Gateway of Janus.
He awoke in a cold sweat, shivering in fear just like every night. His eyes opened to the darkness, the nightmare merging into reality, shadows casting disturbing images on the walls around him. He sat up pulling the covers off him, exposing his bare body to the humid air. This nightmare forever plagued him, what made it worse was that it was once reality. Seifer Almasy hated this side of him, the side he kept from those around him.
The truth was no-one ever saw the real him, not even Raijin or Fuuj. The image he portrayed at Garden was created in denial to the side that came in the dark, when he slept, reliving the past and the pain. It was his way of divorcing himself from that grim reality, to help him believe that it had happened to someone else. Would anyone ever believe that the arrogant, self-assured, swaggering blond figure that subjected lesser people to scrutiny and mockery was ever this person trapped in a hell?
The real Seifer Almasy was buried between these two halves, never allowed to exposed in case it opened up the dark side, the pain that had created him yet was also his downfall. His past and his denial of it had enabled Ultimecia to play upon his emotions, promising to take him out of himself if he followed her but in the end he had become her puppet, her promise forgotten and he was used again.
It his skin crawl, he hadn't been able to see her for what she was, been blinded by hope and denial in recognising the similarities of what held him before. Even now he was awake the voice haunted his thoughts, the low menacing words threatening with pain should he say a word.
He envied Squall, envied him to the point of hate. His quiet existence riled Seifer as he was more at peace than he'd ever be. Sure Squall had suffered the pain of loss but Seifer yearned to have had that suffering rather than what had occurred to him after he had left Matron's orphanage.
He had always wondered how he had ended up with that couple, obviously they seemed okay at the start, which was presumably why Matron allowed them to take him from her warm embrace. His adoptive mother had been friendly and his adoptive father enthusiastic at having a son to share his interests with. However he had been a drunk, an angry one at that. Sleepless nights had plagued Seifer's youth as he heard breaking of glass and a woman's screams.
His new mother became subdued and withdrawn no longer warm and attentive, leaving him at the mercy of his surrogate father. It had started with angry words, being yelled at for the slightest reason, then it progressed to physical torture, painful blows to his body where the marks wouldn't show, a whippy cane that lashed at his legs for no reason.
But worse came later in the dark, in his sleep. Hands smother his mouth waking him in a panic, limbs pinning his small frame to his bed as a malicious whisper fills his ears as He tears away the fabric, exposing his pale smooth youthful skin to His hungry eyes. Fear and confusion had clouded his mind as rough fingertips rasped his chest, heavy ragged breaths and alcohol fumes cover his face. Large heavy, rough hands touch him all over, tracing curves of muscle, groping and pinching at his youthful frame. Cupping hands attack his groin, jostling and tugging at him as he is frozen under him, bound by fear.
Turned over, smothered by his pillow he wondered what was to come not understanding what was happening and why as fingers traced his spine, the feeling of drops of fluid dripping on his back, warm and viscous. The presence left him after that, the stench of alcohol fading as he remained as he was too scared to move, his body convulsing with sobs and hot salty tears stung his eyes, ran over his lips, soaking into his pillow.
After that night he lay awake in his bed waiting, fearing that He would return. Too young to understand what was going on, unable to get Her to talk or believe. Lulled by the lack of another attack he had let his defence down, too weak and tired to continue his vigil and that was when He struck. The same thing happened again, those rough hands touching, rendering his body before flipping him over once more, low soft menacing words reminding him what would happen if he were to cry out. Seifer was too weak to cry or fight as his fear was pushed aside violently as he was violated, his legs aching as they were forced apart. The pain filled him for what felt like an eternity and then it was over.
This had continued on an irregular basis until Seifer had been old enough to escape, running away to Garden where a familiar father figure had welcomed him, took him in not realising what emotional scars criss-crossed his mind. It was here he could be someone new, someone different, no longer weak or terrorised. In this revelation and recreation of himself he had become the bully, he knew it but if that's the price he had to pay to cut the bonds of his past then he would do it.
He had tried to cut those bonds further when he reached his mid teens, now stronger, more powerful he went back to that house of pain and found that drunkard, a now weak pathetic frail thing, a mere shadow of the force that had abused him. The rage had welled up inside him and he grabbed Him by his shirt flinging him to the wall as that bitch broke her silence screaming at him to stop as he rained blow after blow on his nemesis, blood staining his fists, as it had stained the sheets of his youth, as flesh tore and bones broke.
He left him in a crumpled heap, drawing his gun-blade Hyperion from its sheath, turning on the wailing siren behind him with a menacing smirk as her face paled in terror. With one sweeping swing of his arm her the skin of her neck was severed, a cascade of blood spurting from between her fingers as she clasped her hands to the thin wound, her screams now gurgles.
Soft groaning behind him brought Seifer back to his original target and he turned on Him the fear on His face feeding his lust for death. He crouched by the broken form of a man, blood flowing into His eyes from cuts on his head but Seifer could still see the look of out-right terror in them as he grinned maliciously producing a knife from the recesses of his coat. This was the first time he had actually killed somebody other than monsters but then that was what He was, a monster that needed to be slain, so it was right for him to feel this good as he slowly sunk the short blade into His flesh, listening to His whimpers of pain as he made shallow cuts that bled profusely. Seifer then sat back and watched as the blood leeched away and his tormenter slowly yet painfully died.
Seifer's mind came back to the present. He thought that he would have been freed when He had died but he was still encased in this shell personality he had created for himself, this cage that kept him captive. He realised that he hadn't won as He still haunted him in his sleep, he could never escape Him or his past. His victory over that bastard had been fleeting, yet He would possess him for as long as he lived.
He awoke in a cold sweat, shivering in fear just like every night. His eyes opened to the darkness, the nightmare merging into reality, shadows casting disturbing images on the walls around him. He sat up pulling the covers off him, exposing his bare body to the humid air. This nightmare forever plagued him, what made it worse was that it was once reality. Seifer Almasy hated this side of him, the side he kept from those around him.
The truth was no-one ever saw the real him, not even Raijin or Fuuj. The image he portrayed at Garden was created in denial to the side that came in the dark, when he slept, reliving the past and the pain. It was his way of divorcing himself from that grim reality, to help him believe that it had happened to someone else. Would anyone ever believe that the arrogant, self-assured, swaggering blond figure that subjected lesser people to scrutiny and mockery was ever this person trapped in a hell?
The real Seifer Almasy was buried between these two halves, never allowed to exposed in case it opened up the dark side, the pain that had created him yet was also his downfall. His past and his denial of it had enabled Ultimecia to play upon his emotions, promising to take him out of himself if he followed her but in the end he had become her puppet, her promise forgotten and he was used again.
It his skin crawl, he hadn't been able to see her for what she was, been blinded by hope and denial in recognising the similarities of what held him before. Even now he was awake the voice haunted his thoughts, the low menacing words threatening with pain should he say a word.
He envied Squall, envied him to the point of hate. His quiet existence riled Seifer as he was more at peace than he'd ever be. Sure Squall had suffered the pain of loss but Seifer yearned to have had that suffering rather than what had occurred to him after he had left Matron's orphanage.
He had always wondered how he had ended up with that couple, obviously they seemed okay at the start, which was presumably why Matron allowed them to take him from her warm embrace. His adoptive mother had been friendly and his adoptive father enthusiastic at having a son to share his interests with. However he had been a drunk, an angry one at that. Sleepless nights had plagued Seifer's youth as he heard breaking of glass and a woman's screams.
His new mother became subdued and withdrawn no longer warm and attentive, leaving him at the mercy of his surrogate father. It had started with angry words, being yelled at for the slightest reason, then it progressed to physical torture, painful blows to his body where the marks wouldn't show, a whippy cane that lashed at his legs for no reason.
But worse came later in the dark, in his sleep. Hands smother his mouth waking him in a panic, limbs pinning his small frame to his bed as a malicious whisper fills his ears as He tears away the fabric, exposing his pale smooth youthful skin to His hungry eyes. Fear and confusion had clouded his mind as rough fingertips rasped his chest, heavy ragged breaths and alcohol fumes cover his face. Large heavy, rough hands touch him all over, tracing curves of muscle, groping and pinching at his youthful frame. Cupping hands attack his groin, jostling and tugging at him as he is frozen under him, bound by fear.
Turned over, smothered by his pillow he wondered what was to come not understanding what was happening and why as fingers traced his spine, the feeling of drops of fluid dripping on his back, warm and viscous. The presence left him after that, the stench of alcohol fading as he remained as he was too scared to move, his body convulsing with sobs and hot salty tears stung his eyes, ran over his lips, soaking into his pillow.
After that night he lay awake in his bed waiting, fearing that He would return. Too young to understand what was going on, unable to get Her to talk or believe. Lulled by the lack of another attack he had let his defence down, too weak and tired to continue his vigil and that was when He struck. The same thing happened again, those rough hands touching, rendering his body before flipping him over once more, low soft menacing words reminding him what would happen if he were to cry out. Seifer was too weak to cry or fight as his fear was pushed aside violently as he was violated, his legs aching as they were forced apart. The pain filled him for what felt like an eternity and then it was over.
This had continued on an irregular basis until Seifer had been old enough to escape, running away to Garden where a familiar father figure had welcomed him, took him in not realising what emotional scars criss-crossed his mind. It was here he could be someone new, someone different, no longer weak or terrorised. In this revelation and recreation of himself he had become the bully, he knew it but if that's the price he had to pay to cut the bonds of his past then he would do it.
He had tried to cut those bonds further when he reached his mid teens, now stronger, more powerful he went back to that house of pain and found that drunkard, a now weak pathetic frail thing, a mere shadow of the force that had abused him. The rage had welled up inside him and he grabbed Him by his shirt flinging him to the wall as that bitch broke her silence screaming at him to stop as he rained blow after blow on his nemesis, blood staining his fists, as it had stained the sheets of his youth, as flesh tore and bones broke.
He left him in a crumpled heap, drawing his gun-blade Hyperion from its sheath, turning on the wailing siren behind him with a menacing smirk as her face paled in terror. With one sweeping swing of his arm her the skin of her neck was severed, a cascade of blood spurting from between her fingers as she clasped her hands to the thin wound, her screams now gurgles.
Soft groaning behind him brought Seifer back to his original target and he turned on Him the fear on His face feeding his lust for death. He crouched by the broken form of a man, blood flowing into His eyes from cuts on his head but Seifer could still see the look of out-right terror in them as he grinned maliciously producing a knife from the recesses of his coat. This was the first time he had actually killed somebody other than monsters but then that was what He was, a monster that needed to be slain, so it was right for him to feel this good as he slowly sunk the short blade into His flesh, listening to His whimpers of pain as he made shallow cuts that bled profusely. Seifer then sat back and watched as the blood leeched away and his tormenter slowly yet painfully died.
Seifer's mind came back to the present. He thought that he would have been freed when He had died but he was still encased in this shell personality he had created for himself, this cage that kept him captive. He realised that he hadn't won as He still haunted him in his sleep, he could never escape Him or his past. His victory over that bastard had been fleeting, yet He would possess him for as long as he lived.