Author: Silver Fox
Email: Foxneko@aol.com
Disclaimers: I don't own Weiss Kreuz. There, I admitted it!
Notes: italics are thoughts

First chapter up! Kinda short, I think. There might be some yaoi later on...if I ever get there. After reading, please tell me what you think. Is it satisfactory? Is it okay? Does it suck?

L'il black dragon muse: ::whacks her:: Stop wallowing in your low self-esteem and get on with the story!

Alright alright! Enjoy!

It was dream. And he knew it was a dream, because it was real. All his dreams were real, while all his life was a fantasy. Everything he's destroyed: people's lives, churches, his sanity, they held no meaning. Life was a fairy tale to him. He would kill happily ever after.

But dreams, they were real. They held a deep meaning in his heart. Just like this one. This dream, with the black angel. It was funny, a black angel. Weren't they all white?

His amusement turned to anger. God was mocking him with a black angel. The hatred was visible as he snarled, his grip tightening on the handle of his knife. Had God finally noticed the destruction he was causing? Was God suffering the pain he had once felt himself? Was this angel here to beg for him to stop? Well, he will never stop. God will suffer. For all eternity, God will suffer.

His lips peeled back into a feral grin. She was running. And he will chase her. Chase her and draw blood. Not enough to kill her, but enough to make her scream. Ah, to hear an angel scream. It will be music to his ears. And she will run. And he would hunt her again. The predator and the prey. And so it begins...…

Fox Tales

The fox. Secretive, sly, beautiful. She'd love foxes for as long as she could remember. And that's why she paused to look inside the window of a shop in China Town. There, on display, almost hidden among the other larger ornaments, was a small jade fox. So she walked in and asked how much it was. But it was too much. She couldn't afford it. And while no one was looking, she picked it up, caressing it lovingly. It was warm, as if alive. It gave off a pulse, much like a heartbeat, but she dismissed it as a figment of her imagination.

It surprised her to see that it was already dark out, and that there was no one left in the store. She shouldered her black backpack that lay at her feet. Peering out the open door, she glanced around. There was no one. The streets were empty. Shops were closed. Lights were out.

Slivers of moonlight shone through the broken windows of the store. Able to see amazingly well in the dark, she was shocked to find that all the merchandise from before were not there anymore, instead, having dust and cobwebs in their place. Her eyes caught sight of a sign. The paint was peeling, but she could still make out the word: Condemned.

It was like a dream. The once bright and cheerful store had turned old and gray in less than a minute. But she knew it wasn't a dream, because she still had the small fox in her hand, the now cold figurine pressing against her palm.

Sticking to the walls, she slipped silently down the dark street, tensing with each step. The wind blew her charcoal-colored locks. She brushed at them half-heartedly, as no matter what she did her bangs always got in the way of her eyes, usually hiding her left one. Today was no exception.

She turned on a corner, stopping dead in her tracks. There was a man, only a few feet away, crouching over a body. A glint of silver gleamed in the night: a knife. Thick liquid dripped off of it and into the large puddle surrounding the body. And the man, no, more of a boy, was looking at her. Blood was splashed on his clothes, and a thin stream slid down his eye patch.

"Are you the black angel of God?"

Her eyes widened, confused by his question.

"I ask you: Are you the black angel of God?"

He had taken a step toward her, his voice rising. It sounded bitter. She subconsciously edged back.

"You must be the angel. You wear black, yet you bask in the moonlight of the heavens.

She felt a shiver run down her spine.

"I have been waiting for you. And you have come. And now," He smiled, licking his bloody knife, "the hunt begins."

She ran. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and she ran. Her backpack weighted her down a little, but she was in good shape, and she refused to throw the backpack away, the contents too important. But she wasn't thinking about that at the moment. All she wanted to was to survive.

He grinned. It was just like his dream. She was running. Perfect. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the knife flying towards her. He didn't care about losing it. It was getting rusty anyway. Besides, someone might step on it and infect their foot.

He watched the blade make contact, cutting her across her upper arm. No, he hadn't missed. It was planned that way. Inflicting a large amount of small injuries hurt a lot more than one swift strike at a major vein. Both ways result in death. Only, one way is more fun.

"Farfarello!"

He had heard the footsteps long before his name was called, and waited for his caller.

"It's time to go," Schuldich glanced at the bloody mass behind him. "What were you doing?"

Stupid question. What did it look like he was doing? He didn't answer, but grinned. The redhead looked at him. He could tell the German was considering probing his mind, then deciding he didn't want to know.

"C'mon. Crawford's waiting."

He nodded, then took one last look at the direction the girl had run off to. He thought about telling Schuldich about her, then decided against it. He alone would have the joy of hunting her down and torturing her.

Run, my little dark angel. Run for your life. 'Cause Farfie is coming after you.

~ Silver Fox ~