Tu Fui, Ego Eris

"He becomes a madman, who for the most part finds no one to help him in carrying through his delusion."

–Sigmund Freud

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Chapter 3: Do Ut Des

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The gun was held firmly in his hand. It had just been reloaded and was ready to be fired again. Where before he was merely attempting to frighten and graze the girl with a bullet, he now had to be careful with his shot. This was no girl he was now hunting, this was an old man. Aureolus Lorenzo Belli, his Lord, master, his creator, his father, himself incarnate in an older form. Riccardo was his unsuccessful clone, Ugo's egg was then created and fertilized a mere hour afterwards after he learned of his mistake, correcting it thusly and moving forward as though he never existed. Like some puppy that died, and who's owner decided to run out and get another without thought. A replacement, except he had not passed on. Though to Lorenzo, there was no difference. His deformed son was dead to him.

There was no real apt description, no level of measurement that Riccardo had for the sort of hate he felt towards the man. He wanted him dead. His body stretched out before him with many a bullet hole in his tattered hide. Every time the thought arose in his mind, he smiled horribly in a sadistic, sick sort of glee. He would enjoy this, very much so.

"I thought I told you to be silent!"

Words echoed throughout his head, things said to him anything from days ago to his first known memories.

"Child, don't you speak ugly to me. I made you, you are mine. I own you. Now, get back to work. When you're finished, I have another chore for you-"

He snorted in anger at the thought, not wanting to really remember any of his childhood memories. They were one of the few things in his life that caused him any real emotion; pain. They lacerated, they cut deep. Just as Fiona's comments had, though hers only stung. He would move on, and he would forgive the girl for her distrustful ways. For what that decrepit man did was something that he could never not only understand, but loath and froth over in absolute rage and disgust until the day he died. He really chose not to remember the exact moments, the exact things asked and forced of him. But he knew the words by heart, and found himself echoing and repeating them more then he liked. The man was still the person who raised him, and idolized him as all sons look up to their father. He couldn't help but take with from him his cruelty, malice, and underlying, rarely seen perversity. His cold. His words.

Yet they still all had their effect, and they helped fuel his never ending pursuit through the mansion.

Riccardo tapped the old flintlock to his palm in impatience and chastisement. It was loud in the halls, and it probably gave him away. He didn't care. Let the old man run...Or rather, wheel. It would make the chase all the more fun. Though he had to admit he would at least like to see him, as he hadn't for a day now. All he knew was that he was in the estate, somewhere. He had combed the castle from top to bottom, looking through all the old hiding places he knew as a child. Now it was coming close to finishing off this old mansion, the last of the lower corridors being investigated and ran through. He would check behind every wall, through every room.

Before his chase began, he had taken a stop through an alchemy portal and acquired some Fortis. It replenished his stamina completely, and kept him from tiring for a short amount of time. It would have to last him through the night. The portals were situated all over the estate, and to the naked eye they appeared simply as identical rooms. Yet it was all one room, with the ability to use teleportation to reach it via different portals. They included a varatio machina that turned medallions into concoctions, of which he had plenty of amongst the gunpowder and bullets that lay in his hidden inside pockets. The reason behind the strange entry was to restrict guests or thieves from entering the room. Anybody can walk through a door, but few were willing to crawl through a hole. Only him and somebody slimmer could fit, though he had to admit it was a strain on the body and a royal pain in the ass.

Now he walked through the hall next to the statue, the red-tinted one that ceased to creep or weird him out as it would any normal person. This room hadn't been visited by the maid in some time, and was long overdue. Rubble lay strewn about, stains ranging from vomit to blood smeared the floor. He heard a distinct lapping noise, finding in both unusual and new. Rounding the corner, he found the answer to his curiosity. One of his failed homunculi was bent over on his hands and knees, licking the supposed vomit from the tile beneath him. He stood for a moment, then visibly twitched in disgust, this was horrid. Even his stomach could be turned by something like this.

For a moment he considered lifting his gun and dispatching of the thing right then and there. However, there was a certain abhorrence that stopped him. Not compassion, but a sort of self-preservation. Though he looked nothing like, acted nothing like it, the creature was still him in every genetic facet. It was him, but as a blank, failed state. Though if he truly cared about the being, pity may have not stayed his hand but instead forced it, after all, the thing was a miserable life form whose life was purposeless and disgusting. But he had worked too hard on the things to just ceaselessly kill the wretches. He would wait until the time came, then would kill them in a more fitting manner using chemicals or a well-placed shot to the head, then perform an autopsy.

Then the creature could have purpose. If he killed it now it would not, it would rot here in this hallway and make any autopsy practically worthless, and any extraction of it's Azoth defunct. They did not need to eat, sleep, drink, or defecate. Not only were they incapable of doing so, but it simply wasn't necessary. They're whole existence seeped in feeding off of their original Azoth until they would die by his hands. They would grow and mature in a matter of days, going from a newborn baby to an adult. All without food, and it always still baffled him how it was possible. He could only figure that they survived and derived from their original baby fat.

Instead, he picked up his foot and gave the creation a good kick in the gut. He made a grunt, but went right back to his "meal". It would go into a non-functioning stomach, where it would most likely remain. Smiling horribly, he then laughed a little in his throat and walked on by. He passed a rather unusual table, one that hadn't been used in some time. Beside it an old IV drip still remained. If he remembered correctly, it was last used to hold a homunculi in place as he performed a life-saving operation. As it was recovering, it took off out of it's restraints, throwing up both vomit and blood on the floor. It died shortly thereafter.

That particular homunculi was more able then the rest. He was almost at the level of Debilitas, but less deformed. However, his brain was still simple and he was useless as anything close to a functioning human, even maturing just as fast as the others. He still didn't know what he had done correctly, he wish he knew. Maybe he could expand open future attempts. Normally it was used for simple examinations, done to check every new homunculi to see what the strengths and weaknesses were of each one. Two braces lay on the table near the edge, grafted to it. These kept the legs restrained in a wide angle to the table, so that the genital regions could also be examined without a fight. Unfortunately, most of them had not even developed even those such organs.

The table brought up bad memories, he had it put out here to free up room in the cloning lab. It shouldn't even be here, many, many things were added to the room as well because of him. This was the only thing outside of it was recent. Lorenzo, oddly enough, didn't seem to care what he did with the room. It was as though he was totally disenchanted with the concept of anything related to the cloning process anymore. Any time it was brought up he would wave it away.

"Quiet about that, Riccardo." He would chastise.

"It will be a cold day in hell before I take a step into that room again. And an even colder day before I see another child in this house."

This always made him angry, almost blindly filled with rage. Yet it was always a rage he kept to himself, building up with time.

"Well, we'll see..." He would reply back.

Now he made his way from the table to the room, and opened the door. He remembered the last time he had that particular argument with his creator. It was a nasty one. It was one of the things that put him in his present murderous mindset for the man.

He could remember the sort of hateful laugh he gave back, those ugly teeth of his showing.

"We'll see?" He repeated back to his creation in mockery.

"What have you done successfully, my child? Not a blasted thing. That monster that tends to our gardening is your only worthwhile contribution to this place, and we could certainly do without him anyway..."

Riccardo walked into the room, he hadn't been in here since a few days ago.

"...You cannot just continue to clone yourself hoping that you will get lucky! Having tank, after tank, after tank laying about with growing embryos will not improve your chances. You may think that one day you will somehow beat the system, but this is a fallacy. You are doomed, Riccardo..."

Walking towards one of the tanks, he gazed closer at one of his creations. About the size of a newborn baby, suspended in a sort of artificial embryonic, uterine fluid.

"...Doomed from the minute you were born. Every time you clone the exact same genetics, the exact same spermatozoa is used. Little variation remains. You may get some better then the others, may use supplements to improve certain deformities. But the result will still be the same. It is hopeless. It had always been hopeless. Why do you continue this process?"

Placing his hand on the glass, he looked at the creature with dismay, sighing hopelessly.

"...Because nobody else will." He remembered replying harshly to his creator, then turned around and walked away.

The child...His child...Hung in the tube. Unlike the curled-up look an infant should posses inside it's mother's womb, he merely floated there rather comfortably. An umbilical cord ran from it's stomach to the back of the tube, where nutrients were filtered in much the same way a natural woman's would feed her child. But that's where the similarities between the two ended. Despite being his, and in a strange way, it was magical to him...It was also the ugliest thing he'd ever seen. It possessed no eyes, face askew and arms bowed. Parts of the body were larger then others, and had a sort of fatty appearance. It seemed to resemble almost a piece of meat. The even odder thing was that this particular one was actually only four months old, yet had the size of a newborn.

Worthless. Disgusting. These were his only contributions to the legacy, along with Debilitas. And they were all monsters.

These ones were different from the larger homunculi, who looked relatively normal until they began to mature. But these were even worse, because his Azoth was getting worse and worse by the year. That was the missing piece, the vital element that could make a healthy, complete clone. It was the life's combining element, both manufactured by the body and protective of it's health. It was as natural as anything to a normal body, but to a clone, it was the only thing that ever mattered. Because with it, one could be normal. In the wrong hands, however, it could also give power. Something his father was striving for on a continuous basis.

That's all his old man ever wanted. Taking a large amount of Azoth into the body could increase one's ability and even youth by large amounts. It could be derived from living tissue using an extractor or via genetic material. Then it could be either absorbed by another person or made into a sort of solution or formula. It was the cure-all, the very essence of life itself. Cancers, and nearly any disease or ailment can be cured by using it, including even old age. Yet only Human Azoth had the ability to do much of anything powerful, and that was hard to come by. The only real source they had was the recycled, tainted Azoth of their failed clones.

Yet residual Azoth could be exchanged two other ways. From touch, simply gracing one's hand against another will leave a sort of life-force residue behind that will be eventually be absorbed into someone's resident Azoth. But the best, and most attractive idea was through sexual intercourse, and especially pregnancy. Very large amounts are transferred between the two lovers, which for a normal individual does really nothing at all. For somebody as starved as he was for the substance, however, it would be like an absolute refill and replenishment that he needed. Rather then the small drop in the bucket that the dogs provided him with, it would be a human's. And not just a human's...but the actual original Azoth of Aureolus Belli's, just like his own.

He would be killing two birds with one stone.

The eggs were created via alchemy, unfertilized with the difference being it contained their genetic material, which was normally taken from a strand of hair or a drop of blood from a prick of the finger, and mixed in with the process. A mandragora's blood would also be used to provide basic genetic encoding and a basis for tissue. After the egg was done he would stimulate himself, putting the resulting seminal fluid into the smaller tank with it. When one of many was fertilized, which only happened thirty percent of the time, it would be later stimulated to divide using certain alchemic concoctions. It was then carried in the small tank to this room, where it was channeled through the many tubes into the many incubating artificial wombs. Then the fertilized egg would merge with the side of the tank, which was made for just this purpose, and it would begin to form. Several tendrils were automatically connected to the form to keep it restrained and lifted in the container. Needless to say, he had to at times spend a whole day or so tending to these clones, all created at the same time, hoping that one of them would beat the odds and leap forward in development.

Already, cloning required many, many unfertilized eggs and fatalities. That was merely part of the process. But his clonings were far and beyond even the normal level failures. By all rights, he should have had at least five successful ones already. The child moved in it's tank just a little. He sighed in response, then moved his hand off, leaning back onto the metal grating. The room was covered in pipes both on the ceiling and floor, with a metal grating above it to keep from messing with the essential equipment. On the other side was a small table which contained some other smaller containers, containing failed fetuses and fertilized eggs that were to be next in once these formed. Then across from that was the transmuter, where certain materials could be put into incubators. This became very useful for certain alchemic formulations, polishing the natural life energy radiating from them and adding to refinement. Daily he would insert his own formulations into it to keep these abominations fed, working like an all-around vitamin to fix and feed everything. It was another element he was constantly tampering with to try and help this cause.

Red. Red, everywhere. It was the color the tanks gave off, and it seemed to irradiate from the very walls themselves. The dull "thud" of one of the previous homunculi resulted across the room. He turned his head in it's direction, grumbling in his throat. Why that meddlesome thing continued to do something so repetitive and obviously painful was beyond him. It must have been a mental defect, yet another. The same reason why the one in the hall of doors seemed to be eating it's own hands, despite the fact that it couldn't digest anything anyway or have a sensation of hunger.

He took a step back, then as he went to leave, noticed something in the back. Over towards the there were two tanks that have been broken out of, and small puddles of blood next to them. It had happened again, some had escaped and perished. He had to replace the tanks on a regular basis, and he still didn't know how such small, weak creations could brake out and be able to run like they were normal children. They were four months old, they shouldn't even be able to stand! Once he remembered it happened right in front of him, one smashed through the glass, landed on the grating, and grabbed his leg. It let out a scream so loud he nearly felt his eardrums burst, resembling the mandragora used in it's creation. Ever since then he realized he had used too much of that particular element, and tried to scale back. Yet to say it nearly gave him a heart attack was an understatement. He kicked it off, and it fell on it's back and seemed to dissolve right before his eyes. It was unstable, the genetic structure not holding up the way it should...It was nothing but a bag of bones, organs and blood...

Turning, he walked about the metal grating to the edge of the room. Soon, very soon, he would eliminate these all. They were useless now that he had his Fiona. She would solve all his problems, both in creation and in Azoth supplementation. And it would all result from a night in bed with her. All he had to do now was play his cards right, sidle next to her, woo her, and when she least suspected it he would take what he always needed and wanted. He wouldn't come in to feed them, or even kill and autopsy the homunculi that still dwell there. All his energy would be focused on the woman, what she needed. What she wanted. And finding that old man to make it all possible.

Reminded of this real task, he slowly began to back out of the room. He would not enter it until he had to, it would be left as a piece of their old legacy. When his and Fiona's child reached adulthood, he would teach him the ways of cloning. By then, his blood should be Azoth-laden and healthy, and all his son's clones should be perfect. This was his ultimate plan, to create a new, strong base for the grand process to continue. Though their children would be clones in themselves, nearly identical to him in every way, and they would be just the beginning of this new era. His era. Their era. He smiled at the thought. Riccardo would not be just another clone, a continuation of Aureolus Belli. He and his precious Lady would be the saviors of their failing and ruined family.

Like the oroboros, he would be reborn. And so he and Fiona would live together as one, forever in their offspring.

It was a nice thought, one he had planned out and believed it could work. He calculated the percentages of the outcome, including any deformities caused by his estranged DNA and the chance off inbreeding also becoming a factor in highlighting recessive genes. In the end, it still came back in his favor. He even found a formula, through his own experimentations with the clones, that would help significantly reduce such defects as well as increase the chances of it being a male. The door was shut behind him, and he walked away and back up the hall.

Another dead end without that old man. He went back up through the mansion, hoping to scour the place from top to bottom. His gun hit his palm as he walked, an odd habit he always had and with no intention to ever stop. He had to forget his past failures and rely on his new method. It was his only hope, and the whole family's last hope. Lorenzo was too old and feeble, too selfish and unworthy, Ugo dead, his Azoth still in his daughter. Now it was up to them. It was her very duty, as much as it was his, to continue this legacy.

Whether she wanted to or not.

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Fiona didn't know how she ever made it to morning without cracking. Without somehow going mad, though she supposed in a way she did. She stared at the translucent sides, eyes fluttering shut, then open, then closed again. Right now she couldn't even figure out if she slept at all or not. There were long periods of missing time, though she couldn't remember a single dream or even waking up once. Though her bladder was now comfortable, her stomach and throat still hungered for just a temptation. Times like this she wished back any and all food she had ever thrown away or refused. Or in the very least have at least ten more pounds on her body to support her now ravenous hunger.

Yawning, she shifted in the cube, trying to keep from just staring into space for too long. Now she almost wished for him to come back, do something, say something. At least it would ease her boredom. With the mere thought of him returning, hearing those footsteps, her heart quivered and stomach bottomed out. How could she be both simultaneously hopeful and frightful of this man? Perhaps, she reasoned, because even evil company was still company, and that was better then no company at all. Right now he was her key to opening this place and even a way out. If she could somehow manipulate him, she just might find a way out. She just had to keep him from doing anything to her, first.

Maybe there was a key somewhere she hadn't looked that could open those gates...Or maybe it was on him somewhere, and when he fell asleep she could lift it from him. Perhaps she could climb one of those trees, and scale the main wall. Dig a hole or a tunnel underneath it. There was always the possibility that the Chaos forest held more then what she saw, that there was yet another way down or around that cliff...

As she contemplated these, the footsteps started again. And this time, they were real. She scooted backwards in the cube, eyes towards the door as she watched. Then rather suddenly, she watched as the door was unlocked and he stepped through. It was odd to see him like this, despite really only seeing him a few times anyway. But now he looked so tired and sleepy, almost like he was going to just fall down. He stumbled in, then turned around and shut the door, locking it carefully.

For a moment she almost slipped, and nearly asked "Are you alright?" Luckily enough, she caught herself. She could almost imagine the level of utmost embarrassment that would cause her, and most likely make her more attractive to her captor.

He also looked somewhat relieved to see her. Like a breath of fresh air. By instinct she averted her eyes once again as he made his way towards the cube. His palm came to now rest on the side, looking at her in much the way he had looked at his own clone. To him there was little difference, this was in a way his creation as well. The only difference being it was merely created by another version of himself. This one was very much unlike the other, looking more like some angel sent from above.

Yet to Fiona, he appeared as a demon sent from the depths of hell.

"What time is it?" She spat out, rather curious how long she'd been staring into space.

"Morning, my dear. And a very good morning to you."

Damn, there he was trying to be charming again. She shuddered at the very thought of it actually starting to sound nice to her lonely ears.

"Do you have to go again?" He asked, wanting to get her out of that thing already.

She found it a little disturbing to think that this man was pondering her bodily functions. Even more so was the idea that he may have been fantasizing about her, putting her in situations that she most assuredly did not belong. The idea of her name rolling off his tongue, touching her, having touched her...It was all more intimate then she ever wanted it to be. He was looking at her, probably thinking things that were both inappropriate and filled of incest. God, it was making her sick all over again.

"Yes." She answered.

It wasn't so much that she had to go, because she really didn't have to. She could have waited another hour or two. But she saw this as another opportunity, if he let her go like he did last time, maybe she could find a way out. Maybe she would slip out, perhaps he would make a mistake? It was a slim chance, but what little hope did she have in this hell-hole?

"Well then, I suppose we need to make another deal, don't we?"

Her spine tingled. A million possible raced through her mind, all things he could do to her.

"This time you must let me do what I wish."

Fiona's jaw nearly hit the floor, her right hand came up to rest on her open mouth in shock. No. There was just no way. He could not be allowed to do this. There was no doubt that he would attempt something that she would deem unacceptable. In this sense, she would give up all her rights. She would waver them away and give herself to him.

"No!" She spouted, horrified. Her throat cracked from the thirst.

He laughed in his own throat, and it sounded so oddly powerful and controlling. It was horrible, it crept up her spine like a chill.

"Oh now, dearest. You might be surprised to see what I would and wouldn't do. I'm not some pervert, you know."

She almost laughed out loud, and for a moment that actually calmed her.

"No." Fiona repeated, this time in a more firm tone then a surprised one.

If she were watching, she would have seen him shrug his shoulders in a rather nonchalant manner. As if he didn't care at all. Then he turned and began to head towards the door.

"Alright then, see you tomorrow."

What!?

"W-w-what?" She questioned hurriedly as he opened the door and was ready to leave.

He paused, his hand on the doorknob as he held it open and looked back at her. This was going just as he planned, he tried to hold his smile as she turned her head to look at him. She was actually willingly looking in his direction, and even crawled a bit towards him.

"I said, see you tomorrow. You obviously don't need anything right now, so I assume you'll be good another day. See you then."

Was he crazy!? How did he expect her to last until tomorrow? She would practically collapse from thirst or piss herself, most likely both. Though she would live through it, she would crack then, when she was weak. Unable to resist his advances. He had her by the ass.

"Wait!" She cried out, hardly believing herself.

Hesitating, he came back from behind the door. And that cruel smile was back on his face.

"Hmmm?" Riccardo questioned, tilting his head as if to listen.

"Did you say something, m' Lady?"

"Wait..." Fiona repeated, beginning to stammer.

Riccardo closed and locked the door again, then walked back to the cube. It was working. She was beginning to cooperate.

"I'll...I'll do it."

"Will you?"

She began to hyperventilate, her chest heaving and a cold, tingly sort of fear arising in her mind. The fear of what he was going to do was just as much as the fear of death itself. Maybe she could bargain with this monster.

"Just please...Please don't do anything to me...Please."

Her voice shook as she started to cry, obviously distraught and frightened about what was going to occur. He couldn't help but be turned on by the sort of helplessness she was exuding, she was at his mercy, clay in his hands. Now all he had to do was have a steady hand, and create the perfect woman.

"Oh, Fiona." He sighed.

"I can not...will not...promise you that..."

Gasping as she cried, she nodded again. She didn't like how this was heading, it gave her a bad feeling in the pit of her gut...But what choice did she have?

"I'll do it..." She admitted, defeated. Hoping desperately she had not made some grand mistake.

"Wonderful, my dear!" He cheered, sounding happier then ever.

"...I assume you are also hungry and thirsty, yes?"

"...Yes."

This was all going so well! He could barely believe her new level of cooperation. Was that all it took for this girl to crack? A night in a small prison? He put the key in the console, and it again opened up. This time Fiona stood up in a less enthused, frightened manner. She looked away from her captor, knees together as her teeth seemed to almost chatter in a slight cold and terror. Arms wrapped around herself, her body appeared drained and even thinner then before. She was pale, circles under her eyes as she looked on the verge of collapse.

Oh, his poor Fiona...

If he was capable of feeling real guilt, he would have then. He was experiencing a small amount of it, but it was quickly reasoned away. If she merely came with him in the mansion, and not put him into this grand chase that led him away from his task of destroying Lorenzo, this would have never happened. The more she refused, the quicker she would brake. If the girl knew what was best for herself, she'd throw herself at him.

Though he supposed that particular scenario was rather unlikely...

He walked towards her, and this time offered his hand in a more jerky, almost hurried fashion. She hesitated, and rightfully so. The minute she took hold of that hand was the minute she gave away all her freedoms. But he made the decision for her, and simply grabbed her dainty little hand and started to pull her down. She was too tired to put up a fight, and found herself stumbling down and over the edge. He caught her again, and just as before, put her down gently onto the floor. What he noticed this time, however, was that she didn't strike or fight him. But she also kept her arms to herself, not wanting to acknowledge or thank his assistance.

And also just like before, he kept a hold of her hand. The only difference he made was that his other arm wrapped around her waist and she had no choice but to allow it. He felt her cold, yet oddly invigorating body through the thick fabric of the gown. There was no movement of his hand across her body, but it was enough to send shivers down her spine. He felt like a furnace, and it was starting to feel inviting. She had grown so cold in this musty, chilly place. The cube only amplifying it because of it's bare structure. Unintentionally, she leaned in closer to this warmth, forgetting in her needy state who it was.

To the naked eye, and to Fiona herself, such a movement was barely even noticeable. In Riccardo's eyes, however, it was a big step. Any movement, voluntarily, in his direction was a new barrier reached, broken, decimated. A sort of warmth arouse in his body, not of sex or even accomplishment, but affection. He tugged her slightly closer, but this time she took offense and pulled a little more away. He was too quick to set the hook, a patient angler should know better to let the fish nibble a bit more, first.

But even the best fisherman gets antsy at times.

As he strode her to the door, he stopped. He knew he had to do something, make a step forward. That slight movement she made had lit a fire within him, and he had to get a slight taste for what he was going to get very, very soon from the woman. If not he may very well go mad. She began to notice something odd about him when he stopped, but made no move to open the door. He just stood and stared, but made no attempt to look up at him in any way, shape, or form.

Then she felt his hands leave her body, lifted away, then placed on her shoulders. He spun her around, and almost forcefully placed her up against the door. Her heart nearly burst out of her chest, one minute he seemed rather placid, the next, like he was going to-

Oh no...

Fiona's mind raced with possibilities as she looked up at him. He had a hungry look in his eyes. Like a dog starved of his food for far too long. Both hands were placed on her shoulders, holding her firmly and absolutely. There was no way out.

"Stop!" She cried, her eyes snapping shut as she tried to look away from him.

Yet it was as though she had said nothing at all. Slowly, like a lion creeping towards a stray antelope in the brush, he moved himself closer. His chest came to press up against hers, her breasts smashed against his front as her back hit the door. Then his crotch came to rest next to her own, and was thanking every God known to her that he did not seem hard. Yet she knew what was really there, erect or not, and it made her want to lurch and throw up all over him. Then came his breath again, his face mere inches from hers. It blew across her skin, her hair moving gently like in a breeze, and she could smell alcohol and stale food on his breath. It smelled horrible. Yet it wasn't really disgusting, that belonged to whatever was laying across her pelvic region right then. As he exhaled, she again felt it, and she held her breath to avoid both smelling it, or breathing in that fetid air. She didn't want anything inside her of from this man, and that included what he was eventually planning to do as well.

Still, it was warm...It was almost relieving to her chilly skin. He inhaled deeply, savoring her dirty, sweat-stained smell. Even filthy she was positively wonderful. That bare, feminine scent that arose from her body. It's like she was some bitch in heat, he, the mere consort looking for to let her guard down. She whimpered and tried to scoot away, not comfortable and in fact quite weirded out, and frightened. Now he made his move.

Slowly, his face came another inch closer, aiming for her lips. And just as carefully, she moved her face a few inches to the left to avoid it. This was a subtle, yet obvious sign to him. She wasn't ready. But he was the Lion, and he was ready to pounce whether the prey was or not, that was the way of a predator. His lips hovered over her own, coming close but not touching. He was teasing her, trying to convince her he was focused on her face while his hands moved. His left came off her shoulder and began to edge down her stomach, gliding over her breasts in the process. She gasped, then felt as it moved below the bottom of her gown, and between her legs. It rested there, between him and her, not really there but on the edge. Then the other came down to her other breast, but waited, not grasping or really cupping it yet.

Then he moved forward the few inches and aimed for the lower lip. They barely touched, just as his left hand simultaneously crept down, reached the edge of her labia folds, and the other hand merely flexing his fingertips over the breast. He didn't have any time to do a thing.

"Smmaaaack!"

Neither expected it, and certainly Fiona never even thought it through. It surprised her the most. A sort of instinctive reaction that she wasn't counting on actually using. Without thinking, her left hand had darted up and slapped Riccardo across the face, hard. It was near the level that he had slapped that crazy maid earlier last night. It was loud, and it actually echoed a few seconds in the small room. His reaction was delayed, and just as shocked as she was. His face stayed in the position she had sent it, several inches from hers and to her right. He was presently looking away from her and at the floor.

Her expression was of utter shock, her eyes wide as her hand remained elevated in the air in front of her where she left it. It shook. She had the assumption that perhaps that wasn't very smart. Riccardo, on the other hand was rather nonchalant. As his face remained in the position she had put it, she watched as he grinned.

"Hmm." His eyebrows arched as he made the amused tone in his throat, a combination of a laugh and mockery.

"Well then...I suppose you didn't approve of that, did you m' Lady?"

Fiona was surprised that he had not hit her back, slapping her viciously across the room. He just stood there, the red mark of her hand print still pulsating painfully where she had put it. It had brought her a small amount of satisfaction, but still fear. She had not dominated this man, merely toyed with him. Much how a mouse in a cage may taunt a cat by biting it's tail, and as far as she was concerned, she was still in a cage when she was out here.

"I...I'm so sorry...I..."

He laughed again at the stuttering, terrified apology. Fear was in her eyes. Yet Riccardo was really too shocked to even react, the fact that she fought back so strongly was unexpected. She looked down at his hands, since pulled away from her body in the manner he had them in. But now they were clenched around her wrists, which he was now squeezing harshly. He was building in anger, and yet still keeping it under control. She wondered how and why he was doing this. Why not just hit her back? It's not like he cared before whether he hurt her or not. Why the restraint?

Riccardo knew he had broke some sort of trust, and was holding every sort of ruthless anger he had back against the girl. He fought the urge to deliver that smack right on back, then beat her into submission to the floor as he finally took what he wanted from her by force. It was tempting, and he was always one to give in quite easily to such desires.

"Shhhh..." He hushed the mumbling Fiona.

Then his anger seemed to dissipate, and was once again replaced by a complacent, careful man. He leaned in closer like he was before, but this time she wasn't ready to hit him. It was obvious to her he wasn't going to try it for a second time. She turned her face from him once more, revealing her tender cheek to him. Eyelids fluttering shut, she began to hyperventilate as her body pushed up against the door again. She was trying to think of anything...Anything at all except what he was doing. Puppies, flowers, spring-time...

Unlike before, where she was focused on his actions...Now, she became focused on him. Things she didn't notice before, like his smell. It was the second strongest sensation he had, besides his warmth, and it was still subtle. There was the aroma of vinegar, which she now recognized as something she had tossed at him earlier. Acetic acid it was called, which she didn't remember from her studies as being totally harmless. She had used the same kind of plan earlier with the maid, after being cornered in that room. Grabbing what was called sulfuric acid, she tossed it at her and it broke on impact, eating away at her flesh as she then sunk to the floor in seemed defeat. It didn't take long for her to come back, however. When she tossed a different bottle on him, she just grabbed one that said "acid" and assumed it would hold a similar effect.

She knew she was wrong in this particular assumption, however, when the bottle crashed onto him and had literally no effect, the strong smell of vinegar wafting into the air around him. He stood with his hand over his face in a reflex action, then pulled it away as it dripped innocently from his body. Looking surprised, he smiled casually at her, wiping the remaining liquid from his face. He just stood by calmly as she then ran from the room, looking at her in much the same way a fox would a chicken running from him in a coop. She wasn't getting away, why not have some fun?

But underneath even that was a very distinctive odor. Not that he stunk, not really. It reminded her of an old library, the stench of rotting books that hadn't been touched in ages. Then you take it out, lay it across the table and open it, and the smell hits you in the face. It was the smell of being around old, cluttered materials that were used beyond their intention. There was a hint of a sort of pharmaceutical scent, chemicals, not like cleaning supplies or bleach, but like a pill or supplement. It was odd to place exactly. Then there was a whiff of sweat, and that general male smell that was it's base, and was in reality the strongest of them all. His hood was heavy with it, perhaps because that was all he ever wore. And if he was anything like what she heard of men from her friends...He probably didn't wash it all that often.

Gently, he leaned in, and did the simplest a man could do to show his love without being invasive. His lips brushed the center of her cheek, then leaned in as he placed his weight on it. One small kiss, then another. She gasped as she felt it against her skin, the way his harsh stubble scrapped her flesh and the way his lips trailed a feeling of hot fire across her face was both unholy and frightening. He pulled away, a slight cool sensation of his saliva on her cheek. It filled her with an odd shame, and she blushed vibrantly in response. His thumb came up and brushed it away as he smiled coldly, her eyes opening.

Her whole body shook, vibrating like the toy of the same name as he pulled away from her. One of the last things in the world that she wanted was his face against her, let alone his bodily fluids anywhere near her general vicinity. It burned her face compared to the cold that surrounded her in the place. What had just happened? She just couldn't believe any of it...

It was like she was in hell, but not the normal view of one. The one of Dante's Inferno, and she was in the level where she was tortured for and with lust. A perverted clone that looked just like her father, his hot and fiery body like that of Satan himself tempting her. Yet for her it was no temptation at all, like a rotten apple from the tree of knowledge offered to her by the serpent. She wanted nothing of it, but was presented to her while in a starved state, one where even a worm-encrusted apple was starting to hold some degree of attraction.

Yet it would taste and look terrible beyond anything she could ever possibly fathom. This, she was certain.

What she didn't know was that he wasn't just tempting her with forbidden fruit, whether she wanted it or not, but also testing her. She didn't hit him this time. Not only because she appeared terrified of repercussions, but because this was nothing compared to what he could have done. This was child's play. Now he would have to just play the steps up from this. It would all be so simple.

"Please..." She tried, hoping this would stop his seeming "assault".

"Please what, Fiona?" He asked, cocking his head at her. Eyes almost gleaming with some sort of quenched appetite.

He wanted her to ask him.

"Can I please use the bathroom?" It was like a whisper under her breath, but it was still there.

"You sure can."

Like instant relief, he backed away further. Then he reached past her, unlocked the door, and pulled it open. He grabbed her hand again and led her through back to the musty and damp bathroom. He went through the process again, locking the pump room and the door on the opposite side. Oddly enough, though, this time he didn't lock the other.

Then he let go, she took her hand slowly from him, holding it in her other as she rubbed her wrist. It didn't hurt, but it still felt weird. She forced her gaze towards him, wanting to see if he was going to make any sort of slip-up or mistake she could take advantage of this time. Yet he acted different, nonchalant, sure of himself. Too sure of himself for her own comfort. What was he planning?

"Would you like something to drink?"

Despite wanting so desperately to scream "yes!", she was hesitant. What if he put something in the water? Something that knocked her out, made her sleepy, or even some sort of aphrodisiac or brain-washing serum. The possibilities were endless. She could always refuse and get it from this sink...

"No, I-"

"I'm getting you something to drink." He interrupted, not content with her pause.

It was almost as though he knew what she was thinking. He still didn't trust her, and that was fine. But the process had to start. He would get her some water, she would drink it, and she would be content. No Lady of his would drink from that bathroom faucet, it just wasn't proper.

"Okay..." She admitted, defeated.

Nodding to her, he turned and went out the door that he had kept unlocked. Now she realized this had worked to her advantage, he had to leave the door to get her some water. That meant she could make some noise trying to get out. As the door shut, then was locked, she listened as his foot steps led away from the door.

Like a flash, she went from standing sheepishly to rushing across to the other door. Her hand wrapped around the doorknob, grunting with frustration as she tried to pull it open. It rattled, but held solid. Then she looked through the small bared window at the top, and saw nothing but near pitch-darkness. A torch was lit not far from the door, but she could see nothing. Where did it lead?

Again she tried to open it, twisting the knob in the extreme to both directions. Then she backed up and tried kicking the doorknob off, hoping it could somehow help. But it was an older model built for an expensive castle, and therefore manufactured to the highest specifications and of good quality, cast iron. It was useless.

"Damn..." She cursed as she sunk to the floor, body leaning against the door.

There had to be some way...There just had to...

She felt so filthy, like some whore on the strip. Her whole body had this sensation of dirtiness, like his mere touch could destroy any sort of sterility that ever existed. She didn't want to think about how many woman that man was ever with, if any. But the very concept of some middle-aged freak touching her made her think of the things her parents would warn her about. Who knew what sort of disgusting, horrible diseases or ailments that deformed, sex-craven thing carried and had just transferred to her by merely pecking her cheek. Fiona reached up and tenderly, fearfully felt her skin. It was still wet where he placed his lips. She shuddered, then wiped it on her clothing.

Fiona wasn't sure if she would ever be clean again after that.

"Fiiiiioonnnaaaa..."

The voice came from behind the door. She jerked, gasping in surprise again as her heart began to hammer in her chest. It was a strained voice, like whoever it belonged to could barely speak. It wasn't Riccardo's, though it sounded very similar...But, different somehow...It seemed to be coming from her level, like he was right there with her.

"Who's there!?" She cried back, only turning her head slightly it it's direction.

Straining to listen, she now caught a sort of slurping noise. It was like somebody who barely had enough energy to talk, every word like a gasp. Now she knew why, whoever was behind that door had to have been very ill. It was obvious enough in the small groans and moans that he uttered were from trying desperately to communicate.

"Poor Fiona..." He finally uttered, after gathering his strength.

"Riccardo put you through quite a bit...didn't he?"

At the mention of her captor's name, she turned around almost completely. She placed her ear to the large metal door, trying to hear the exact words being uttered by this eerily familiar stranger. It then dawned on her where she had heard it before, in that hallway with the odd square holes in it. She heard her name called in the exact same tone he had used just now, and when she reached in he had grabbed it and given her a note. This was her helper! The one behind the walls that was assisting her from afar, telling her of a secret way out of this place and to be wary of Riccardo to begin with. If not for him, she would have never gotten out of that castle. That was his same voice over the phone, where he hung up after uttering the that last word. Azoth...A word that still hung in a strange cloud over her head.

Still, she couldn't trust anyone in this place. She didn't answer the man's question.

"...Unlike Ugo..." He went on, despite this.

"...He was always a troublemaker. A bad apple..."

To say this struck her as odd was an understatement. How did he know this? Who was this man? What did he know about her father? It sounded like the upset ramblings of a bad parent, blaming his own failures as a father on the natural "bad" that his own children surely must have had. A bad apple? Was that all he had to say about that sick son of a bitch? How would he know unless he was there? This man did sound rather old...Old enough to be...? Could he be? No, it couldn't...

"I, Aureolus Lorenzo Belli... created them both; Riccardo and Ugo."

It was.

"...Then along came that wench Ayla...and she stole Ugo...away from me!"

There was a surprising level of hate in this decrepit man's voice, and it was all directed at her mother. At the same time, there was a certain fondness implied towards her father. His own child seemingly taken from him much like a possession. Like that Riccardo had thought of her as.

"Then you came along my dear...My dear Fiona. Fate brought you back to me..."

He sounded as though he had acquired some sort of relief, a joy ebbed into his voice. Like he was on the edge of obtaining a certain greatness. Then there came the sudden, rather loud sound of a door being unlocked. It rung in the room, and she turned in the direction of the door knob.

"Come to me, Fiona. Come to me, Fiona..." His voice rang, slightly less crippled then before.

She was surprised just how alluring that voice was. How tempting. From the sound of it, he had unlocked the door. All she had to do was open it, step through, and meet her savior. He was offering her a way out, freedom from that horrible perverted monster and his sick dreams. Yet this was the supposed creator of said man, and anybody who made that and raised it had to surely be just as twisted if not more...Then, he also made her father. Her caring, loving father that was gentle as a lamb and wouldn't hurt a fly. How was this possible? One father, two sons with such opposite turnouts? Perhaps Riccardo really was a bad apple, innately evil. She didn't think such a thing was possible, that somebody could be born "bad", but how else could one explain this?

Maybe the man behind the door was just like her late father, just as caring and considerate of her and her safety. There was just an equal chance that he was even worse then his creations, but it was something that was becoming less and less likely in her mind. His voice, though weak, was like that of a frail man. Just what could he do to her, anyway? He was family. But then, so was Riccardo...

So was everybody here...

"The door is unlocked, my sweet child...My sweet, sweet grandchild." He informed, saying that particular title with a certain level of pride.

"Please, come to me."

His voice was pleading, and it was painful to her ears. She winced, biting her lip. This was her grandfather, for Christ's sake, of she couldn't trust him to take her out of here, who in the hell could she? Why would he be trying to lead her out of here, leaving notes and phone calls, if he didn't want her to escape? In the end, Fiona decided that the devil she didn't know was better then the one she did. She was damned if she did, damned if she don't. She accepted that she very well could be jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. And so, she very shakily stood up, and rested her hand upon the doorknob. She again looked through the window, but saw nothing in the fire-light.

Carefully, very, very carefully, she turned the doorknob. Then came a slight "pop" noise as the door released from it's frame, and she pulled it towards her. She tried to see from beyond the door as she opened it, but was surprised when she saw nobody there. Taking a frightful and cautious step forward, she leaned outside the door and looked from left to right. What was this? There was nobody here! Now she was really losing it...

"Fiona..."

She forgot to look down.

Immediately, she jumped back. Lying on the floor in front of her was an old man. His arms sinewy and clutching to the ground in desperation. It was like looking at her father had he been allowed to age and become a senior, as he had the very obvious and similar appearance. He was bald, with some liver spots atop his head, but the remaining hair gray and brittle as it dangled in long strands of hair behind his ears. She found that a rather odd sort of hair style, but didn't care to comment. His clothing reminded her of some medieval king's, one fit for a Lord of a castle. A brown and light brown attire with a thin undershirt, which she could see as the man pushed himself only slightly off the floor to look at her. The rest was a long sort of skirt that went to his feet, hiding what appeared to be useless legs. She could only guess that this man was in his late seventies, if not older. The term "older then dirt" came to mind.

He was decrepit, frail, looking like he was ready to fall apart at any moment. Surely, he was no threat. Yet the noise he made, a slurping, and croaking as he tried to speak and breath at the same time, made her shudder and look away. Be as far away, actually, as she could possibly get. He had only a few teeth in his mouth, and his eyes had turned a sort of yellow from the years, dull, almost lifeless. The chest that she could see above his shirt was extremely flat and the ribs protruded obviously. This was a man who appeared not only at the end of his life, but at the end of his rope. Willing to do anything and everything for something that could help.

"What's going on?" She questioned, her voice shaky as she tried to comprehend why he was on the ground and not in some wheelchair.

The potential for escape, an open door leading into darkness, was overshadowed by the strange old man. Her supposed grandfather. He looked at her, and she realized that his eyes had the same effect of his creation's, boring into her soul and spreading into her like some filthy disease. Shuddering, she took another step back

"Fiona...My dear, I've had to crawl here. Don't you see? I did it all for you..."

Now the old man seemed to be pleading with her, his arm reaching up in a yearning gesture, the bracelet on his wrist dangling like it used to be fit snugly once, even his clothing seemed bigger and ill-fitting. Despite his weak appearance, he used his free hand to pull himself towards her, which sent her back into the bathroom. Something about this seemed too easy...Not right.

"Please...Don't come near me-"

"Come here, Fiona." He interrupted, crawling closer.

This wasn't right at all. She immediately knew now that this man had to mean her some harm. There was a hint of contempt in his voice. Of need, that if she didn't do as told, there would be consequences. Someone who wishes to help would not plead in such a manner.

As he continued to slowly advance, she looked past him. The door was still open, and if she made a break for it, she could reach it and be through it before this creepy man could try anything. Even if he meant well, she could not place her trust in such a person. She couldn't really trust anyone in this place, and had no desire to.

Her eyes went from the old man, slowly pulling himself towards her, and the door, then back. Then she bolted, running wide to avoid his reach. But just as her foot came down, she felt herself trip and hit the hard, gray floor. She cried out, her palms stinging from such a forceful landing. There was nothing there! How did she trip!?

She jerked her head back to see what had caught her foot in that very critical moment, and found out it was the old man. His hand was grasped around her ankle. Somehow, he had closed the large gap and grabbed her as she sprinted by. She had underestimated him, deeming him slower and less capable then he really was. When he wanted to, he appeared to be able to move fast enough. When he saw something he wanted, something he needed. Like a crazed animal doing what it took and pushing their limits to acquire a meal.

"Now you are mine...All mine!"

His voice rang from behind her, then he began to laugh. A distinctly different cackle then the one of his creation, this one was just plain...Evil. Absolute insanity, and absolute evil in it's purest forms.

Panic set in immediately, she tried to kick his foot away, but his grip held surprisingly strong. This old man was more then met the eye, and felt his cold, clammy grip tighten and his sharp fingernails digging into her flesh. She screamed, then tried to kick his face with the other foot. He didn't seem to care, and took her other foot into his other hand. Now she wiggled on the ground, incapacitated. She eyed the door, now beginning to crawl herself using her arms. Yet Lorenzo pulled her back, her own fingernails beginning to peel off painfully as she fought.

"...You're worthless father left me!" He coughed, spitting as he talked, or at least tried to.

"...He left me for that harlot, that little bitch! He owes me...You owe me!"

"I don't owe you anything! Let me go!" She screamed, and now she felt as he began to clamber himself up her body.

"Azoth!" He cried, heaving as he tugged her closer, now at her thighs.

"You have my Azoth! It's mine! It belongs to me!"

His very voice was painful to her ears, his touch like that of a corpse. He was a far different person then either of his creations, a living skeleton that shouldn't even be functioning. The old man spoke of Azoth, just as the maid and Riccardo had. And just like them, he was just as determined to acquire it.

"Get off!" Fiona screamed, but it fell deaf on his ears.

No matter how hard she fought, how viciously she kicked, he only advanced. Then she felt the sick, disgusting sensation of his body on top of hers. She had hoped to God that he didn't have the same intention of Riccardo, and had the feeling that his were even worse. His hands clutched to her thighs, and that's when she began to wiggle even worse in his grip. Although she knew it wasn't intentional, his fingers scrapped by her labial folds, all while she was trying to get away. She lurched in response, still unable to free herself. Finally, one thought came to mind. He had helped her before, he might do it again. Right now, she could care less who it was that answered the call.

"Help!" She screamed at the top of her lungs.

"Riccardo, help!"

She couldn't believe his name and that word escaped her lips, and apparently neither did Lorenzo. A look of terror crossed his face, then anger.

"Silence! Traitorous whore!"

He reached up and grabbed at the top of her gown, and she screamed as he tugged at it viscously. Now he seemed to work at a busied pace, trying to get what he wanted of her before his son appeared. He knew full damn well what would happen if he wasn't fueled up before he came into the room. The thought was not a pleasant one. He pulled her up, then rolled her over, and now saw her face to face.

"No, please-"

"I said silence!"

His hands grasped at her clothing, not trying to rip it, but succeeding in tearing the medical gown down from the top of the blouse. She screamed, perhaps thinking that he was going to rape her. At this point he laughed in his chest, yes he liked seeing the girl's tiny little twat, but it was a mere passing interest. Sex was of little value to him anymore, using his powers as the Lord of the land to gain it when he wished. Daniella was at times ordered to strip for him or give him a lovely blow job when he asked for it. He knew that sometimes even that damned son of his would ask the latter of her as well, helping relieve the sexual frustration that at times arose in the house. And when he was younger and unable to refuse or know any better, Riccardo made a rather nice outlet for his own needs as well. Ahhh, how he pined for those simpler days, better days. When his creations were under him, loyal to him, and toys to do with as he pleased. Ugo his heir, Riccardo his servant...

But things changed. Life changed. He aged, Ugo left, and Riccardo soured. He created a maid to help him in his weakening state, as his steward often found ways to not assist him and in fact, stay far, far away from him. Riccardo would do something if it would also benefit him or the estate, but rarely his creator's needs exclusively. He was rather shocked that he would be willing to assist him in the killing of Ugo and the capture of Fiona, and figured it must have been him turning over a new leaf and beginning to better himself. How wrong he was, now he knew why. Because he had a plan all along, to usurp him as Lord of the castle and take the girl for himself. From what he had told him, she was going to be something of a fuck-toy to him. He found it all really amusing, but was still terrified and disgusted him to the core that his own child now hunted him like a wild animal.

With his body frail, unable to fight, he could only seek to catch the woman before he did. So he manipulated her, telling her to beware of the only man in the place that could actually help the girl. It worked, she fled like a rabbit. If he could move her towards his House Of Truth, the only place in the whole estate only he could access, she was his. But when the night passed by, he knew that he had gotten her into his clutches, all had not gone to his plan. She must not have been in the jail cell as he anticipated, the dog not there with her to assist. He had to act now, or lose her forever.

He could extract her Azoth and be young again, having the power of ten men, able to teleport whenever he liked and not just at sporadic intervals. Riccardo would be again a plaything in his hands, make him cower to the will of his powerful Lordship. Perhaps he would take him again just for old times sake, it might be nice to see what his younger, more supple form could do to him now that he was older. For the first time in forty-two years, he wouldn't be able to fight back or refuse him once again.

It's been a long time since he extracted Azoth from his son for a small kick of youth and power. He was long overdue...Perhaps this time he would take it all.

With that Azoth, he would be in control again. He would be a powerful, ultimate being capable of the world. His cloning days were over, whether or not he lived on in another incarnation mattered little to him now. He made his creations, one a failure and one a traitor. Making another that turned out just as miserable would break his heart, seeing his children either running from him or disobeying him was enough to shatter his love for the process or of raising the brats. He dissuaded his failure of a son to do so himself, something as miserable as him shouldn't even be in that room or creating clones to begin with. His authority waned as did his youth, and he knew that even if he wanted to, his words would mean nothing.

His words haven't meant anything in a long, long time.

Unlike his creations, he was a complete man. Taking another person's Azoth would only increase power, not complete him. With extra Azoth, one could stay young. One could attain eternal life. The line of Aureolus Belli would end with him, but it would be a grand end that would last for all eternity. With all that time, he could seek the Great Truth...

Azoth, eternal life...

His eternal life...

And it was all before him.

The fingernails that were allowed to grow were long and sharp, and had scratched and punctured her previously perfect breasts. They bled just a little, but in the end it was all unintentional grabbing to get her closer to him. She beat at him with her fists, trying to get him off of her. But he had worked to hard to stop now, nothing could dislodge him. His hands positioned themselves perfectly, one on her chin and the other on her scalp.

Her eyes were wide with terror, and now she had no idea what was about to occur. All she could see was this old, disgusting man above her with his hands all over her, with her gown wide open and breasts spilling out for him to see. But he didn't seem to care, he only glanced at them, a passing interest that held little importance to him, not like Riccardo at all. For a moment they lingered there, and his eyes softened. He looked into the eyes of his creation's creation, his own technical grandchild. He saw both himself and his former son in her face, the way tears slipped from her eyes as she pleaded with the man to let her go almost painful for his black heart.

It was still a moment, and it was still fleeting.

Then Fiona felt as he put all his strength into it. The absolute level of power the man possessed shocked and frightened her, she felt him pull her jaw apart. Her mouth opened wide, all while she was screaming in fear and horror...He wasn't stopping, even with her jaw stretched down completely. If she hadn't been struggling, she was positive he would have snapped her jaw and ripped it wide open.

His mouth opened wide, and heard as he seemed to inhale deeply, sucking up his own saliva, drying his mouth for the self-extraction he was about to perform. The minute his mouth made contact with hers, the body would recognize it's own Azoth within her, and as he sucked, it would be taken into his own where it would merge. Leaving Fiona a mere corpse on the floor.

She watched helplessly, horrified, as he did just this. His mouth came down swiftly on top of her own, his dry and cracked lips forming a perfect seal over her own. She tried to scream, tried to fight, her hands leaving nothing upon the attacker. Slowly, her hands fell to the floor and remained still, twitching a little at first then not at all. Screaming into his mouth, they dulled, then stopped. The only noise coming from his own mouth. A suction-type sound that seemed louder then it should be. He panted and breathed heavily on top of her as he gurgled and slurped, his and her spit brimming and bubbling out of the edge of their lips.

Her eyes began to vibrate and cloud over, and she could just feel her life literally slipping away.

---------

Riccardo wasn't sure how to feel. It was rare enough when he felt a real emotion besides rage to it's full extent, even more when bombarded by more then one. He had the overwhelming lust for Fiona, the slap that almost sent him over the edge, and the fact that he had spent the whole night searching for that old man, and still had yet to find even evidence that he was still alive. Even if he found his starved and withered corpse, he could rest safely. The girl was beginning to try his patience, refusing his kind offer of water, right after he hit him! Had he not be so damn sure he would lose her trust totally, he would have boiled over with hate and malice at her.

He knew he had a hair-trigger temper. One easily sparked by just about anything, sending him into a murderous rage that would normally destroy anything in it's path. He wouldn't be able to see straight, taking his anger out usually on the maid. This along with his increased libido would indicate a high testosterone level, but he knew this couldn't be true. In that case, his sperm production would also be normal and he wouldn't be a shell of a man in terms of health. His general physique was rather strong, he was not overweight and in fact rather fit for a man his age. He had never once had a heart attack or other such ailment.

Yet he knew that this was all paper-thin. His skin was horrible, and he felt unhealthy with every passing minute. It was odd, his body could do some things well, very well, being excessive in some and virtually non-existent in another. He then determined why he was able to be sex-craven yet infertile. Because of his incomplete, Azoth-deprived body, he would produce an excessive amount of testosterone. In fact, when he tested it, it had gone far off the charts. Yet he discovered that even this could not be complete, in that it lacked the ability to be synthesized to produce sperm. It was like a trade-off, one for the other. He tried to treat a long time ago via his formulas, but no drug of either the Western world or of alchemy could supplement or fix it. It was like trying to give a statue a pill for being well, a statue, it won't do any good. It would be empty, just as he was half empty, his body rarely responding to anything he threw at it.

Azoth. That would fix it all. Not only would it cure his ailments, but it would also allow his body to synthesize both drugs and chemicals properly. He sighed angrily as he thought this through, counting backwards from one-hundred as he walked down the hall and to the table by the cell. There were no glasses around here, so he took an empty wine bottle and walked up the stairs to the main entrance of the tower. There was a sink in the hall, this water was the freshest in the whole estate. None better, and only the best for his fine woman. He rinsed it out, then filled it to the brim with cold, refreshing water that would hold no candle to that stuff he knew she was planning on partaking of in the bathroom instead. Such a silly child, she would learn to trust him. She had to.

Yet just as he went to walk back, he heard that mutt of a dog starting to bark again. He sighed angrily, a sort of growl arising in his throat. If he didn't shut him up, that would be one of his facets to his plan gone. It had been going all accordingly until now, almost too well. It would make absolute sense for there to be a monkey-wrench tossed into his smoothly running gears. Nothing ever went totally flawless for him, this wouldn't come as a surprise.

He rushed into the room to see Hewie jumping at the cage bars. His bark was a combination of a whine and a sense of urgency, like there was something desperately wrong and he just wanted to get out. Riccardo stood there for a moment as he saw this, not yelling at him to shut up. Because something just didn't feel right about this. Dogs can bark for many reasons, many useless and unnecessary. Yet, this bark was unlike the one before. He wasn't upset at being contained, he was just plain wanted out.

Standing there, he had a look of slight puzzlement and fear on his face. It was odd, like he knew this animal was trying to say something to him. He turned his head slightly towards the doorway, then back to the dog. Nothing. There was nothing here. He then decided this dog was just hungry, and putting up a fuss over nothing.

"Quiet, no!" He spoke harshly, then slammed at the bars with his palm.

The dog whined, barked once more, then sat down. There was still a plaintive crying in his throat...He still wanted something. Grumbling, he decided to let his other victim eat. Grabbing another bag of jerky from the table, he opened it up and threw it towards the animal. Hewie sniffed at it, but seemed oddly out of the moment. Pacing the cage, he whined again.

"Well, what the hell do you want, then?"

This was starting to get on his nerves. He scoured the room for a pan or something to use as a vessel for holding water. There really wasn't anything in particular, so he instead pushed the bottle in between the bars and tried to pour it next to his mouth. He did take advantage of this, using his tongue to catch some of it. Yet this was for his Fiona, not the dog, so he pulled it back out almost immediately. He supposed he would have to get a bowl from somewhere if he intended to keep him here for much longer.

Still, he appeared unsatisfied. With a sigh, he waved at the animal in a dismissive manner and went to leave the room, bottle in hand. Then, as he was looking at the animal and about to leave, something in the cell caught his eye. He paused, then looked back. There was something there that wasn't before, and it wasn't dog shit, either.

He walked back, coming closer to the bars. It was a letter, the paper just white enough to stand out against everything else. What the hell was that there, for? It couldn't have been Fiona, even if she did awake while he wasn't there, why would she write a letter? And if so, what with? There was no paper or pencil in the cage-space. He set the bottle upon the table, that particular thought gone.

The keys appeared almost instantly in his hand, this wasn't right. Even if it was nothing, if the dog had somehow just kicked this letter up while running about, his curiosity would be satisfied and fears eased. Yet something told him it was not that mundane, letters just don't just appear out of nowhere. He unlocked the cage, and put his leg down in front of the space to ensure the dog would not run out. Hewie seemed to wait there for the opening, but he blocked it, despite trying his hardest.

"Get away, right now..." Came his voice, dominating and God-like to the animal. He obeyed.

Hewie backed up and sat in the corner as the door shut when he entered. Riccardo eyed the dog carefully, it would be easy for him to attack while his back was turned, and it would be effective as to now that he was cornered. His lip raised slightly and barred some of his teeth, and a small growl erupted from the pit of his stomach. Immediately, the man made eye contact with him, with his vicious, stabbing eyes. They had their effect on the dog, too. Hewie looked away, tongue coming out in a sort of admission of surrender, ears strained as he continued to hear the scuffle going on several rooms away, helpless to do a thing.

Riccardo walked over to the crate and looked down, there was indeed a letter there. He knelt, picking it up and straitening the paper so that he may get a good look. But he couldn't see in this light, so he moved towards the cell door, opened it, then shut and locked it again behind him. He walked over to the table where it was easier to see. The paper began to become fully visible now, and almost immediately, his heart began to race and his stomach felt as though it literally fell out. Even before he could read the exact lettering, it was clear as day.

It was Lorenzo's handwriting.

He didn't even try to thoroughly read the thing, his hands were shaking violently as he looked at it, just glancing over the fluidly written words. It mentioned something about him being "dangerous" and to "stay away". It infuriated him, this was obviously meant for Fiona to read, for her to take into consideration as she fled from him. It was still cryptic, speaking of a secret way out of the tower, of the movable viaduct that had lay at the bottom of the lake for centuries. So he was right in his assumption, the old man was trying to move her out of the castle and towards him. It re-ignited the fire for the cripple, the absolute hate and contempt.

Then came another thought, one that went through his incomplete body like a torrent of cold water.

If he could get that letter in here...Then he could get into here.

Lorenzo had an ability only the complete, elder Belli clones had, the ability to teleport. It was something that was learned to be able to achieve over the course of their continued advancement of alchemy and knowledge thereof. It was something that was naturally inherited through the Belli's Azoth, and had to be tuned, learned, practiced. Yet it could only be done effectively in one's youth, something Riccardo himself had since passed. Ever since Lorenzo began to age and deteriorate, so did his own powers. Even normal teleportation as a young man could only be done sparingly, as it took a great amount of power and energy. In taking new Azoth can often jump start this, among other abilities. As his body went down hill, so did this. In fact, the old man had not done so in years. At least...From what he knew.

To do so, he would need a new supply of Azoth... He had not "given" such a supply to him in some time.

Yet there was little he knew about the man's private affairs, he often just tried to stay away from him, nothing more. And because of the rather large nature of their home, that wasn't hard to do. If he had been waiting to use this power, something he had stored for a long while, he could have used it to transport that letter into that cell. He could also unlock simple key locks with this ability, even open doors.

Open doors...

That single thought repeated in his head. Exploded, pervaded. He had almost completely forgotten, he could open doors. He knew it all along, but he hadn't seen him do it for years, he was like a limp doll, never able to do much of anything, even raising his hand was strenuous and tiring. But this letter, it was proof. Maybe not definitely so, but it was enough for him to keep a look out for the old man-

"Help!"

The scream came exactly from Fiona's direction, and it was in her voice. He recognized it because when the girl was fleeing from him, she would at times plaintively cry for the dog's assistance. This time, it sounded even more strained, like death itself was on her heals. He inhaled quickly, a fevered gasp, it caught in his throat and made it hard for him to breath. His head turned in it's direction, and his response was instantaneous. The letter fell from his hands to the ground, and he went to dart back towards the bathroom.

Then the dog barked, loud and clear, much louder then before. It reminded him of a gun being fired, and it was that sharp, plaintive noise that reminded him of his own gun. It was still sitting there on the table, the hammer cocked from his hunt of Lorenzo he had just returned from. He stopped, skidding on the stone, then ran back, grabbing it just barely as it's wood stock slid off the table and away as he ran back. It had all happened within a matter of seconds. He knew that, in the hands of his old man, that's all she had.

"Riccardo, help!"

He couldn't stop to ponder the fact that for the first time ever, she had said his name. That she even remembered it, knew it. Running towards the door, he also didn't stop to look through the small window to see what was going on. His hand clasped the doorknob, and he slammed into the door from the sheer speed he was running at, simultaneously trying to turn the knob.

It wouldn't move!

For a moment he totally forgot he had locked the door, then pulled away as he fumbled for the keys. They bounced in his hand, thumbing through them at a hurried pace. But despite his wishes to concentrate, his thoughts were on something else, like what his creator was doing to Fiona. He was most likely stripping her as he did to some of his victims, ripping her clothing off in a sort of frenzied pace to take her life force. Then he would rip and tear at them, then break and tear the mouth open in an attempt to allow more of the Azoth to pass into his body at a faster rate.

He strained to hear the sounds emanating through the room, and could now think he heard the sound of clothing being torn off like a rapid animal mauling it's victim. The sound of his father's heavy, strained panting was instantly recognizable. He thought he found the right key, and shakily inserted it into the hole, it turned.

"Fuck!" He swore, it wasn't!

The keys were pulled out, and dangled in his hand as he searched again. It was an old lock, one with key holes on both sides, they were all like that. They all had a series of keys that belonged to them, all he had to find was one bastard of a key-

There it was! He felt the knob turn this time...!

It was like there was some force pushing him back, the door slammed shut, and he heard it lock again. That son of a bitch was keeping him out! From what he saw, he was on top of her, his mouth over hers, there was no time now!

"You get the hell away from her!"

His voice was powerful in the air, slicing the mood, but he knew it was more of a declaration of his helplessness then of an actual threat. He again fumbled for the key and unlocked it, but this time, he threw himself at the door. His shoulder hit the strong, metal door, it would more then take his weight. It stung badly, but he backed up and tried again, slamming against it. Still, it didn't even budge. Then he rammed up and despite the pain, used his last might to hit, and simultaneously turn the knob. It worked, the door spilled open and he went flying into the room. It was still the force of an old man, and he was doing more important things then holding back his clone-son, he was too busy robbing a woman's life from her very body.

The scene was one that he never wanted to witness, never wanted to behold. It was the stuff of his nightmares. Lorenzo straddled the woman, his body covering hers. His arms held her face, separating her mouth, his on hers. Her chest was exposed, legs quivering and shaking from the absolute force that her body was going through. He only stood watching this for a second, he reacted almost immediately, rushing towards the maiden in distress.

As he approached, he saw her eyes...They were clouded over. What had been wonderfully, beautiful cerulean eyes were no more. Once that happened, the process had already begun. Yet he knew, just knew, that there was a chance he could save her. To do so, he needed to get him off of her, and fast.

"You fucker-!" He spat, than kicked Lorenzo's head away from her.

He put all of his force into that kick, everything he had, and it paid off. His head went to the side, separating from her mouth and braking the kiss of death. He coughed, sounding like he was hocking up some sort of phlegm, crying out and dazed. It was a powerful kick, and could see that it had it's effect on his head. He watched as he slowly sort of fell to the side, as if paralyzed.

Riccardo fell to his knees, and his hands went to her face. They cradled it forcefully, more concerned with her health then being gentle. Her eyes were still cloudy, but watched as the fog seemed to dissipate from them, uncovering the iris and slowly letting their luster begin to return. Yet she wasn't breathing, he looked to her chest, it was still, and she wouldn't breath, either. Not on her own, that's how his victims often died, by suffocation. He had sucked all her breath from her, and nearly all her life.

Without grace, he took Lorenzo's body and tossed it from hers, a look of utter disgust on his face as he noticed he had fouled her body with his very presence next to it. She didn't deserve this. Despite all the horrible things she had done, her ungrateful, unappreciative nature, she didn't deserve this. He was no expert in CPR, but he understood the basics, everybody does. You breath into the mouth, you compress the chest...

Quickly, he wiped that sickening man's spittle from her face, not wanting to damage the seal he was about to form. Now his lips came down upon hers, and he didn't have time to savor the sensation. This was not intimate in the slightest, if anything, he wanted to pull away from her, it was rather disgusting and unsettling for him to have his mouth where that old man's were just moments ago. His hand came up and pinched her nose closed, then breathed out, knowing that he was inflating her lungs within her chest. He separated, letting the Carbon Dioxide leave, then formed the seal again and once more breathed in.

Then it happened, just as he pulled away, she coughed. Expelling spit, and some sort of yellowish phlegm, she rolled over, heaving dryly and coughing her head off. She didn't even see Riccardo, her vision was blurry, even her ears couldn't pick up a thing. He didn't have time to say hello or express his relief. But there it was there, he saw his future die in front of him as he saw her there, almost dead. Then he saw it reborn like some wonderful, sensual phoenix as he breathed life into her. Now she lived because of him, not only his will, but his air, his life. He gave it back to her.

Her whole body tingled, her mouth feeling almost raped by having someone's mouth on it earlier, she could still feel his fluids in it...It made her sick. She spit once more, but didn't even have the energy to wipe it away. It was the oddest sensation she could comprehend, like of being...Empty. A shell, nothing inside. Her organs felt like a cold liquid, her brain like a cloud with nothing beneath it. She felt...Fragile, lightweight, like a mere breeze could come by and send her flying away in the wind, like glass, she would brake if merely handled too roughly. It was a sensation that horrified her, scared her.

Was this what it felt like to be "incomplete"?

He watched as she still lay there, but took a breath, she was recovering. Taking a moment to catch his own breath, he realized that there was still the issue of his father. He looked over her, and saw that Lorenzo was recovering too, faster than expected. His arm twitched, then he rose himself off from the floor, and hissed at Riccardo with a sort of inhuman scream, this shocked him, and sent him to his feet as he stumbled, then stood erect once more.

For the longest time he only ever was used to caring for himself, and totally forgot about the girl at his feet. But he realized this fast, reaching down and grabbing her hand as he hoisted herself up and away from his creator, who had since went to reach, but missed, the girl as he did so. She fell into him, and he went stumbling backwards as he hit the wall. She was fighting it, too, her vision just beginning to clear, and now she had a suspicion who had her. Even if he meant well, this was her chance to get out that door.

And she did, because he let her. Lorenzo was coming right at them like some alligator on crack. It was either him, or both of them. Right now, Riccardo was willing to compromise. He let go of her, let her run, and she sprinted towards the door. The old man saw this, and blocked her way. The recent taking of Azoth had jump-started his body, making him faster, stronger, he was like a young man in a cripple's body. Fiona screamed, then toppled backwards towards he door that had just been broken through. She found herself too shocked to move, the scene before her too dramatic to walk away from.

Riccardo grabbed him from behind, throwing his rag-doll like body to the side. He pulled the flintlock and aimed, thinking to himself how smart it was to have loaded it since his last shot at the dog, but before he could fire the shot he noticed that he was no longer crawling towards Fiona, he was coming at him.

He merely expected the man to be nearly on her already, his back to him, an easy target. It was a surprise, but it was enough. Then he felt himself fall, and now saw why, Lorenzo had grabbed his foot from under him and made him hit the floor. His head smashed against the wall, and it dazed him only slightly. Now his right arm, gun still in hand, hit the floor. It clutched it, and in response, fired uselessly into the stone beneath.

It was loud, it had gone off too close to him, and it had gone off too close for everybody. Fiona clapped her hands to her ears, the noise straining to her. Lorenzo flinched, and Riccardo flung his left arm over his face in reflex from the noise and the flash, a ringing developing in his inner ear. Great, just what he needed now, a hearing impediment. The ball from the gun had hit the floor, but clung loudly, harmlessly about.

"...Cursed wretch!"

He insulted, and punched Lorenzo in his face as he came back at him, the hardest he could. It seemed to knock him out, sending him face first onto the floor beside him. For a moment, Riccardo caught his breath. His hand shook as he reached into his pockets, taking out the mini balls, the powder, reloaded his gun as he then packed it all down with the small rod that we held beneath it. With this old bastard, one never knew...

So focused on the gun and it's arduous loading process, he didn't see as Lorenzo had a hand underneath his body. He was extracting a hidden dagger, one about five inches in length. It was in his inside shirt, it always was, for more years then he'd like to admit. And it's purpose was always the same. He feared his own son, he always had, and had it in case he decided to end it once and for all. If he ever attacked, pounced him, drew that gun of his, he hoped there would be at least a chance to use it. For him, it was the only defense he had. But it was one he knew how to use well.

It happened too fast for him to register. Lorenzo rolled over, took the knife and slashed it towards his neck. It just barely grazed, but it was enough to send him reeling to the side and to the floor, trying to crawl away, and the old man overtook him. His dagger was plunged, superficially into his right side, piercing the steward's uniform easily. He screamed in pain, and felt an unbearable sickness creep into his head... Like he was about to die. He then took the dagger out, which elicited another cry of anguish and misery. The old man seemed to reveal in it.

Lorenzo lifted the dagger to his creation's neck. He was going to end this, right now.

"Oh, Riccardo..." He began, a sick smile on his face, shaking his head slightly in a mock sort of chastisement.

"I've waited to do this for far too long. It was something I should have done a long...long time ago. How I regret it. I should have put you out of you're misery the minute I knew..."

He looked into his creation's eyes, they were filled even now with more hate then sorrow or regret. They always were, from the minute he was born. He knew he was different then, and yet he let him go. Perhaps it was because he had hope that he could turn out at least semi-normal, that he could be used for something...That it would be a waste to kill that which could still have purpose, feel love and life. It was a mistake. His mistake. It was a mistake he had since been seeking to rectify, but never worked up the courage. It was still his creation, it was still his son...

Yet in the end, Riccardo was a bad seed. One that should have never been allowed to grow.

"When you die... my child..."

Those last words were said with a hate in them, he just spat it out. A word that was supposed to be good and rich, tainted by his very mouth.

"...I will take your Azoth. Then, oh and then... I'll get that precious little cunt that you love so much...Fiona..."

He then laughed with sadistic glee. Lorenzo ran the tip of the small point along his skin, ready to plunge it into his imperfect neck.

It wasn't so much he feared for himself, death might had been a rather sweet release from this hell that was his life. But he knew that only he stood in the way of his Fiona. Without him, without her, the plan would fail, everything including his great family legacy would crumble. If she was killed, or even left with an empty womb, it was all dead in the water. Gears of a clock that would cease, stopping time itself. Lorenzo's dreams of false and delusional grandeur would come true. He would be the young and immortal, powerful Lord of his castle, but only in his mind. There would be no more servants, no more people under his foot. He would be the king of nothing, the leader of a void-filled world with no meaning. Nobody would care. But for this he would cause their extinction.

And it was his duty to see that it never came to pass.

His eyes wondered over to his gun, lying there on the floor. It was too far for him to reach from here, he was effectively fucked, he knew it. The minute he would reach over to grab the gun would be the minute he plunged that knife in. It was a standoff, he knew that too. He thought of Fiona, after he went, so would she. It was a long hall way, but there was a locked door at the end, and there was no escape from him now. He found himself thinking of ways that she could get away, even at his expense.

This wasn't supposed to end like this... It wasn't fair to her...

"Fiona, run!" He screamed out, knowing that the knife would go in the minute he uttered those words.

She didn't need to be told twice, and took off towards the two. She jumped, clearing Lorenzo's back legs, she just barely made it. The old man screamed like a horrible animal again, and took the dagger off of Riccardo just long enough to slash the air next to Fiona's sprinting legs. But that was enough, he punched him in the face, and grabbed his weapon-wielding wrist. His hand wailed in the air, the point coming down several times to graze him. The new Azoth was strong, her Azoth, and it gave him strength beyond compare. He pushed it up and away, but it came closer and closer. His gaze traveled over to where the girl should had run to, yet, she didn't. She now stood on the opposite side of them, watching. Her hands were clasped tightly together and pressed into her chest, her whole body shaking in disbelief. Staring at this strange phenomena. Father and son, both fighting over her.

Her...She had caused this.

Tears flowed down her face as she watched the two fight. She had not run like he told her to. For a moment she wondered why she didn't at least try to help him, but knew that her even standing there was something she shouldn't be doing. Riccardo watched her take a step forward, then he shook his head at the girl, and she stopped.

"...Die, you waste..." Lorenzo spat, his voice horrid on both their ears.

"Useless...Waste..."

"...Useless waste of life!-"

Riccardo snapped. He remembered these words...They were uttered before. Anything from when he did well, when he failed...and when...When he backhanded him, chocked him...and...

He had enough.

With a sudden surge of rage and power, he threw the old man from on top of him. Riccardo stumbled back up, his legs and body wobbly and ready to nearly faint, and he gazed at Fiona...

"Look out!" She screamed.

Quickly, he turned around to have Lorenzo barely miss a knife slash in his back. Though his legs were useless, he had managed to pull himself off the floor and attempt an almost mid-air attack. Riccardo stumbled backwards towards her, falling on his back again. His stab wound taking effect... He couldn't get up. It was then, though, that Lorenzo decided he was going to take what he had come all this way for. He turned his gaze back to Fiona. His son was a passing disturbance to his plot, with him incapacitated, there would be no further intrusion.

"Fiona...!" He cried in a tired yet determined voice.

Crawling again, he struggled over to the woman, this time she was his for good. She knew she should run, but found it nearly impossible. Her legs felt like rubber, and she began to walk backwards as fast as she could. Lorenzo closed the distance fast, grabbing a leg and pulling it forward.

"Azoth!"

Riccardo came from seemingly nowhere, tackling the monster of a man. Fiona gasped, her hand reaching to her mouth as she attempted to stumble away, having been bought a moment.

"I said run!"

She once again took off, running to the door and throwing it open as she went through. He tugged backwards, the old man scrabbling with his arms on the hard floor as he tried to get away.

"Let go of me!" His creator hissed.

"She's mine!"

The fury never ceased in Riccardo, and it was no trouble pulling him back and throwing the previously in control man to the floor. He screamed in despair and pain as the sound of his old, brittle bones broke. Rolling around, his son took the upper hand, and Riccardo grasped onto his father's neck. Everything that was ever done to him in the past came surging back, running like a continuous loop in his memories. His fingers pressed deeper, harder, bruising his thin, skeletal neck.

"I told you not to touch her!" His voice rang, it was deep, guttural, practically foaming at the mouth like a rapid dog.

"...Don't you see what happens when you don't listen, old man!? She's all I ever wanted, all I ever had...And you want to take her away from me!? You despicable, power-craven sick son of a bitch...I swear to God, I'll rip you into shreds...I'll slit you down the middle and feed your innards to the dog...I'm going to make you suffer the likes of which man has never seen before, you diseased, rotten, horse-fucking..."

As he cursed, he throttled the old man's neck, bouncing his head off the floor. He could tell he was close to death, his breath was failing.

"...rapist! You think I've forgotten!? I remember everything...Every...little...thing...!"

He watched as his old man made eye contact, it was strong...he wasn't as weak as he was putting on. Then he leaned down, close to his face, and said it rather under his breath. Yet, it was the most emotional, the most enraged of them all.

"...And now...Now you go straight to hell." Riccardo spat, then went to smash his head on the floor one last time.

Then...He wasn't there.

"Fucker-!" He screamed at the empty air that now lay before him.

Lorenzo had teleported away from him. Perhaps in a last-ditch effort to save himself. That was when he heard it again. Fiona's scream, and it was coming from up the hall.

Riccardo vaulted off the floor, then screamed in absolute agony as he fell to his knee. He was bleeding, reaching around he felt the wet cloth at his side. Already he felt lightheaded, like he wasn't going to make it much longer. Again he tried to raise off the floor, stumbling forward blindly and through the door with gun in hand.

Fiona hadn't gone far, she had only made it down the small flight of steps, and had just made it up the next when she was stopped. Lorenzo was there, and he was slowly advancing. Just behind him, curiously enough, was his wheelchair. It was ungodly cumbersome, it always was. Yet he would never leave the thing, it was almost as though it was a sentimental object to the man.

To Riccardo, this was all rather curious to him, why he decided to leave his treasured chair and just scamper about. He must have gotten this far in the chair, then upon seeing the steps, went on his hands and stomach. Though it was still puzzling to him how he ever found out where he was...

She edged around him, heart hammering in her chest. He was like some cobra ready to strike in front of her, he even had the hissing in his throat, and a dry, heaving mucus-y noise in his chest. If she could just make it past his chair, she could brake into a run. He lashed out, she jumped, and ran as she planned. Lorenzo cursed after her, and in desperation, climbed up back into his wheelchair. There were no stairs from here on back, he could easily catch up to her in this, and it would be far less strenuous. Then she threw him a curve ball he didn't expect. She doubled back, then ran past the man in the wheelchair, were he lashed out to grab her but missed again. Even Fiona couldn't believe she was doing this, but she wasn't stupid. She saw the steps, saw Riccardo, and knew she could trick this man who couldn't die.

Lorenzo stopped a few feet from the top of the steps, then started to clamber out. What he didn't know was that his son was just behind him. He took the opportunity to run up the steps as he focused on the girl, moving around him when he reached for her. When he got in the chair, he gained an advantage...But lost control. He didn't even make it out of the chair after her, when he felt the jerk from behind. Then he was spun around...right towards the stairs.

"No!" Lorenzo cried, knowing full well what was about to happen.

"Noooo! Ric-Riccardo stop!-"

The pleas for his child to cease fell of deaf ears. He simply didn't push him over the edge, he literally threw him from it, in which the wheelchair's large spoke wheels just moved fruitlessly, not allowing any sort of stoppage on the large steps. He hit the bottom, and flew out, landing painfully. His legs were useless before, but were now very obviously broken. He lay there, arm reaching toward Fiona as she stood there. Lorenzo knew he was good as dead, but that never stopped him before.

"Don't go, Fiona...My life, my Azoth...Fiona..."

His voice was strangely pleading, like a desperate appeal before death. And that was rather what it was. She backed away, and watched in horror as the old man seemed to start up again. How could he still be going after all of this!? This was just crazy!-

He reached towards her, his arms barely pulling himself forward, but enough to scuttle him across the floor. Riccardo watched as she once again took off down the hall, the old man in tow for the last time. If he had been more able, he would have caught up to the man in no time. But he could only lean against the wall next to him, vision beginning to cloud over. The blood stain spread, moving in a larger splotch down the side of his waist. He took off in a limp after them. All the while wondering just how in God's name he could still be alive after all of that...

Fiona ran, a panic arising. Her own vision began to shift to an almost haze, and she could swear that she could hear her name being called. Then she reached the steps that led up to the water tower bathroom, and did the last thing on Earth she should have.

She tripped.

Letting out a cry of dismay, she slammed into them and wanged her knee. It hurt, bad. In desperation, she began to crawl up the steps herself, then felt a tug of her ankle again. She was tugged back. He had her!

"Azoth-!"

"BANG!"

The sound of the pistol being fired reverberated throughout the hallway, it's flash from the stricken flint almost blinding. Lorenzo lay there, dead, a small hole in his back. A smoke filled the hall, it was acrid and she could almost taste it in her mouth. Riccardo stood a few feet away, clutching his side where he was stabbed. The gun stayed in his hand, not shaky, not warbling, like he had done this a million times. There was a look of his eyes not of joy or remorse, but of a stone cold efficiency. Of absolution, and resolution. He had wanted to use the pistol on the old man, but he had not finished loading it when he attacked him. In the hallway, he had the chance, and he took it. Slowly, it fell to his side, but it remained in his hand, his grip strangely tight. As if he was still strangling the man on the floor.

It was over.

He took a deep, shambling breath, then he looked at Fiona. She sat at the steps, with blood streaking her face. It appears she had collected some of the splatter from the shot. She trembled, body quivering like a leaf, eyes wide, chest heaving, skin drained of all it's color. It almost looked as though she would have a heart attack and die right there. He immediately shot across the small distance, overstepping the corpse of his father and making his way to her shaking form. Ignoring the puddle of blood forming at his feet, which led in a small streak that even dripped upon the dead body itself.

She went to run, but he grabbed her, pulling her back. He heard her let out a frightened scream, and from the force he fell backwards with her onto the stairs. Riccardo knew the girl was frightened and confused, that she didn't trust him any more then she did that old man. She had been through something she never should have been, something she surely never deserved as such a wonderful creature that was practically sent from above as his savior. He positioned the girl into his lap, and she seemed to allow it, as if she had given up on this game of cat and mouse, and gave herself to him.

His arms tightened around her body, his right around her chest and neck, the left around her waist. He tugged her closer to his chest, her head under his chin. Now he could feel how absolutely shaken she was, literally vibrating in his embrace. Then she tried to speak, something incoherent.

"Shhhhhh..." He hushed and comforted for the second time that morning.

Now she felt his face upon the top of her golden blond hair, his hand rubbing her back as he drew her even closer. In response, she chocked on her saliva, crying harshly, her own arms now clasping desperately back, taking handfuls of his odd steward's uniform.

"Shhhhhh, now...It's alright..."

Riccardo looked towards the corpse of his dead creator. No more breath would ever come out of that wretched thing. The world was better for it.

"...It's alright. I'm here. I'm here..."

From then on, he would always be there. He had given Fiona her life back, twice that morning. And as her body quivered in his arms, almost desperately clinging to him in a mix of forced comfort and odd, voluntary desperation and fear, he could only guess how she would be like now. Would she give into his advances? He had given her life, love...

Now, it was her turn.