Eric slowly crept along the wall of the hallway, making sure his footfalls were as silent as possible. Hacking the security devices to get into the basement of the complex was easy. Knocking out the guards was annoying, but doable. Finding Victor seemed to be the real issue here. He dropped his backpack on to the ground and unzipped it. A small whirr and a click later, and a large, metallic, spider-looking little robot crawled out of his bags. Each of the cameras mounted on its 'head' turned and focused up at its maker. Another matching robot crawled out of the bag and sat next to its kin, its metal legs clicking on the floor slightly as they fidgeted from side to side, seemingly eagerly awaiting orders.

“Find Victor. Let him loose.” The spiders clicked along the floor, making their way up to the wall and punching their way through the drop ceiling before skittering off out of sight.

He was nervous - but now he had something to do, at least. He was fine with anything as long as he was working at a solution. Standing around doing nothing, that’s what drove him nuts.

Eric sighed and walked in the other direction, one of his guns unholstered and aimed up as he walked. He carefully made his way around corner after corner as he searched. He narrowed his eyes as he found the first floor deserted. Down another set of stairs, he rounded a corner and stopped abruptly - pointing his gun at a man standing in front of him in the hallway.

"Hello, Eric."

"Uriel."

"Come to lose your other arm?"

Eric narrowed his eyes. "Maybe come to take one of yours."

"Let's see you try."

Eric dove behind the wall as a rain of bullets ricocheted down the hallway. Eric was good at counting. That's what he did. Math. Counting cards. Counting bullets. Waiting until he heard the last bullet fired out of Uriel's revolvers, he ducked out from behind the door. Uriel could reload quick, he didn't have much of an opening. Firing off his own gun, he swore as Uriel sidestepped into an open door. He only had a split second. Flipping a switch on the side of the heavily modified gun, he fired again - and nearly fell backwards with the force. The bullet shot through the wall, leaving a huge gaping hole in its wake - and a matching hole in every object and surface that was in its way.

Eric waited.

Silence.

Stepping forward nervously, he looked around the corner, pointing his gun down at Uriel's body, a large hole blown straight through his chest. "That's what you get, asshole... too bad it won’t take."

Victor hung in the room, his head spinning. He had lost track of how long he had been there - it could have been hours, could have been weeks. He could barely focus, the pain was so intense it made his vision blur around the edges. He couldn’t think around the hunger that consumed him. Cuts, holes, and burns covered his naked chest. He couldn’t heal them with no blood in his system.

He suddenly felt as if he was falling. He thought perhaps that death had taken him, but he was awoken by the sudden feeling of his head thwacking onto the floor. He snorted and groaned in pain. Death didn’t drop you on the floor. Or at least, he hoped not. He faintly heard a whirring noise.

Victor pushed himself up onto his knees and then stood up, wavering as he watched two mechanical spiders - undoubtedly his brother's pets - skitter to a door and start cutting through the locks. Victor grinned sadistically, his features twisted with rage and hunger. He dashed at the door as the last lock dropped to the ground, breaking through with his shoulder. The burn left by the silver cross adorning the door went unnoticed as he flew up the stairs, the smell of blood consuming him.

He burst through the door, and found himself in front of the people he wanted to torture the worst - his blood and pain hazed mind barely registering the faces of Zadkiel, Michael, and Raphael. Standing about gaping at him like idiots, he was clearly the last thing they expected.

“Good...” he growled.

Eric had many talents, he’d admit that to himself. Technical savvy was obviously his finest. Dragster, video-game fiend, card shark; they were all titles he coveted. But one thing he decidedly lacked was a sense of direction. As he walked down the same hallway for the second time, he started compiling plans in his head for a set of navigational goggles.

Suddenly, he heard a crash and screams from down another hallway. Eric took off running, skidding around another corner, running as fast as he could towards the sounds of havoc.

Eric skidded to a halt and wondered if he had just staggered onto the set of a horror movie.

His brain scrambled and scraped to try and wrap around the fact that what he was staring at were bodies. Human bodies. At least half a dozen soldiers lay dead in front of him. A stump of an arm lay next to his foot. Its white and gold cloth was stained with blood, but not enough - not enough blood for the wound. The white exposed bone in the lump protruded forth from the broken flesh, resembling a cut of steak left out on the counter too long, the juices having drained out.

Eric’s eyes wandered from the arm to follow a faint trail of blood that led to a crumpled heap, white and gold in a tangled mess. A tuft of hair poked out from under the other arm, twisted at an unnatural angle. He swallowed hard. The head of the man was hidden from view, stuffed underneath his lower torso. The man was broken in half, bent around the wrong way like a discarded toy.

Another body lay nearby. Eric studied it for a long time, trying to make sense out of the battered form. Eric’s mind finally made out that he was staring at what remained of Michael. The Crusader's eyes were locked wide, and his jaw was... his jaw was laying next to his body. Michael’s throat was torn open like someone had taken hold of his jaw and yanked it clean off. He could see the muscles of his throat, the stump of his tongue dangling to the side where it had torn free.

The third body was the worst - Zadkiel. Eric’s mind had gone numb as he stared at the mess. Her ribcage had been snapped open like a lobster. The organs were.... gone. She was torn open down the center and her insides were missing. He took a step towards the body involuntarily. It had to be wrong. They had to be there. Eric had to swallow back the bile that threatened the back of his throat. He could see Zadkiel's spine, with nothing in between.

He looked away and shut his eyes, but that was when he heard the sound. It sounded like a dog licking at a piece of meat. It was inhuman. The lapping drove a chill through Eric’s body. Something was horribly wrong with the noise. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. He had to look.

Eric dropped his gun to the ground and took a step back as he saw his brother bent over the body of a female soldier, his eyes shut as he leisurely licked at a hole in the side of her neck. He was... purring. There was a low, guttural rumble coming from him, like a satiated beast. The soldier's neck was twisted to one side, the wound was made by simply bending the head too far - ripping the flesh, not cutting it. The woman was dead, although, from the final frozen look on her face, she had been alive long enough.

Eric ran from the room and collapsed in a corner, retching.

It was a long time before Eric staggered back into the room and picked his gun up off of the floor. His hands were shaking and he had no strength to force them to stop. He looked for his brother and found him sitting against a wall, his knees pulled up against his body and his forehead resting against them. Victor had his arms wrapped around his legs, hugging them close to his body. His arms were covered in blood, his whole body caught in fits of trembling.

“Vic...” Eric said slowly, taking a few cautious steps towards him, his hand still on his gun. His steps were apprehensive.

“Get away...” Victor said quietly, slurring his words.

“Vic," he repeated.

“Get away!” Victor roared and flew to his feet in a swift unnatural movement. Eric staggered back, pointing his gun at his brother. Victor's eyes locked on the gun, then past it at Eric. His older brother backed away from him and collapsed against the wall, sobs wracking his body.

Eric stood there, his body shaking. It took every ounce of him to lower the gun and put it back in its holster.

“You’re afraid,” Victor said quietly and wiped the tears from his eyes. “You should be. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t deal with - I couldn’t. The hunger. They tortured me, and the hunger took over.” Victor began to sob. “Eric...”

Eric wanted to run to his brother - but fear twisted in his gut. He couldn’t go near him. He stood there and stared at his brother for what seemed like hours. Finally, he turned and looked around the room slowly. Something was missing. No, someone. “Where’s Muse?”

Victor wiped his eyes and let out a long shuddering breath. “Dunno... I came in here... the old woman was... chanting something...”

Eric tried to ignore the torn up bodies and the blood. He walked to the center of the room and saw the chair and the restraints. He narrowed his eyes slightly. How could you restrain a ghost? He saw the table on its side and a tall blueish-greenish-black glass bottle on the ground near it, a cork shoved in the neck of the bottle. A book lay on the ground, spattered lightly with blood.

This gave him something to think about - anything else to focus on except the carnage. Eric walked around the mess to the book and leaned down, peering at the words. Most of it made little sense to him, as it was all in Latin. He sighed, knowing that the book was a useless clue unless he could read it. “I don’t know where she is... I don’t know what they were up to...” Eric picked up the book, shut it, and tucked it under his arm. “Maybe Isaac can make sense of this.”

“Yeah...” Victor forced himself to walk forward, to put each foot in front of the other and to go to the door.

Eric finally looked at his brother and saw the wounds covering his chest and arms. They looked like they were healing, but he winced, unable to imagine the pain his brother suffered.

The trek out of the base took place in silent, the wait in the car was the same. After an hour without Muse showing up, Eric started the long and wordless drive back to the house.

“And... so... that’s... about it,” Eric finished quietly. He intently studied the pattern of the carpet and drummed his fingers on his thighs, a nervous habit he shared with his brother. Anything but looking at Isaac where he sat in his chair. If this didn’t make him fly off the handle, what would?

Isaac had his eyes shut in the leather seat, his fingers steepled in front of his face. He hadn’t moved since the story began and Eric would have guessed him for a statue if he didn’t know better.

Eric looked around at the large library. He tried not to look at Isaac, afraid that the dark haired man might set him on fire with a thought. Every muscle in his body was tight. He was worried about Victor, who was holed up in the room they used as a pseudo-infirmary. He honestly didn't know how he felt about his older brother right now. Flashes of imagery and memories from earlier in the night rushed forward. He forced them away, struggling to keep his thoughts on the problem at hand. He was worried about Muse, who was still missing. He was also worried about himself, hoping he would survive Isaac’s ire.

Isaac slowly opened his eyes and looked over the rim of his glasses at Eric. He turned his gaze to the table with the various items laying scattered across its surface. He leaned forward and picked up the blood-spattered brown leather book. Flipping through a few of the pages he found two stuck together by dried blood. Annoyed with the ill care of the text, Isaac carefully began peeling the pages apart. Finally succeeding, he scanned the text. Letting out a long and exasperated sigh, Isaac stood up and started towards the door carrying the leather book.

“Um... Isaac?”

Isaac stopped walking but didn’t turn or speak.

“I’m sorry...” Eric said quietly.

Isaac simply resumed walking.

A gaping black hole - glowing white writing of some archaic origin swirling around the edges - formed on the wall. Stretching itself larger, the blackness seemed to lead to nowhere. Isaac stepped out of it, the black circle shrinking and then vanishing behind him.

Isaac stood in the center of the room, staring down at the aluminum chair in front of him. He wrinkled his nose. The room reeked of magic. Magic and rotting meat. He turned his head to look around the room and could feel the carnage that took place there. He would have smiled if all the bodies were still there. The bodies of the soldiers lay where they had been discarded, but the bodies he had hoped for were gone. What blood had been spilled onto the floor remained, dried to rusty-brown puddles and streaks.

“Raphael,” Isaac sighed and shook his head, then started to walk around the room slowly. The child was starting to test his patience, constantly undoing all their hard work. Pacing around it once, he stopped again by the chair and looked down at the ground in front of him. A table was overturned on its side, and he tilted his head slightly as he saw the little glass bottle laying on the ground. Leaning down, he picked it up by the cork and hissed. Dropping the bottle with a snarl, Isaac glared down at the offending bottle, frustrated. He looked down at his hand, seeing the burn left by the bottle slowly fade as his body healed itself.

Isaac pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket with a small disgruntled noise. Reaching down, he wrapped the silk around the bottle and stood up. Looking around the room one last time before turning to leave, he headed towards the wall. Without even as much as a gesture, the same black hole reappeared, widening to allow him through. He looked down at the bottle in his hand.

“Really, Muse... you’re starting to be as much of a burden as the others," he smirked, “Although - you don’t leave the kitchen a mess.”

Walking into his study, Isaac shut the door behind him and crossed the room to his desk. He placed the glass bottle atop it and loosened his tie with a small yank to one side. He sat unmoving for a long time, his eyes narrowed slightly at the little bottle in front of him. This was troublesome to him on more than one level. He found himself with a rather serious internal debate.

"You realize," he spoke, knowing quite well she couldn't hear him. "That it would solve all of my problems to simply leave you like this. I hope that you would not think it was an act of spite,” he reached out and gripped the bottle by the glass - which did not burn his flesh like the cork, and rotated it slowly, looking and the swirling blue-black mass within the green bottle. “You would not believe me if I told you that more good would come to you, and all of us, to take advantage of this situation and to leave you trapped within that glass,” he said with a sigh.

“I do not know if you understand what is about to happen to you, Muse… I certainly know you would laugh if I told you that I - against all odds - am only attempting to save the world as we know it,” he chuckled idly. “But it seems, that... one does not simply leave another behind, as you said. You did not leave me to the Crusaders, it would be in poor taste to leave you to them." He let out a slow breath and pushed his glasses up his nose with the shove of a ring finger. "My dear, you are going to cause me no end of trouble."

Reaching out, Isaac grasped the glass bottle in one hand and the cork in the other and yanked. Hissing in pain he pulled his hand back from the cork and watched as the charred darkened flesh on his palm slowly faded back to its usual color, wisps of smoke rising from it. An idiotic attempt, but it was often the obvious that was overlooked in situations like these.

He placed the bottle back on the desk and thought the situation over for a while longer before standing up from his chair and walking to a bookcase. Pulling down a jar of black liquid he returned to his desk and took a long paintbrush from a drawer. Dipping it slowly into the black liquid he painted it around the rim of the cork. The weird substance began to bubble, hiss, sizzle... and then abruptly caught fire.

Swearing, Isaac rolled his chair sharply back from his desk and blew out the flame. He sighed and sat back down in the chair and leaned back, his fingers steepled in front of his face again. Neither of them were getting any older, or apparently had anything better to do, so he took his time thinking over his options. Then, like the proverbial light bulb, he groaned with a sudden realization. Yes. Often it was the obvious that was overlooked. Even he was the fool sometimes.

Opening a drawer to the bottom left on his drawer, he began to dig and search for something - glass rattling as he pushed jars and bottles aside. Pulling out a small wooden box, he leaned back and opened it up. Isaac took a pinch of white powder and dropped it over the bottle. The cork glowed bright, shining white light like a flare - but the bottle did not. Isaac laughed and groaned at the same time. "Idiots," he murmured to himself quietly. The cork was enchanted. But not the glass bottle itself.

When the light flickered and went out he picked up the bottle by the glass and stood up. Facing the other side of the room, he looked down at the bottle in his hands. “You will never know, I suspect, the danger I am placing us all in by freeing you… God in hell, forgive me,” and with that, he lobbed the container at the far wall of his office. The glass shattered and bits of green glass rained down on the wood floor and carpet. The glass touching the cork remained perfectly intact.

“Shitheads!” Muse roared from nowhere in particular.

“Ah, yes, good to see you are ever charming as usual,” Isaac said with a smirk and sat back down.

Muse appeared standing in the middle of the floor and swore. “Those little sons of bitches!” she yelled, shaking. She shut her eyes and sat down on the floor, feeling suddenly very lightheaded. She looked worse for wear, seeming to fade in and out of her physical form. Isaac was, though he would not admit it out loud, impressed by her control to maintain it at all.

“Muse, you should not overexert yourself right now."

“Good call..." The young ghost put her hand to her head. “I’m dizzy… How can you feel dizzy when you’re dead…?”

“Do not debate it, my dear, and rest yourself.”

“Yeah…” She let her body dissolve into nothingness. Isaac still found it fascinating to watch.

“We will have a long talk once you have recuperated.”

Muse barely heard him as she floated weakly to the attic and instantly slipped into unconsciousness.