Angel in Disguise

(Notes: This was co-written as an RP between a good friend of mine and myself. I gathered it all up and did my best to edit it so that it would make sense to outside readers. The story is complete, but is quite long, so I'm cutting it up into pieces for posting here. The story in it's entirety should be up by tomorrow, as it's quite late and I'm tired right now.)

(Edit: I discovered the band Cinema Bizarre and fell absolutely in love. Angel in Disguise fits this fic so much better than Through the Night. Sorry about any confusion.)
***

Angel in disguise - you save my soul
But you make my heart go blind
My devils rage inside - just can't let go
cause it feels so right
you make my heart go blind
--Cinema Bizarre - Angel in Disguise

***

Farfarello crawled out of the air duct, sniffing the air. Disgusting, he supposed, but it didn't really bother him that much. The floor was covered in something unpleasant. Human remains of all sorts. He hadn't been through here yet, so he wondered what caused it. Nobody else usually made this much of a mess, save himself and occasionally hungry beasts.

On the other side of the room, Omi stepped down gingerly, and winced as the floor squelched under foot. With one arm over his face to avoid breathing in the fumes and stench of death that surrounded him, he peered into the near darkness of the room and tried to figure out what had happened; if he didn't know any better, he'd have said this was Farfarello's work, but he had yet to see any members of the psychic team in the building.

A slight noise from the other corner told him he wasn't alone any more, and he pressed himself against the wall, kicking the grate he'd lowered with such precise care back into the wall with a noise so loud it echoed.

Farfarello froze as a loud metallic noise boomed and echoed around the space. Despite his sight, which Crawford described to be 'catlike' at times, there simply wasn't enough light to reflect anything except the gore beneath his feet, which echoed in dark waves as he decided to step carefully forward again. The smell kept him from identifying anything, but that didn't mean something couldn't identify him. Canines made messes. Big cats made messes.

Warped beasts like the ones that were rumored to be 'grown' here made messes.

Crawford wanted to see if this place was a threat. A force that could rival the power of Schwarz. His sights revealed nothing, Schuldig's mental tendrils revealed nothing, and Nagi's hacking revealed nothing, so of course, they sent him in to do some leg work.

And while he held very little regard for his own life, he still didn't really desire being torn up by such a creature.

He slipped a blade from the hem of his shirt into his palm, slinking around the noise in a wide circle, looking for... well... anything. Lights definitely would've been appreciated.

The noise died away, and Omi remained frozen in place, waiting to see if anything moved. They were remarkably uninformed about the mission, which was why he was there in the first place. It was meant to be a scouting mission, and he'd taken to the ducts to move through the building with greater stealth. It was a solo mission this time; they hadn't really been expecting anything to come of it, and Omi had been decreed the only one small enough to get in and out without notice.

He crept along the wall, being exceedingly careful about where he put his feet, and stared hard into the darkness. He might have seen his hand in front of his face, but nothing further than that. He was certain he wasn't alone, however, and his first goal was to find some lights. He had a flashlight, of course, but supposing he shined it to the left first? Then if there was anything to his right, they would see him before he saw them, and that wouldn't end well. His hand found a familiar shape on the wall, and he groped for the switch in its center. The room exploded into violent light, exposing its gory contents. His eyes stung with the effort of adjusting from near total darkness to the near overwhelming brightness, and he squinted around quickly, trying to find the source of the strange noise he'd heard a moment ago.

He caught just a glimpse of a familiar white-haired figure before the lights flickered, and died again in a shower of sparks.

Farfarello resisted the urge to close his eye as the room burst into light, his tear duct filling with moisture. However, the light was short-lived, but he had what he needed.

A grin spread across his lips as he dodged to the side, away from where a shower of sparks rained down from a burst vessel. The sparks fizzled into nothingness against the crimson-coated floor, but Farfarello wasn't interested in such trivialities.

A beast, indeed. A tiny beast, with claws and fangs and angelic blue eyes.

But the little white beast didn't make this mess, and that troublesome thought pricked the back of his senses enough to stay his blade.

If the Weiss were checking up on this building, Crawford was correct to worry. And now, he had a true problem. Mixed into the gore was a multitude of fascinating material. White lab coats. Guard uniforms. Workers in the facility, not intruders. An interesting puzzle, indeed. To massacre such a force, the beast must be of moderate ability, and the flash the young Weiss had created was sure to attract attention.

Farfarello crept toward where the boy had last been, making sure to mask his footfalls. There had been a flashlight on the boy's waist, he was sure of it. Perhaps it would come in handy. A distraction, in case of necessary escape.

Omi swore silently in a constant stream of profanities through his mind. Schwarz was here, but not any of the nice ones - Farfarello, who was just as likely to take him apart as whatever did that to all those people. Scanning his memory for the sight, he swallowed the nausea, and did a quick count of approximation. There were no less than thirty bodies in this room, probably as many as fifty. Mixed into the gore were the remains of a lab - broken tables, chairs, and electronics. He could feel glass crunching silently under his shoes, but the first time he put his foot down wrong, he would make noise, attracting the attention of the white-haired man.

It hadn't yet occurred to him what the less immediate ramifications of the burst of light might have been, and so when he backed into something that was still warm and breathing, he thought it might be Farfarello.

The way it rumbled against him, however, was proof to the contrary, and he spun around, aiming his hand light beam on it. He was aware of a great deal of black or brown fur, and then something slammed into his midsection, and sent him hurtling across the room. As his backwards momentum was halted by yet another warm body, he had an eternal second to feel just like the ball in a game of ping pong. The light came up, and he realized he'd just landed squarely in Farfarello's lap. Such a powerful animal, he thought rapidly. It hit me once and I'm across the room. Not quite, Farfarello's closer than he was. Still that's scary. The thoughts came less in an ordered manner and more as brief flashes through the panic.

The first thing that took Farfarello by surprise was the fact that the kitten was still in the same spot as before.

The second... well... even he had to admit, the creature was vaguely surprising. The second flash of light was more focused, giving him a moment to take in the beast. A second to realize that he should probably run.

The third, that the boy wasn't in the same spot for too much longer. The kid appeared in his line of vision just long enough to blink, and then he was on the floor, his tail bone pushed up against something that felt less human and squishier than it should've. It would probably stain his pants. There was a focused stream of light emitting from somewhere in his lap, and for the first time, he noticed the kid was... touching him, for lack of a better phrase. He felt the blood lust rise in the back of his throat like bile, but swallowed it. Not the time.

And if the beast hadn't noticed him before, it surely would now. The question: whether to kill the kid now or use him as a distraction to escape. The beast obviously wasn't that interested in things after they'd been slaughtered, so, although the idea sent thrills of heat to his core, killing the kid wouldn't be very productive.

But there was no guarantee that when he pushed the boy -- Omi, wasn't it? -- away, the monster wouldn't follow him instead. Decisions, decisions. Well, he couldn't afford to waste such precious meat.

This thought process happened in a split second, of course, because meanwhile there was the scratching and breathing of something crawling ever closer to where they sat. It was slow. The people in this room were probably trapped and slowly picked apart. Either that, or there was more beast than one.

With a firm grasp, he grabbed Omi's wrist, pulling them both easily to their feet, and ran, trying to feel out the air currents for an escape.

Omi barely had time to register that he wasn't hurt, and that the thing - whatever it was - was coming closer when he found himself hauled up roughly by his wrist, the action nearly yanking his shoulder out of its socket.

"Ow, hey!" It slipped out in an unexpected whisper, but he immediately saw the sense. If he'd lounged there, the beast - slow as it was - would have caught up and probably done more than just swat him like a fly. The second thing that passed through his mind was why is he taking me? but it was followed quickly by to the vents. We've got to get out of here.

"There," he said, pointing to the small rectangular bit in the wall. It wasn't that he could see it, exactly; more that he could make out the greater darkness within the lesser darkness of the room. The beast behind them snuffled its way through the gore, confident that they had no where to go. He yanked his hand from the other man's iron grip, and fumbled for his crossbow. It sprang ready with the press of a button, but withdrawing the bolt from the holster around his thigh cost him precious moments. He was trembling so badly that it fell; swearing, he reached for another one, and this time managed to load it. With the light in his mouth to leave his hands free, he took aim at the beast, and fired. The dull 'thunk' of the bolt striking flesh was drowned out by the animal’s feral roar, and he dropped the crossbow altogether, spinning to follow Farfarello into the vent.

"There," Farfarello snorted. The light was pointed everywhere other than the important parts of the room, blinding him temporarily from time to time and keeping his eyes from adjusting. The boy's face was a light smudge against the darkness of the room, and with his dark assassin uniform, Farfarello had no idea where he was pointing, if he was even pointing at all, much less what he was pointing to. From the excited pitch of his voice, it was probably something he was supposed to be heading toward. He ran a hand outward until it came into contact with Omi's outstretched sleeve, and begun heading in that direction.

It took a moment before he could feel the light wind against his face and see the dark hole in the ceiling. Another vent. Was this the one the young assassin had entered through? No, they'd entered much further back. There was no telling where this one led.

Of course, they didn't have a choice. Unless the boy was deliberately leading them into it. Perhaps it was a trap? No, he'd seemed honestly surprised to see Farfarello standing there.

He paused in shock as the kitten managed to wrench his wrist out of the psychopath's grip. Was he really so distracted, or was the kid really that strong? A grin cracked at his lips. The light pointed backwards, into the pale eyes of the beast. It didn't seem to register the light at all. Blind. On the other side of the beam of light, his ears picked up what his eyes couldn't. Something rustled. Something fell. Something whistled through the air, planting itself into the beast's forehead.

Well, it certainly seemed pissed enough now. Farfarello decided the boy had made himself plenty useful. If he wanted to sacrifice himself, it was his own prerogative. Time to go. He jogged forward, pulling off the grate and hoisting himself into the air duct, his boots squeaking wetly against the wall as he climbed.

He jammed the light into his pocket, and hauled himself into the shaft, hearing Farfarello's climbing noise just up and ahead of him. He'd chosen the duct system because it was relatively flat throughout the whole building, easy to move through without the impediments of locked doors and dead ends. His shoes, wet with blood and other less defined matter, slid against the smooth metal, and he nearly slipped more than once. It didn't take long before he could nearly see Farfarello above him, a mass of dark and light moving against the blackness that surrounded them.

With the easy routine of reach, hold, and step occupying less of his mind than the terror of before, he put his thoughts towards the other assassin. It didn't make any sense; why had he grabbed him? It would have been just as easy to push him back towards the strange beast and made his escape, but Omi was grateful that he hadn't. His wrist still hurt, but it wasn't the worst the Irishman could do, and he ignored the pain.

A noise from below alerted him to a more immediate danger; it was coming up the vent behind them. He risked a look down, and saw that it was using the same method to climb, pressing the bulk of it's body against one side of the shaft, and moving upwards with it's feet. "F-F-Far-..." he whispered, and then increased his speed as much as he was able. "Move!" he called. "It's coming up behind us!"

The angry growl reverberated through the duct, making Omi wish he were more like Ran, with a long steel blade with which to defend himself, or even Farfarello, with madness taking the place of fear and pain.

There was a thump and a series of squeaks as Omi climbed up the vent behind him. So the boy hadn't gotten himself eaten. Yet. That was commendable.

They got a few feet up before the assassin began muttering something. Fffar? ...Near? If it was far, it didn't matter. He cast a look down, and... yes... it was quite near, indeed. But if it ran into Omi, that would certainly halt it for a while.

The metal structure of the vent vibrated with its noises of blood-hungry frustration. He sneered at the boy trying to give him orders. As if he weren't already moving.

"Why don't yeh try kicking it in th' face?" he barked back. Yes, that was definitely the best course of action. Everybody wins. Omi would earn himself a new pair of shoes, the beast would be momentarily satisfied, and Farfarello would be able to get back to Crawford with his report.

He wanted to ask do you know where this leads or why did I listen to you in the first place, but before the words could slip from his tongue, he found himself pelted by another, brighter idea.

"Drop sharp stuff," he said, pulling out a few of his less favorite knives and sending them coasting down the sides, where he was reasonably sure Omi's arms and feet and legs weren't located.

"Drop-?"

Omi let out an undignified squeak as something sharp and metallic slid down miraculously through the empty spaces between his limbs. He was still seething about the kicking it in the face comment, and vowed to kick the Irishman in the face just as soon as they were no longer being pursued by some crazy thing out of someone's nightmares. I shot it in the head. Why didn't it die?!

He was beginning to wonder how long they'd been climbing when he became aware of a cool draft coming from somewhere up above. With luck, Farfarello had noticed it also, and would get out of the duct, and either leave Omi free to go about his business, or fall into the jaws of another of those crazy beasts, also leaving Omi free to go about his business.

He carefully withdrew a dart, and let it fly downwards with a flick of his wrist. The renewed roar of the beast let him know the objects had hit their mark, but this also wasn't doing much more than to enrage it. "There should be an exit somewhere up there," Omi called, wishing he were on top instead of Farfarello. "Find it," he added sternly, wondering if anyone would believe that he'd ended the mission crawling after Farfarello through the ventilation system of a deserted building inhabited by nightmarish creatures.

Farfarello froze, his skin crawling with the boy's command. Cheeky little brat needed to be taught a lesson, and it was obvious his mates weren't going to do it. That left it up to him. He sighed, and stuck his foot downwards abruptly, pressing it against what he expected to be the boy's forehead or cheek or other soft, squishy feature.

"I didn't hear a please in there," he cooed coldly. From the odd scrapings, the beast had fallen a few feet with their barrage of shiny objects, but that wouldn't last long.

The last thing Omi had been expecting was Farfarello's bloody, gore-covered boot coming towards his face. He jerked sideways in an automatic maneuver, but the sole came to rest on his shoulder, leaving a disgusting boot print on his clothes. A dozen replies flashed through his mind, ranging from Fuck you to Get your filthy boots off of me, you sick freak but he thought better of them. Farfarello was in a better position, tactically, and the thing wasn't far behind him.

So he shut his eyes, ground his teeth, and bit out an almost sincere-sounding, "Please. Find. The exit?"

Or the next thing I shoot will be you, and I hope it lodges itself right up in your stupid. Schwarz. Ass.

Farfarello grinned as he heard the reply. Not bad. If he weren't more attuned to lies, it might have almost sounded sincere. Nagi probably would've fallen for it. The rest of Weiss probably would, and probably had. It sounded... practiced.

"Used to pretending, are we?"

But he'd gotten what he asked for. He hadn't requested a 'wide-eyed, heartfelt please' or anything of the sort. Next time, he'd have to be more specific.

He began his upward ascent again, and felt a rush of air as he reached the opening. A new room. New dangers, the old danger hot on their heels. They might actually have to deal with the beast, if it were able to crawl through the small opening. He toppled headfirst into the room, only barely managing to land on his feet, and still taking a few steps forward to right himself. The metal grate clanged loudly behind him, but that was of no importance, by this point. If they hadn't been heard bumbling up the duct, they wouldn't be heard at all. There was a thin stream of light at the opposite end of the room. A door. A close-able door with light on the other side. He couldn't ask for more, at this point.

It shouldn't have mattered what Farfarello thought of his forced plea; he was the one who'd asked for it. What surprised Omi was the fact that the flippant comment actually hurt - just a little. What did it matter if he was used to pretending? It kept his team together, which in the end, was all that mattered.

He clambered out of the hole and breathed a sigh of relief. It turned back to irritation quickly as he glowered at the body in front of him, and gave the Irishman an uncharacteristic push. "Next time, I'll just shoot you, and find my own way out," he threatened. A noise behind him was startling, and the massive claws reaching out of the opening pressed him into a reaction before his brain caught up. Many, many times before, this reflexive movement had saved his life.

Pressing himself flat against Farfarello's body for the second time in half an hour was probably not the greatest life-saving idea he'd ever had, but it was too late. He was caught yet again between the beast and the madman, and this time he didn't think he'd be walking away from it.

Farfarello narrowed his eyes at the tiny push, his skin crawling where he'd been touched. He wasn't used to being touched, even by those on his 'would only occasionally skewer' list. Omi wasn't on that list.

"Yer own way out? Around my corpse? Assuming, of course, I'd die from being shot in th' ars-" he found the breath suddenly caught in his throat as something warm pushed itself against his back. Yes, he could tell warm. He could even tell soft and alive and breathing, even though he didn't encounter it often. Rare enough to shock his system.

He could also tell that if the young Weiss had pressed up against him in a few centimeters in either direction, he would've made himself a new orifice. It wasn't wise to... do whatever he was doing... to a man with hidden knives.

And what exactly was he doing?

"What are you...?" he said too harshly, forcing the air through his vocal cords in a rush, before it could get caught again.

...Oh. Right. The beast. Of course.

His mind began to work on overdrive again, but in a sort of strange, babbling way, making it difficult to understand the conversation in his own head. He scowled into the darkness, willing the voices silent.

...

...Great, now there was no dialogue, only the beating of his own pulse, and the pulse of the body behind him.

But... he should probably do something. Yes, something definitely should be done. Moving away. Moving away would be good. He took a step forward, toward the door, his usually sharp ears filled with white noise. Strange. Very strange.

The stupid boy. He must have a death wish. Probably did. A similar kind of thrill whistled through his veins at the prospect of being allowed to painstakingly tear that taught skin from its owner, and now he'd completely lost focus.

Beast. Get away. Then maybe you can flay the boy. An excited smile spread itself across his face without his permission.

He grabbed the shoulder of the kitten's clothes, making his way quickly toward the door.

That he was still alive was a miracle. He ignored Farfarello's words in favour of making certain the creature wasn't still coming. It was persistent!
He was preparing to say something about the fact that there was suddenly more of it coming through the vent-hole when he found himself yanked off his feet and practically dragged. Oh, shit.

"Where- What the hell are you doing!?"

What was he doing? Going toward the door. Doors were nice. Being on other sides of doors was nice, too. The scratching and scrambling of the beast grew more frenetic. It was surprising that such a large form could get through such a narrow passageway, but he had no time to focus on such thoughts, especially since much of his mind was already obsessing about what he would do with the young Weiss.

He stopped abruptly, running his palm along the door. No knob. Electric, perhaps. He reached over, groping around for the flashlight, and pointed it at the wall. A keypad.

"Nagi opens such things," he said pointedly, implying, of course, that Omi should be able to do it, too.

Omi muttered a few choice things about 'what Nagi could do' and then turned his attention to the door. It was simple enough, but it would take him a few moments.

The wall behind them splintered as the enraged beast clawed its way out - he didn't have a few moments. "Look," he said. "I don't have magic whammy powers. You want me to open this thing, you're going to have to make sure that giant bear doesn't eat me."

Now that the shock of being rescued(?) had worn off, and the added bonus of a challenge ahead of him, Omi was feeling a little bit better. He still didn't know why Farfarello hadn't just left him to die several times over, or simply killed him himself. For the moment, he was glad to be alive, however, and he didn't question it too hard.

Not caring whether the Irishman was going to do something about the monster, he turned his attention to the keypad, one hand bristling with darts - just in case.

Farfarello couldn't help but grin at the 'things that Nagi could do'. To be sure, he probably could do some of those things, although Farfarello would be flattened for even hinting at such truths.

He furrowed his brow at the next statement, though. On one hand, they needed to get through the door. On the other hand, he didn't particularly want to get eaten, either.

He ran his tongue along his teeth, staring the beast down as it shimmied over the last remains of the wall. The creature had no eyesight, and Farfarello could see well enough with the light flooding under the door, as long as he pointed himself away from the door and didn't wander into the darker corners. It ran its head along the floor, taking in great amounts of air.

Smell? Was that its strong point?

Farfarello took off a boot and threw it hard against the wall next to the vent, sending out a shock of noise that echoed several times in the empty room. No reaction from the creature. No hearing, and no heightened vibration-touch sense.

A creature with only one sense. Or two, if it could taste, but that was in the same solution category as scent, as far as the Irishman was concerned. Whipping out one of his knives, he cut a long gash in his forearm, and pulled off one of his socks to dab at the mess. When the cloth was sufficiently soaked, and the beast sufficiently close to their current position, he tossed it into the darkness.

The effect was immediate. The beast threw itself after the garment, landing with amazing precision, before it began to shred it into tiny, unrecognizable pieces. Which was exactly what would happen to them, if they got caught.

He wasn't entirely sure why the beast didn't notice the blood pouring out of his arm, but he figured it had something to do with the motion. Perhaps throwing it had released the scent into the air? He quickly began to soak his other sock.

Mmm, fun.

***

(Will upload the rest tomorrow. Credits for my partner are also forthcoming, as soon as she figures out what name she wants me to credit her under. Just know for now that I didn't write this alone.)