, the languid gesture making breathing suddenly a difficulty for Zechs. And when Treize proceeded to clean every trace of red from his fingers with careful feline swipes of his tongue, the younger man was forced to look away, reeling.
Attention thoroughly bound to his task, Treize did not bother with explanation or reassurance. He unwrapped the bit of white, which revealed itself as a fine silken cord, ended by a pair of tassels. One end he tied around Zechs' wrist directly over the cut, and it quickly becomes soaked with blood, drinking heavily enough to gorge itself a deep scarlet. The simple brushing touch against his skin, of nimble fingertips and silken linen, drove the blonde man's anxiety to even greater heights, and he thought certain his legs would buckle beneath the strain. A thin moan fluttered weak and pitiful at the edge of clouded awareness, and he belatedly recognized the sound as his. Then the cord's other end Treize bound around his own wrist, and it too quickly soaked up blood. The lines of red traveled swiftly at both ends, devouring the pureness of white, till they blotted it out entirely in joining at the middle. And their blood mingled....
Treize frowned, a twitching look of tight concentration, and spoke two massive words, though not through the movement of his lips. The words summoned a ripple, a shimmer of power, and the sated cord vanished in response. "It is done," Treize uttered, falling to his knees. "I've little time and less strength, but this has stolen me some more of each." /Only, at your expense, my dear sweet friend./
Zechs fell too, half against Treize and half into his arms, tired of the effort of keeping his feet. Suddenly tired of everything. The cord may have vanished but he could feel it still, a band of brittle unpleasant cold drawn loosely round his wrist. The cold ate at his strength, in delicate frosty nibbles. "Treize..." Even his words chattered, falling from chilled and stumbling lips. "What have you done?" And for the first time Zechs began to have suspicions that this was other than a dream. It was looking more and more like the stuff of nightmares.
"Make no mistake." Treize's softly private voice whispered close against the golden man's ear, where Zechs rested weary head on the dark familiar shoulder. The Shinma raised his hand to stroke along neck's nape, burying joyous fingers in a mass of white-gold silk. "This is the world of dreams, Zechs. Your world." He'd not meant to intrude on the other's thoughts, but this one had been broadcast with such force, it begged acknowledgment.
That touch did much to lull and reassure the vampire, and Zechs relaxed slightly, a slow release of tight tension and wound temper. "My world?" He raised his face and quizzical azure eyes alike to Treize, falling into easy comforting habit of student and teacher, and waited for the further explanation he knew would come. Though surely no explanation, however fanciful, would prove adequate. Rueful, Treize released a weary sigh, and the silence promptly killed the sound. More than oppressive, it weighed down on the pair with growing fury, vengeful and jealous, that the Shinma had found a way to loosen its hold over him. He shifted Zechs in his arms, using a little of the stolen golden strength, and began to speak in the other's mind.
His fingers ran still in Zechs' hair, smoothing gently the fine strands to order. The last part was a plea, bordering on desperation.
Drifting drowsy under the play of soft fingers and softer speech, Zechs knew there was some other and likely sinister reason for his sudden tiredness. But it felt so nice, so very nice. Slowly, his clouded mind processed the words he'd heard. "Then it was you I saw... I knew it." Smugly satisfied, Zechs let his eyes slip shut. "Knew it was you. Why did you lead me to that mask? Lucrezia-" Thoughts of her brought Zechs closer to attention, and he removed himself from the Shinma's supportive embrace.
And Treize was unhappy to let him go, but did not bother with useless protest. He suddenly stood, forgotten urgency returning to jab at him. Subtle shifts in tone did more to warn Zechs than the sharp concern written in his friend's expression, and something in calm voice chilled him worse than had Treize been screaming. "That is why you must free the Servant."
"Servant? What danger? Treize, you make no sense." Not exactly the perfect time to be petulant, but Zechs let the frustration burn itself out that way, rather than build to intolerable levels that would demand immediate relief in an outburst. "You're not even real, none of this is real."
He regretted instantly those words. They hit the Shinma with the same effects as a physical blow. Treize flinched, then grabbed his student by the shirt, hauling him with perhaps unnecessary roughness to his feet. And shook him for good measure, though not very hard. He touched a golden cheek with trembling fingers, in quiet confirmation. Desperation. Treize was reduced to begging.
If not for the hands on his shirt, holding him up, Zechs would have fallen again. He'd never known, never borne the slightest suspicions that his friend's feelings led so far. And why should he have? Treize was not one to betray anything he did not wish to share. "I'm sorry, Treize." He uttered apology before he could remind himself that it was mere dream, for all that it seemed much greater.
Wistful and pensive, Treize continued, pretending to take the apology as true, though he knew how little its worth. The Shinma jerked sharply, to hover a little off the ground, and his expression adopted a look of horror. "So soon?" He grasped Zechs' shoulder in a vice-tight grip, extremely painful as the pressure penetrated flesh to grate on bone beneath. The pain was a stinging lash, searing away any lingering mist that may have shrouded corners of the Vampire's mind. But the hurt was nothing compared to what awaited him. "The Servant, Zechs. Do not allow the mask to be destroyed. You must go, now!"
To be thrown between worlds... It was like being dropped from a great distance onto the surface of a frozen lake. The terror of the fall, the pain of the initial impact, and finally overwhelming shock at breaking through. Zechs sat bolt upright in bed, throwing off the covers as his body succumbed to terrible convulsions. Between the space of the violent sweat-soaked shudders and a lingering searing cold, Zechs cleared space enough to take in his surroundings. Their bedroom, his and Lucrezia's, dark and safe. He would have been able to relax then, and calm his labored breathing, except for two things. The notice that their bed was empty, save for himself, and that his slashed wrist fed a growing pool of blood on soft linen sheets. Then a high wailing shriek he recognized as Lucrezia's split the air, emanating from somewhere down the hall.
VPM / GW fusion
by whizbang
~~ Sharp Struggle, Swift Betrayal ~~
Under the cover of night, the latest and last descendent of the Vampire clan set foot for the first time in the realm of dreams. Unbeknownst to him, the very ground responded to his presence, like some half-tamed creature balking at unfamiliar touch, roiling and buckling in great waves beneath his feet. Had he the awareness, he would have felt its mixed excitement at his bloodline's return after long absence, exultant fear and revulsion, submission. Two others who did have the sense immediately knew, as the outer concentric ripples of heralding washed over them. Treize's features lit with an unhealthy anticipation, and he abandoned his perch on the highest tree he could find to hunt down the source of the disturbance, the young blonde Vampire who had been the greater part of waking thoughts (for there is no sleep within dreams) for what seemed to the Shinma an eternity. Bound against a dark cliff-face, a darker figure lifted its head from where chin had fallen to rest on chest, and the eye that was visible behind slitted mask flared with brief fire before subsiding to glittering coal-black intelligence. And for the first time, the Servant began to struggle against centuries old shackles.
~~~
A world apart and falling from suspended false sleep, a wan woman shot open dusky violet eyes. /No... NO!/ She leveraged her way out of the tender embrace of the blonde man who shared her bed, ready to lay slumber on him again if he were to awaken. A light sleeper, he was usually disturbed by even her smallest pained movements, softest moans uttered from pale parched lips. But oddly this night he did not awaken, as she threw off the covers and slid from their massive bed. Naked and worn, the wood floor was quite chill underfoot, the small heat cast by an equally tired window heater inadequate to do more than take the worst of the sting out of sharp air. Vaguely, she was aware of the discomfort, and of the needling pain as bright cold invaded her lungs. Only vaguely, as she had learned long ago to shut out the feeble protestations of this body. Only vaguely, as her mind was firmly held to the task at hand and would not be distracted by such mundane things. /You can't have him! He's mine, revenge is mine! I won't let you take this from me.../
Out the door, down the hallway, she could sense the workings of the Servant, thrashing with growing frenzy against that which held him bound in dreams. /Think to be reborn into this world, where you do not belong?/ Nearing the front entranceway, she plucked a brass fire poker from a small rack of like tools, not even pausing in her stride. A stride wide and free, singing in gleeful anticipation. Frost spread in small licks, from where freezing fingers touched the already chill metal. /I'll smash the mask, before you can break the shell yourself. Betrayer! I'll condemn you to eternal darkness./ The hated mask was as he'd left it, resting uneasily in a low corner. Prodding with the tip of her selected weapon, she positioned the falsely serene visage in the center of the floor, careful not to touch it directly. Huffed breaths curled icy white through the air, splitting the calm with almost audible sharp crackles. /I would have dealt with you properly, in time. But so impatient, you couldn't abide to wait till morning. This.../ She wetted frost to her lips with a darting tongue, and arranged slender hands around the metal shaft in a secure grip. And raised it high above her head, angled hook poised to strike. "...is for disturbing my rest!" A shriek of pure fury, crystal and brittle, accompanied the downward stroke of the poker. The blow fell glancing off the mask, so hard that it leaped several inches off the ground before settling back, a hairline fracture showing glowing red against the white.
The cold, Zechs slowly came to realize, was not entirely due to his forced journey between worlds. Around him it crowded close, invasive and insidious, seeking to settle in his limbs and joints and lull them to numb submission. And beyond that there was his wrist, still bound by a sapping band of iron ice, still unconcernedly spilling his heart-warmed blood over sheets and floor. But Lucrezia's cry he could not ignore, pitched high and frustrated, a siren call to action. Throwing himself from the bed he sprinted down the hall, a trail of pattering scarlet falling like soft rain in his wake. He really needed to find something to bandage his wrist...
Another blow fell, and another. The floor at her feet was littered with gashes and indentations, where on occasion the poker had missed, striking mutely resisting wood instead of the still smooth though now fractured surface of the mask. He stopped in the doorway, surprise halting his feet in their tracks, and watched concerned and confused as she readied another swing. "Lucrezia!" Her back was to him, his presence unrecognized and her name on his lips ignored. "What are you doing? Please stop. You'll hurt yourself!" Frail shoulders flexed, and he wondered briefly how she even managed to balance the poker so far overhead, weighing as much as it did. In a great blurring arc of motion the stroke was loosed, and it glanced ringing off the mask, otherwise perfect tone ruined by the dull splitting of another crack.
He tackled her in a soft hug, relieving her hands of the poker. It fell to the floor and rolled a half revolution, tired from its prolonged abuse. Nuzzled close, Zechs murmured small comforts for her ears, more concerned that she was out of bed and wearing herself down than for her senseless and confusing display of anger against the mask. Regardless of what dream-Treize had cautioned, about keeping the odd piece from harm. "Shh. It's okay, it's all right. Let's get you back to bed." In his arms she stiffened and froze for a long moment, then turned, twisting, and he thought she meant to bury her face in his chest as she often did, pulling support from his golden warmth. Instead when she spun it was to slip free, a vile and wrenching sneer descended on her pale features, and she backhanded him with a large amount of force. More strength than was possible for her to have remaining in her frail frame. More strength than any human had right to claim. Zechs was thrown across the room, and his head rebounded sharply off the opposite wall where he struck several feet still off the ground, before sliding to a limp tangle of limbs on the floor, pale platinum hair falling into his face. The absent strands wisping and obscuring, just as confusion was, just as pain was.
In the safe shell of his imprisonment the Servant felt shadow-mirrored blows, his own mask creaking and groaning under their weight, thin fractures and spider-web shatter marks decorating it in an exact mimicry of the one Lucrezia hammered on. He felt the blows, reeling in pained anger, and watched from afar as Zechs picked himself up to confront the violet-eyed woman again. Woman-thing, who was now floating a goodly bit above the floor, hair standing completely on end and whipped as if by strong winds. If not for the movement, frost would have settled in the dark locks as it had everywhere else on her person, a soft veneering of white, stiffening the fabric of her nightgown and clumping thickly in long lashes. And when she spoke, the unfamiliar voice overlaying Lucrezia's own quiet speech gusted in frosty puffs into the air. "That," the voice crooned, "was a mistake."
On his feet again, Zechs tried for a show of confidence, hoping it wasn't too obvious that he relied a great deal on the support of the wall at his back just to remain upright. He could feel the wet flow of blood from another wound, somewhere on his head, adding to the wash trickling still down wrist and hand. Heavy and primitive, the sharp scent of it marked the air. "Who are you?" He clenched his fingers into tight fists, pleased that the words came out strong and authoritative, and did nothing to betray him. "And what have you done to Lucrezia? I swear, if by your actions she comes to harm..."
He knew instantly that he'd gone too far, as Lucrezia's violet eyes flared a brightly icy white, the dusky orbs too disappearing behind a layer of frost. And, it would seem that strange beings from other realms took perverse pleasure in scorning his direct questions. "It's far too late for that, little Vampire. She is mine, trapped all this time in false dreams of bliss. As you have stolen something I valued greatly, so have I taken something of yours." To demonstrate, Lucrezia's hand raised slowly to her face, positioning ice-shard nails over the milky skin of her cheek, and dug a swath of bloody furrows down over jaw and throat and breast. Even worse than the blankly frozen gaze directed his way was the cruel laughter that spilled from frosted lips.
"Stop it!" An unthinking protective rage he'd not known he possessed rose to overtake him, and Zechs made a lunge at the hovering form. Futile, as an easy swipe of a slender arm sent him reeling back to crash against the wall again, and as he fell he rather thought he would not be able to regain his feet.
The laughter slowed, twisting into a victorious smirk. "Have to do much better than that, small creature, to defeat one of the Shinma. And I see how slight the reserves of strength you have, to call upon. Apparently rumor for once proves true, that time's passing has turned the Vampire clan weak and piddling."
A hand drawn across Zechs' brow cleared his vision of trickling blood, and he readied the concentration necessary to stand. Even if his legs refused, he would still try. He was beyond surprise and disbelief, beyond care for his own safety, beyond the ability to reason exactly how to win back Lucrezia from this thing... All that remained to him was a fierce determination, visible in the subtle flickering as his eyes shifted from soft blue to simmering gold. Zechs clawed his way up the wall to sway unsteadily on his feet. "I don't recognize the claim to have taken something that belonged to you, but even if that is truth, Lucrezia has nothing to do with it. Leave her, and deal with me instead." He managed a lurching step forward.
~~~
With something akin to delight the Shinma raised a pale hand, fingers spread, and loosed a flashing swarm of razor ice at the Vampire. Not yet to kill, but to wound and most of all humiliate, in flaunting how much greater her strength than his. The swift shards slashed clothing and golden skin alike, loosing new flows of crimson, and in the face of the onslaught Zechs fell once more. "Oh, I'll deal with you. The Vampire clan has been the blight of our existence for far too long, one I would gladly destroy even apart from my desire for revenge." A small glance to the floor positioned her gaze on the mask, neglected for the moment though clearly not forgotten. "The Servant too. I had plans to wait, watching the slow course of cold revenge devour your heart from the inside." Frosted eyes snapped back over to the rest on the Vampire's blood streaked face, determined still from where he kneeled on the ground. "Tell me, how *does* it feel to watch your lover waste away to nothing? Comparable, I hope, to the agony of having the one you love charmed away and finally destroyed by a hated enemy? An eye for an eye, Vampire. Though my Treize is worth far more than this pathetic *human*." As if vile to taste, the word was spat out vehemently, and the Shinma swept an arm to indicate the body she possessed. "Which is why I shall kill you as well, slowly and with an abundance of pain." She raised a hand, readying another attack.
Only to have surprise drag it back down to her side, as the air spilt between them in a great rending laceration and a dark figure birthed itself violently into the world. Panting more than a little from the effort, Treize grimly positioned himself between the other Shinma and his Vampire. "Stop this at once!"
Blinking, Zechs tried to clear what surely must be another cruel apparition from his vision, but it stubbornly refused to depart. Treize's cloaked and threadbare form, mostly shielding from the Lucrezia-Shinma. Mostly, because he was not entirely opaque, and at the edges he flickered slightly, like a too-fast actor from some forgotten silent picture drama. But, reaching between worlds as he did, perhaps it was to be expected.
"Treize...?" The Shinma's call was filled with a softly wondrous surprise, and a little she withdrew from Lucrezia's form, her leaving causing frost to flake away to from violet human eyes, now startling and cognizant. "I thought you lost to me, banished to the dark..." And still more the Shinma withdrew, a vile insect hatching from its dry and withered husk, in an attempt to show her true face to her love, that she might be recognized.
And Treize's gaze simmered, with something that could be mistaken for remembrance, if memory were harsh and bitter cold. Which, perhaps for the Shinma it was. "Banished, yes." A raspy chuckle issued from him, tenuous as his form, and it halted Zechs' stirring movement behind. "But not to the dark, never there... A private hell of his own making has been my home these past years, shared with but one other, whose companionship I felt distinctly..." More laughter, seething soft and devious. "Inadequate."
Lucrezia took a stilted step, as if overbalanced by the creature riding her. Half-withdrawn now from her human host, the Shinma reared back, angling for position from which to strike at the Vampire for yet more crimes against her beloved. Only to be met with confusion and frustration, as Treize shifted to block her once, twice - a third time destroyed all possibility of coincidence. "Then why shield him, your cause of suffering? Allow me to be the vessel of your revenge!"
"No." Calmly uttered, the reply nonetheless carried a strict resolution, and reduced the Shinma to a state of silent agitation. Zechs too was still, strangely shaken by Treize's tone and unable to read his old mentor's face for further damning confirmation. Though it came of its own regard, and quickly too. After a pause of suitable length, which assured him possessed of all and intense attention from those assembled present, Treize continued. "Though appreciative of your... concern," the word dribbled, mocking, from his tongue, "I would not have you destroy the last blood of the Vampire's clan, and with his destruction see all its vast power... squandered. I desire that power for myself."
In turning, Treize's expression betrayed to Zechs not the furious dementia he'd expected, nor even an unsettling anger. Worse, familiar features held a soft and pained regret, as with the pulse of a single heartbeat the iron band round his wrist turned, in flashing degrees, from cold to hot, from loss to gain, though too much, until Zechs was filled to splitting with all that he had lost and more. The other Shinma stared with surprise, then unfounded hope, and last unabashed wonder as Zechs calmly took his feet, strong and unwavering, and in another's voice sang out to fill the void left in Treize's parting. "I desire that power, and now it would seem, I have it."
Against a dark cliff face, the Servant struggled against eternal bonds, enough to worry raw where the quicksilver lines drew into flesh, driven by rising desperation to escape them. He'd felt the last of the Vampire clan succumb to the will of the other, to slip beneath the surface of the foreign conscious, and he need not see Treize's brittle sapphire gaze stare coolly from Zechs' expressionless face to know what had happened. A strong bond formed by blood, especially through trust, was an easy thing to misuse.
"Treize..." Lucrezia advanced, still under the yoke of the thing riding her, and the Shinma raised out both arms as if expecting an embrace. "I did not know... You took him so easily, through trust and subterfuge, and have gained not only his power but a vessel as well, to replace the one lost to you." So proud she sounded, of her love's victory, and confident in his return to her. "I shall keep this body, and in cruel irony thus keep the lovers together for all eternity, as we shall be. Together forever, yet forever apart. A truly satisfying end for them, would not you say, my love?"
The lick of fire surprised her a little, though she took it for Treize merely testing his new-gained strength. A tiny tongue dancing obedient in the palm of the Vampire's hand. Its intent could be mistaken for none other than hostile, however, when it lashed out, a devious viper's tongue, split to bind her wrist and ankle with searing fire. Treize laughed again, even as in his palm something new was forming, a sphere of crackling crystal flame, a perfect prison. "Love? I was never your love! Never yours, though you hounded me enough, for that which I was unwilling to bestow upon you." He missed her look of venomous hatred, delivered quickly on the heels of incredulity and exquisitely pained betrayal, intent as he was on watching the prison grow as he fed it threads of power. "Zechs is my love, my hate, my obsessive fascination, my salvation and destroyer. I have no room in my existence for another. You could not understand, when I gave myself to deliver him safe, the night he was attacked. Think I too blind to miss your mark on the dark assassins? And again you seek to destroy that which is most precious to me, and expect to earn my gratitude by the act?"
She thrashed, useless against breaking the bonds holding her, strengthened as they were by the Vampire's blood. But, Zechs was weak, and Treize also, and the bonds lacked completion they should have held. In this the Shinma took hope, which fueled well her seething anger and pitted desperation of action against debilitating fear. "LIAR!!! You are my love, my heart's great need! Always and eternally you were to be mine, until somehow enticed to stray by the Vampire's sickening sweet seductions. I'll destroy him yet, and you'll return to me!"
All at once, they shattered. The Servant's shackles, the crystal prison and ties of flame, the band of iron blood binding Shinma to Vampire. And anchoring Treize in the waking world.
~~~
Quicksilver ran brittle, the high-tensile lines snapping with sharp pings and zips one by one, and the Servant sagged against those remaining until his weight became too great a burden on the rest, and he fell heavily to the ground. Where he lay stunned before dragging himself shaking to hands and knees, head hanging still and chest working to draw the first full measures of breath in a seeming eternity. /It is done./ No sound accompanied his motions, no words to mark his thoughts trapped as he was still behind the serene mask of servitude. And though the white visage did not change, the flaring of the single visible eye lent it an expression, almost, of smug satisfaction.
Or so Treize imagined, kneeling also some short distance away where he'd fallen, the severing of blood bond casting him violently from Zechs and throwing him back to the world of dreams. "You... " Trembling weak from the ordeal and the backlash of the bond's destruction, the Shinma paused while coughs wracked his form, leaving flecks of expurged blood to tinge his lips. "...are responsible, aren't you? I had her, I had her trapped..." The Servant rose smoothly to his feet, giving no indication he'd acknowledged the accusation. "She was hurting him, so badly, I had to make her stop. It was the only way!" The Servant rose and hovered, still unresponsive to Treize's pleading, an arm extending out to grasp a mischievous lick of fire of his own. "I was only trying to protect him, and you destroy my hope..." Treize picked himself up to a crouch, shoulders slumped with a great weariness and resignation, and braced himself as best he could against the impending attack. "He will die because of this, and I... I shall never forgive..."
The Servant loosed his fire.
~~~