AN: Oh yeah. Eshy's back, babes.

DISCLAIMER: It's not mine.


When Cross woke slumped over the back of a Black Order mare in Exorcist silvers, he knew he had missed something big at the tower. His arm was bound, and a cautious glance into the button of his sleeve displayed a rather horrifying bruise and swollen eye.

The mare was plodding along a path in the mud made by staggered familiar footprints. Black Order boots. He recognized them from his own.

Of course. The great mare was probably another one of Rouvellier's mad experiments. The mare was tracking the others like a bloodhound.

Cross flailed, and struggled from her back. The mare seemed not to notice. He grabbed her bridle in his good hand and tugged. She continued on. She was soulless eyes and skin and bones. Cross didn't particularly want to know what kind of dark sorceries kept her going.

After a panicked rifle, he found a normal revolver in the pocket of the borrowed jacket, along with four loose bullets. A quick check revealed that six were already loaded. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, putting a bullet in the mare's head, right between her dead-looking eyes. She toppled to the side without protest. "Soulless creature, soulless man," Cross continued to speak to himself. He had noticed—it was a habit he had picked up during his imprisonment.

He looked around. He had no clue where he was. It was somewhere in the middle of a forest. He assumed, if Rouvellier knew anything, that this was the Schwarzwald, commonly called the Black Forest. Which meant that his companions had made little to no progress since his capture.

"Dammit."


A/N Again: Okay. Yeah. It's short. Painfully so. But see, I'm doing this with a very very limited amount of time before I can get in trouble, which I don't want. I'm sorta in trouble. Grounded trouble. Not to worry. But don't expect a lot of *long* chapters with these updates. Don't worry your pretty heads.