Hello darkness my old friend... I've come to fangirl again! I can't believe it's been six years since I last touched this fic. O_O So much has happened in my life in that period of time, including major milestones like moving cities, getting full-time employment and getting myself a husband. Here I am now on the verge of 31 years of age - a little older, a little wiser, in that frame of mind where I should be having babies.. but I've never forgotten the period of my life where I devoted myself to the SO3 fandom, and I've never forgotten what I started and never finished during that time, including this fic. The first part of this chapter has dwelt on my hard drive for six years, but as time passed and distractions appeared from all directions, I lost the courage to continue. Only recently in a fit of nostalgia, I started entertaining the thought of picking it up again... and like a sign, a review appeared out of nowhere asking whether this fic was still going. Well, I'm not one to ignore messages from the universe!

So here it is, my tentative labour of love over the past month. It all fell into place so quickly that I was astounded - I'd never really had a clear idea of how this chapter would proceed, but the ideas I developed while writing this will now lay the path for the last chapters. I'm so determined now to conclude this story, even if no one is around anymore to witness it (I also can't believe SO3 is more than 10 years old now!) But whoever does stray upon this humble fic, I do hope you enjoy reading what's here - it represents a lighter, more carefree time of my life which I'm now reliving. :)

The song that was blaring out of my speakers while I smashed out the first half of this chapter - Ellie Goulding, 'Something in the way you move'. And for the last half, Jai Waetford, 'Living not dreaming'. :)

"STEP #2: Give gifts to your lover" (part 5, FINAL):

"Done! That's the last bit of road," Fayt announced with satisfaction, his eyes sweeping the stretch of cobblestones which lined the path that snaked its way towards Peterny's front gates. To the naked eye it seemed that little had changed in way of the road's composition, but the change was something which wasn't cosmetic – at least, that was the impression which the Crimson Scourge had given from the outset, and Fayt knew better than to question the sword's ability to sow havoc beyond and below the stones. ("Clever lad", the Crimson Scourge would surely have cooed with hearty approval.) But even as Fayt carefully lowered the Crimson Scourge in the wake of a job well done, he suddenly became aware of an otherwordly heat swelling in the creases of his sword hand's palm. The Crimson Scourge, which up until then had been emitting warmth akin to a cosy hearth fire, was starting to burn and shake from the hilt up in a manner which was extremely disconcerting to Fayt, who'd been on the receiving end of shaken soda cans more than once in his life and didn't wish to repeat the experience. Before Fayt had even fully uncurled his fingers around the Crimson Scourge's hilt, it was practically leaping out of his grasp, landing en pointe and hopping about in a manner which was positively frantic. All it was missing were the flapping wrists.

Fayt spent a moment or two in bewilderment while he blew at his tingling finger joints, after which the lights switched on in his head with a clarity which rivaled anything churned out by the Diplo's power generator. "Albel's in trouble, isn't he?"

The Crimson Scourge paused and wiggled ever so slightly, as though it were trying to expel some form of speech from the grooves scratched into its guard.

"Hang on… wait. My mistake," Fayt amended, shaking his head impatiently at his error and pinching his forehead in concentration. "Okay. Fouetté en tournant for 'yes'. Grand jeté for 'no'."

The Crimson Scourge had barely risen into a relevé and completed three out of a possible thirty two spectacular revolutions before a bowel-emptying screech of the bunny kind tore through the air, followed by an answering roar which sounded as though it had been brought out somewhere even deeper than the depths of Albel's lungs; possibly below his kneecaps, if Fayt had to hazard a guess. Whipping his head around, Fayt was right on time to witness the bunny shift gears from dopey placidity to full-on kill fest, though all he could see from ground level was the aftermath of the bunny's charge – bricks and miscellaneous debris flinging themselves to the four winds, a rapidly expanding dust cloud which was puffing itself around the bunny's form like nuclear fallout…

… and an orange blob, so insignificant that it was nothing more than a smudge of colour against the evening sky, which could only have been the airborne remains of an old carrot.

Along with all of its other talents, Fayt wondered how well versed the Crimson Scourge was when it came to impromptu surgery, considering he had a strong suspicion that his digestive tract had decided to rearrange itself in the base of his throat. Not to mention, contrary to the popular expression, hearts didn't "sink" so to speak in situations like this. Lord no, they popped.

"Is Albel…?" Fayt rounded upon the Crimson Scourge, but the question died on his lips as he took in the sight of the sword lying prone on the ground, its stillness broken only by sporadic twitches which looked too disturbingly similar to the motions of rigor mortis for comfort. The Crimson Scourge seemed to sense eyes upon it, weakly turning itself over on the stones to feebly wiggle the tip of its blade in Fayt's direction before suddenly shrivelling in on itself, as though that minor movement had come at the cost of its final dregs of magical shelf life. Fayt plugged up a yelp that threatened to rush out of his throat by jamming one fist between his teeth, but there was no stifling the strangled cry that followed right after, so all thoughts of maintaining composure flew straight out of the airlock after that.

"Oh my God!" Fayt hollered, moments before panic delivered an almighty metaphoric kick to his tush which sent him charging towards the rancorous rabbit, Crimson Scourge and previous plans forgotten. If Fayt had bothered to keep his usual straight head on his shoulders, a quick glance over his shoulder would've revealed a disgustingly healthy Crimson Scourge bouncing back to life even before Fayt's dust cloud could recede, blade shimmering with some as yet unknown mischievous machination!

-Team Strike Force (Minus One) to Bunny Bait. How goes things?- The Crimson Scourge pleasantly enquired telepathically.

The Crimson Scourge waited patiently while Albel yelled his way through the first few instructional pages of "Swearing For Dummies", before launching headlong into chapters two and three which covered intricate and downright filthy choice phrases originating in Elicoorian antiquity. Admittedly, the Crimson Scourge knew that it was partly to blame since it had told Albel that he should read more often to expand his literary horizons, but the sword had forgotten that Albel's idea of light reading hardly included intellectual things like "History of the Elicoorian Bog Leech".

-There's really no call for that sort of potty talk, you know…- The Crimson Scourge interjected during the split second of breathing space Albel required for the transition from chapters four to five. -Since its difficulties which you're obviously having (as per usual), I've taken the liberty of sending the young one to play hero to your damsel. Just try to act surprised.-

The Crimson Scourge's air of satisfaction was unmistakable, even at that range of telepathic distance. Nevertheless Albel, hanging on for dear life from the end of one his makeshift bunny-killing stakes, allowed himself a double take at the Crimson Scourge's audacity even as the bunny's enraged squirming threatened to shake his back teeth straight out of their gum sockets.

-Hello?- The Crimson Scourge innocently ventured into the mental silence.

"What. The. HELL. Were. You. Thinking?" Albel roared in reply, with each shake produced by the bunny inadvertently providing dramatic literary accentuation. The bunny, having already discovered early in the piece that its feet were anatomically unable to be extended far enough to swat at Albel's dangling form, had settled on a bout of furious on-the-spot hopping in a bid to dislodge its pesky passenger. Being made of sterner stuff than most people was aiding Albel in maintaining his grip on his precarious perch, though the prospect of undertaking a twenty storey plunge to the street below was arguably a stronger motivating force in keeping Albel's claws and fingers wrapped firmly around the wooden stake.

"I don't need any help. I'm fully capable of dealing with this bloated pink worm on my own!" Albel snapped, even as one of his wooden stakes lurched violently to the side as though trying to prove him wrong. "And besides, what am I meant to do if Fayt lets loose with his powers? Is he gallivanting here already, all thanks to you?"

The Crimson Scourge coughed awkwardly in reply and Albel rolled his eyes skywards before blocking their telepathic connection in a huff. Besides, there were more pressing things to attend to - scaling the monstrous rabbit was his first priority since dangling like an overgrown navel piercing from its belly was hardly strategic, and the original plan still had to be implemented despite the fact no one had considered Albel's persuasion skills being so unevolved that even bunnies reverted to their base homicidal tendencies on exposure. The bunny still had to be lured, and Albel intended to boot its pink derriere down the street one way or the other. How... remained yet to be seen.

Albel dug the steel capped toes of his boots into the bunny's squishy belly fat and released his grip on the stakes, quickly seizing clumps of the bunny's fluorescent fur shortly after. Free climbing the beast was the only option at this point - risky as it was - but since the creature seemed to be mostly stomach attached to ridiculous Tyrannosaurus arms, it was a fairly simple exercise of scrabbling up the swell of its gut to the temporary security offered by the rolls in its neck. This close to its voice box, he could feel the vibration of another ugly 'squarl' building in the depths of its throat as it realised it had lost sight of the rude eggplant, and this close to dinner, the disappointment was hitting home. "Out of sight, out of mind", as a wise person once said (or it may have been that pesky door salesman touting mould cleaner before Albel had punted him into the nearest ravine), so Albel gingerly inched around to the bunny's nape and took a breather, surveying the sight of the ravaged city from the bunny's viewpoint.

Usually, beholding the aftermath of such mass destruction and mayhem made Albel's inner child lean back and cackle maniacally while lightning flashed across a stormy night sky, and truth be told a smirk still threatened to undo him; old habits die hard. However, his appreciation of the vista was cockblocked by the sight of a trifecta of rapidly approaching figures, all converging upon the bunny from three different directions, three different speeds and three varying distances. Albel's hair whipped back and forth with the momentum of his swivelling, his brain not quite computing what he was seeing, and wondering if being in close contact with bunnies was akin to being hopped up on Elicoor's patented happy fun time gas, for all the sense of what was rapidly approaching was making.

Exhibit A was the most normal and visually appealing, that being a very concerned looking Fayt Leingod weaving his way through the rubble and cutting through intact laneways, his bright blue locks glinting like a beacon amongst the miserable ruins. Albel allowed himself the luxury of casually checking out the young man for a few moments before forcing his disbelieving gaze back to the utter weirdness gaining ground in the other direction. Exhibit B was the unmistakeable blockhead Cliff Fittir, huffing and puffing along with one arm jammed through an entire piece of wall covered with wallpaper that looked suspiciously like the sort used in Peterny Inn's lobby. Several hundred metres ahead of the Klausian was what looked like a...a wheel of mouldy cheese? A runaway chair cushion? A cake? rolling its way merrily down the road straight out of the pages of a warped nursery rhyme book. Whatever it was, it also appeared to possess a pair of hidden jaws as evidenced by the slippery trail of drool it was leaving in its wake which Cliff was using to coast along, looking very much like a leather clad penguin on steroids.

Albel shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment in an uncharacteristic defeated fashion. Could the night get any more ridiculous? He immediately regretted forming the thought based on how far the situation was rapidly deteriorating, and Cliff's head was much too far away for Albel to knock on wood. The one saving grace was that Fayt was the more successful out of the three in navigating a path and had arrived at ground zero first, gingerly edging his way behind the broken walls of a nearby grocer to peer up at the bunny undetected.

Albel didn't dare vocalise his presence, being right next to the bunny's eardrums and all, and had to make do with narrowing his eyes into his patented wicked glare that in exceptional circumstances, was known to burn holes straight through skulls, dragon hide and the very fabric of 4D space itself. Oh, the frustration! The bunny's monstrous stature inadvertently cast an eclipse over the moon in the sky and rendered its entire top half in shadow, fully concealing Albel from searching eyes below. As far as Fayt knew, Albel's face was officially being slapped onto the next morning's milk deliveries as the country's sexiest missing person (a nice change from being the most wanted for once), and as for the bunny... well, it was just begging for one giant ass-whooping the likes of which only the Embodiment of Destruction could administer!

Crouched in the ruins, chest heaving as he caught his second wind, Fayt was surprised at the sheer anger he felt as he watched the bunny nonchalantly groom one ear with a paw the size of a semi-trailer. The thought of Albel at the bunny's mercy, his broken body possibly flung somewhere amongst the rubble or even smushed beneath the bunny's overgrown feet filled Fayt with crushing despair, interspersed with tingles of rage running and up and down his arms like an unbearable itch. The feeling grew stronger, culminating into a strangely leaden sensation in his chest that made his heart feel like it was slowly petrifying. It seemed now that he could hear wingbeats clapping in the back of his head, the sound transmitting through the walls of another world, mixed with the rustle of rich fabric and the cloying sensation of long tresses of hair brushing his face.

The freeze frame image of a young girl entered Fayt's headspace, her facial features a perpetually shifting enigma but for a pair of fathomless white stars blazing beneath arched brows. Destruction. They had met once before in another time and place when he'd been overcome with the cruelty of war, before she'd converted his fury towards the Vendeeni into an explosion of heavenly retribution. Her presence had hovered in the back of his mind ever since, humming like harp strings at the slightest tinge of annoyance or heated emotion, and now materialising fully in response to his rising anger and - to his confusion - onset of sadness.

-Do you seek vengeance for the one that was here before?- Destruction enquired in fluted tones, her ephemeral fingers tracing the outline of spidery arcane symbols before Fayt's glassy-eyed gaze. Translucent hands cupped either side of his face as she peered into his rapidly hardening green eyes, giving voice to the broiling emotions she detected in their pained depths. -I hear your heart keen with loss for that wicked warrior. But I am here now, your weapon until the end of time. Command me! What would you have me rend? My razor wings are wide and far reaching. The sky itself will split before me, as will the Creator who dwells beyond it. There is nothing I cannot crush, if you would only will it.-

Her last words were crooned as notes to a song that spoke of madness and mayhem. The deadly tune resonated irresistibly between Fayt's ears, setting his own eyes ablaze as he glared up at the fuzzy pink foe looming before him, the sensation of building power causing the centre of his forehead to throb in time to an elemental heartbeat that he suspected wasn't quite his own...

Meanwhile, Albel was still clinging precariously to his pink perch and hadn't missed sighting the telltale orbs of blue light throwing spangles amongst the ruins below, or the glimmering outline of ethereal wings that brightened the shadows, turning them the hue of diluted ink.

"Shit,"Albel hissed, even though that expletive was far too vanilla to convey the full gravity of the situation. He fleetingly thought back to the "Swearing for dummies" manual, wondering if there were any choice phrases in the follow-up sequels which could appropriately describe the metaphorical steaming pile of poo he was currently stuck up to the chin in, and soon to be completely smothered. Being winked out of existence by his would-be boyfriend's rogue gene was far from being on his list of things to accomplish before hitting his dirty thirties. Albel snuck a look over the curve of the bunny's shoulder at the cobblestones far below, wondering with all seriousness whether it would be better to chance a leap and see what befell - he wasn't that attached to his legs, and besides, he could always get the matching armoured limb set from the Airyglyph armoury and turn into the town's very first six million dollar man. If he survived of course...

Adding to the confusion, the cake-like object had finally rolled to a stop beneath the gigantic girth of the bunny's belly and was preoccupied with trying to fit its gummy jaws around a set of the bunny's toes. Cliff was flapping about it in a terribly tizzy, trailing sparks from the live wires still attached to the chunk of wall enclosed around his bicep, and it was all looking so very dumb indeed. Given a choice, Albel would rather be several hundred star years from the debacle thankyou very much, even if he had to hitch a ride on the damn bunny itself to accomplish the feat...

... aaaaand on that train of thought, Albel hit upon the up-till-now elusive solution.

The bunny's ears draped on either side of Albel like oversized stirrups, the steed underfoot poised and ready to race to the finish where the Crimson Scourge was fretfully hopping to and fro due to the absence of juicy gossip in the last five minutes. While witnessing the bunny go up in a whoosh of pretty, sparkly blue fire held definite appeal, being forced to be caught in the fallout kaboshed that delightful thought pretty quickly. The fastest - and to be frank, only - way to escape the oncoming blast was to hit the road. Literally.

Blissfully ignorant of the fascinating developments occurring above and below his bright blonde head, Cliff took a moment to grab a breather and lament the onset of teenage rebellion. Cliff's ability at exerting parental authority over his wayward baked progeny was proving dismal, to put it bluntly. The young cake had all the appearance of a green carbuncle on the bunny's largest toe, and no amount of prodding with a hastily salvaged carrot-with-a-stick found on the ground could dislodge it. The cake's voracious appetite evidently knew no ends – or, perhaps after a whole evening of munching on bland Elicoorians, a giant bunny seemed to be made of tastier stuff. Afterall, no one knew what it actually contained, and rainbow Skittles were a faint possibility since bunnies were of similar ilk to unicorns.

Up until now, the bunny hadn't seemed to notice its new toe accessory, but now a massive twitch originating from its upper body surfed over its flabby belly, then flowed through the bunny's massive cankles before dissipating into the cobblestones through the soles of its feet. The shuddering motion was so unexpected and violent that one corner of the cake finally dislodged with a wet 'pop', eliciting a surprised stream of chatter from its now exposed jaws.

-fhdhsytwkdghdhd - :? - eueiuwowwo!-

"My widdle Bobo! Comes back to da da!" Cliff implored with dramatic effect and a bonus swoon, beefy hands outstretched to receive his adopted charge. Despite his occasional meat-headedness, Cliff had been around the galactic block enough times to recognise when a situation had taken a sudden, unpredictable shift. It was written all over the newly charged air around him, crackling with deadly energy that reminded him of the acrid buildup that preceded the arrival of a bolt of lightning. Alarm bells in his head all frantically clamoured the same messages over and over - GTFO! GTFO! I like kittens! Boy, I'm good looking! GTFO!

The urgency was palpable, even to creatures of the baked variety. The cake hesitated a few seconds more as it weighed up its priorities (dinner now? Or live another day and get dinner tomorrow, and maybe two desserts and the innkeeper as a side? Decisions, decisions...) before finally accepting the judgement call of its patriarch and bounding into Cliff's waiting arms - and not a moment too soon, as the bunny's entire body abruptly lurched and concaved, the way it might if invisible hands had seized the back of its head and yanked with incredible force. Cliff and the cake gaped in awe as the bunny quivered, moist nose pointing straight to the sky and mouth partially ajar in shock as its bean sized brain became aware of some unpleasant but as yet unidentified sensation... and then the silence of the night air was shattered by the crack generated by the downward slap of its ears against its cranium, and pandemonium finally rocked up to the party in all her crazy glory.

"SQUAAAAARLLL!" The bunny ripped a new one in the sound waves with its frenzied squeal, spurring Cliff to start making a long overdue beeline outta there, straight down the virginal road ahead which was yet to be deflowered by the bunny's destructive weight. What Cliff didn't count on and to be honest, couldn't have known, was for the bunny to explode forward in a gigantic hop that would've knocked several Olympic records out of the ballpark and straight into next Tuesday. The bunny smashed into the pavement with a shudder that brought Cliff's jaws together with a snap, but it had barely paused before the muscles in its hindquarters tensed like coiled springs and a second hop was cometh. This time, the sound the bunny made when landing rivaled even the loudest, thundery flatulence Crosell could generate from his amble behind.

"Thisisn'tgoodthisisn'tgood..." Cliff babbled, while the cake chittered with alarm at every zig and zag Cliff made in his mad dash away from the pink monstrosity. Most concerning of all, the bunny seemed to be finding its groove and accelerating, particularly after another sharp crack of its ears galvanised it to dig deep and find hidden dregs of speed it didn't know it possessed. Cliff whipped his head back to look incredulously at the bounding bunny, his expression a perfect visual representation of the acronym 'WTF'. What in the name of the Federation was causing this?!

Or 'who', rather. 20/20 vision was one of many qualities bestowed upon Cliff at birth, along with a predisposition towards muscles in places most people don't have muscles and a face capable of impregnating females with a single glance (to hear Cliff in his cups, and yet to be scientifically proven). As the bunny completed another downward trajectory, the previously concealed moon rose above the dome of the bunny's head and backlit an unmistakeable figure with startling clarity.

Even from this distance, the grim determination in Albel's face was clear for Cliff to see, and the immense punishment he was putting his body through to keep his feet braced against the back of the bunny's skull. The moonlight shone like an aureole around his mussed hair and flaying hair tails as his skinny frame strained to keep in time with the momentum of the bunny's rise and fall, both hand and gauntlet holding on for dear life to makeshift reins - both of the bunny's velvety ears, pulled taut to the point where its brow was so smooth, and eyes so unblinking, that it looked positively Botoxed.

"Nox!" Cliff hollered, masterfully turning about face into a backwards run to make conversation a bit easier. "It's a bit late to ask and all, but... you do have a licence to drive that thing, right?"

Cliff's quip had the undesired result of making Albel bark out an angry "GEE-UP!" and snapping the bunny's ears with extra venom, putting Cliff perilously closer to the bunny's descending feet to the point where he feared for the skin on the end of his perfect nose. Getting up Albel's goat while he piloted a giant bunny was hardly wise, as Cliff was sheepishly finding out the hard way. Whirling his legs in a cartoonish blur, Cliff hitched the cake more securely in the crook of his arms and put on an extra burst of speed to break clear of the bunny's range. It wasn't too far now to the city gates and the safety of the Diplo which surely was in a state to lift off, and Cliff was internally scoffing at the ability of any bunny who could outrun a Klausian of such splendid physique as himself...

... that is, until the murky night suddenly turned bright as midday, accompanied by a filter that cast a haunting blue glow over the ruined town. A pillar of painfully white light birthed itself into existence in the bunny's wake and Cliff turned in surprise at the unexpected development, while Albel pulled the bunny up in alarm with a buck and a kick. The pillar rose from an unspecified section of the ruins, plunging deep into the belly of the sky and cutting the grey clouds to circular ribbons with its burning brilliance. A sound like the ripping of a thousand sheets echoed through the air as the pillar flickered and surrendered its perfectly linear integrity to the emergence of two massive appendages that shook themselves out into a mighty pair of filigree lace wings. The shredded clouds circling the pillar at the point where it met the sky flared with an internal glow composed of an intricate system of lineation; the glow grew brighter as the lines multiplied ten-fold with each passing second, creeping outward and looping over and under until the end result was a magnificent mandala orbiting above the winged being towering in the sky.

Destruction slowly raised her head to coronate her brow with the rotating mandala, and lifted a luminous arm to point serenely at a spot above the bunny's eyeballs the same way one might focus a rifle's telescopic sight.

Now that was a murderous gesture Cliff had seen before, except on that occasion it had been directed towards ugly fishy shark men and not two sworn members of the We're-too-good-looking-to-die fraternity.

"WhoawhoaWHOA! Get out of the way! Get outta here now!" Cliff bellowed at Albel, just as a second mandala materialised above the bunny and descended in a corkscrew motion around the girth of its plump body, rotating faster and faster like a circular saw. Destruction's outstretched fingertips ignited with blue fire, and the cool ambience of the night was replaced with a tingling sensation of gathering power that made the pee icing on the cake in Cliff's arms curdle and nearly stand on end. Invisible lines of energy snaked from all things living and inanimate and siphoned into Destruction's deadly gravity, the threads weaving within her palm to consummate in a ball of light so intense, it burned like a second sun.

Albel cursed through gritted teeth and took evasive action, thumping his heels against the bunny's neck to spur it back into motion. The poor creature looked mightily confused, but it wasn't entirely dim-witted to the core to not recognise a bad situation when confronted with one. Besides... there was a race to finish, and the rest of the road that lay ahead was clear and tempting. With a final twitch of its nose and a very determined squeak, the bunny burst out of the block with the biggest leap of its up-to-now very short life - straight over the edges of Destruction's mandala, with Albel flopping like a ragdoll in its backdraft from the ends of its trailing ears.

Cliff dove for cover as the shadow of the leaping bunny passed over him like a bad thought and braced himself and the cake for the impact he knew was imminent. Sure enough, the spinning mandala snapped closed like a vice on the fur-filled air where the bunny had just been and a thunderous clap bounced back and forth between earth and sky, which was apparently the sound a sheet of sizzling white light made when it slammed into solid ground. Where there had been strewn rock, a stray shoe and a tidy town sign before, there was now simply... nothing. Oh, of course those physical objects had been incinerated and a big black scorch stain was all that was left in the scarred earth, but by 'nothing', it seemed like even the very character of the area within ground zero had been evaporated into minuscule molecules. It was clear that nobody was ever going to accuse Destruction of being half-assed at her job.

Speaking of which, Cliff could've sworn he heard an irritated click of the tongue from Destruction's general direction, but unworldly manifestations were quick to regroup. Another raised palm, another pull of power, and the bunny was firmly back in Destruction's visual crosshairs. Not being on Destruction's Kill-Bill list brought warm and fuzzy feelings, so Cliff dared a peek over his makeshift fallout shelter to take stock of Albel's predicament.

Dragon Dressage had been one of Albel's majors back in the Airyglyphian Academy for Boys from Hoitsy Toitsy Families, and while he'd been no great shakes at it, the subject had at least given him a flavour for steering creatures of the very large variety in certain directions. It was taking every drop of brain juice in his arsenal to recall snatches of advice from those lessons where he'd spent most of his time rubbing snobby Alistair Rothchester's smug mug into fresh, steaming mounds of dragon dung. Was it proving enough? Poor, long-suffering Instructor Cumberbatch might have had some critical words to say about Albel's performance (spoken very softly, under his breath and in the privacy of his soundproof panic room mind you), but at least from Cliff's perspective...

"... he ain't half bad!" Cliff whistled, pushing his fringe out of his eyes for a more unobscured view of Elicoor's first, and possibly one-night-only, exhibit of giant bunny flyball.

BOING! went the bunny over a mandala that materialised at the level of its kneecaps. KER-SPLOOEY! went the bunny through a mandala that manifested in its path like an overgrown hula-hoop, and SHE-BANG! went the bunny around a triple threat chain that threatened to close itself around the leaping bunny like a hangman's noose. It was record breaking, perfect 10 sort of stuff, and Cliff couldn't help but enthusiastically give a wild standing ovation before remembering this was the equivalent of a tennis grand slam, and bashfully ducked back into his hidey hole as Destruction glared in the direction of the distracting hand slapping.

The end was in sight! Unscathed thus far, the bunny careened down the last few miles of Peterny's main street with unabashed enthusiasm, sensing an invisible finish line and imaginary cheering punters somewhere on the rapidly approaching horizon. Leaning into the wind, Albel allowed himself a small glimmer of hope that maybe his pretty self was actually going to make it out of this alive, all limbs and family jewels intact and accounted for. The bunny had even stopped moving, which was fantastic news for his windblown hair that was giving him the appearance of Leo Sayer's skinnier, more good looking but less musically inclined twin brother. And...

The bunny had stopped moving?

No. Just... no. All Albel could do was look helplessly at the bunny's predicament with a bird's eye advantage - namely, that the bunny had fallen clear through the stones of the street and was paddling its feet uselessly somewhere below its firmly wedged fat arse, its face still stupidly glazed over with running endorphins.

Actually to be fair, 'helplessly looking' wasn't the only thing Albel was capable of doing at that moment. One quick flashback to the final chapter of "Swearing for Dummies" later, and Albel was able to utter a choice phrase he'd been saving for an opportune moment in battle with the Creator, but somehow felt was more appropriate to sum up the sentiment right now.

"Fuck-a-doodle-do," Albel yelled at nobody in particular and threw the bunny's ears aside in disgust, knowing it wasn't about to go anywhere in a damn hurry. The original plan had completely slipped his mind, and while it may have worked out in less extenuating circumstances, it was unfortunate no one had thought to consider how external factors could affect the outcome, regardless how wacky.

As a consequence of this oversight, what was left of Albel's life was looking incredibly bleak. Destruction's smouldering, triumphant eyes all but bore smoky holes into the bunny's bountiful bottom overhanging the hole in the road, and her outspread fingers snapped closed with dreadful finality. One last mandala blinked into existence around the entrapped bunny, and a bitter sense of deja vu flooded over Albel as the ethereal blast surged towards him and the bunny in agonising slow motion. Not a blast of dragon flame this time, and he was bound to lose more than just a measly arm after this was all over, but what he felt was exactly the same. Regret - so goddamn much of it - at his inability to thrwart Bunny Seele's barmy machinations, his wretched lack of a love life filled with lame daytime TV sitcoms, being denied the honour of doling out a slow death to the moronic programmer responsible for all the first, second and third world problems of the universe and worst of all...

... never knowing what it felt like to plant a kiss on Fayt Leingod's lips with a passion that could burn trees to the ground.

At least it had all been for him, which softened the blow just a teensy bit. There was no one else Albel would've been willing to lay his mortality on the line for, and on such a hare(bunny?)brained a mission at that. Maybe Cliff, the ridiculous fool, would have the wherewithal to take Fayt aside later and offer up an explanation for Albel's erratic behaviour as of late... but Albel doubted that level of proactivity resided in a man who was quite happy to run around during a state of emergency with a wall stuck on his arm and a cake tucked under the other. And besides, if Albel himself wasn't around to offer up a confession, it didn't sit well with him for it to be given second-hand by a middle-man blonde buffoon. No... the deep, unplumbed well of feelings would die with him. And all the thoughts of what could've... should've been.

Albel closed his eyes as the first searching tendril of the white wave burned like acid on the skin of his face. It wouldn't be long now, and with some luck, the influx of star-studded phosphorescence would instantaneously melt the flesh from his bones, the suffering mercifully quick.

A few seconds passed, followed by several more. Then... maybe another three. Make that five. Ten. The skin above Albel's nose puckered slightly at the ongoing effort of keeping his eyelids glued shut, a task easier said than done. Twenty. Twentyfive. Skip a few, one hundred... and with that, Albel finally peeled his eyes back open in exasperation to look about him in disgust. At this rate, he was going to be late for his own funeral - what the hell was holding up the obliteration, genocide, and homicide-without-asking-why?

A shimmering shield the colour of freshly spilt blood, that's what - it had appeared out of nowhere, encasing the area around the bunny in a protective cocoon that held back Destruction's onslaught with seeming ease. As for where it had come from, the source was poised ostentatiously below, looking very put out indeed for an object that didn't even have a face to speak of. Albel suddenly recalled that earlier in the chapter, he'd "hung up" so to speak, and hastened to unblock that particular telepathic channel in his mind - though as usual, he instantly came to regret that decision.

-... oaf, dope, bonehead, nincompoop, dumb Lum! I turn my back for five measly minutes and... and... I can't believe it. You had ONE job. What am I to do with you? By the divine balls of Apris, it'll take more than just my lifespan to get you to sprout just one seedling of social grace. Seriously, who actually manages to offends BUNNIES?! Were you actually raised amongst humans, or did you grope your way out of a moss forest?-

Albel groaned with exasperation, feeling the twinge of a migraine behind his eye sockets as the Crimson Scourge's pent-up verbal diarrhoea surged through floodgates and dumped upon his senses like a breaking wave. The bunny was far happier to have the Crimson Scourge back in its rightful place in this fanfic, uttering a happy squeak of recognition at the sight of the sword and made as if to offer a slobbery lick. The Crimson Scourge hastily inched away from its lolling tongue, as close to the edge of its blood mist shield as possible.

-Tch, well... irritating as your idiotic smiling face is, even you don't deserve to be phased out of existence. The young one doesn't mess around, does he? Talk about overkill!- The Crimson Scourge would've rolled its eyes at that point if it possessed any. Suddenly, it projected a mental smirk towards Albel as it seized upon a train of thought. -You know, you should be honoured. It almost seems like he fancies you.-

Albel felt his heart start an involuntarily jig as that delectable thought bubble floated his way, until it burst upon a cactus of disbelief and he socked himself back into reality. "That's... absurd. Fayt's just an overemotional fool who needs to learn to keep his temper in check. He'd react the same way if I stepped on a kitten, so stop reading into things that aren't there!"

-Would I do that?- The Crimson Scourge said drily. -Anyway, enough chit chat. Destruction has got herself all worked up in a state, and I can only hold this shield for so long. Entertain yourself for a spell oh Wicked One, while I have a word or two with her.-

Albel raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Since when did that maggot talk? And even if it does, why would it have anything to say to the likes of you?"

-Trust me. We go way back.- The Crimson Scourge muttered darkly before muffling the mental line it shared with Albel and projecting its essence beyond the shield to the exact point where Destruction's starry wave flooded over the outward curve of the partition. It was all the contact the Crimson Scourge needed to fuse a connection. It flung a single, enquiring germ of thought down an invisible line towards Destruction and almost immediately felt a flare of startled recognition in response to the mental poke.

-So Destruction... we meet again.- The Crimson Scourge began conversationally, assuming a more comfortable position by leaning up against its shield. -When was the last time...? Oh, I daresay it was during the 50 year siege, the one against those terribly persistent barbarian hordes. You know, the time when no one had any better ideas on how to kick a bunch of smelly axe-twirlers out of the capital, so some bright spark figured weapons of mass, magical destruction would do the trick? I was the sword, and you the symbol. And now here we are centuries later, brought together by two men who wouldn't know what "meant to be" looks like if it hit them with a mallet.-

Destruction's visible surprise settled at the sound of that familiar mental voice. As she chewed and digested each word, her illuminated wings flexed, brilliant white pinions stretching luxuriously across the sky before settling against the planes of her elegant back.

-I see that all those decades in that treasure vault didn't do a thing for your hips.- Destruction finally deigned to cattily respond. -Why are you meddling in human affairs again? And on top of that, bonded to such an unsavoury fellow. I can smell the bloodlust on his breath from this far away, and the stink of self-loathing from his aura makes me want to puke. What you and my master see in him I will never comprehend.-

-Meoooowww. Those Earthlings may have succeeded in fettering your symbol to the young one, but a pity they forgot to sandbag your tongue in the process.- The Crimson Scourge drawled. -I involve myself in affairs of the heart, thankyou very much. And speaking of which, it'd be greatly appreciated by all and sunder if you kindly ceased cockblocking the budding bloom of true lurve we all know is taking root, no matter what you're trying to do to stop it.-

-I wouldn't have the faintest idea what you're talking about.- Destruction rejoined smoothly, not missing a beat. -If it's revenge my master seeks, then that is what I provide. It makes no difference to me whether your wicked one lives or dies in the fallout.-

-Revenge... that you goaded him into, no doubt!- The Crimson Scourge said sharply. -The young one is so good natured, little wonder you haven't had a decent workout for a spell. When he comes to, I doubt he wants the guilt of eradicating a dim-witted, but ultimately harmless lagomorph on his conscience - especially since it's completely innocent of what he thinks it's done!-

Destruction sniffed dismissively. -Such an impassioned defence for...-

-... so insignificant a creature, I know. I surprise even me.- The Crimson Scourge said. -But let's put that aside. It's not the "pink bunny" in the room, so to speak. The golden chain between these two souls has traversed galaxies to bring them together in common hope; it's etched clear for all to see in the star ocean, and what a beautiful thing they've made. But you'd sever the chain without a thought - I know you would - the second I drop this shield. And I won't allow it.-

Tension crept underfoot like an oily snake.

-You seem so convinced of that wicked one's worth, but your loyalty blinds you, Crimson Scourge.- Destruction hissed, her feathers crackling with displeasure. -He is but a blot on my master's purity, just a gathering stain overreaching for the unattainable. I see nothing but sin in the lines of his face, he casts a filthy shadow. He will never be strong enough! I am all the strength my master would ever want or need!-

-Jeez, are you the ultimate mother-in-law from Hell or what? Creepy too.- The Crimson Scourge guffawed at Destruction's outburst. -How about I say it again, nice and clear so those pretty little ears don't have to try too hard. I. Won't. Allow. It. Call off your attack, fold yourself back up in the young one's head in a tidy Ikea flat pack and let us all get a bit of shut-eye - the night's getting on, and these two still have much to dream about without you getting in the way of it all.-

It was a dangerous moment. For all the Crimson Scourge's tough talk, its blade visibly trembled from the immense effort it was taking to keep the shield intact, and it knew that if Destruction really wanted to set her mind to testing what dregs of strength it had left, there was going to be one heck of a shit fight. Destruction must have known this fact herself, and the uncomfortable seconds slid by as the Crimson Scourge gathered a metaphorical sweat.

Then Destruction did a curious thing - she lowered her hand. And with that single motion, the ethereal blast dissipated into blue fireflies that darted through the air and drifted to the ground, finally dousing themselves out on the cold stones. The pressure on the shield mercifully lifted and the Crimson Scourge found itself able to stand a little straighter.

-Have you ever watched two birds argue over a single worm?- Destruction suddenly enquired with a tilt of her head.

For the first time ever, the Crimson Scourge remained silent.

-One bird wants the worm solely to feed its chick. The other has no such care, and only wants to fill its own belly.- Destruction continued. -With enough time the worm would tear in two, but perhaps that isn't what either wants. A whole worm is of far greater use. Which means the struggle is for all, or nothing.-

Destruction was growing more ephemeral, wings now tucked close to her body, their outline growing less distinct as the details of each individual feather faded from sight. The blue light cast by Destruction's form was dimming, the original cool palette of the night returning.

-Forge ahead, Crimson Scourge. Build the bond between them. For, when the time comes when the worm is ripped away, it will be that much sweeter to see your wicked little chick go without.-

And with those ominous words, Destruction finally took her leave of the overworld.

The Crimson Scourge immediately extinguished the blood shield and sagged as spellshock flowed through its blade; that had been quite the magical workout, not to mention a poor resolution to a seriously big problem. The bunny, sensing the Crimson Scourge was feeling a bit blue, uttered a concerned "Squeak!" but wasn't able to offer much else in the way of comfort.

Albel landed heavily next to the Crimson Scourge in a clatter of steel, having finally deemed it safe enough to disembark by surfing down the bunny's back like it was an overgrown emergency slide. Solid earth had never ever felt so good - he resolved never to take it for granted again. Or at least until tomorrow morning.

"What's the matter with you?" Albel asked as he spent some time stretching out the kinks in his overworked muscles. "And what did you say to make that thing rack off?"

The Crimson Scourge sighed, gingerly straightening its blade and testing a faint looseness in its pommel, much like a human adjusting teeth after being sucker punched. -I said enough for the situation, but the matter is not finished. We've made a strange enemy tonight, you and I.-

"Me as well? I couldn't care less about that creature, but if it's blood it wants, I'm more than happy to arrange it - by hacking its smug head off that swan neck," Albel said matter-of-factly, as though he'd just announced he was popping out to the store for a bit of milk.

That managed to illicit a tired chuckle from the Crimson Scourge. -I'd pay to see it. But it's a problem for another day. Go see to the young one before that blonde fool gets there first.-

That piqued Albel's interest immediately, and he hastened away from the scene before the Crimson Scourge could utter another word. The sword let its gaze follow Albel's retreating figure, noting with some amusement that the Vegiform spell it had cast earlier on Albel's buttocks still lingered and he wasn't even aware he was still trailing a flowering pumpkin stalk like a dinosaur tail. The Crimson Scourge took pity and dismissed the spell with a twitch of its blade, before turning to regard large problem #2 which was patiently sitting in its hole awaiting further instruction.

-And now... what to do with you?- The Crimson Scourge mused, while the bunny solemnly gazed back with eyes like two pools of brown gravy. -I suppose I could always turn you over to that pint-sized dancer in our party. I've a feeling her roadshow is missing a distinct freakshow element, and you'd surely fill that void to a tee.-

"Squeak!" The bunny responded cheerfully in clueless agreement.

-That's easily settled, but now what about those two?- The Crimson Scourge posed the question to the vastness of the sky, and the universe that lay beyond that deep ink blue expanse. Stars here and there twinkled, some brighter than others, reminding the Crimson Scourge of Destruction's withering stare burning through starry fog.

-The years have made me sentimental. Not to mention reckless. We could've all ceased to exist this night, if I'd been just a tad more mouthy.- The Crimson Scourge admitted to the bunny, its captive listener of little choice. -Yet here we are still, now pieces in some bitchy game only Destruction knows the rules to. How did it get so complicated? All the Wicked One wanted was just one date, and maybe just a quick feel or two...-

The sword looked back down the road where Albel was now bent over a still form in the ruins. Applying second sight, the Crimson Scourge scrutinised his aura, usually a murky green the colour of poisonous smoke, now knifed here and there with gleaming shards of baby blue, tender feeling. A bud of warm light had already taken seed somewhere in the dark centre; given time and feeding, it had all the potential in the world to bloom into something bright and beautiful, like a glorious moon revealed from behind scudding clouds.

It was all the ratification the Crimson Scourge needed to shrug in happy defeat. -How could I possibly say no to the prospect of a happier, loved and loving-in-return Albel Nox?-

"Squeak!" The bunny affirmed.

Meanwhile Albel, the man of the hour, crouched uncertainly in the eye of the storm of Destruction's wake in tempting arm's reach of every inch of Fayt Leingod's prone body sprawled upon the ground. Those brilliant green eyes were closed to the world, his face a seeming quiet mask of sleep. Albel offered up a cautious touch, pressing two fingers against the snowy skin of Fayt's neck. His pulse shouted back, hot and strong, and Albel let out some of the breath he'd been holding up until then. Albel didn't break contact, his fingers idly beginning a slide down the soft curve of Fayt's throat as he let himself be distracted by the sight of all that alluring skin peeking between the low cut V of Fayt's loose shirt.

"I thought you were dead," said the sleeping young man - except sleeping men aren't meant to talk. Albel snatched back his hand and back-pedalled wildly with a yell that was half embarrassment, half indignation, as Fayt's eyes flipped open to prove he'd been disgustingly conscious the entire time.

Albel glowered at Fayt's raised eyebrow and quirked smile, unsure if Fayt was more amused at springing Albel in the middle of something devious, or more relieved that Albel had avoided getting his clocked cleaned by the bunny afterall. As Fayt pulled his upper body up against the remains of a wall, wincing at some unseen hurt, Albel sat back on his heels and let his eyes rest gravely on the younger man before him.

He found what Fayt had just insinuated cause for concern. It was such a rookie reaction to go into hysterics the second an ally went down in battle. If anything, it should be incentive to fight a little harder - but the sentiment was usually quickly squashed once green soldiers saw first hand that selfishness for their own lives was the difference between an early death and retiring on a quiet estate in the hills. Worrying too much about others on the battlefield was nothing but a distraction, and Albel was confounded that Fayt didn't seem to know any better. That wasn't just foolhardy but dangerous, considering the deadly powers Fayt was capable of unleashing on the world.

"Even if I had been, was that any reason to lose control the way you just did?" Albel questioned, his voice quiet with restrained intensity. "If you can't keep your emotions in check, you might as well roll over and hand your sword to the Creator without dealing a single blow. My death, if it ever occurs, should never be your worry in battle. It would mean your certain defeat to be distracted by such insignificant things."

Fayt looked at Albel strangely without saying a word, his expression suddenly unreadable. Albel held his gaze steadily, willing the conviction he felt for his own words to sink into Fayt's psyche.

"You're wrong, Albel," Fayt said at last. "No life is insignificant. And I wouldn't care any less for you than I would my own family, or Sophia, or any of my friends, if it meant your life was in danger. I swear that will never change."

Albel felt his skin tighten, steel-like, against Fayt's earnest words. "You'd throw away victory... or even your life, over a single pitiful casualty like myself?"

"There's worse things than losing, or even dying...!" Fayt retorted fiercely but then seemed to catch himself and trailed off, averting his eyes and keenly concentrating on a random patch of dirt nearby. Two pink dots slowly appeared on his cheekbones, pretty as a pair of cherryblossoms.

... like losing me? Albel wished he dared to fill the gap between them with what he was certain were the exact and astonishing unspoken words. But he had been shocked into silence, and so the moment regretfully slipped away into the quiet night.

"I'm glad you're alive Albel," was all Fayt mumbled as his eyes closed against their own accord and he slumped against the stones, exhaustion finally winning over ongoing wakefulness. The expression on his angelic face was typical of the battle mages in Airyglph's army in the aftermath of battle, gained only after a lengthy period using up magical energies. But, Albel supposed, that just came as part of the package of having Destruction lurk in your bones like a hobo squatter.

Albel stooped and slid his hands under Fayt's arms, grunting as he hefted the unresponsive body against his chest. Fayt's head lolled back as he slept, strands of bright blue hair sweeping haphazardly away from his forehead, lips parted slightly as he drew each quiet breath. There was a lightness to him, as though the night's exertions had depleted the fighter's spirit that usually sang through his veins.

A protective surge tugged at Albel's heartstrings, originating from some inner uncharted depth of himself that only now was unveiling its landscape to the light. For try as he might, he couldn't fully commit to his own creed, certainly not now he'd heard Fayt say what he had. Stupid, stupid fool... Albel thought angrily, not sure if that was aimed at himself or the resplendent warrior cradled in his arms. I wouldn't stand to lose you either.

A scatter of pebbles made Albel whirl around to face the road behind him, ready to defend his charge from the next threat the author could cook up in the space left for this chapter. But it was only the Crimson Scourge, which had finally recovered sufficiently to join Albel in Destruction's circle.

-What happened to the young one? Does he slumber, or did he die of wretched boredom, waiting for you to get him just one measly sword?- The Crimson Scourge said sarcastically, peeling back one of Fayt's eyelids with its guard to inspect the pupil below.

Albel cursed loudly. He'd completely forgotten about the Lurve Program, and it seemed a lifetime ago that he'd set out for the morning market with thoughts of gifts running through his head. Maybe a raincheck on the program was called for, but Cliff was nowhere nearby to approve such a thing - in fact, Albel was pretty sure it was Cliff he could see now hopping around in the vicinity of the bunny, fretting over his cake brethren which had rolled loose and fastened its jaws on the bunny yet again, this time over its protruding bellybutton. The bunny didn't seem perturbed at all, squeaking happily at the ticklish sensation as the cake tried in vain to munch through its iron hide.

Turning back to the Crimson Scourge, Albel shook his head in defeat. "It's impossible. The whole town is destroyed. What would be available at this ungodly hour?"

-Correction - one town is destroyed, but Greeton still stands.- The Crimson Scourge pointed out. Sure enough, despite structural damage here and there, the doors between the towns remained open on the distant horizon.

-Tell you what, why don't you get the young one back to the inn, and I'll use my sunny disposition to grab whatever's left?-

Albel raised one eyebrow suspiciously. "By 'grab', do you really mean 'steal'?"

-Technicalities, technicalities...- The Crimson Scourge pooh-poohed, all the while sneakily sidling away before bolting for Greeton, until it was safely out of range of Albel's disapproval.

Well, after all Albel and the Crimson Scourge had gone through to save the town, Albel figured he was entitled to at least one freebie so he decided to let the Crimson Scourge's kleptomania slide. He just hoped the Crimson Scourge's taste in swords matched his own, but surely it was the most qualified out of the two of them to decide, considering it was a sword itself.

What was the reason then for the fluttery apprehension in his stomach as he watched the Crimson Scourge slip through Greeton's unguarded gates?

Sleep, when it did come, was fitful. The events of the day had been enough to turn even the most hardcore homebody into an adrenaline junkie, and it was just too goddamn hard to settle. Albel frowned in his half-sleep, sprawled across the patterned quilt of his bed in Peterny Inn where he'd flumped himself shortly after delivering Fayt to his own quarters.

Fayt never stirred once on the way there, not even when Albel had been forced to take a detour around Cliff flailing around on the roadside with the cake fastened to his face like some legless face hugger, following a dismal attempt at disciplining his wayward child. The inn had been dark on arrival and surprisingly intact, with the exception of a few walls in the lobby, one of which was a dead ringer for the one Albel had last seen hanging off one of Cliff's arms. Albel had wordlessly deposited Fayt onto his bed and taken his leave, not trusting himself to have anything to do with pyjamas, teeth brushing, milk and cookies or any of those dangerous plot devices that would put him in range of temptation.

A fresh wave of fatigue flooded over Albel's senses, coaxing him back into the world of fretful dreams. Before the dark fog completely befuddled his senses, he wondered if he'd just heard the distant tatterbells and thump of the inn's front door opening and shutting, followed by the familiar poink...poink...poink of the Crimson Scourge's blade against the wooden floorboards in the hallway, punctuated here and there with a whispery shush-shush, as though something was being dragged behind it. The sound grew closer until the sword must have been right outside Albel's door, however it didn't break its stride and continued further up the corridor to where Fayt resided.

Creeeeaaakkk... came the sound of a door slowly being opened, and a succession of fading 'poinks' as the Crimson Scourge let itself into Fayt's room uninvited. Silence reigned for a minute or more.

By the time the Crimson Scourge finally crept back to Albel's room in an uncharacteristically hesitant fashion, Albel had already passed out into his pillows, all lingering thoughts of suspicious sounds and behaviour forgotten. Assuring itself that the master was dead to the world, the Crimson Scourge carefully placed an object on the dresser next to the bed before arranging itself in its doggy basket before the fire, chewing a mental lip as it watched the logs slowly reduce to cinders behind the grate.

The first inkling Albel got that something was amiss was the smell - not anything he'd smelt before, and definitely not something usually associated with inn rooms in this posh part of Elicoor. It was what eventually dragged him out of deep sleep, despite his face being buried in a pile of pillows and blankets he'd somehow bunched up in a mound during the night.

Peering out from a crack between his face and the pillow, Albel groaned and replanted his face. The morning light was still young and milky, yet even that was enough to set off a nuclear explosion behind his exhausted retinas.

He lay still for a few more minutes, waiting to see whether sleep would reclaim him. He'd almost forgotten about the smell in the room that had woken him in the first place, but it now placed itself at the forefront of his mind as he tried in vain to slip back into oblivion, held back by the sensory distraction assaulting his nose. A bolt of irritation lanced through him and he sighed, idly reaching one hand towards the dresser for the hair ties he remembered tossing there the night before.

Squish.

Albel froze like a deer caught in headlights, the hairs on his hackles standing upright in shock. The muck he'd planted his bare hand into was of a terribly disgusting consistency, the sort of viscous quality he imagined would be attributed to curdled snot (if he picked his nose and collected the contents that is, which he most certainly no longer did). Even as he delayed the inevitable act of having to turn his head and inspect the state of his hand, a chunk dislodged from the gap between his thumb and forefinger, falling back into the source with a liquid splat.

Albel failed to suppress a shudder, and finally dragged his eyes away from anything but the dresser.

-It was complimentary.- The Crimson Scourge said solemnly in way of explanation from behind the divan in the corner, where it was doing its best to pretend it was one of the arrows in the quiver of a cherub statue.

Fermenting on the dresser overnight as opposed to being hygienically refridgerated had done little for the smell and consistency of the Chogurt, which was a dubious product even at its freshest. Lumps of chicken bobbed up and down in the evil looking brown glop, and the questionable aroma wafting from the centre of it was starting to fill the small space of the room faster than Albel liked. Albel recoiled in horror - but it wasn't due to the sight of the Chogurt.

"You bought Fayt WHAT?"

Albel's eyes whirled around the room like a pair of angry searchlights. The Crimson Scourge's attempt at merging into inn decor was anything but a success story, since it was the equivalent of trying to conceal a Ferrari in a junkyard. For a split second, eyes and hilt locked from across the room, followed by another second in which Albel launched himself from the bed like an enraged tiger at the same time the Crimson Scourge vaulted off the wall and lunged for the door.

In an amazing display of dexterity, Albel executed an almighty stretch with his gauntlet and snatched the Crimson Scourge in mid-leap, dragging it out of the air to his level as he crashed on top of the plush rug that ate up most the floor space in the room. Expertly forward rolling onto his knees, Albel smushed the Crimson Scourge's blade into the rug with his gauntlet while firmly closing his other hand around its grip, then swung the squirming blade until it was suspended above the steaming tub of pukeworthy Chogurt.

The Crimson Scourge gagged. -Get a whiff of that Potassium Benzoate!-

"Get yourself back into Fayt's room. Right now, before he wakes. And you're going to take back the monstrosity of a sword you left in there, and bring it back here, where I'm going to melt it into stinking waste fit for the privy down the hall. Then I'm going to hurl you down the privy with it. Was any of that unclear?" Albel hissed.

-Well where I come from, the holy sacrament of 'right now' is saved only for ceremonies involving a lot of nude dancing under the moon, so I'd like to exercise a conscientious objection on religious grounds and... ACK! Not so low, you MEAN thing.- The Crimson Scourge spluttered as a fault line in the crust of Albel's patience slipped, causing him to let the point of the Crimson Scourge dip dangerously close to a cube of chicken which still had a beak sticking out the middle of it.

-Geez, give me a break! It was the only store left open! And it's not like you had any better ideas, bigshot.- The Crimson Scourge huffed with great exasperation. -Anyway, I can't go back there now. What if he's dressing? You wouldn't want me getting first look at the goods before you do, would you?-

"Enough with your stalling!" Albel snarled, spinning on his heels and marching towards the door while towing the uncooperative Crimson Scourge behind him. He laid one Chogurty hand on the door knob, made to turn it and...

"I AM HE-MAN, THE MOST POWERFUL MAN IN THE UNIVERSE!"

The tinny voice had originated, unmistakenly, from Fayt's room.

Albel smoothly transitioned from turning the door knob to turning the lock. Then he deadbolted the door and set a plank, an armchair and a duck-duck bomb in place for good measure, before calmly walking back to his bed where he proceeded to lie down and stare blankly at the ceiling.

The Crimson Scourge peeked timidly over the edge of the bed. -Are you mad at me...?-

"We're never leaving this room again," Albel said flatly.

-Okay.- The Crimson Scourge meekly agreed.

Only a mere four hours into Albel's sit-in protest, a furious rapping erupted on the glass pane of the only window in the room. It had been a pretty boring and uneventful morning shut away from the world, and the Crimson Scourge had resorted to playing the lonely blues on a stray harmonica it had found stashed under the mattress. At the prospect of some action at last, it leapt up from the carpet and bounded eagerly over to the window.

"If it's the same woodpecker from yesterday morning, stab it in the eye," Albel's voice mumbled from under a pile of pillows.

The Crimson Scourge tugged at the curtain tassel and light from the noon sun instantly poured into the murky room, pooling like spilt syrup over the carpet. After spending a moment or two adjusting, the light seemed less dazzling, and the Crimson Scourge was able to discern a Nobleman in an official looking blue uniform hanging off the window ledge, despite the fact Albel's room was on the inn's second floor! He tapped on the glass again, gesturing wildly for the Crimson Scourge to open it.

The Crimson Scourge snuck a look at Albel, whose head was so far buried that the only evidence it was even him under the pillows were the two blonde hair tails trailing from underneath. Well, Albel hadn't said anything about people entering the room, only leaving it, so... what the hey. The Crimson Scourge caved into boredom and released the window latch.

"Whew! Beg pardon coming up this way and all, but there seems to be a problem with door yonder," the Nobleman said cheerfully, hoisting himself into a more comfortable position on the window ledge. He fished a clipboard out of a shoulder bag and thrust it under the Crimson Scourge's hilt. "Delivery for a Mr Albel Nox, sign here please."

"You're mistaken. There is no Albel Nox here, only your death warrant if you don't get the hell out of this room by the time I count to one. And since that's all I learnt to count to, you don't even get a headstart," a bloodcurdling growl rumbled from under all the manchester piled on the bed.

"Beg pardon ma'am...sir... sword," the Nobleman settled on the safest and most obvious option. "But I a'been very specifically told to give this here item to Mr Albel Nox only, aye, and personally too. And that there client of mine knew this Nox fellow would be putting up a jolly good fight, so I a'been hired from the special forces of the Postal Persistency Branch to plonk my big behind down 'til he do appear and sign here please. Beg pardon again for all the fuss."

"Don't beg pardon me, maggot...!" Albel started to yell as he exploded out of a flurry of pillows and blankets, but braked to a screeching stop as he laid eyes on the article wrapped in brown paper offered in the Nobleman's outstretched hands. It was, without a doubt, sword-shaped.

"Who sent you?" Albel demanded, to which the Nobleman rubbed at a hairy carbuncle on his chin as he decided how to answer.

"Ah now, it wouldn't be right to be telling names and all," the Nobleman mused, "But 'twas a very nice young 'un, I give ya that. Polite people, the salt of the earth. Sign here please."

Too curious now to argue any further, Albel scrawled the first rude word he could think of on the clipboard and snatched up his delivery, shredding the paper with his claws even as the Nobleman saluted a farewell and bungee jumped off the ledge back onto Peterny's streets. The Crimson Scourge hurried to Albel's side just in time for the big reveal.

The last bit of brown paper fell away from the hollow, plastic sword that was painted from the pommel to the tip in muted silver. It was a completely unassuming thing but for the sparkly blue jewel set just above the grip, encircled by a decorative hilt of four perfectly round spheres.

As though spellbound, Albel lifted one finger and pressed it to the shining orb, somehow knowing instinctively its true purpose.

"FOR THE HONOUR OF GREYSKULL! I AM SHE-RA!"

The Crimson Scourge gaped, unusually lost for words as the sword's cheesy voice finished blaring its nonsensical drivel. Albel stared at Fayt's gift in equally dumbfounded silence.

-What does this...-

"…mean?" Albel finished, his eyes never leaving the sword in his hands. He paused, brow furrowed in deep thought, before clarity suddenly spread like wildfire across his aesthetic face.

"Firstly, it means Fayt's not mad at me... and luckily for you," Albel paused to glare meaningfully at the Crimson Scourge, which managed to look contrite in response. "Secondly, it means we're even. And now that I think about it, this is too left field a gesture. There's more going on than we know about."

The Crimson Scourge tapped back and forth on the spot as it considered Albel's words. Being one of the brighter swords in existence, it didn't take long for it to twig on. -Do you mean to say… we merely gave the young one an opening?-

"To get me a gift? That's precisely what I'm getting at," Albel said, turning to look at the Crimson Scourge with triumphant eyes. For the first time in the past 24 hours, a hint of a wicked grin started playing around the corners of his mouth. "Think back - it all adds up, in my mind anyway. Could Fayt be following the same program?"

The Crimson Scourge all but squealed with delight as realisation dawned like light breaking from behind a bank of clouds. Yes… how had they both missed the clues? Everything involving Fayt so far had been pretty coincidental, but maybe there was more to it than had first seemed, and a flashback reel flipped rapidly through the Crimson Scourge's thoughts – Fayt, magically appearing as though summoned in the Diplo's kitchen. Fayt, proposing the duel that he must've known he could never win, sending Albel on a mad goose chase for a replacement sword. And now Fayt again, sending the wicked one a gift... under the guise of a gag rebuttal? To any casual observer, no connections would otherwise have been made. But for a fellow Lurve Program participant, the links were now glaringly obvious – unproven admittedly, but too significant to now ignore.

-What do we do now, oh wicked one? Is it time for a sweet confession under the moon?- The Crimson Scourge could barely suppress the glee in its mind voice at the thought, and the royalties that would come rolling in once it sold the rights to the future movie.

Albel sliced the air with his claws in a swift cutting motion. "No – feasible as it seems, we don't have any proof yet. But there's still two steps to go, so..."

-...so things should get so much easier from here if the young one's reciprocating. Oh, what a pleasant turn of events!-

Life was finally perking up, and about time too. It seemed like the gods had had it in for Albel since forever, and now that a beacon of hope flickered on the horizon, he felt fit for purpose and re-energised. Albel lifted the plastic sword to the light, wondering what had befallen its mate, whether Fayt had laughed to see it, and what sort of backstreets he'd had to scour this morning to find another like it. Maybe, if all his theories really did align... wondering would become a thing of the past and he could ask those questions of Fayt, and much more. Albel closed his eyes for a moment to relish the thought, before laying the sword gently on the bed and turning towards the door.

"Right! Let's get out of here," Albel declared with new energy, pumping his fist into his steel palm. "A meal, then step three without delay."

-Let's boogie!- The Crimson Scourge agreed, blasting away the furnishings barricading the door to the room with a single projection of its aura, while accidentally setting off the duck-duck bomb and taking the door out at the same time.

Unbothered, Albel sauntered through the flames licking the wooden frame and disappeared around the corner to the bustling lobby, the Crimson Scourge dogging his heels as they re-entered a world that looked the same as yesterday at face value, but unbeknownst to all but them, was now a world lit up with light coming from the end of a very long tunnel.

And there we have it! It took six years, but Step 2 has officially concluded. :)

Next chapter: "Step #3: Dance with your lover!" Destruction strikes at the biggest party in Airyglyph, and she's determined to drive a permanent wedge between our star-crossed hopefuls. Can Albel and the Crimson Scourge rally against this unexpected threat? What has Fayt been hiding all along? Will it take another six years to find out? (Jks - it won't, I promise!)