The End Is Where We Begin

Amy's Arc

Chapter 6: Sweet and Soulless

For as long as I can remember, there has always been a dark side of me. A part of me that could only be accessed through negative feelings, like despair, rage, even a bewitched trait like insanity.

Whenever I unleashed it, all my common sense and hesitant thoughts vanished, replaced by the sadistic desire of wanting to kill, to see blood spill like paint on a canvas. My friends always said things like "Snap out of it Amy!" or "This isn't you!"

Oh, how wrong they were. They didn't know that I was fully aware of my actions when I became dark, that I was fully in control of my body. I enjoyed harming others, watching them scream in pain and sheer terror. I would attack, and stop only a second away from ripping their throats out, just so I could see them process the fear of possibly dying. They thought I was hesitating when things like that happened, but I only stopped because I loved seeing fear.

The pleasure I felt is indescribable, a feeling only seen as one thing: sadistic. When I snapped back to my sense after times like those, I pretended to cry, shed fake tears to make it look like I hated myself for something like that. But deep inside, deep in my thoughts, I found myself inwardly smiling in joy. I loved the sight of death, of torture. When I saw things such as that, I pretended that I felt hatred to whoever did that. But truth be told, I wanted to do the suffering myself. Sad, isn't it? Oh wait, no it isn't. I'm a sadist, after all.

Sadist. What a brutal word to use for a warrior like me. Warrior. Such a flattering title for a useless girl like me. Not that it makes a difference to me. Someone once called me a monster. Another called me a demon. Someone else said I was hell bound. They said I was the epitome of a darkness darker than that of a black hole, that I housed a living hell in my soul, that the chaotic powers I wield come from the flames or purgatory. So what if I do? So what if I'm a Mobian with the nature of a demon? It wouldn't make a difference, now that I am who I am. I could care less what they call me.

They can call me an angel, a demon. But the truth is that I fit in neither category. My murderous and dark nature could name me a fallen angel at best, but not even that could qualify as my title. A beast from the hell beneath Mobius wouldn't fit my title either. Even a devil could be considered innocent when compared to me. The crimes I've committed dive far deeper than any ocean, any wound from a sword, any chance of redemption. If I'm not a demon, nor am I an angel. I'm mortal. But at the same time, I'm not. I lost my mortality, my Mobian blood ages ago. That's what makes me a mortal, a Mobian.

"Amy?" A voice whispered eerily. "Wake up." I wanted to open my eyes, but the strength in me seemed to have faded to close to nothing.

"Wake up."

I released a pent-in breath, my chest no longer tense and stiff.

"Wake up."

Weakly, I cracked my eyes open a sliver, seeing nothing but a blinding light and my sakura-colored bangs, which were spread all over my face.

"Wake up."

"Shut up, whoever you are." I croaked, my voice rocky and unbalanced.

"Wow. Surprising you can even speak." The voice stated, changing to a monotonous sounding voice.

"Flattery won't work on me." I shot back, shifting my weight onto my weak elbows.

"You sound exactly like her. The voice, the attitude, the looks, all of it. A perfect replica of her."

My eye twitched. Who's her exactly? This anonymous person was talking about me like I was some sort of experiment. A specimen. Like hell I could be something like that.

"Now how could I be a replica of someone? I have memories, emotions, thoughts, a living, beating heart." I pointed out, shifting my gaze to my surroundings, searching for the person this voice belonged to.

This voice sounded grim, deep, husky. A slight darkness and pain hinted in it. And...a vaguely familiar feeling flowed through my skin. The aura emanating around me...was awfully reminding of him.

I reached for the inhibitor ring in my pocket, thankful it was still there. The same, crimson-coated ring that belonged to a hedgehog trapped in an unrequited love. How tragic.

"Ah, so you've finally found it. I've been looking for my other ring for ages." The voice said, making me stiffen. His other ring...

It couldn't—it couldn't be...

A gloved hand reached toward the golden bracelet-like item in my hands, but I clutched it to my chest and attempted to back away, though the muscles in my legs still hadn't regained their strength.

The hand grasped my wrist and yanked. Hard. I cried out upon hearing a crack in my right forearm. This pain—this feeling—I enjoyed it, despite the numbness coursing through my veins. Right next door to the adrenaline burning apart my insides.

Oh, this pain, this suffering, I've wanted to inflict this on myself, for so, so long. I couldn't do it in the past—the others would've gotten suspicious of me. Oh, thank god that I can finally feel Suffering's chains tugging on my limbs, my neck, strangling me to the point I could only breathe in the scent of blood and war.

The golden ring, with crimson blossoms splashed on it, slipped through my gloved fingers, hitting the floor and rolling toward the very same hand which broke my arm.

"It's great to see you again, Amy Rose." The voice finally spoke, a figure grasping the ring and slipping it onto his wrist, around a ink and scarlet colored cuff.

"Hey Shadow. It's been awhile, since you died, I mean." I greeted, my features not wavering.

Shadow walked out from the shadows of the corner, just like his name implies. "Let's begin our little reunion, shall we?"