He was a handsome boy with thick dark hair and piercing dark eyes, and he sat in the only real chair in the room as if it were a throne and he the Emperor of his own world. Looking at the boy’s eyes, revealed an unusual fact in a teen so young. They were the cold, unfeeling eyes of a killer.
His name was Eric Crawford. And he was the son Brad had never met.
Eric glanced at the boy sitting on the floor beside him. He had raggedly cut hair, white as snow, and was dressed in white pants and a white tunic that buttoned down his chest. Though he couldn’t have been more than eight years old, he had a collection of knives strapped to his arms and legs where they would be easy to reach. The boy in the chair was idly playing with the white locks, petting him the way others might pet a dog.
A seat by the big picture window held a girl, her dark hair pulled back in a pony tail, her dark eyes peering out of the window from behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. “Eric you’re sure he won’t like us?’
“Yes, the boy said flatly. He’ll try to kill us Lizette. Just as they said he would.”
“He’s a bastard,” said the boy who was standing off by himself on the other side of the room his arms folded over his chest. He was younger than the seated boy and the girl, older than that boy’s ‘pet’. There was a faint resemblance between him and the boy in the chair, thought the boy leaning against the far wall was undeniably prettier. He had hair like an untamed sunset, bright orange fire that caught the daylight streaming through the widows in golden sparks. He too had a killer’s cold gaze, despite the fact that his eyes were as blue and bright as a summer sky.
The last of their little group was an older boy, lean, with a fall of silver hair that poured down his back almost to his narrow hips. He stood looking out a window, his palms on the sill, claws glittering in the sunlight.
Both he and the boy on the floor had eyes the colour of honey.
“They’re coming,” he said in flawless German.
The boy leaning against the wall said, “Ja.”
The boy in the chair just smiled.
The door opened to admit three more people. A tall man with green-dyed hair that fell to the middle of his back, a thick black hoop through the left side of his lower lip and cold lilac eyes was the first to enter.
Following him was a girl with ruby-coloured hair tied up in bunches and blue eyes that radiated demented and vicious mischief.
The last to enter was a medium sized man with medium length black hair, the bangs cut in stylish disarray. His eyes were an eerie shade of red.
Eric leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the arms of the chair, forefingers steepled together. He offered the newcomers a chilling smile.
“They’ve come back.”
The green-haired man did not return the smile. “They’ve not only come back but have also allied themselves with Weiss. Terror made the mistake of thinking that the Kritiker runaways were mundanes and were wiped out.”
“And any of this is a surprise?’ Eric asked, but it was obvious the question was purely rhetorical. “I never believed that the Weiss were mundanes. The old bastard would never have brought them into his team if they were. What would be the point?”
The red-haired boy smirked, the resemblance to the Schwarz telepath even more striking, “They were warned.”
“Did anyone even suggest surprise?” green-hair queried. “Well perhaps Terror were surprised. They always were too big for their own boots.”
Behind him the girl snickered, the sound somewhat insane.
The pale haired boy at Eric’s feet turned to regard them, though he remained crouched on the floor, his position akin to that of an attack dog ready to spring at the utterance of the correct command.
Eric regarded her with the same expression one would have used when finding a cockroach on their salad. “They did not listen to sound advice. They have paid the price of their folly.
“And what about you, will you pay the price of folly also or will you listen I wonder?”
The girl turned to regard the newcomers with the cool demeanour of a queen surveying inferiors, “Oh, I know the answer to that.”
“We have been ordered to listen and so we will listen.”
“Will you?” Eric asked.
“Oh, yes, they’ll listen, if they want to live,” Lizette said as she put the tip of a finger into her mouth, eyes sparkling with humour as she walked over to stand by Eric.
As if that were some sort of prearranged signal the other two boys crossed the room to stand by Eric and face the trio.
“We wait then. The old bastard will bring his team here and then...” Eric let his words trail off but Lizette finished for him, “We crush them.”
The older three nodded, a slight smirk playing round the mouth of the dark man and that insane cackle coming from the girl. The other man did not smile but he nodded in complete satisfaction.
* * * * * * *
Crawford got out of bed, careful not to wake Kai as he reached for his robe and glasses then left his bedroom. He paused in the living room, feeling the cool night breeze that poured in through the broken front windows. Uneasy, something gnawing at his mind, he went into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Done with that he stood by one of the broken kitchen windows and stared out into the last vestiges of their first night back in their own time.
Something had changed. Shifted. He rubbed his eyes and reached, trying to grasp what was different, what had altered.
When the coffee was ready he poured three cups, stepped carefully around a few shards of broken glass and got a tray down. He put the cups on the tray and headed for Aya and Yohji’s room.
They needed to talk, and it was best handled while the others were asleep.
Years of night missions and sleeping with the proverbial one eye open had made Aya extremely aware of noises inside whatever he called home. So when the knock came at the door he was already wide awake.
His body relaxed. No intruder would knock. “Come in,” he called softly, not wanting to wake Yohji unless it was necessary.
Brad entered the room, “We need to talk,” he said and set the coffee down on the bedside table. He glanced at Yohji, face down on the bed on the other side of Aya. The blond was totally oblivious to his presence or the sound of Aya’s voice. How someone that was a killer by trade could sleep so deeply never failed to astound Crawford.
If he’d been in Esset he’d have died long ago.
Brad took a cup and seated himself on the bed beside Aya. “We need to talk.”
Aya pulled himself into a sitting position, wincing very slightly as he did so. He stared coldly at Crawford for a moment before relenting and taking one of the cups of coffee. “As long as it’s not about my sister’s private life or you being a smug bastard.” He took a sip of his own coffee, gazing at the man he’d taken a beating for rather than kill.
Brad considered what he wanted to say while he sipped his coffee. Instead of saying anything he touched Aya’s cheek, his thumb following the line of the man’s cheekbone. So delicate, yet undeniably masculine.
To his own surprise, Aya pushed against the touch, his eyes closed, until he suddenly jerked away again almost spilling his coffee in the process. “Just say whatever it is you want to say,” he growled.
“Shhh.. You’ll wake Yohji,” Brad cautioned as he let his hand drop. He took another sip of the coffee then said, “Something happened. I didn’t see what it was, but I can see what the result will be unless we manage to change the future.”
“Something? You mean me being pissed at you or something else?” He frowned down at his coffee suddenly understanding something profound. Not only was he no longer angry but he was a fair way down the road to being in love with Brad. The thought of anything happening to the pre-cog made him clench his hand on his cup.
Crawford pushed his glasses up, stared down into his coffee, “I wish it were only your anger that motivated me to come here.” His voice was soft, flat, “But it’s not. I woke up from a dream. One in which... Aya-chan, Yohji and Ken all died.”
“No!” The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He had lost his sister once already and the thought of life without Yohji was too unbearable to even contemplate.
Brad touched Aya’s lips, shook his head. He hoped Yohji would go to sleep, but instead the man pushed up onto his hands and knees, the covers falling off of him as he twisted around and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Yohji turned to see Aya and Crawford sitting on the other side of the bed. “Decided to make up?”
“Yeah, something like that,” Aya said, reading Brad’s signals correctly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He went silent again, staring into his coffee as if trying to divine the future from it.
“A dream… or a vision?” he asked eventually.
Yohji staggered off to the bathroom, muttering something about precognitives and an ungrateful ice bitch that didn’t let him sleep.
“For me it’s the same,” Brad replied speaking quietly. “What scares me most is I can’t see why they die. Not a damned thing. That probably means that I’m going to die too, at least that’s been my prior understanding of such lack of knowledge.”
“It would destroy us all,” Aya said equally quietly, “including Farf and Schu. Which tells me that someone knows our weaknesses. The question is who? And what can we do to change it, of course?”
“I can’t see who it is. Without a clue, we’re helpless to counter this.”
Aya was pensive, quietly sipping his coffee. “And yet we must,” he said finally, “because if we don’t, we’ll all die.”
“Yes,” Brad agreed. The toilet flushed and Yohji came staggering back out, stared at the pair of men on the bed, and flopped down onto the mattress with a soft groan.
“Fucking five in the damned morning,” he muttered, “and they have to have coffee together in the bedroom. This isn’t a cafe, go away.”
Aya climbed off the bed, threw on a robe and picked up his coffee. “We’ll leave you to sleep, Yotan,” he said softly. “Sorry we woke you.”
The blond grunted a wordless reply and rolled over onto his stomach to go back to sleep
He inclined his head towards the door and headed for it himself. Once safely in the kitchen away from all the others, he focused on the problem in hand.
Brad had brought his own cup and the tray which he sat down on the kitchen table.
“What could have changed the future while we slept?” he asked. “And if my questions sound dumb, I’m sorry, but I only know you have visions, not what triggers them or how someone other than yourself can change them.”
“Changes in the future I want can trigger them. Threats to us can make me have them. My dreams are seldom welcome, they are never good.” He shook his head, “no that’s not totally true. My dream of you was good. You as my lover,” he touched the red-head’s hand, squeezed it gently. “I had that dream after the first time I saw you, at that human chess game. Remember?”
He gave a wry smile, “I never forgot your face, or your determination to stop Reiji. It’s why I gave him to you. So you could know some sort of peace.”
Aya smiled and returned the pressure of Brad’s fingers. “You gave me peace of a kind,” he said, “until Schrient interfered that is.” He sighed. “Peace but not happiness. I’ve only really found any happiness again in the time we’ve joined together as a team.”
His face became grim once again. “And having found it I have no intention of giving it up to Rosenkreuz or its minions.”
“Nor will I,” Brad replied, dark gaze showing his own determination to find a way to save his team. All of it.
“Now the question is, what direction do we take in order to find out what we’re going up against?”
Aya thought hard for a moment. “You say that Kritiker is up to its filthy neck in Esset/Rosenkreuz business so perhaps a spy in that camp would help.”
Brad nodded, “The old bastard Takatori is in with them, the younger will soon be on the theory that my enemy’s enemy is now my friend. It is a mistake, but who am I to point out errors that Mamoru makes when they aid us in the end?”
Crawford went quiet, his expression pensive, “Logically the threat has to be from Rosenkreuz. But the question is what sort of threat? Based on the way they operate,” he rubbed his jaw and stared into his coffee as if he could divine their future in the dark liquid.
His eyes narrowed, “What would present a true threat to us?” he questioned his second in command.
“A talent more powerful probably,” Aya said without hesitation. He stopped and thought about his answer and his eyes widened. “Especially a stronger pre-cog.”
The Schwarz leader nodded slowly. Another precog would explain a lot. Someone as powerful as he was. But who? He had no personal knowledge of any other precog as good as he was.
But a single precog could not account for so many of them dying at once. He got up and walked to the coffee maker, “Not one person, Aya. It would take more than just a single talent to go up against us.
“Even Nagi couldn’t take us all on simultaneously.”
Aya closed his eyes on that thought. He’d seen Nagi destroy a whole mansion in grief so he knew the teen could do a lot of damage before succumbing. “Then they’ve put together another team of talents,” he said. “An even stronger team than Terror and probably with enough members to take us on almost one on one.”
“We’re going to have to send someone out for food. Even with the spectre of a dangerous future looming on the horizon, the trivialities of daily living still have to be taken care of.”
He closed the cabinet, “Laundry and dry cleaning for instance.
“And teaching your sister how to kill. It is possible that some of our success or failure will hinge on something as simple as that.”
Aya glanced up then but instead of the expected glare there was pain in his eyes. “I know,” he whispered. “She could do it too.”
He took his cup over to the sink and washed it, his mind still busy with both the threat to their future and the more mundane. “We’ll need to call a glazier, get the glass cleaned up, food, laundry, dry-cleaning, weapons. I’m assuming these assholes can be killed with normal weapons as well as our power.”
“I’ll see if Kai can handle some of that for us.”
Crawford slipped his arms around Aya, rested his chin on the slender man’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of his lover, relishing the closeness, the quiet moment.
“Never expect to kill anyone very far up the ranks of Rosenkreuz with mere bullets,” Crawford told him softly, his lips testing the territory of Aya’s pale neck, a hand sliding down his body to touch his cock.
“I’m sorry for what I said,” he murmured softly. “I hurt you, and I hurt her. I promise I won’t do it again, no matter what the motivation.”
Aya shrugged slightly and leaned back into the embrace. “I wanted to kill you last night,” he said. “Yohji had to tie me up and beat me to calm me down.” He sighed. “Remind me also not to try jokes again. They seem to backfire on me.”
He turned in Brad’s arms and hugged the larger man. “I have a real family again now,” he whispered. “I lost my blood family, I lost Shion and Kikyou, I walked away from Crashers rather than hurt them and I lost a quarter of Weiss. I don’t intend to lose anymore: not even one of you.”
Ken bounded into the kitchen. Stopped dead at the sight of Brad and Aya kissing with the sunrise painting Aya’s hair in a vivid blaze of red that made the two of them seem to glow as if they were wreathed in flames.
“Gomen,” Ken said as he started to back quickly out of the kitchen.
Aya pulled away. “It’s okay, Ken,” he said. “I’ll take care of the shopping if you can take care of things here,” he told Brad.
“I thought we’d send Nagi and Ken shopping and the two of us could work with Aya-chan.” He actually gave the soccer player a smile, “That is if you and Nagi don’t mind going out to run some errands.”
Ken shrugged, “Sure, I don’t see why not, although it might be a good idea to have either Yohji or Schuldig drive us. I’m more used to my bike, and traffic in the city is hell.”
He smiled and headed for the cabinets to find something he could eat.
“You might need to shop first, Hidaka,” Aya said dryly. “The cupboard is bare!”
Ken frowned. “What happened to all the noodles?” He slapped himself in the forehead, “Kudoh. Late night snacks. Never mind, mystery solved.”
Nagi wandered in then, stretching and yawning. “No food?” he asked. “I’ll get onto it. Come on, Ken, I’ll buy you breakfast.”
“You’ll need to wake either Yohji or Schu,” Aya said. “Ken doesn’t want to drive.”
“Can’t say I blame him.” A beatific smile spread across Nagi’s face before there was a distant thud and a muffled curse. “Schu’s awake.”
Brad shook his head, “Well so he is, Nagi. Why don’t you and Ken get ready to go and I’ll find one of the cars for you to take.”
The American stood there for a moment, then he bolted out of the room. Ken stared after him puzzled.
A few moments later there was a loud whoop of joy from Crawford’s room.
Aya chuckled behind his hand. “I guess his bank statement arrived,” he said.
Brad came strolling out, a huge shit-eating grin on his face. “What country should we buy?”
“Japan might be nice,” Aya said completely straight-faced. “I take it Porter came up trumps for you.”
“Hell yes he did. Want to hear this number?”
Nagi didn’t smile as he said, “We’d need to clear all the crap out of Japan first. Talking of which, will Rosenkreuz come to us or do we go to them?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Brad said his smile vanishing instantly.
Nagi took a deep breath. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Come on, Ken, let’s go torture Schu some more.”
Ken nodded and followed Nagi out of the room, wondering what had chilled Crawford’s mood so badly.
“You’ll need to tell them all sooner or later,” Aya said to Crawford, “especially if their lives are at risk, which they obviously are.”
“I know, but I want them to have a couple of days here without the threat of the future hanging over them.” He slipped his arms around Aya, “I’ve done that as much as I could so none of them are burdened by the weight of all this.” He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, losing himself in the man’s scent.
“I wonder if we should just run and keep running.”
Aya held him close running soothing hands over his shoulders and down his back for a few moments until he felt him calm. “We’re not running,” he said firmly. “If my sister can do what you believe she can do we’d be running for eternity while they just got stronger and stronger.”
He rubbed his head against Brad’s shoulder. “We need to change your dream somehow, find out who they’re using against us and deal with it.”
“And if all that seems naïve and impossible, it’s because I was once in Weiss where everything we had to do was either naïve or impossible.”
Brad caressed the back of Aya’s head. “I think there might be a way, but I’ll need your help, and Kudoh’s too.”
“You know I’ll do whatever needs to be done. I can’t answer for Yohji but I’m pretty certain he will too. What have you got in mind?”
“I know, but I’m always going to ask you. My days of demanding things are over.”
Brad could have gladly held Aya for the rest of the day, but they had work to do, and the downfall of Rosenkruez to plan. Reluctantly he let Aya go and started to search the cabinets in hopes of finding something to eat.
“Did Kudoh really eat all those packages of noodles?”
Aya folded his arms and rested a butt cheek on the table. “Stop changing the subject, Brad. As for the noodles, I don’t think it was Yohji.”
Brad found a plastic grocery bag crammed full of assorted food, most of it looking like things Ken had bought. He set it down on the counter and kept searching. “Who put this stuff away?”
“As for changing the subject,” he began, “there isn’t much left to discuss until we know more. But if we want to run, we can make it damned difficult for them to keep up with us, Aya. My secured accounts are worth well over six billion dollars.”
Aya’s eyes widened at that piece of news. He knew they’d made a lot by going back in time but that was a phenomenal amount by anyone’s standards. “Porter really did pay off,” he remarked. He was silent for several moments as he watched Brad put away the energy bars and sports drinks that were obviously Ken’s. He hoped Nagi and Schuldig were better at shopping. Finally he said what was really on his mind. “You keep talking about us running. If we do that, sooner or later they’ll find us. It only takes one of us either using or losing control of our power and they’ll track it, won’t they?”
Crawford pulled a pan out from under the sink and started to fill it with water intending to make some of the noodles for he and Aya.
“I had twenty million before we left,” he informed the former Weiss. “But since I would have had the secret accounts that I set up with the money from my business venture with Porter, I had more to work with in the past.....”
The pot clattered into the sink Crawford standing there, realization dawning on him.
“We aren’t in our original time-reality,” Brad stated softly. “What we did changed who we are very subtly. This is our time, but not the exact same reality because I did something that changed the past.”
“By making the money, you mean, or simply by going back at all?” Aya really needed an answer to that before he even dared to use his talent again.
Brad picked up the pot and began to fill it again while he considered Aya’s question.
“I think it was more than just going back in time. Although, that was much farther than we’d intended to go, and to a whole different place than we’d wanted to be at the end.”
He turned off the water and set the pot on the stove, turned it on and stood there, rubbing his right temple for a few moments.
“We came back to what felt like our own time, our own reality, but I wonder...” he turned to look at Aya. “Tell me something, do you feel any different?”
“I’ve been happier,” Aya said slowly, “but I’d put that down to circumstances.” He frowned, thinking about the question. “It’s subtle but, yes, I think I do. But… this must be our time. We came back to find Terror still attacking us.”
“But that’s just it, it is and it isn’t out exact reality. Time yes, reality no.” The American crossed the room and dropped down into a seat and it was readily apparent that Crawford was deep in thought.
“Do you remember the Rosen gunmen being with Terror when we left?”
Aya thought back. “No,” he said finally. “There was a wave of malevolence, presumably courtesy of Nightmare, Schu screaming they were here, then we shifted.”
“I should have realized it, but” Brad spread his hands, “I didn’t. None of us did.”
“So, if we get back to our own reality that dream should change?”
“That’s just it, I don’t think we can. This is our reality now.”
He closed his eyes, tried to look ahead, tried to see what lay in their future. It was a simple attempt, peeking to see which package of noodles Aya would choose for them to eat.
Done he looked at Aya, “Water’s hot, which package of noodles do you want to eat?”
Aya shook his head, still trying to get it round the ramifications of time. “Oh…er…shrimp and mushroom?”
Brad shoved the bag toward Aya, “Why don’t you see what we have and then choose.”
Aya rummaged through the bag turning his nose up when he realised there were none with any kind of fish in them. Sighing slightly he picked out a beef flavoured one.
Crawford looked up at Aya, “Do you really want a shrimp flavoured one?”
Aya frowned. “There aren’t any shrimp flavoured ones?”
“Humour me and look in the drawer next to the refrigerator.”
Mystified Aya got off the table and opened the designated drawer. There, half buried under cutlery and packets of chopsticks was a pack of shrimp flavoured noodles.
“Find them?” Brad questioned as he turned around to see the red-head standing there with the noodles in question.
Aya nodded, still frowning. “And this proves what exactly?”
“That was a test of my precognitive ability, Aya. I can still see the future, so that has not altered.”
“But… I thought you said you found me difficult to see in any future? Yet you predicted what I would want and where I would find it.”
Brad smirked, he just couldn’t help himself, “I didn’t look at you, Aya, I looked at the bowl of noodles I am going to be eating in a few minutes.”
“Smug bastard,” Aya said without heat. “Well at least our talents seem to work the same way. But we still need to change that dream…” He sighed realising that he suddenly cared about people again. Well, nine people, at least. The rest of humanity could fend for themselves.
Crawford got up from the table and crossed to where Aya was standing to slip his arms around the shorter man. He rested his chin on Aya’s head smelling the lingering fragrance of shampoo, the faint trace of cigarette smoke the red-head carried from sleeping with Kudoh.
“I love you,” Brad murmured. It still felt so strange to utter such words to anyone. He’d had to be so cautious of every action, ever word while they’d been with Esset that the ability to just live as he wished, be in love and be loved was a novelty. One he would never willingly lose.
He tightened his hold on Aya, possessing, possessed by the man he held. He didn’t care that he had to share, so long as he had even some part of the other man’s heart, his love, it was enough.
“Pretty,” Farfarello remarked as he entered the kitchen to pour himself some coffee, the Irishman seeing what neither of them could.
They were standing in front of the broken window, sunlight turning the fragments of glass into a jagged halo. A pair of the Fallen embracing.
“You’re still a smug bastard,” Aya murmured but his arms had gone round Brad’s neck of their own volition and he was snuggled very comfortably against the American’s chest. He had an epiphany of sorts as he realised that he would do whatever he needed to do to save this man as much as he would Yohji…or Kai.
That thought gave him pause and he tilted his head back to look up at Crawford. “Can you love more than one person at a time?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation in the reply at all. “Do you think I don’t love Schuldig, Farfarello or Nagi? There are many kinds of love, Aya.” He caressed Aya’s cheek, smoothing away a lock of fiery hair, “I think I’m starting to love that bastard blonde of yours.”
Farfarello grinned, “A lot to love. Pretty face, lovely body, nice tight ass...”
“Thank you, Farf,” Aya said with a smile, “we all know his good points.”
“I’m going to walk the grounds, do a little clean up of assorted trash before we have any visitors.” Farfarello went out the damaged back door cup in hand. “Hello dead people, having fun in hell?” he asked the corpses littering the back patio.
Aya shook his head in mock disbelief. “I even love that weird Irishman,” he said, “we’re definitely not back where we were…or I’m not.”
Brad reluctantly let Aya go, “Farfarello is certainly different,” the American stated as he glanced out of the window at Farfarello. The man was dragging a corpse into the heavy growth surrounding the house, singing a song he’d learned in Sacramento.
“And you don’t think it’s simply down to what we experienced back then, do you? It’s something to do with having changed our future…” He went silent, considering the options. “Or it could simply be hope. That’s something none of us have had for a very long time.”
“Think about it. Our relationships have greatly changed. Yours, mine, even Farfarello has been greatly affected by things we did there. He is very protective of the members of Schwarz, and that now includes all you former Weiss.”
He turned to regard Aya, “You let him fuck Yohji, Yohji permitted him to do it. When we initially left, would either of you have considered such an act? No, of course you wouldn’t have. So, that being the case, we’ve changed a great deal of our own future by coming back here as different people. Our relationship has matured into that of a team, of lovers and friends. No longer are we two teams forced to work with one another for the sake of simple survival. We are a single team.”
The man’s expression became thoughtful, “What I have to discover is what weakness of ours they will exploit, and how to counteract that weakness to bring us out of this alive.”
Crawford went back to the kitchen table, sat down and considered what he’d seen in the dream, trying to pick individual elements out of the whole, seeking an answer.
A frown hardened his mouth, “Their team is as strong as we are. I’m certain of that.”
He came up out of his seat so fast it overturned his chair, the American staring at Aya in shock. “Genetic constructs. They’d have to be.”
“Like Zeshin you mean?” Aya asked. Privately he thought their weakness might be their very closeness, but he’d always thought that way and that alone was comforting. He hadn’t changed completely.
Brad righted the chair, “Yes...” his eyes narrowed, the glasses glinting in the morning light. He sat down, his brows furrowing with the intensity of his thoughts. “They wouldn’t have duplicated any of you Weiss. There wouldn’t have been any reason to do so, but... us, the original Schwarz.” He raised his gaze to Aya, “We know what Zeshin is, Farfarello’s genetic son with a leopard for his technical mother. Esset and Rosenkruez had more than ample opportunity to gain genetic material from any of us, Nagi also if they went through our trash.”
“I’ve made a terrible oversight in that. I’d never even considered their insane genetic experiments. Takatori Masafumi’s work helped them immensely, even though his own experiments were the results of a madman, what he learned about genetic manipulation would have been used to their own benefit.
“My guess is we’ll be fighting genetically enhanced versions of Schwarz.”
* * * * * * *
Erik opened his eyes, stared at his waiting team. “The old bastard is clever. He knows what he’s up against, just not exactly who.”
“That works in our favour,” the red-eyed man said, “and with the addition of those of us without Schwarz blood it strengthens our hand even more.”
He had hardly finished his little speech before green-hair turned at incredible speed and backhanded him. “Don’t be rude, Geisl!”
Erik smirked, unaware how much he looked like his hated progenitor. “Now now children, don’t fight. Besides,” the boy’s eyes glittered, “who here doesn’t have Schwarz blood?”
“I want more of their blood, preferably flowing over the blade of my knives,” the youngest boy said as he studied the bright edge of a knife he held in his small fist.
“Apparently Geisl thinks he doesn’t,” green-hair said. “For your information, Geisl, Schwarz’ genetic material was used in many experiments and who knows, you may just be the result of one of them.”
He turned to Erik. “My apologies, sir, Geisl has a big mouth.”
“Not to worry,” Erik replied. “We have ways of making...” he smiled the look colder than a glacial wind, “corrections.” The boy gave a nod to his red-haired team mate.
Alec lifted a hand, his expression bored as he tossed Geisl across the room with casual indifference.
“I can do that too,” the girl said with a giggle.
“Why, yes, you certainly can,” Erik agreed. He would be much happier when he was given permission to end the mentally unstable girl’s existence, but for the moment they needed her.
Lizette slid one arm across her brother’s shoulders and sat down on the arm of his chair. “I’m not sure they fully appreciate the opportunity they’ve been given in working with us. Perhaps they need a better demonstration.”
Green hair bowed low. “I’m sure no further demonstration is actually necessary, fraulein, but if it pleases you, carry on.”
Erik reached up and touched his sister’s cheek, “I’m sure they understand now, Lizette.
“She hates it when anyone questions my leadership.”
“Perfectly understandable, sir. I assume you already know our names but perhaps the others might wish to know who we are. I am Berger, a powerful telepath. Layla as you have already realised is a telekinetic whilst Geisl has some talent as a pyrokinetic.”
The sleek silver haired boy just offered them a smile, the pronounced canine teeth in his mouth showing he wasn’t entirely human. “We know who you are. Lord Erik told us.”
“Powerful telepath,” the red-haired boy snorted derisively.
Erik snapped his fingers and the boy who’d just spoken dropped to his knees, head bowed.
“Forgive me, my Lord.” He was trembling, afraid of what the older boy might do.
“You are forgiven... this time, Alec. Mind your words in the future, they are mine, just as you are. You won’t be warned again,” Erik stated quietly.
“Thank you my Lord,” the boy said quietly.
“Forgotten.”
The boy got to his feet, the arrogance drained out of him.
Berger was not slow. He might not like the situation but he would work with Erik if it meant the downfall of Schwarz.
"Well, now that we've established the pecking order like a good little flock of Rosenkreuz operatives," Erik began, "it's time to get down to the business of learning to work together."
“Erik!” The voice was harsh although feminine. “I really hope you’re not playing your stupid games again. Berger, Geisl and Layla have the necessary talents to fill the holes in your ranks. Alec is good, yes, but he needs the original to copy. Do I make myself understood?”
The speaker was a tall, slim woman in her late thirties dressed simply in a black suit and dark red shirt. Her dark brown hair was scraped back into a severe bun and her blue eyes were cold and hard.
“Yes mother, you have,” the boy replied a bit sullenly.
She moved further into the room and gazed round at all of them. “And if anyone is going to give demonstrations of power or hand out punishments it will be me. Schwartz has grown from the original four to ten, all of them talents so this is not going to be a walkover even for you.”
Erik turned his cool gaze on the woman, “Perhaps not. But I believe they aren’t as great a threat as you might imagine,” the boy remarked softly. “Oracle has found love.” The boy smiled nastily, “And that is a weakness we can easily exploit.”
“Oh really? And if his lovers are more powerful than you could ever imagine? Where do you think they were when things changed in a split second? And how do you think they got there? Underestimate them at your peril, Erik.”
The boy sighed, “Kill even him, and, like a house of cards, the whole structure will fail. I’ve seen it, Mother.”
She shut her eyes. “No you little fool, that’s precisely what has changed! Instead of people having to work together to survive, they’ve meshed, become a team, formed bonds that you could never understand!”
Erik’s expression was pained. “Mother, please, let’s not argue in front of the help. It’s so demeaning.”
“You demean yourself, Erik. Only when you are strong enough will you inherit Rosenkreuz. Right now you’re just a know-it-all teen.”
“Forgive me, Mother,” the boy said. “But I’m sure you didn’t come here to remind me of my failings. Tell us to what we owe this unexpected visit.”
It wasn’t unexpected. Not in the least, but Erik didn’t reveal everything he knew, just what he wanted his team to know.
And he certainly wasn’t about to share all of his secrets with his dear Mother.
Oh, no, she could find out a few things on her own.
Like how she would die.
He offered her a smile that was all sweetness as he got out of his seat, “Please Mother, come sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”
She ignored the offer of a seat, instead crossing the room to the window where she perched on the sill. “So you have all done your homework and know the correct way to take down Schwarz. Excellent. But what if I told you I want some of them alive?”
“What? Why?” Erik demanded.
Lizette frowned, “But you told us they all had to die.”
“Erik, Erik, I would have thought you would have seen… Or don’t you want to live forever?”
“The girl?” He shrugged. “She alone cannot insure immortality. Either by accident or attack, one can still die.”
Yes, he’d considered it, but there were many reasons he felt trying to keep her alive would not be beneficial, not the least of which was the fact that she would have to be mentally broken and at her age there was no guarantee she would not die in the process.
His mother tilted her head in acknowledgement. “Good, you’re thinking clearly. But there is one thing you do need to do. Forge the assembled people into a team. If you don’t you will fail, I’ve seen that very clearly.”
Her cold stare roamed the room, settling on each of them in turn. “Underestimate what you are up against and none of you will ever return here.”
“Why Mother, I was just in the process of explaining that to our colleagues,” the boy stated, giving her a sly smile.
“Yes, he was,” Lizette stated, giving her brother a quick hug which was returned.
The woman smiled suddenly but it was as cold as the rest of her. “Yes, of course you were,” she said, “so well in fact that Geisl now has some respect for you. Such a pity that I do not but then you were always a disappointment to me, Erik.”
With that she rose to her feet and was simply gone, teleporting out of the room.
For a second the boy’s shoulders slumped, but his sister gripped his hand and held it tight, Alec moving in to set a hand on his brother’s arm.
*She’ll be the one sorry for talking to you like that Erik. We just have to follow the path you say will end with her dead at Crawford’s hands. Then we’ll be free and you can lead us.*
*Yes, Chimera. He’ll kill her, then we will kill him and take the girl and their biokinetic as our own.*