Eyes. Red orbs of fire that burned like the depths of hell. Father and the stranger argued, hurling sounds back and forth, but he could not understand the words. A roar filled his ears; static screams, a thunderous rush. And they began to fight. . .as much of a fight as it could be called. Father was tossed around like a broken doll, diminutive and laughable next to his masked opponent. Struggling valiantly, foolishly, to stand against savage kicks and crimson waves of power. And Mother only watched.
Red eyes and black, all as endless as night. He cried out to her, pulled on her skirts, jumped up and down, weeping, but she only watched the fight with those dark, dark eyes. And he knew.
Father was being hurt because of him. He had been bad, he had, though he knew not how. But he had been, because Mother looked out with those eyes that demanded something he could not give. Hatred clenched around his heart. Father screamed one last time, and then the stranger turned to look at him and then. . . .
He saw only those eyes, holes in the mask, gateways to eternity. The stranger knew him, everything, everything. They gave. . .an answer. And the boy clenched fists to ears to shut out nothing and closed his eyes. Together.
Karen Wong's arm rose, slim finger stabbing out toward the sphere of energy rushing from her son. Gesture of the prophetess. Her eyes widened. With laughter?
Kahn cried out as it whipped at him, a bestial sound of gargled blood and punctured lungs. The stranger fell back too and perhaps the slightest bit of surprise coloured his movement. Surprise, triumph.
And depthless black eyes widened. The tiniest point of light, a pinprick, was there. Horror, realization.
He watched it come, eyes wondering, lips quirking in an eerie little smile. He must have been bad, but it was all right now. All right.
But a shadow moved in front of him, flailing black hair and frantic skirts. Blood fell upon his face; hot, so hot. And she slumped forward, into his arms, a smile? on bloodless lips. How could they be so white, with all of the blood? He twitched in horror, just a twitch, but she fell back. Eyes shivered, opened wide, as he watched her fall away. Blood ran down his face, into eyes that looked at burned cloth, burned flesh. No, no. He wasn't bad. He wasn't. He didn't mean it. He hadn't.
Head ducked down, strands of hair - lightened by the setting sun? - falling forward. Eerie smile again. A whisper of laughter. All right. His fault? All right. He wasn't afraid, to admit. Bitch. Looking up into red eyes going on forever. Not afraid of anything.
Kahn Wong woke, from pain, to pain. Voices babbled. How. . .who. . .what? But he didn't understand. By will only, he moved forward, not far, only forever. Bloodied hand closing around a chain, red jewel winking in the twilight. Broken fingers resting on soft black hair. Falling back from pain, to pain. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
And from his eyes, eyes that had seen too much, the tears seeped and ran with scarlet blood. There was no longer any difference between them. Not now. Not ever again.
Written September 2000.
Xenogears © Square-Enix.