Hey, all. Javer here once again, with a little something for which I'm not, for once, begging for reviews. It's not great, but it shall do for the time being.
Disclaimer: I do not own Giygas, Ness, or any other characters mentioned in this fanfiction.
The Omen of Four
. . . It's not right
It's not
right!
They can't keep me away forever.
Children. Just children! I will show them their place.
They never feared me. Not a single doubt, not one dark twinge ever-
Help me, save me, help me, save me, help oh helpDamn it!
Even now I hear them. Me. I taste my own cowardice. I feel the tiny cold hard bullets of sweat on the back of my neck. I feel my hands clench and writhe and do nothing else, impossible to do what I could do mere minutes
(hours? days? years?)
before. Impossible to lift a finger and in the doing of it make their frail bodies simultaneously explode and implode, crunching every bone to bloody shards and every weak, soft, damnable scrap of flesh to strips of paper gore.
Their arrogant scientists who believe themselves so brilliant, so perfectly understanding, would wave their hands and deem the notion of such power foolish and asinine, by the ways of laws spoken and inscribed by a yet earlier generation of swollen, self-righteous food-stuffing swine. And yet, as crime, malice and greed infest their proud cities and lawbooks merrily burn to cinders in one fireplace after another, they still insist that there are laws that cannot be broken. And yet, I could have done it anyway. All laws are privy to some counterpoint. I could have done it . . . before . . .
Ha. I hardly know what I'm saying, or to a more technical extent, how I am saying it. I mentioned sweat on my neck. I mentioned hands paralyzed with fear, fingers that once upon a time manipulated the intricate threads of time and space. But by the doing of those children, I no longer possess a neck. Or hands. Or a body. Or a brain.
I do not care. It makes no difference.
(I.'m. h.a.p.p.y.?)
(It hurts it hurts so m-m-m-muh-)
I must add that they chose a very inopportune moment to toddle forwards and begin to walk. At that point I had been at my weakest, as one is always at one's weakest when drawing strength.
Most humans would be slain without notice in their slumber, as much was I when they chose to attack. For all intents and purposes, I was fast asleep, growing stronger by the minute with the help of the Devil Machine and the pathetic, bloated slime who elected himself my partner. What they fought and struggled against was merely my cradle of dreams, the barely physical form I chose to use until I could achieve my goal—the immense power I had been seconds away from claiming at the inconvenient moment of their arrival.
But now, I wake up to see from a new perspective: from above. Nothing will be higher or farther than I. All will exist in my metaphorical shadow.
Why metaphorical? Hah.
Well, I can't tell you that.
Paula, Jeff, Kai, and the fourth . . .
Ness, Ness, Ness, Ness, Ness, Ness . . .
I can only silence the weakness their voices have inflicted upon me for a short while longer. But that will be all I need.
Soon, you filthy humans . . .
Soon . . .
(AAAAAARRGHHH!!!)
Seven thousand miles below, in the small, peaceful night-darkened town of Onett, in front of a humble two-story house, twelve feet away from the fresh-painted wooden porch, in that town, before that slumbering, unsuspecting home, a dog blinked.
It scratched mildly at its head, then quicker. The rough nails dug into the now-raw flesh, miniscule drops of red swelling.
(Ness . . .)
Abruptly, the dog halted. Its foot retracted slowly and gracefully to its side, its muzzle drew back, and with a low, feral growl, the calm brown eyes flared red.
.
Giygas!
Have to see . . . where, where is he? It? They? Have to see, run, escape, flee, Giygas, die, die-gas, death-gas! Everywhere, or nowhere? Is it here? There? Hither-thither gonna die here can't run at all, can't move can't see
Is it no . . . where? No . . .where—there! There! I see him—
On the morning of June 17, 1997, Ness died in utter darkness.
Then he screamed and woke up.
For a minute or two he was still horribly trapped in the dream-prison, no way to get out, knowing all the while that something-someone-somewhere-somehow was going to find him, and sooner or later was going to kill him. And maybe get a little snack in the doing. Ness squeezed his eyes shut, the beginnings of hot tears mixing oddly with cold sweat.
That is when he woke up, more or less fully.
He blinked a few times and breathed deep, drawing an enormous lungful of cool, blissfully silent night air, then exhaled with a whooshing sigh. He felt mildly angry at himself for recalling that which had happened two years ago, but mainly relieved that it was all the same, nothing had come back from the dead, no Giygas, no nothing.
And also, as he just now realized, he didn't think he had yelled this time. Nobody was going to come running to poor little Ness' rescue, poor Ness who had been through so much--
Somebody knocked on his bedroom door. "Ness! I heard you scream! Are you okay?"
Ness groaned, then cupped a hand to his mouth and called, "Nyme vine-"
He stopped, worked his jaw a little, and tried again. "I'm fine, Tracy! Go back to bed, will you?"
"Are you sure, Ness?" The door opened a crack. His younger sister peeked through it, holding something that gleamed dully in the hallway light, something that looked like—
"Tracy! Is that the phone?!" Ness exclaimed, exasperated. He put a hand to his head and rubbed the temples. "You don't need to call Dad at five in the morning just 'cause I had a bad dream, you know."
"Yeah, you're . . . right, Bro. I'm sorry." Tracy's gaze slid down to the floor, her short blonde hair spilling over her face. The kid even had her ratty old teddy bear with her, Ness noticed shamefully. She had really been worried about him . . .
His conscience overtaking his irritation, Ness propped himself up with one arm and hopped out of bed. He walked over to the door and stood in front of Tracy, hands above his head like the loser in cops-and-robbers. "Hey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten mad at you. See? I'm perfectly intact. No broken bones, no gaping wounds, no head injuries—well, aside from the obvious—"
Tracy giggled. Good.
"That being the case, there's no reason for you to be up this late," Ness smiled. "So are you gonna go back to bed now? Of course you are, right? Yeah, that's what I thought."
"Who, me? Nah."
Ness raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"
"Yup. I figure I'll, I dunno," Tracy said, with mock indifference, "commit a few federal crimes while I'm up or something. And maybe a midnight snack."
"You do and I'll have to bring you to justice. I got Paula to teach me how to set stuff on fire last month." Ness thrust a dramatic hand sideways, tossing an imaginary fireball into the wall. "Fwoosh! Like that."
"You do and I'll set you on fire," Tracy grinned, giving him a light shove in his narrow chest. "Might run in the family, for all we know."
"Tracy . . ."
"Just messing with ya, Ness. I'm going already."
Ness yawned abruptly. "'Kay then. Me too. G'night sis."
"G'night." Tracy reluctantly turned and retreated to the comfort of her own room, while Ness watched just to make sure.
She's a good kid, he thought affectionately, once more in a brief struggle to get himself under the thick sheets of his own bed. A real good kid. Heh, who knows?
Maybe it does run in the family.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . run in the family
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . run in the family
(. . . mAyBe It DoEs . . .)
(ThE gIrL! sHe . . . UnGh, cAn NoT! CaN-n-N not bE allowed to h-l-l-live . . .)