Evil Town

Chapter Five

Vision Valley

…

I would like to thank T.I.B.E.-sway- for the review. If you get the chance you should definitely go check out her fanfiction, it's really amazing. Chapter title comes from a song by The Vines. I am not trying to offend anyone with any stupid comments Ian and John made, they are going to become less closed-minded in the future. I was just trying to make them sound like real people, and hopefully real people who say things like that will also learn better. So yeah, that's my disclaimer thing. More Fruits Basket characters will be introduced next chapter.

…

1

"Izzy? Izzy! Dammit, pick up already!" Sharla screams into the cell-phone, holding it to her ear as her semi-sensible shoes slam against the pavement. She grimaces at her own voice when it echoes back at her, filtered through a harsh metallic tunnel. Since her attempt at reaching her friend is clearly in vain, Sharla presses the "END CALL" button with significantly more force than necessary. Still running, knowing the physical exertion probably isn't a good idea for her but too full of adrenaline and caffeinated diet soda to stop, she holds the mechanical device in front of her to check for messages. It's far too bright outside, and the sunlight bounces off the pixilated miniature screen, making the scrolling characters imperceptible. Making a frustrated noise, she frantically tilts the cell back and forth, searching for a clear angle.

Her foot comes down on a discarded pop can and Sharla crashes forward onto the unforgiving pavement, phone slipping from her grasp.

"Are you okay?" asks a worried-looking elderly woman. The woman walks towards her and looks prepared to help her up.

"Yeah. Perfect," says Sharla, with bitterness that surprises even her. The woman quickly looks away as though the fallen girl is some obscene spectacle. Sharla doesn't blame her, she knows she's a mess. Sprawled out on the sidewalk. Clothes torn and hair askew. Face bright red and eyes blurred with tears. Wishing she could just shout that no, she is not okay, does it look like it? Would you be okay if your best friend mysteriously went incommunicado just after a weird magic-terrorist attacked your school, the people you see almost every day?

But she doesn't say it. She merely sobs once, wipes her nose on the sleeve of an already ruined garment, and begins rooting around for her phone. She finds it lying in the gutter, case cracked and buttons clogged with dirt. She wonders briefly if it will still function, then decides to hell with it and just leaves the device lying there as she picks herself up and resumes running. Maybe someone will find the phone and sell it for food. Or maybe drugs. Sharla doesn't even care, just wants to get as far away as possible.

Oh, crap. She reaches the point where the sidewalk splits off in two different directions; one way leads to Izzy's house, the other to the school. Sharla paces a tight circle and tugs at a strand of hair as she weighs her options, well aware the time to make any difference is ticking away.

She can go to Izzy's, check up on her best friend. The thought of anything bad happening to Izzy is worse than any other fate Sharla can picture. But if something happened to her, would Sharla even be able to help? This whole demon-and-magic thing is completely out of Sharla's grasp, and yet, so many things have always been going on without her knowledge or understanding that this doesn't even completely surprise her. If Izzy magically injured herself, Sharla is all too aware she'll be of no use to her friend. Or what if she just left the house? Maybe she's at the school right now. Even if Sharla is virtually clueless, at school she'll be among others with even less of an idea of what's going on. She can tell them to stay out of Aizawa's way, it's Westweaver they're dealing with. Or is she even allowed to say that? Maybe she'll just be assigned a completely ordinary (at least relative to how things have been going lately) task, such as taking account of who has gotten out of the building safely. And frankely, Sharla will be overjoyed to be given a task anyone can do.

She makes a snap decision and takes off.

2

Yuki isn't dead.

At first Kyo has no clue how he knows this, and tells himself to dismiss it as wishful thinking. Yuki certainly isn't healthy, and may or may not be alive; there's no way of knowing at the moment.

Kyo. Can you hear me?

Not a voice but a thought, and not one of his own at that. Kyo must be imagining it…

But then again, in a place like this, where can one draw the line between imagination and reality? This world should be completely incomprehensible to Kyo, who has lived his entire life in a universe governed by entirely different laws. The faux-spiritual kids would probably call this a higher plane of existence, but Kyo doubts they have ever experienced anything like it; their brand of spiritualism seems to consist of leaning against walls, sifting through obscure old texts, and smoking who knows what. Kyo wouldn't know, but he is pretty sure this experience is nothing like getting high. It's too lucid for one thing, and it makes sense in its own bizarre way, unlike those losers' "visions."

And this is real.

Kyo attempts to focus his mental energy, unsure how exactly to go about this. He settles for just trying, and thinks at the other teen, Yeah, I can hear you. Yuki? It's not so much that Kyo can hear him as feel him, but that sounds creepy.

You're strong. Yuki's eyes open, but he neither rises or moves his mouth.

Not strong enough, obviously, Kyo thinks.

You got this far.

Not that I have any understanding what that means. Where did Westweaver go?

It's just us.

Why?

Look around you.

Kyo does as Yuki tells him, though he has no idea what he's supposed to see. Aside from the two of them, the entire world consists of impenetrable blackness. Or is it whiteness?

The absence of color. Not black or white, but opaque nothingness. No light, no air, nothing to sustain life or emotions. Yet Yuki and himself are clearly alive and visible, and something must be holding them up. Or are they falling? Somehow Kyo doubts it would make a difference. This nothingness somehow must block out emotions, for Kyo cannot seem to be angry with Yuki anymore, or even happy that they are both alive. Only peaceful, a bit confused, and oddly reenergized.

Is this another world?

No, it's just us.

I don't really understand.

I don't either. But it's a relief, this void, as opposed to Westweaver's chaos.

I think I have to go back now.

When you're ready.

I am. Will you come with me?

I can't. My body is weak, maybe destroyed. I think I'd die.

Should I wait for you?

No. Just go, I'll be fine.

Kyo wants to protest, but he knows that on some level Yuki really will be fine. But what level? If Yuki's body really is destroyed, he will die anyway after all this.

There's no telling what will happen next, but Kyo knows he has to return now, and he cannot force Yuki to come with him. He begins the journey back to the regular world – or perhaps journey is a misnomer, as Kyo stays rooted in one place as his surroundings change. The process is instinctive, natural, like waking up revitalized after a long sleep. His senses are reborn, firing responses to myriad stimuli. The floor is cool beneath him, and he hungrily sucks in the air, not caring that it is so cold it stings his throat. But everything is dark.

No, not dark, Kyo realizes. Like that strange world he has just returned from, he is surrounded by colorlessness, neither black nor white. But rather than nothingness, this is an insane combination of things; the warped, frenzied emotion of a vengeful spirit, hatred amplified by decades of solitude and inactivity. All at once given the means to inflict itself on the world that somehow wronged it. Westweaver's chaos, as Yuki said. But who had wronged Westweaver? He acted maliciously, without reason; how on earth could he relate to someone like Aizawa?

Kyo decides to try something. He focuses all his energy and tries to do the "tuning" thing he'd done before. Sure enough, the chaos turns translucent. He searches for its center, and there it is, pulsing in the center of the room. He tries to move towards it, but finds his body paralyzed. An icy shock runs through his veins, but Kyo reminds himself to calm down, recalling how his energy isn't yet directed towards his physical form. He tries again, this time attempting to move as he naturally would. It's surprisingly difficult to remember quite what that was like, and soon Westweaver's chaos is wreaking full-strength havoc on Kyo's vision, but the part-demon is once again mobile. Taking advantage of this fact, he rises to his feet with some difficulty, and begins to make his way towards the center of the room.

He trips over something. No, someone. Kyo doesn't bother to pick himself up off the floor, simply clutches his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them, coiling into a ball. He isn't forfeiting, but he doesn't see how walking aimlessly would be any more use. Or attacking the unmoving Yuki lying beside him, eyes once again locked shut. This position is simply comforting, defensive against the insistent coldness voraciously draining energy from the room.

Kyo takes a deep breath of frigid air and focuses his energy on tuning out the chaos out, so only the points of highest concentration remain visible. The process is much easier this time, and Kyo wonders if he always had this ability or if it is situational.

Even if his physical feelings are tuned out, on some spiritual level Kyo feels ill upon seeing what his effort have revealed. The highest concentration of chaos is directly inside Yuki, sending tendrils around and through him like the roots of some horrible parasitic plant. Smaller, fainter tendrils stretch around the room, even wrapping around Kyo, through unlike with Yuki and to the part-demon's relief, the roots appear to be unable to break through his skin.

Westweaver won't stop until he takes all the energy he can. From Kyo, from the room, and especially from Yuki.

Yuki! You have to expel Westweaver from you, now! Kyo projects, as "loudly" as he can. At first there is no response, and he worries that their connection has been severed now that he is no longer in that weird world.

Then: I can't.

Yes you can! If you don't do this, you are going to die. Westweaver will… I don't know, but it can't be good for a monster like him to be running around with all that power.

I mean it, I can't. I'm not strong enough, I'll die if I go back into my body.

There's a chance you will die, but you don't have a chance if you just sit there and let him suck you dry!

Maybe he'll stop after he kills me. I'm tired anyway.

Don't you get it? This isn't just your life you're playing around with! Stop with the self-pity shit and actually do something useful. After he's out of you, he'll look for another host, and that's when we'll have a chance to catch him!

You think if I could just kick him out I wouldn't have already? Kyo, I'm just not strong enough…

Why didn't you just say so? I'll lend you some of my strength.

Do you even know how to do that?

Not really, but I'm sure we could figure it out.

If I take too much, you'll die. Or go into a vegetative state, more likely.

You think the odds of doing nothing are better? Take my energy, already!

Not having a clue what he's doing, Kyo directs a good chunk of his energy into a haphazard sort of ball-shape, dissolves his attachment to it, and sends it flying towards Yuki.

Like a bad zombie movie, Yuki's eyes snap open and he sits straight up, mouth emitting a harsh scream. The tendrils unfurl and flap around pathetically, but the core does not budge. Kyo fires a few smaller energy spheres at Yuki, but it seems to have little effect. Trying another tactic, he forms another energy ball. But this one is small and dense, bullet-like, and he fires it as forcefully as possible, right at the chaos seed.

Success! The seed seems almost surprised, but greedily absorbs the energy nonetheless. As it does so, the energy expands and the Westweaver ricochets around the room, vacating Yuki. Although the vengeance spirit no longer seems remotely human, he projects a mood of satiation as he literally bounces off the walls. At least, he will be satisfied until he can figure out how to absorb all this energy. Meanwhile…

Seemingly unnoticed by Westweaver, Kyo stands up and begins mumbling. Now comes the complicated part – at least, that was what Izzy had referred to it as. Considering what has just happened, Kyo figures he had a brand-new definition of complicated. Carefully, he recites the words. They're in a foreign language – not the old language Izzy used, but something simpler and nonsensical-sounding, but there is something about the words that makes them stick in his mind. Lots of simple syllables, with a bunch of 'y's and 'r's. Then comes the movements, a bunch of lame, eighties-dance-move type things. Well, Kyo hasn't lived in the eighties and knows nothing about dancing, but he imagines they danced like this in the eighties.

He moves his arms back and forth, feeling utterly stupid and wondering if he's even doing this right because absolutely nothing seems to be happening. His finger jabs something wet and slimy. Ew, did he just poke Yuki in the eye or something? He turns to say something, but stops short. Hovering before him is what looks like an inkstain, a gleaming rip in the air. Although on this level of thinking and vision it should look identical to Westweaver, pure black, it somehow is entirely different to Kyo. Perhaps it is simply that when he looks at it, Kyo doesn't get that overwhelming, dizzying and even painful sense of dread. This is the exact opposite – his eyes are drawn to the inkstain, as hypnotic and beautiful as a flame.

It worked.

According to Izzy, spaces of "other" can be accessed and used for storage without much difficulty. These OtherSpaces (it sounds like there sound be a TM after that, but apparently this is the correct term) can be accessed from any location, although they do not technically move. Kyo, who found this explanation quite sketchy, asked numerous questions. Like if they can be accessed from anywhere, how come other people just don't steal from them? He'd been told that there are magic dividers put in place, in order to prevent people from accidentally accessing each other's belongings. It's highly unlikely anyone entrusted with the power, not to mention with enough knowledge, to access the OtherSpaces would be the type to steal from them; not because magic-users are more moral than regular people, as the sense of morality is subjective and the concept of ownership works differently in different cultures, but because if one attempted to remove the dividers, chances are she or he would be sucked into the perhaps infinitely vast OtherSpace, to die a slow death. Or, as some romanticists like to say, to float about in darkness and nothingness until the end of time. When Izzy told him that phrase, Kyo laughed, although he was definitely more than a little creeped out at the concept.

So, resisting the inexplicable urge to climb into the Space headfirst and see what it's like, Kyo hesitantly reaches in. The darkness is oily and moist on his skin, yet hardly puts up any more resistance against his movements than the air itself.

His hand now in up to past the elbow, Kyo's fingers brush against something solid. Inserting his other hand, he concentrates hard on keeping his balance and not falling forward. Gently he begins to move the object.

He produces a clay pot, about the size of a basketball but much heavier. The lid is firmly attached, seemingly irremovable, but Izzy says he doesn't need to take it off for the spell to work; only throw the think at Westweaver when he is outside of a host.

Now is the time, Kyo braces himself. Westweaver is still bouncing around, although he seems to be slowing down a bit now. All at once he comes to a standstill in midair, like someone in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Westweaver gives the impression that he is scanning the room, although since he is an eyeless, faceless entity, Kyo can not be sure why he thinks this. Then…

Zoom. The core of chaos makes a beeline for the door. As a ghost, Kyo would have assumed him able to pass through walls, but he really has no time to think about such things right now.

"Oh no you don't!" Kyo shouts at the phantom orb, immediately taking off in a fast run. Kyo leaps up, pushing up off the floor and then a desk in order to gain more altitude and velocity. He hurtles the pot through the air, letting out a whoop as it sails directly towards Westweaver…

And is knocked to the floor as another, near-identical pot appears out of nowhere and collides with it, smashing Kyo's only chance at capturing Westweaver into dust and small shards.

"The hell?" screams Kyo. The entire, music-video-esque sequence makes an awful segue into reality. Kyo falls to the floor, toppling several desks in the process. He resurfaces just in time to see a black-haired girl nimbly reach out and catch the second pot. At least Westweaver doesn't take the chance to laugh at Kyo before he's through the doorway and out of view.

"When did you even get here, Isuzu?" Kyo demands, spinning round to direct all his fury at her.

She glares at him, answering, "Since just before you passed out. You're welcome for saving your ass."

"I had it under control!"

"Just like you do now?"

Kyo is too infuriated at what just happened, and now Isuzu's sarcasm, that he doesn't even take the time to wonder how she fits into all this. "If you hadn't interrupted, he'd be caught by-" he cuts off, as she is obviously not paying him any attention. He follows her out of the room, then down the hall. Of course, he doesn't want to follow her, but she moves briskly and confidently like she knows where the vengeful ghost has gone, whereas Kyo has no idea whatsoever. Even the thinner wisps of chaotic energy have disappeared, and although this is a definite relief in many ways, it does not aid in tracking this thing down. So Kyo settles for following Isuzu and attempting to look as though he is not, occasionally pulling ahead so it is more like they are following each other or walking together.

Not that Isuzu pays any mind to him anyway.

3

It has been an hour since the teachers herded all the students out of the building, except for Kyo and Yuki. At least, that is what they think.

Inside a supply closet, Ian rocks back and forth; probably not even aware he's doing it. In the slivers of light coming in from around the door, the boy looks pale and vulnerable, curled up into a ball and pressed against the wall. John wishes he could do something to comfort his friend, but what can he do? Put his arm around him? That's just gay, and would probably only succeed in pissing Ian off. The other options that come to mind are even worse. Although at the moment, a pissed-off Ian would be preferable to this frail ghost in gangsta clothes.

"Hey," John says pointlessly.

Ian makes a noise that sounds like "Uhn."

"You okay?"

"I guess."

Deprived of the frantic sounds of students fleeing and teachers barking orders, the whole thing suddenly seems very real. This isn't an action B-movie where disposable, faceless teenagers get killed in fantastic, ridiculous ways; this is real life, where the faceless teenagers are people they've hung out with, dated, made fun of, known their whole lives. This kind of thing doesn't happen in small towns, it happens in the big bad cities.

Why had John brought them here? It had made sense at the time, but now it just felt completely fucking stupid. He'd wanted to wait for Kyo, make sure he made it out and maybe help somehow. He could've waited outside, what did he think he'd be able to do to help? He's unarmed, and nowhere near as strong as Kyo. He'd always admired Kyo's strength, even if he never let on. "What is it with you Asians and your karate?" he'd said, what seemed like ages ago and had pissed Kyo off and gotten John stuck in a headlock for what must have been over an hour as Kyo lectured him on how it wasn't just karate he learned but many different styles with subtle differences and rich histories and blah blah blah.

Now John wishes he'd bothered to learn some of those moves. It wasn't right for him to drag Ian in here with him, seeing how freaked out the guy is now. The teachers had probably been through training on this kind of thing, must have known it was necessary to get out of here.

Something crashes loudly in the distance.

"Whadda you think the police will do when they get here? They'll have to call the police over something like this, right? Maybe they'll bring tazers. That'd be cool," rambles John lamely.

"Yeah. Maybe that's why they made everyone go… 'cause of the tazers," Ian whispers back.

"Yeah. We might accidentally get zapped. That would be hardcore."

"It might kill our brain cells," says Ian, but he seems as fascinated by the concept of tazers as John is trying to sound.

"Meh, it would give us an excuse to flunk tests. Plus we'd probably get a few days off school."

"We probably will anyway. With all of this crap happening."

"If we don't, I'm skipping. Going to recuperate from the stress via some mindless video games. Though I think I'll switch off all the extra-gore settings."

"You play Warstorm Rebirth yet?"

"Duh. Did you get to the part where you blow up the mango-flavored planetoid… shit!" says John, suddenly exhaling sharply. He tries to resist his urge to hyperventilate, and focuses on controlling his breathing. This results in him emitting a high, squeaky hiccup-sound.

"What?" asks Ian.

"Maybe there's a reason they made us leave the building."

"You already said-"

"No, what if it's like you always see on the news, and in movies? What if someone put a bomb in the building?"

"Aizawa? No, he wouldn't. He couldn't! He's Chinese, like Marcus. Marcus wouldn't make bombs," reasones Ian.

"Aizawa's Japanese, dumbass. And don't be racist."

"It's not racism if you say good things about them."

John decides he doesn't have time to argue. "Whatever. But the modern opinion is that everyone is equally out to get you."

"But he wouldn't have-"

"You want to risk it?" exclaims John. Ian only shakes his head. "Right. So, we've got to get out of here. We should go slow, and crouch to the ground so they don't see us. I think that's the official procedure." Actually, that might be the rules for fire safety, but John isn't going to say that. Ian trusts him, and he has to get them out of here before all that trust goes down the toilet.

John opens the door, checks that the coast is clear, and emerges stooped over, motioning for Ian to follow.

Things appear to be going smoothly, and the two boys make their slow way towards the school exit. First hallway down, then turn and three more to go…

Behind him, John hears Ian take a deep breath and his footsteps quicken, pounding on the floor. Stealth be damned, Ian is racing wildly down the halls ahead of him. "NO! STOP!" John roars, before he can stop himself.

That's when the girl comes running out of nowhere.

4

"There has to be something I can do!" insists Sharla. She is standing outside the school, with teachers and even a few police officers standing around looking important and occasionally saying things into walkie-talkies. Students crowd all over, pacing and sitting on the ground and leaning against trees as they talk excitedly with their friends. Sharla wishes they would all just shut up.

The police officer sighs and shakes her head as though she's been through this routine a million times today. "Unless you know any information, you can help by being quiet and waiting."

"That won't accomplish a thing! Do you even have a clue what's going on?" says Sharla.

"I cannot release that information-" the officer begins - only to be cut off by Sharla.

"You don't, do you?"

"Look. We are trying to get the details figured out." She fixes Sharla with a patronizing gaze. "You seem like an intelligent girl," she says, though her tone implies exactly the opposite, "surely you can understand the importance of restoring order in a crisis like this."

There are a thousand responses Sharla would like to say to that. This is a high school, how can you restore order if it was never there in the first place? And how can you solve anything if you don't have a clue what's going on? And why don't they send all the stupid, nonstop-talking kids back home? But the words that decide to pop out of her mouth are, "This is fucking stupid."

"That kind of language is not going to solve anything," lectures the police officer.

It's Izzy's fault she got in trouble, Sharla thinks ridiculously. Izzy once got all mad at her for saying "retarded" and gave her a whole speech. Not wanting to get her upset again, and since Izzy doesn't seem to mind swear words even though she makes a big deal out of perfectly ordinary sayings, Sharla has taken to substituting the phrase she had just uttered. There is an extra syllable, but it feels the same in her mouth as her tounge forms the words. Dammit Izzy, are you even alive? "Sorry," Sharla says.

More sympathetically, the officer continues, "Look, we're all worried. But I think everyone is going to make it out of this unharmed except for a few minor injuries and some distress." Probably unconsciously, she glances over to where the injured students are being treated. One guy has a scrape on the side of his face and an arm in a sling, but that's the worst of it. Somehow, Sharla does feel a bit relieved.

"Are you sure these are all the students who got out?" she asks.

The police officer shakes her head, her short blond hair as unmoving as her humorless expression as she does so. "No. Actually, it's a definite fact that some of the people who got out have left, against police orders of course." Her eyes meet Sharla's purposefully and the teenager realizes she is being given permission to leave if she wishes.

"Thanks. I, um, just realized I have to go tell my friend something. She's over there." Sharla gestures vaguely into the crowd and the police officer nods curtly.

Sharla runs off at a slow jog, but she doesn't go home or even to Izzy's. She doesn't even leave the school grounds. Turning the corner out of view, her hopeful suspicions are confirmed: the security is only around the entrances. Now if only her luck holds…

The alley comes into view, and if Sharla wasn't doing the stealthy spy-movie routine, she would have shriek with joy. No one has remembered to guard the entrance here, forgotten even by the teachers. Sharla is overcome with gratitude for that one simple fact.

Sharla flinches as the door slams loudly behind her, echoing through the silent halls and sending her heart rate into hyperdrive. No need to panic, she tells herself. Just find Izzy and get the hell out of here.

Her footsteps clack loudly on the linoleum, the kind of thing she'd never notice if this place were filled with a massive crowd of noisy people, as it always has been and should be when she's here.

The noise isn't a bad thing, is it? It will allow Izzy to know she's there, and it's not like anyone else is there to hear. There are no police inside the building, a detail Sharla finds completely ludicrous. How is anyone supposed to make a difference from outside? The idea hits her that maybe, despite all their routines and training, the police are as afraid of what's inside as everyone else. The unexplainable, strange, and possibly deadly thing inside here.

Okay, now she's just creeping herself out. But it's hard not to in a place like this and –

And holy crap, she just remembered the entire reason for why she's sneaking around in the first place. If the ghost thing sees her she's dead. Not just broken arms but all out heart-stopped, blood-stopped, unbreathing, brain-dead, dead.

She feels a panic attack starting up and has no choice but to slump against a wall, her head throbbing and energy suddenly drained.

A black ball comes careening down the hall, and she puts her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming. But the ball doesn't go for her, instead it passes by and continues on its way. Irrationally, Sharla goes running after it. Maybe it will somehow lead her to Izzy.

The blood is pounding in her ears so loudly she barely hears the other set of rapid footsteps getting nearer her. As she turns around a corner, a boy suddenly comes at her from the other direction. She swerves to avoid him, resulting in her colliding with a wall. Her vision blurs, not due to anything supernatural but from plain old exhaustion… and confusion. Please, just make it stop, she thinks, leaning against the wall and sliding down until she is sitting on the floor. She is dimly aware that the boy is running on, not even looking at her. Her breath catches in her throat as the black ball dives at him, but he seems oblivious.

From down the hallway, she sees two tall figures running towards her and the boy, although they might be merely shadows. "Stop! It-it's coming right at you…" Sharla calls weakly. "Kid, duck!" A questioning sound escapes the boy's lips as he spins round and drops clumsily to the floor, out of reach of the ball for another brief moment.

One moment is all it takes for one of the tall figures, apparently not shadows, to throw something at the ball. The object collides with the specter and splits apart, swallowing the ball like an alien mouth before melding back into its original form. The thing lands within arm's reach of Sharla, miraculously remaining intact as it clatters to the floor. It appears to be made of clay, festooned with strange runes.

That's all she can make out before her vision blanks completely. It's as though her eyes are closed, but she can feel her eyelids pulled far apart over her blinded eyes. An insect seems to burst from a cocoon and flutter madly within her chest.

She knows it's not an insect; it's her heart. The muscle pulses spasmodically and she can swear she feels her ribcage cave in, constricting her from the inside.

She can hear someone running towards her.