Blood Ties: Part III
Okay, I am back, but this time I come bearing warnings.
Warning: this chapter has extreme themes. If you do not like this, do not read
I have written this chapter as I think it is highly important for how character act later on. But it is graphic. Hojo, doing what he does best. For those of you uncomfortable with all that, the story is written in such a way that you can just know and assume Hojo is a sadistic bastard and what he is like, and skip this chapter altogether. I will not blame you if that is what you choose to do. But consider yourselves warned and very much so.
Title: Blood Ties
Anime: Final Fantasy VII crossed with Vampire: The Masquerade
Setting: AU, set in the world of Vampire: The Masquerade, complete with Camarilla and all it's clans
Pairings: Zack x Sephiroth, Sephiroth x Zack
Rating: 18+
Warnings: This one is violent, technically bloodplay, torture and extreme themes in some chapters
Summary: The Camarilla is rotten to the core. The anarchic Brujah decide to take a stand, and approach the Gangrel to ask them to honour the old alliances, the Blood Ties...
~> Chapter 1; ~> Chapter 2
Blood Ties
His throat was raw. Screaming, endless screaming. It never stopped. He knew it was him screaming though never seemed real. The only reality he knew was pain, indescribable agonies, and the howling of beasts as they ripped him apart again and again and again. It was only his mind, his soul they tore at, unable to get out of the prison of flesh unless he was provoked in the right way. All the time he was fighting them down, these new demons he had been given. And they fought back, so when he wasn’t being cut open, injected, prodded, altered, the last traces of humanity being ripped from his vampire soul, becoming more and more the monster the madman wanted him to be, the demons filled the time in between with pain.
He was becoming familiar with it, acid burns that scorched his bones, claws that rent his mind and soul into tiny pieces, teeth that tore out great gobbets of his being and swallowed them down. He was becoming used to losing himself piece by piece. He wished they would hurry up, finish the job rather than tear him apart piece meal. No, he couldn’t think like that. His brother would come for him. He had to survive, had to prove the warrior he was for his little brother, or he too would somehow be shattered by what had been done to him. His brother was his responsibility, he couldn’t let him be pushed into madness by finding him gone and lost in mind, a mere shell of flesh housing the demons, a construct altered and designed to the whims of a sadistic scientist.
He ignored his scream as something was welded into his open forearm, tortured flesh shining wetly with blood. He had to exist, he had to survive, even as his body trembled and shook under this torture aggravating every wound the man had inflicted on him, and was refusing to let heal. His red eyes were open and unseeing, he had fled into his mind, the corner that was yet untouched by the ravages of madman and demon alike. Spittle tinged pink with blood foamed at the corners of his mouth, dripping down his jaws as every heaving breath was sucked in and out through clenched teeth, fangs bared. Endure… must survive… cannot let myself be destroyed… ignore the pain… freedom will come… brother… … … Sephiroth…
~*~*~*~*~*~
Darkness… the darkness was his only friend… only solace… his anchor in this world. There was only one thing else in this world he craved, the light, his brother the embodiment of that light. Opposites… he calm and strong, shining and radiant, and then there was himself, the darkness, devourer of all things. Even his dearest brother in all his strength and glory could only withstand being physically close for short periods of time, the darkness eating away at him just like everything else. But he had always been there, able to calm and soothe. And there was so much to soothe, so many terrible things lurked and tormented him in the darkness. It was inescapable. As he controlled the darkness, it being at his command and a part of him, in return he was a part of it, never able to escape it, bound to it just as his body was bound in restraints.
And then they had taken his brother away from him, he was alone with the darkness as it ate away at his mind, what sanity he had fretting away like acid corrosion of metal. He lay weeping and wailing, the darkness pulsing and flaring in response to his emotions, unimpeded by such mundane things as doors and walls. True he could use the darkness to transport himself to other places, and could do so to see his brother, but not when he was chained and anchored to a lump of metal and stone four times his size. He simply could not move it, and while the darkness would slowly eat away at the mass, it took so very long, and all he could do was weep and cry and beg for his brother, for some comfort in the freezing cold that was his reality.
He twisted and fretted in his restraint jacket and his chains, arms crossed over his shoulder and pulled tight, weeping pitifully, and occasionally loosing a plaintive wail for his brother as he was left alone… in the dark…
~*~*~*~*~*~
In the suspension tank blue eyes open blearily, trying to see through the green. Everything is blurred and far away. He’s weak, weaker than a kitten, reaching futilely for the glass, trying to break it. He has only enough strength to just about scratch it with his small claws. He can hear the screams, even through the thick liquid and glass, even though the suffering vampire was three rooms away and out of his sight. The screams cut through him like a knife, and he knew he might be next. He had to get out of here before they came for him. But he was trapped in this prison of liquid and glass, forced to breathe the fluid like he was a baby in the womb. It was eating away at him, burning and consuming him inside and out, sapping his strength and ability, poisoning him slowly, little by little.
Had he been there to see, Hojo would have been impressed and intrigued at the lucidity and awareness the blond was showing. He should be grateful that the Professor was not here to see, that he did not pique his interest. Let that remain with the poor bastard who was screaming, the sound hoarse and ragged, defiant and plaintive at the same time. It had been all he had heard since he came here. He had thought it would stop after a few hours but it had gone on for days and days… he didn’t know how anyone could keep screaming for so long. So he floated, scratching at the glass, lips forming words no-one could hear, wanting to cry but unable to do so in his liquid prison, his anguish unseen and unheeded, despairing in the green.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Dark… no more bright laboratory lights… the pain worryingly absent… demons suspiciously quiet. A reprieve. He did not like reprieves; they were the harbingers of worse horrors. What was that bastard in the bloodstained white coat up to now? He was also lying on his side, on what felt like a thin mattress; what’s more, he was actually wearing some kind of trousers. Well this was an unusual kindness. Really didn’t trust this at all. He went to move, his left arm feeling strange and heavy. Not that that should surprise him, considering what the bastard was doing to it. He didn’t really comprehend what the aim of his cutting and welding and stitching and… no he hadn’t seen the point, too blinded by pain and the new internal struggle with his demons. He did a mental check… no, no new ones this time. He had woken up to find an extra monster in his head on four occasions now.
He never remembered what it was that caused him to pass out. But it was never that the Professor had given him something to knock him out. He was too interested in his reaction to the ‘stimuli’ as he worked. Nothing to dull the pain, every twitch and scream recorded so he could use the data to analyse later. He tentatively reached out to explore the left arm, strangely without pain. There was no way the bastard could have given him relief was there? He didn’t have it in him. His breath caught as his fingers brushed over the coolness of what was plainly metal. He didn’t dare move the arm any more than necessary, not trusting it and he hauled himself into sitting up to look at it.
He didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh, cry, weep, scream or what as he looked at the brass casing on his arm. Shaped into a wicked gauntlet, complete with razor sharp claws, each finger exquisitely articulated. It was a sick joke, but as he compared his arms side by side, looking at the lines, he wondered just how much of his own flesh still remained beneath it; if anything, the appendage was now slightly slimmer than his right arm. Swallowing hard, shaking in fear/rage/sorrow he tentatively tried to move it, and found it moved to his command, completely a part if his being. With a roar of pent up emotion he slammed the offending appendage into the wall, leaving a large dent in the metal, and giving him a shock as he discovered that it gave him feedback. True the arm itself had no feeling, but by some remarkable feat of what he could only assume was electronics, his hand responded to it with pain that was akin to normal feeling.
He explored the palm of his new ‘hand’ finding the sensations strange, but similar to how they had been before. Inspection of where the metal reached the joint of the elbow revealed that the metal had been fused to his flesh, and he felt sick to his stomach as he could make out the tiny wires snaking into the flesh of his arm. So that was not coming off any time soon. He didn’t know how to feel, what to do. The torture had stopped, but that was evidently to allow his new ‘enhancement’ to settle into place, then who knew what would be in store for him next. He looked up to examine his prison. A new one this time. Every time he woke up in these reprieves the holding cells became more and more fortified. Well that would be because the scientist continued to make him stronger.
The metal cladding the wall had held up even after attacking it with the gauntlet. He was tempted to try shredding at the walls with his new weapon but he thought that would probably be futile, there was no way he was put in here without being able to be kept in, the madman would have thought of that. He had better count his blessings. He was alive, he was aware, and while he had been altered, his mind was still his own, the other presences had not taken that over, and only did when their forms were forced forward. In fact their dormancy, their lack of attempting to force their way in, was proof that he had probably been injected with some cocktail to keep them quiet, much as was done when he lay on the laboratory table. They were giving him peace, time to gather his strength. No doubt he was going to be expected to use it too. There was nothing else he could do other than get some sleep, and await whatever was going to come.
~*~*~*~*~*~
He hadn’t known that they were going to do it, only aware of the sting in his neck before he succumbed to the darkness. He had woken, strapped face down, naked on a cold steel laboratory table. He could see his brother and momentarily his heart had leapt for joy. Until he realised that his brother was unconscious, and a sword rested on the back of his neck. Then the horrid scientist had come in, the one whose voice tore through his tortured mind like nails on a blackboard. He only had to speak to make him uncomfortable. He had tried to scramble away, to use his darkness to get out of there, but then they had cut his brother. It was simple, he was going to lie there and let them do what they wanted to him, or his brother would pay the price. Just a little enhancement…
Oh it had been agony, and he had screamed, but someone always was down in this hell. Though compared to the agony of the darkness he had endured for countless days and nights it had been nothing. Physical pain never compared to what he lived with on a permanent basis. He now knelt in his cell, not restrained, because his brother lay before him, recovering from whatever drug they had given him. The heavy weight at his back pulled and ached, the skin tearing and bleeding every time he moved, only to heal again. He had been given… wings. Skeletal frames that had been grafted to muscle and bone, wired into his nerves. He couldn’t stand, not just yet, he was not used to their weight, though he was used to the pain by now.
The ugly constructs had begun to respond to his will, though he had no desire to explore what he could or couldn’t do with them just yet. He was content to have his brother back. He lay watching him breathe, reassured that he was alive, that he was well. His brother was strong, nothing they could do to him would stop him. One day his brother would get them out of here, one day they would be free, and no one would ever separate them again. Though he longed to lie at his side, to bathe in his light, he did no such thing. He could barely move yet, and he did not want to hurt his slumbering brother. But he managed to lie down, smiling softly to himself as he looked at his brother. And he slipped into a fevered slumber, and calmer dreams than he’d had for days.
~*~*~*~*~*~
He was jolted awake as the green was suddenly drained away. He collapsed on the metal grid on the floor, coughing the thick, burning fluid out of his lungs and vomiting it up from his stomach, leaving his throat and mouth raw and bloody. As he gasped for breath, his body trying to recall how to breathe air again, he lay in a crumpled heap shivering, blinking the sticky green muck out of his eyes. Rough hands dragged his naked and trembling form upright, though his feet would not hold him and he was dragged along. Every touch was agony, his skin raw from the poison he had been suspended in, the abused flesh bruising and splitting under their harsh grip, tearing as his feet dragged along the floor.
He was a mess when he was laid on the cold metal of a laboratory table, strapped down, agonisingly cold. He was barely keeping conscious when a figure leaned over him, sneering disapprovingly.
“The specimen’s negative reaction to the suspension fluid is most disappointing, a most inferior subject.”
He could hear the disgust in the tone, could just about make out the white lab coat, stained with splashes and streaks of red, the glasses and the dark hair. He could feel his breath against his oversensitive skin as he leaned over him.
“Mako levels will need to be tested, to understand the best way forward, with luck the specimen will be salvageable.”
A thing, an object without a name, that was what he had become. Powerless, afraid, useless and in pain. He didn’t know how long he lay there, the man in the white coat prodding at him despairing as he couldn’t slide a needle into him without his flesh almost dissolving under the abuse, his raw throat unable to scream as the pain tore at him. Always the muttering, never ceasing, how worthless, how pitiful, how ridiculous it was to work with such inferior materials. Then suddenly a change in his attitude came. The man was suddenly hovering over him fascinated as the pain suddenly left him, he could breathe without the air seeming to scorch his lungs, his strength seemed to suddenly return as his sight finally cleared. Feeling himself again he suddenly lunged in his restraints, hearing something snap, his right shoulder and upper arm came free and he surged upwards, looking to break free.
Several pairs of strong hands pinned him down and he snarled, snapping teeth, trying to force the shape change he was now familiar with. The slightest sting of a needle in his arm, the flesh now whole and responding as normal and he stiffened as ice seemed to radiate from the injection site. All at once he could not reach for his ability to change, his Protean kept from him by the strange drug that filled him with indescribable cold. The strong hands eventually pinned him down and he was restrained again. Now he could fully see the scientist and his foul grin as he peered at him over the rim of his glasses.
“Fascinating. The subject seems to take to the mako suspension negatively, displaying all the signs of poisoning and lack of resistance. Upon removing him from the solution he displays no signs of healing, and in fact is in such poor condition as to be impossible to work with. However given time, a delayed reaction occurs, and the subject seems to absorb the mako, healing being almost instantaneous, and displaying increased strength. Suspension may not be the way forward, a series of tests into reaction to mako injection will need to be done, once blood samples and tissue tests reveal what is going on in this delayed reaction.”
Monologue at an end the scientist leaned in close to his face, and he lunged suddenly forward, looking to bite and tear at the small man. But his target leapt deftly out of the way laughing, thoroughly amused.
“Subject also displays raised levels of aggression. Most intriguing; not quite so useless after all. Who knew that so much potential lay within such an unassuming shell?”
He growled at the obnoxious little man, the sound wild and feral. He wanted to rant and rave at the man, but he knew he was only inviting further hardship if he did and so had to lie back and bear whatever was coming, while he tried to work out how to get out of this place. What came next was another round of taking samples, this time much easier and far less painful since his body had recovered from whatever it had been put through while he had been trapped here. He could only remember the tank, floating in the green. The wiry little man continued to poke and prod, the running commentary continuing on and off.
“All signs of corneal corrosion from mako suspension have now healed over completely, eyes are clear and bright, though the normal glow seems to be brighter than average, possibly due to the mako exposure and absorption, that will have to be tested further…”
And so it went on. He found himself drifting, letting his mind free from his body as samples were examined and worked on, results ranted to whatever recording equipment was listening to the white coated man as he worked. The scientist wasn’t hurting him for now, was more annoying than anything, and while he carried on he could try to figure a way out of this. Think… what would Zack do? That was the problem; Zack probably wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. Just how had he gotten here anyway? All he could remember was hunting in the forests outside Midgar, then suddenly a sting of pain in the back of his neck almost as if he had been shot. Then he had woken up in the tank, feeling his strength slowly fading away.
But he had no more time to think on it as the scientist approached him, obviously done with one set of tests and ready to start another. He had a syringe in hand, filled with a glowing green solution, deeper in colour than the acrid liquid he had been suspended in, though it was what he was distinctly reminded of.
“Let’s start you with a 5cc dose directly into a major artery shall we?”
As the needle slid into his groin, locating his femoral artery with sickening ease, liquid fire was injected into him, and he suddenly discovered that it was his turn to scream.
~*~*~*~*~*~
“Get up.”
Well that was an unceremonious wakeup call.
“Get up!”
His arm ached, he was in no mood to go anywhere, and the longer he could avoid the madman’s games he would.
“I said get up!”
This time the demand was punctuated with a kick, strong enough to fling him across the room and send him crashing into the wall. Now he was awake, red eyes opening and blazing as he took in the fact he was not in his cell at all, that he was in an open holding area, being faced down by the biggest vampire he had ever seen, plainly a berserker of some kind. It was evident that he was also heavily modified, and that they were intended to fight each other. A fist the size of his head came for him and he had to move surprisingly quickly to get out of its path in time, the massive appendage smashing into the wall behind him. But he was wrong in assuming that because of his size, the huge man would be slow in moving. He had not anticipated the blow from the other fist, still groggy from sleep, his body not responding to his commands as he was used to, after all that had been done to him.
Pain crashed through his ribs and suddenly he had a battle in his mind as well, his Beast roused and the Demons with it. He swung out clumsily in retaliation only to have the massive fist hit the soft flesh of his stomach with the force of truck. That was all it took for his fragile hold on the monsters within, and he screamed in agony as his mind was torn at by the creatures he was host to. He was abruptly shoved into a place in his consciousness where all he could do was watch as the demons shattered his awareness, his vision splintering in shards of white hot agony, clawing and tearing their way through his mind in a bloody swathe. An inhuman roar escaped his changing throat, body deforming, changing all at once, leathery wings ripping out of the flesh of his back in a spray of crimson that painted the walls and his assailant, making the berserker step back in shock.
The sickening sound of flesh tearing wetly, bones popping as his body rearranged itself, not the clean, practised change of his Protean form, and the demon took control of his flesh, forced it into its shape, forced him out of consciousness leaving him gone and the berserker faced with the monster. With a roar it launched itself at the huge form of his assailant and he knew no more.
~*~*~*~*~*~
“The subject performed remarkably well in the test, the Protean Beast manipulations forcing their way forward with enough stimuli, though the change is not controlled, not willed, and could be improved…”
He woke, aching and sore to the sound of the voice he had come to loathe, speaking with evident distaste, but also undisguised excitement. He could smell blood everywhere, the scent pervasive, taking over everything. He tried to move, biting his lip to avoid making a sound and draw attention to him, but he was too weak, and in too much pain to do so.
“Take him back to his holding cell, we need to work on controlling the transformation, but the claw was a wonderful success.”
As foul breath invaded his senses he blearily opened his eyes to see the scientist right up in his face. He wanted to recoil, but all that he managed was a weak flinch and groan.
“Even awake. The transformation takes a lot of energy from the subject, but the subject is proving remarkably resilient regardless. A superb performance in battle.”
He could vaguely see the massive form of the berserker being dragged out of the room, and he was not a pretty sight. The scientist sighed and shrugged.
“A certain amount of collateral damage but this was to be expected. Put him in a mako suspension bath and I will work on him later. And clean up this mess.” He snapped to the men dragging the heavily injured man away.
Finally the foul scientist was gone, but strong hands were pulling him upright, or trying to, their grip slipping as something slick impeded their ability to hold him. Logic told him what it was, though he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He just closed his eyes and let them take him back, unresisting, aching for rest and a moment to take stock. As they left him in his holding cell he had a splitting headache that was slowly fading, revealing in its retreat that the monsters within were quiet. He dared to open his eyes at last, his body trembling in exhaustion and the strain of all it had been put through. He was whole, something remarkable from what he could remember of the demon taking control. He was streaked in red, long, sable hair matted to his bare shoulders with it, though it appeared that none of it was his. There wasn’t even any bruising from the massive fists.
His left arm hurt and ached and he dared to look at it. His stomach churned as he saw shreds of torn flesh caught in the joints of it, and he had no way to get rid of them. All at once his stomach clenched, and he only just managed to turn in time to void the contents of his stomach in a steaming pile of the floor. He shook in disgust as he saw the pile of chunks of flesh, all untouched by digestion they were so freshly taken inside his body, and he realised that the ache in his jaws came from ripping chunks out of his opponent, and evidently swallowing them down. Probably the demon had enjoyed it too. He finally broke down and wept, unable to keep up the front anymore as he was faced with the monstrosity of what he was becoming. He was despairing, his heart breaking, body wracked with sobs as he began to lose all hope of ever getting out of here. Even if he did, he was no longer a vampire; he was a Beast, a monster, not worthy of rescue. Maybe Sephiroth knew, maybe that was why he wasn’t coming.
His shoulders shook with violent sobs as the realisation that he was not coming rocked him so deeply, broke something deep within him leaving him feeling raw and vulnerable and so scared he would never be able to voice it. He had never been terrified of anything, confident in his strength, his powers, his abilities. Now he was reduced to a weeping wreck, frightened and alone, and even with his increased strength and power from all the ‘enhancements’, he was still unable to protect or free himself from this hell he had fallen into. He crawled into the corner, wishing only to die, for this torment to end, for some kind of surcease from his agony.
The corridors shook with the force of the anguished wail coming from the cells.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Shivering he woke up at the chilling cry. It died away, but it left him feeling afraid, shaken. As he began to move he found that the pain from the injections had left echoes in his frame, a frame that seemed to be changing with every dose. He was lying down, but he wasn’t bound which was a shock. At least it wasn’t the suspension tube, that poison that seemed to slowly digest him almost. It was a relief to find the change in his imprisonment, though he wondered what it meant. This place was a hall of screams, of pain, he had heard them all. But that last cry… it was of a pain so deep, so visceral it made him shake, and he curled up into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest for cold comfort in this evil place. That sound had come from a creature so utterly despondent it terrified him. He knew that it might be his fate, that in the near future, it might be him that screamed like that…
~*~*~*~*~*~
He was bitterly disappointed when he woke up again. He had hoped that he would fall into sleep and never wake, that he had ceased to be of use or interest. But he had no such luck. It was the laboratory again, on his back, bright lights stinging his eyes. It was getting to the point where he could call this place home now. Ridiculous really, he barely remembered the place any more. He lay uncaring as the scientist did as he always did, walking around him, preparing for whatever foul experiment he had planned next. He no longer minded, no… he actually welcomed it. Maybe it would be so terrible he would not survive the procedure and he would be released from the chains binding him to life. He didn’t flinch as the scientist leaned over him, rank breath that would normally sicken him offering him some kind of twisted hope.
“Now let’s see if we can do something about that transformation of yours.”
He eyed the orb the scientist held up with disinterest, he didn’t care what the device was meant to do, red eyes flat. His normally bright ruby orbs were windows to his soul, now not much more than dull, lifeless mirrors of the world around him. He didn’t care about anything anymore. To the glee of his reluctant passengers something in his mind and heart had snapped, leaving him cold and empty. He didn’t even scream as the scalpel cut into his flesh.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Rufus was anxious. There was something on the wind, something intangible that he couldn’t quite grasp. It excited him in a visceral way he couldn’t explain. After all this waiting, could now be the time? Dark Nation rested her head in his lap, purring deeply as he petted the immense feline. He smiled as he heard the door open quietly behind him without so much as a knock. He knew that soft and light tread. He didn’t need to see the reflection to know who it was.
“And?”
Tseng responded with just three words.
“They are coming.”
Warning: this chapter has extreme themes. If you do not like this, do not read
I have written this chapter as I think it is highly important for how character act later on. But it is graphic. Hojo, doing what he does best. For those of you uncomfortable with all that, the story is written in such a way that you can just know and assume Hojo is a sadistic bastard and what he is like, and skip this chapter altogether. I will not blame you if that is what you choose to do. But consider yourselves warned and very much so.
Title: Blood Ties
Anime: Final Fantasy VII crossed with Vampire: The Masquerade
Setting: AU, set in the world of Vampire: The Masquerade, complete with Camarilla and all it's clans
Pairings: Zack x Sephiroth, Sephiroth x Zack
Rating: 18+
Warnings: This one is violent, technically bloodplay, torture and extreme themes in some chapters
Summary: The Camarilla is rotten to the core. The anarchic Brujah decide to take a stand, and approach the Gangrel to ask them to honour the old alliances, the Blood Ties...
~> Chapter 1; ~> Chapter 2
Blood Ties
His throat was raw. Screaming, endless screaming. It never stopped. He knew it was him screaming though never seemed real. The only reality he knew was pain, indescribable agonies, and the howling of beasts as they ripped him apart again and again and again. It was only his mind, his soul they tore at, unable to get out of the prison of flesh unless he was provoked in the right way. All the time he was fighting them down, these new demons he had been given. And they fought back, so when he wasn’t being cut open, injected, prodded, altered, the last traces of humanity being ripped from his vampire soul, becoming more and more the monster the madman wanted him to be, the demons filled the time in between with pain.
He was becoming familiar with it, acid burns that scorched his bones, claws that rent his mind and soul into tiny pieces, teeth that tore out great gobbets of his being and swallowed them down. He was becoming used to losing himself piece by piece. He wished they would hurry up, finish the job rather than tear him apart piece meal. No, he couldn’t think like that. His brother would come for him. He had to survive, had to prove the warrior he was for his little brother, or he too would somehow be shattered by what had been done to him. His brother was his responsibility, he couldn’t let him be pushed into madness by finding him gone and lost in mind, a mere shell of flesh housing the demons, a construct altered and designed to the whims of a sadistic scientist.
He ignored his scream as something was welded into his open forearm, tortured flesh shining wetly with blood. He had to exist, he had to survive, even as his body trembled and shook under this torture aggravating every wound the man had inflicted on him, and was refusing to let heal. His red eyes were open and unseeing, he had fled into his mind, the corner that was yet untouched by the ravages of madman and demon alike. Spittle tinged pink with blood foamed at the corners of his mouth, dripping down his jaws as every heaving breath was sucked in and out through clenched teeth, fangs bared. Endure… must survive… cannot let myself be destroyed… ignore the pain… freedom will come… brother… … … Sephiroth…
~*~*~*~*~*~
Darkness… the darkness was his only friend… only solace… his anchor in this world. There was only one thing else in this world he craved, the light, his brother the embodiment of that light. Opposites… he calm and strong, shining and radiant, and then there was himself, the darkness, devourer of all things. Even his dearest brother in all his strength and glory could only withstand being physically close for short periods of time, the darkness eating away at him just like everything else. But he had always been there, able to calm and soothe. And there was so much to soothe, so many terrible things lurked and tormented him in the darkness. It was inescapable. As he controlled the darkness, it being at his command and a part of him, in return he was a part of it, never able to escape it, bound to it just as his body was bound in restraints.
And then they had taken his brother away from him, he was alone with the darkness as it ate away at his mind, what sanity he had fretting away like acid corrosion of metal. He lay weeping and wailing, the darkness pulsing and flaring in response to his emotions, unimpeded by such mundane things as doors and walls. True he could use the darkness to transport himself to other places, and could do so to see his brother, but not when he was chained and anchored to a lump of metal and stone four times his size. He simply could not move it, and while the darkness would slowly eat away at the mass, it took so very long, and all he could do was weep and cry and beg for his brother, for some comfort in the freezing cold that was his reality.
He twisted and fretted in his restraint jacket and his chains, arms crossed over his shoulder and pulled tight, weeping pitifully, and occasionally loosing a plaintive wail for his brother as he was left alone… in the dark…
~*~*~*~*~*~
In the suspension tank blue eyes open blearily, trying to see through the green. Everything is blurred and far away. He’s weak, weaker than a kitten, reaching futilely for the glass, trying to break it. He has only enough strength to just about scratch it with his small claws. He can hear the screams, even through the thick liquid and glass, even though the suffering vampire was three rooms away and out of his sight. The screams cut through him like a knife, and he knew he might be next. He had to get out of here before they came for him. But he was trapped in this prison of liquid and glass, forced to breathe the fluid like he was a baby in the womb. It was eating away at him, burning and consuming him inside and out, sapping his strength and ability, poisoning him slowly, little by little.
Had he been there to see, Hojo would have been impressed and intrigued at the lucidity and awareness the blond was showing. He should be grateful that the Professor was not here to see, that he did not pique his interest. Let that remain with the poor bastard who was screaming, the sound hoarse and ragged, defiant and plaintive at the same time. It had been all he had heard since he came here. He had thought it would stop after a few hours but it had gone on for days and days… he didn’t know how anyone could keep screaming for so long. So he floated, scratching at the glass, lips forming words no-one could hear, wanting to cry but unable to do so in his liquid prison, his anguish unseen and unheeded, despairing in the green.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Dark… no more bright laboratory lights… the pain worryingly absent… demons suspiciously quiet. A reprieve. He did not like reprieves; they were the harbingers of worse horrors. What was that bastard in the bloodstained white coat up to now? He was also lying on his side, on what felt like a thin mattress; what’s more, he was actually wearing some kind of trousers. Well this was an unusual kindness. Really didn’t trust this at all. He went to move, his left arm feeling strange and heavy. Not that that should surprise him, considering what the bastard was doing to it. He didn’t really comprehend what the aim of his cutting and welding and stitching and… no he hadn’t seen the point, too blinded by pain and the new internal struggle with his demons. He did a mental check… no, no new ones this time. He had woken up to find an extra monster in his head on four occasions now.
He never remembered what it was that caused him to pass out. But it was never that the Professor had given him something to knock him out. He was too interested in his reaction to the ‘stimuli’ as he worked. Nothing to dull the pain, every twitch and scream recorded so he could use the data to analyse later. He tentatively reached out to explore the left arm, strangely without pain. There was no way the bastard could have given him relief was there? He didn’t have it in him. His breath caught as his fingers brushed over the coolness of what was plainly metal. He didn’t dare move the arm any more than necessary, not trusting it and he hauled himself into sitting up to look at it.
He didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh, cry, weep, scream or what as he looked at the brass casing on his arm. Shaped into a wicked gauntlet, complete with razor sharp claws, each finger exquisitely articulated. It was a sick joke, but as he compared his arms side by side, looking at the lines, he wondered just how much of his own flesh still remained beneath it; if anything, the appendage was now slightly slimmer than his right arm. Swallowing hard, shaking in fear/rage/sorrow he tentatively tried to move it, and found it moved to his command, completely a part if his being. With a roar of pent up emotion he slammed the offending appendage into the wall, leaving a large dent in the metal, and giving him a shock as he discovered that it gave him feedback. True the arm itself had no feeling, but by some remarkable feat of what he could only assume was electronics, his hand responded to it with pain that was akin to normal feeling.
He explored the palm of his new ‘hand’ finding the sensations strange, but similar to how they had been before. Inspection of where the metal reached the joint of the elbow revealed that the metal had been fused to his flesh, and he felt sick to his stomach as he could make out the tiny wires snaking into the flesh of his arm. So that was not coming off any time soon. He didn’t know how to feel, what to do. The torture had stopped, but that was evidently to allow his new ‘enhancement’ to settle into place, then who knew what would be in store for him next. He looked up to examine his prison. A new one this time. Every time he woke up in these reprieves the holding cells became more and more fortified. Well that would be because the scientist continued to make him stronger.
The metal cladding the wall had held up even after attacking it with the gauntlet. He was tempted to try shredding at the walls with his new weapon but he thought that would probably be futile, there was no way he was put in here without being able to be kept in, the madman would have thought of that. He had better count his blessings. He was alive, he was aware, and while he had been altered, his mind was still his own, the other presences had not taken that over, and only did when their forms were forced forward. In fact their dormancy, their lack of attempting to force their way in, was proof that he had probably been injected with some cocktail to keep them quiet, much as was done when he lay on the laboratory table. They were giving him peace, time to gather his strength. No doubt he was going to be expected to use it too. There was nothing else he could do other than get some sleep, and await whatever was going to come.
~*~*~*~*~*~
He hadn’t known that they were going to do it, only aware of the sting in his neck before he succumbed to the darkness. He had woken, strapped face down, naked on a cold steel laboratory table. He could see his brother and momentarily his heart had leapt for joy. Until he realised that his brother was unconscious, and a sword rested on the back of his neck. Then the horrid scientist had come in, the one whose voice tore through his tortured mind like nails on a blackboard. He only had to speak to make him uncomfortable. He had tried to scramble away, to use his darkness to get out of there, but then they had cut his brother. It was simple, he was going to lie there and let them do what they wanted to him, or his brother would pay the price. Just a little enhancement…
Oh it had been agony, and he had screamed, but someone always was down in this hell. Though compared to the agony of the darkness he had endured for countless days and nights it had been nothing. Physical pain never compared to what he lived with on a permanent basis. He now knelt in his cell, not restrained, because his brother lay before him, recovering from whatever drug they had given him. The heavy weight at his back pulled and ached, the skin tearing and bleeding every time he moved, only to heal again. He had been given… wings. Skeletal frames that had been grafted to muscle and bone, wired into his nerves. He couldn’t stand, not just yet, he was not used to their weight, though he was used to the pain by now.
The ugly constructs had begun to respond to his will, though he had no desire to explore what he could or couldn’t do with them just yet. He was content to have his brother back. He lay watching him breathe, reassured that he was alive, that he was well. His brother was strong, nothing they could do to him would stop him. One day his brother would get them out of here, one day they would be free, and no one would ever separate them again. Though he longed to lie at his side, to bathe in his light, he did no such thing. He could barely move yet, and he did not want to hurt his slumbering brother. But he managed to lie down, smiling softly to himself as he looked at his brother. And he slipped into a fevered slumber, and calmer dreams than he’d had for days.
~*~*~*~*~*~
He was jolted awake as the green was suddenly drained away. He collapsed on the metal grid on the floor, coughing the thick, burning fluid out of his lungs and vomiting it up from his stomach, leaving his throat and mouth raw and bloody. As he gasped for breath, his body trying to recall how to breathe air again, he lay in a crumpled heap shivering, blinking the sticky green muck out of his eyes. Rough hands dragged his naked and trembling form upright, though his feet would not hold him and he was dragged along. Every touch was agony, his skin raw from the poison he had been suspended in, the abused flesh bruising and splitting under their harsh grip, tearing as his feet dragged along the floor.
He was a mess when he was laid on the cold metal of a laboratory table, strapped down, agonisingly cold. He was barely keeping conscious when a figure leaned over him, sneering disapprovingly.
“The specimen’s negative reaction to the suspension fluid is most disappointing, a most inferior subject.”
He could hear the disgust in the tone, could just about make out the white lab coat, stained with splashes and streaks of red, the glasses and the dark hair. He could feel his breath against his oversensitive skin as he leaned over him.
“Mako levels will need to be tested, to understand the best way forward, with luck the specimen will be salvageable.”
A thing, an object without a name, that was what he had become. Powerless, afraid, useless and in pain. He didn’t know how long he lay there, the man in the white coat prodding at him despairing as he couldn’t slide a needle into him without his flesh almost dissolving under the abuse, his raw throat unable to scream as the pain tore at him. Always the muttering, never ceasing, how worthless, how pitiful, how ridiculous it was to work with such inferior materials. Then suddenly a change in his attitude came. The man was suddenly hovering over him fascinated as the pain suddenly left him, he could breathe without the air seeming to scorch his lungs, his strength seemed to suddenly return as his sight finally cleared. Feeling himself again he suddenly lunged in his restraints, hearing something snap, his right shoulder and upper arm came free and he surged upwards, looking to break free.
Several pairs of strong hands pinned him down and he snarled, snapping teeth, trying to force the shape change he was now familiar with. The slightest sting of a needle in his arm, the flesh now whole and responding as normal and he stiffened as ice seemed to radiate from the injection site. All at once he could not reach for his ability to change, his Protean kept from him by the strange drug that filled him with indescribable cold. The strong hands eventually pinned him down and he was restrained again. Now he could fully see the scientist and his foul grin as he peered at him over the rim of his glasses.
“Fascinating. The subject seems to take to the mako suspension negatively, displaying all the signs of poisoning and lack of resistance. Upon removing him from the solution he displays no signs of healing, and in fact is in such poor condition as to be impossible to work with. However given time, a delayed reaction occurs, and the subject seems to absorb the mako, healing being almost instantaneous, and displaying increased strength. Suspension may not be the way forward, a series of tests into reaction to mako injection will need to be done, once blood samples and tissue tests reveal what is going on in this delayed reaction.”
Monologue at an end the scientist leaned in close to his face, and he lunged suddenly forward, looking to bite and tear at the small man. But his target leapt deftly out of the way laughing, thoroughly amused.
“Subject also displays raised levels of aggression. Most intriguing; not quite so useless after all. Who knew that so much potential lay within such an unassuming shell?”
He growled at the obnoxious little man, the sound wild and feral. He wanted to rant and rave at the man, but he knew he was only inviting further hardship if he did and so had to lie back and bear whatever was coming, while he tried to work out how to get out of this place. What came next was another round of taking samples, this time much easier and far less painful since his body had recovered from whatever it had been put through while he had been trapped here. He could only remember the tank, floating in the green. The wiry little man continued to poke and prod, the running commentary continuing on and off.
“All signs of corneal corrosion from mako suspension have now healed over completely, eyes are clear and bright, though the normal glow seems to be brighter than average, possibly due to the mako exposure and absorption, that will have to be tested further…”
And so it went on. He found himself drifting, letting his mind free from his body as samples were examined and worked on, results ranted to whatever recording equipment was listening to the white coated man as he worked. The scientist wasn’t hurting him for now, was more annoying than anything, and while he carried on he could try to figure a way out of this. Think… what would Zack do? That was the problem; Zack probably wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. Just how had he gotten here anyway? All he could remember was hunting in the forests outside Midgar, then suddenly a sting of pain in the back of his neck almost as if he had been shot. Then he had woken up in the tank, feeling his strength slowly fading away.
But he had no more time to think on it as the scientist approached him, obviously done with one set of tests and ready to start another. He had a syringe in hand, filled with a glowing green solution, deeper in colour than the acrid liquid he had been suspended in, though it was what he was distinctly reminded of.
“Let’s start you with a 5cc dose directly into a major artery shall we?”
As the needle slid into his groin, locating his femoral artery with sickening ease, liquid fire was injected into him, and he suddenly discovered that it was his turn to scream.
~*~*~*~*~*~
“Get up.”
Well that was an unceremonious wakeup call.
“Get up!”
His arm ached, he was in no mood to go anywhere, and the longer he could avoid the madman’s games he would.
“I said get up!”
This time the demand was punctuated with a kick, strong enough to fling him across the room and send him crashing into the wall. Now he was awake, red eyes opening and blazing as he took in the fact he was not in his cell at all, that he was in an open holding area, being faced down by the biggest vampire he had ever seen, plainly a berserker of some kind. It was evident that he was also heavily modified, and that they were intended to fight each other. A fist the size of his head came for him and he had to move surprisingly quickly to get out of its path in time, the massive appendage smashing into the wall behind him. But he was wrong in assuming that because of his size, the huge man would be slow in moving. He had not anticipated the blow from the other fist, still groggy from sleep, his body not responding to his commands as he was used to, after all that had been done to him.
Pain crashed through his ribs and suddenly he had a battle in his mind as well, his Beast roused and the Demons with it. He swung out clumsily in retaliation only to have the massive fist hit the soft flesh of his stomach with the force of truck. That was all it took for his fragile hold on the monsters within, and he screamed in agony as his mind was torn at by the creatures he was host to. He was abruptly shoved into a place in his consciousness where all he could do was watch as the demons shattered his awareness, his vision splintering in shards of white hot agony, clawing and tearing their way through his mind in a bloody swathe. An inhuman roar escaped his changing throat, body deforming, changing all at once, leathery wings ripping out of the flesh of his back in a spray of crimson that painted the walls and his assailant, making the berserker step back in shock.
The sickening sound of flesh tearing wetly, bones popping as his body rearranged itself, not the clean, practised change of his Protean form, and the demon took control of his flesh, forced it into its shape, forced him out of consciousness leaving him gone and the berserker faced with the monster. With a roar it launched itself at the huge form of his assailant and he knew no more.
~*~*~*~*~*~
“The subject performed remarkably well in the test, the Protean Beast manipulations forcing their way forward with enough stimuli, though the change is not controlled, not willed, and could be improved…”
He woke, aching and sore to the sound of the voice he had come to loathe, speaking with evident distaste, but also undisguised excitement. He could smell blood everywhere, the scent pervasive, taking over everything. He tried to move, biting his lip to avoid making a sound and draw attention to him, but he was too weak, and in too much pain to do so.
“Take him back to his holding cell, we need to work on controlling the transformation, but the claw was a wonderful success.”
As foul breath invaded his senses he blearily opened his eyes to see the scientist right up in his face. He wanted to recoil, but all that he managed was a weak flinch and groan.
“Even awake. The transformation takes a lot of energy from the subject, but the subject is proving remarkably resilient regardless. A superb performance in battle.”
He could vaguely see the massive form of the berserker being dragged out of the room, and he was not a pretty sight. The scientist sighed and shrugged.
“A certain amount of collateral damage but this was to be expected. Put him in a mako suspension bath and I will work on him later. And clean up this mess.” He snapped to the men dragging the heavily injured man away.
Finally the foul scientist was gone, but strong hands were pulling him upright, or trying to, their grip slipping as something slick impeded their ability to hold him. Logic told him what it was, though he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He just closed his eyes and let them take him back, unresisting, aching for rest and a moment to take stock. As they left him in his holding cell he had a splitting headache that was slowly fading, revealing in its retreat that the monsters within were quiet. He dared to open his eyes at last, his body trembling in exhaustion and the strain of all it had been put through. He was whole, something remarkable from what he could remember of the demon taking control. He was streaked in red, long, sable hair matted to his bare shoulders with it, though it appeared that none of it was his. There wasn’t even any bruising from the massive fists.
His left arm hurt and ached and he dared to look at it. His stomach churned as he saw shreds of torn flesh caught in the joints of it, and he had no way to get rid of them. All at once his stomach clenched, and he only just managed to turn in time to void the contents of his stomach in a steaming pile of the floor. He shook in disgust as he saw the pile of chunks of flesh, all untouched by digestion they were so freshly taken inside his body, and he realised that the ache in his jaws came from ripping chunks out of his opponent, and evidently swallowing them down. Probably the demon had enjoyed it too. He finally broke down and wept, unable to keep up the front anymore as he was faced with the monstrosity of what he was becoming. He was despairing, his heart breaking, body wracked with sobs as he began to lose all hope of ever getting out of here. Even if he did, he was no longer a vampire; he was a Beast, a monster, not worthy of rescue. Maybe Sephiroth knew, maybe that was why he wasn’t coming.
His shoulders shook with violent sobs as the realisation that he was not coming rocked him so deeply, broke something deep within him leaving him feeling raw and vulnerable and so scared he would never be able to voice it. He had never been terrified of anything, confident in his strength, his powers, his abilities. Now he was reduced to a weeping wreck, frightened and alone, and even with his increased strength and power from all the ‘enhancements’, he was still unable to protect or free himself from this hell he had fallen into. He crawled into the corner, wishing only to die, for this torment to end, for some kind of surcease from his agony.
The corridors shook with the force of the anguished wail coming from the cells.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Shivering he woke up at the chilling cry. It died away, but it left him feeling afraid, shaken. As he began to move he found that the pain from the injections had left echoes in his frame, a frame that seemed to be changing with every dose. He was lying down, but he wasn’t bound which was a shock. At least it wasn’t the suspension tube, that poison that seemed to slowly digest him almost. It was a relief to find the change in his imprisonment, though he wondered what it meant. This place was a hall of screams, of pain, he had heard them all. But that last cry… it was of a pain so deep, so visceral it made him shake, and he curled up into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest for cold comfort in this evil place. That sound had come from a creature so utterly despondent it terrified him. He knew that it might be his fate, that in the near future, it might be him that screamed like that…
~*~*~*~*~*~
He was bitterly disappointed when he woke up again. He had hoped that he would fall into sleep and never wake, that he had ceased to be of use or interest. But he had no such luck. It was the laboratory again, on his back, bright lights stinging his eyes. It was getting to the point where he could call this place home now. Ridiculous really, he barely remembered the place any more. He lay uncaring as the scientist did as he always did, walking around him, preparing for whatever foul experiment he had planned next. He no longer minded, no… he actually welcomed it. Maybe it would be so terrible he would not survive the procedure and he would be released from the chains binding him to life. He didn’t flinch as the scientist leaned over him, rank breath that would normally sicken him offering him some kind of twisted hope.
“Now let’s see if we can do something about that transformation of yours.”
He eyed the orb the scientist held up with disinterest, he didn’t care what the device was meant to do, red eyes flat. His normally bright ruby orbs were windows to his soul, now not much more than dull, lifeless mirrors of the world around him. He didn’t care about anything anymore. To the glee of his reluctant passengers something in his mind and heart had snapped, leaving him cold and empty. He didn’t even scream as the scalpel cut into his flesh.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Rufus was anxious. There was something on the wind, something intangible that he couldn’t quite grasp. It excited him in a visceral way he couldn’t explain. After all this waiting, could now be the time? Dark Nation rested her head in his lap, purring deeply as he petted the immense feline. He smiled as he heard the door open quietly behind him without so much as a knock. He knew that soft and light tread. He didn’t need to see the reflection to know who it was.
“And?”
Tseng responded with just three words.
“They are coming.”