It is something out of an ancient god's nightmares. Its hairless gray skin is stretched tightly across its misshapen head, displaying a gaping mouth filled with black fangs. Fangs that can rip out and eat internal organs; fangs that can feast on human brains. Its vaguely human body sinks onto its haunches, and it slides its long front arms across the stone floor. The stones whine under the claws.
Roxas only realizes he's trembling when he makes to step back, to flee as far and as fast as he could. "Zexion . . . what is that." He repeats, his voice barely a whisper as he doesn't want to test just how well the creature can hear, if at all.
Greenish lights spring up from where strange marks on the floor, and had memorized enough from Zexion's training that the marks are used for summoning. Roxas never cared to use magic as its power is relentless, limitless. Besides that a rare few have the capability to control it, Roxas always had an underlying fear. For a person to summon a creature such as this, from other . . . dimensions, as Zexion once theorized. It's terrifying.
It's also one of the rare occasions Roxas risked getting beaten to a bloodied pulp by his father when he refused to learn magic besides healing incantations.
"Zexion . . ."
"It's – it's a Heartless."
Roxas didn't need to know what it is about the creature that makes Zexion's voice quiver when he speaks its name. Besides looking like something that will haunt his nightmares for days, behind that misshapen body had to be a lot of power and lethal strength.
His mouth dry, his blood pounding in his veins, Roxas steps back. Zexion makes his way over to Roxas, Aerith sliding her way towards the back of the room where a stack of books on a simple wooden table sits.
"Aerith." Zexion breathes.
The creature whirls to looks at the two boys. Aerith, quiet as a mouse, manages to take the book from the table. Despite his instincts of fleeing, Roxas realizes that that book might be the only thing that can send this thing back to the hell it came from. They needed to keep its attention on them.
The creature – a Heartless – shoots its head up, its slitted nostrils sniffing twice. They freeze, but as they did, Aerith comes creeping round back towards them. The beast begins panting. The Heartless' eyes . . . Roxas had never seen anything like them. There is nothing in them but hunger – endless, ageless hunger. The creature is not of this world. According to Zexion's fear, it wasn't what he expected from whatever it was he and Aerith were doing. Roxas fears that not even his daggers will pierce the creature's hide.
Aerith moves so quickly that Roxas can only blink before she is behind them. She has the book open, flipping desperately through the pages to find a solution. The green light still seeps from the marks on the floor – marks Zexion had etched with chalk – illuminating the creature who stares at them with those starving, relentless eyes.
The Heartless stalks towards back and forth on its four long, spidery limbs, sniffing at them, and Roxas pauses. Why didn't it attack immediately? It sniffs at them again, and swipes at the ground with a clawed hand – striking deep enough to take out a chunk of stone.
It wants them alive. Roxas had seen several animals incapacitate their prey before the kill; it likes its blood hot. So it will find the easiest way to immobilize them, and then . . .
Roxas can't breathe. No, not like this. Not in this chamber, where no one will find them until days later, where he won't get the chance to apologize to Axel and tell him he loves him.
"We need to go." Roxas manages to mumble.
The creature sinks back onto his haunches, poised to spring.
"Run."
With a roar that shakes the castle, the Heartless runs for them.
"Run!" Roxas screams.
He remains in the doorway as Aerith and Zexion make their way out, watching the galloping at him, sparks flying from its claws as they strike stone. Ten feet away, it leaps straight towards Roxas' legs.
Roxas takes the doors in both his hands and readies to slam them shut. The creature jumps for him and Roxas slams the door, wedging a dagger between the handles before bolting down the hall after Zexion and Aerith in a dead sprint. But mere seconds after a thunderous, splintering boom erupts through the chamber as the Heartless shatters the wooden door. Roxas can only imagine what it would've done to his legs. He doesn't have time to think. He looks back to find the creature shaking itself from the pile of wood.
"Follow me! I have an idea!" Aerith shouts.
She leads the way as Roxas and Zexion race behind, Roxas tossing Zexion two of his daggers so they're both armed. Even if they're not strong enough, they can at least distract it.
They throw themselves through the doorway and turn left, flying down the stairwell. They'd never make it back to the surface alive, but if Aerith has a plan, hopefully they can divert the creature while she possibly tries to draw more marks.
The Heartless roars again, and the stairwell shudders. Roxas doesn't dare look behind. He focuses on his feet, on keeping upright as he bounds down the stairs, making the landing below, illuminated by moonlight leaking into the rotunda.
All three hit the landing, running for the open chamber, and Roxas praying to gods whose names he's forgotten, but who he hopes had not yet forgotten them. Roxas decides to make the attempt and preps three daggers in his hand. Hurling them back, they stick into the creature's arm, but it still power through like their nothing but mere bug bites.
"Roxas toss me your sword!" Aerith yells.
Roxas would question her, but not only does he have the time, but she knows plenty more about these things than he. He has no choice but to trust her judgment. He pulls out his sword and throws it with his remaining strength.
The metal whines as it tosses end over end through the air, and Aerith catches it with her available hand, the other balancing the book in her palm. Her lips begin to move and smooth arcane words leak from her mouth. Roxas watches with astonishment as a bright light blooms from the bottom of the blade, then slowly snaking its way up and around the blade until it's completely covered in a heavenly glow.
The creature hits the bottom landing and charges after them, so close that they can smell its reeking breath.
"In here!" Zexion shouts. A door to a tomb is wide open.
Grabbing onto the side of the doorway, the each swing themselves inside. They gain precious time as the Heartless skids to a halt, missing the tomb. It only takes a moment for it to recover and charge, taking off a chunk of the door as it enters.
The pounding of Roxas' feet echo through the tomb as he runs between the sarcophagi placed at the center.
"Roxas!" Aerith calls. She and Zexion are on the other side of the tomb, Aerith handing a still panicked Zexion some chalk. Roxas looks over just in time to see her toss his newly enchanted sword. It whistles through the air, over the creature's head. Roxas swears viscously.
"Roxas!" screams Zexion.
But Roxas is already running, running straight at those black, rotting fangs. The creature strikes for him, and Roxas hurtles over the snarling thing, the sword landing in the grasp of his outstretched hand. He falls to the floor, rolling a good few times before pushing to his feet. The ground shakes as the creature had pounded the stone of where Roxas once was seconds ago.
The blade shines in the moonlight, rippling with white and gripping the handle, Roxas can feel its power tingle his hands like pins-and-needles.
"Roxas," Aerith cups her hands around her moth. "you need to -!"
As she's about to tell him, the creature turns and lashes out at them.
"No!" Roxas screams.
Aerith and Zexion becomes limp projectiles momentarily as they thankfully had enough experience to miss the creature's claws, and get whacked by the back of its hand. But it sends them flying across the room, crashing into the wall.
The stone cracks under their impact.
Not a small crack, but a spiderweb that keeps growing and growing towards the ceiling, until –
A statue of a gargoyle poised above them, along with five others around the rotunda, cripples and showers everywhere as Zexion and Aerith drop to the ground.
The creature snarls, and he hears its deep intake of breath and the scrape of nails departing stone as the Heartless leaps for him. Roxas ducks and twists in the air and swings his sword.
The Heartless blocks it with its claws and roars, Roxas tumbling to the floor, rolling and pushing onto his feet. Snarling, it goes to swings its arm again and Roxas ducks, spinning low to slash its wrist. It howls in pain and retracts only for a moment. A dark liquid seeps from the wound.
It's still living. It can still bleed.
Roxas readies himself as the Heartless sways back and forth on its front arms, or legs. Taking the plunge, Roxas charges forward, calling upon each of his training lessons to help him as he hops, spins and slashes whatever flesh he can of the creature.
He's nearly gotten five cuts on each of the creature's arms when he decides to leap up, aiming for the head. But this time the creature is ready.
As Roxas is above its head, it lashes out one arm, grabbing his ankle. A yelp escapes Roxas as he's hurled to the ground, the grip releasing instantly. The pain is unbelievable. He's fairly certain his skull is cracked as the world continually goes in and out of focus.
A dark shadow looms over him and Roxas rolls out of the way as the creature's fisted hand pounds into the stone, creating a fair sized crater.
He hasn't even finished his roll when the other hand grips him like a doll, lifting him from the ground. The tomb slowly turns until he faces the creature. It snarls, and Roxas scowls back. Blood trickles down his temple, his lip is split open. The coppery taste of blood pervades his mouth.
The Heartless roars and Roxas brings his arms up and slashes at the creature's head, ignoring the splatter of warm saliva and blood. As he's dropped to the ground, Roxas lands on his feet, pushing back into the wall. He wipes his face and tries to block out the smell as well as the urge to vomit.
He only has time to see its eyes and a blur of its skin before he drives his sword through the Heartless' face.
Pain lances through his had as they slam into the wall and fall to the ground, scattering stones. Black blood that stinks of waste sprays onto him.
Roxas doesn't move, not as he stares into those black eyes barely inches from his own, not as he sees his right hand held in between its black teeth, his blood already oozing down its chin. He just pants and shakes, not taking his left hand from the hilt of the sword, even after those hungry eyes turn dull and its body sags atop his.
It's only when he sees Zexion and Aerith struggle to their hands and knees does he blinks. Everything after that becomes a series of steps, a dance that he has to execute perfectly or else he'd fall apart right there in that tomb and never get up. Zexion and Aerith hurry over to him, surprisingly – or perhaps not – they seem mostly unharmed. Probably due to their practicing, they casted protective wards around them or something to prevent serious damage.
"Easy Roxas." Zexion coos as calmly as he can without degrading the seriousness of the situation.
Roxas first pries his hand from the creature's teeth. It burns mercilessly. An arc of gushing puncture wounds encircle his thumb, and Roxas sways on his feet as he shoves the Heartless off him. It is surprisingly light – as if its bones are hollow, or there is nothing inside of it. Though the world becomes foggy around the edges, Roxas yanks his sword from its skull.
He uses his wrappings to wipe the blade clean, and sets it back into its scabbard.
"We should go." Aerith calmly speaks.
They leave the creature where it lies in a crumpled heap atop piles of stones. The other mages can clean it up. Not like it'll be unusual to see a dead, unworldly creature lying on the floor. Aerith and Zexion let Roxas take the lead, though he's highly aware of their presence behind him, waiting for him to stumble.
His vision blurring, he leaves the tomb and staggers up the stairs, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest.
"Roxas, let us help you." Aerith says.
"Later." Roxas slurs.
"Perhaps we should tell his mother." Zexion speaks softly intended on thinking Roxas is too bewildered to understand, but he does.
"No! Not now." Roxas demands. "We had . . . a, falling out."
"Then we'll try this way." Zexion holds out his hand, and on the wall across from Roxas, another portal opens up, and Roxas can see his bedroom on the other side. Sora and Vanitas are in the gaming room, talking amongst each other, Vanitas pacing back and forth and Sora looking frazzled.
"Come on." Zexion motions. Roxas follows without question, despite the last portal opening wide and letting in that . . . Heartless.
When they make it to the safety of his chambers, Roxas crosses to his bedroom and leans there, panting, as he unlocks it. His wound hasn't clot, and blood is still pouring down his wrist. He listens to it drip onto the floor. He should go into the bathing room and wash his hand. His palm feels like ice. He should –
"Roxas?" Zexion approaches.
His legs give out and Roxas collapses. His eyelids become heavy, so he closes them. Why did his heart beat so slowly?
Roxas opens his eyes to look at his hand. His eyesight is blurry, and all he can make out is a mess of pink and red. The ice in his hand reaches up his arm, down his legs.
He hears a booming, thunderous noise. A thump-thump-thump, followed by a whine. Through his eyelids he can see the light in the room darken. Aerith and Zexion hurry past him and shove open the door to the gaming room, Aerith disappearing into the bathing chamber. Then there's muffled voices.
Then there's a cry – male – and warm hands grab his face. Roxas is so cold it almost burns. Did someone leave the window open?
"Roxas!" It is Sora. He shakes Roxas' shoulders. "Roxas! What happened to you?!"
Roxas remembers little of the next few moments. Voices shout back and forth at one another. Strong arms lift him up and rush him into the bathing chamber. Aerith strains as she struggles to ready some kind of thick cream. Vanitas sets him into the bathing pool, where he then strips away Roxas' clothes. Roxas' hand burns when it touches the water, and he thrashes, but Vanitas holds him firm while Aerith is saying wards in a tongue the blonde assassin didn't understand. The light in the room pulses, and Roxas' skin tingles. He finds his arms covered in glowing turquoise marks. Vanitas holds him in the water, rocking back and forth.
Blackness swallows Roxas up.
So much time later, he opens his eyes.
He is warm, and the candlelight is golden. He can smell lotus blossoms and a bit of nutmeg. He makes a small noise and blinks, attempting to raise himself from the bed. What had happened? He can only recall climbing the stairs, then following Zexion and Aerith through a strange, door –
Roxas gives a start and grabs at his tunic, gaping as he finds that is has somehow turned into a nightshirt, and then marvels at his hand as he lifts it into the air. It is healed – completely healed. The only remnants of the wounds are a half-moon-shaped scar between his thumb and index finger and little bite marks from the Heartless' lower teeth. He runs a finger over each of the chalk white scars, tracing their curve, then wiggling his fingers to ensure no nerves have been severed.
How is this possible? It is magic – someone had healed him. He lifts himself and sees he's not alone.
Sora sits in a chair nearby, his focus currently on sewing up one of Roxas' old tunics, though Roxas himself prefers to simply burn the clothing. Sora then turns to him, as if sensing Roxas' awareness. A smile crosses his lips and he instantly hurtles the fabric aside to rush to the side of the bed. He embraces Roxas after giving a choked sob of relief. Roxas pats his arm and smiles.
"What happened?" Roxas asks.
"That's what I've been waiting to ask you." says the servant boy.
As Roxas opens his mouth, the door to his bedroom opens and in steps Zexion with a tray of food, Aerith behind him as she finishes off braiding her hair. Zexion's face lightens with relief and smiles as he make his way towards the bed as quickly as he can without spilling the contents of the tray.
Roxas is going to say something to Aerith as he recalls her enchanting his sword, but his words stop in his throat as he finds a flurry of red spikes bouncing behind her.
Axel saunters into the room, his hands in the pockets of his pants. There is no smile on his lips, and Roxas shifts as he beholds the mistrust in the reed-head's eyes. Ho looks handsome with his black, short-sleeved tunic revealing the sleeves of his tattoos. He stops at the threshold of the bedroom as Roxas is surrounded by the two mages and the servant boy.
"Try not to move so much. How are you feeling?" Zexion asks.
"Depends."
Zexion gestures to Roxas' body. "If it weren't for Aerith, you would've died from that bite within a few minutes."
Even the blood Roxas had dropped on the floor has been clean. "Thank you." Roxas says, then starts when he looks to the darkened sky beyond the windows. "What day is it?" If somehow two days have passed and he missed his own birthday celebration –
"It's only been three hours." Sora answers.
Roxas' shoulders sag. He hadn't missed it. He still had tomorrow to train, and party after that. Hopefully no one had spoken to his mother; though with Axel's presence makes his stomach clench. How esteemed it would be to stand up to his mother and then to have him attacked and slashed moments later.
"Your mother doesn't know, by the way." Sora answers again as if he can sense Roxas' thoughts. Roxas looks up to him and swallows.
"Imagine the punishment we'd get if she did find out." Aerith chimes. "She'd have our heads."
"Thank you, I suppose. Hopefully she'll believe my lie of a dog had bitten me." Roxas shyly chuckles as he stares at the scar on his hand. He looks up to find Axel still in the doorway. He refuses to enter, but only because he wants a word alone with Roxas, not because he considers himself out of the circle of information. "Will you excuse us, for a moment?"
None of the three look in Axel's direction, Zexion only fiddles with the condiments on the tray before he leaves with Aerith. "We'll be back to give you a checkup."
"That is fine."
Sora nods to Roxas, but doesn't acknowledge Axel as he passes through the entry of the bedroom into the dining area. Axel now has taken two steps in enough for Sora to close the door behind him.
There's a palpable silence that fills the room and feels heavy enough that it could crack the floor. Then Axel crosses his arms and walks over towards the bed. Roxas doesn't break their stare. Axel doesn't come directly up to him, but merely stops at the foot of the bed, then leans against one of the bed poles.
"Do you expect me to explain myself?" Roxas starts.
"It's more thought than hope."
"They already told you everything. I don't see why I have to. Not like I was in the proper shape to tell you."
"Would you have once you were recovered?"
Roxas shrugs nonchalantly. "Depends."
Axel sighs through his nose, slowly shaking his head. Roxas clenches and unclenches his right hand, watching the scars stretch and contact. He had come so close to dying. He flicks his eyes to the red-head, then back to his hand.
"It was an accident." Roxas says quietly, unable to meet his partner's eyes. "Zexion was trying . . . something with Aerith. And he screwed up."
"But what were you doing down there? I know those passages as well as you Roxas. And from the sewer entrance used by the servants, the mages training rooms are quite the walk." Axel pushes off the post and steps faintly closer, halfway sitting on the edge of the bed.
"We were on our way back, when –"
"We?"
Roxas looks up at Axel's tone. Roxas' expression shifts to clear annoyance. "Yes, we. Vanitas walked with me." It takes everything he has not to growl at Axel. Truthfully Roxas did want him here. Just to have his presence in the room makes Roxas feel safe, but his insecurity, mistrust and childish jealousy is incredibly bothersome to the point where Roxas just wants to grab him by the throat. "We came across the dungeons, and . . . I heard Sora. They trapped him down there, while I was gone on my mission. I was going to take him to see Zexion, but that's when we saw that thing. I had Vanitas take Sora upstairs."
"And you took on that thing alone?"
"I had Zexion and Aerith. Aerith enchanted my sword to defeat the creature."
"And look at what it cost you."
"I'm still alive, Axel."
"Hmph, that seems to be your excuse for everything."
"What's that supposed to mean? I thought you wanted to apologize." Roxas snarls.
"I do, but . . ."
"But what?"
"I just, want you to be more careful." Axel argues.
"You don't need to say that."
"Is there something wrong with saying it?"
"Yes, there is! I'm not some silly fool who can't protect himself or use his head!"
"Did I ever imply that?"
"No, but you keep saying 'be careful' and telling me how you worry, and insisting you help insisting me with things, and –"
"Because I do worry!" Axel just looks at him, damning him with that blank stare.
"Well, you shouldn't! I'm just as capable of looking after you as you are!"
Axel takes a step towards him, and Roxas only glares. "Believe me, Roxas," he snarls, his eyes flashing. "I know you can look after yourself. But I worry because I care! Gods help me, I know I shouldn't, but I do. So I will always tell you to be careful, because I will always care what happens."
Roxas blinks. "Oh," was all he can managed.
"Maybe we should just leave." says Axel.
Roxas jerk his head to Axel. "What? Leave my mother?"
"Not like you fully trust her anyway."
"Are you simply suggesting this because I got hurt once while we are here? Plus where will we go?"
"We can travel around like we did before." Axel says. "With the training with the guys, we can make it. You won't be so overworked."
"We're not leaving in the dead of winter." Roxas denies.
Axel pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut, then takes a long, deep breath.
"Axel, it's this or my father! We don't have a choice." Roxas puts a hand to his chest. "And before you start lecturing me on my morality, or before you stomp off and pout like a child, just know that there's not a moment that goes by when I don't wonder what things could be like for us. I want things to be different! I want to have a life with you where we're not on the run and I'm not coming home all bloodied and battered. But for now, while I still have someone of family, I will not risk going back out there while that man is still alive and breathing! The man who destroyed everything that I loved!"
Roxas shouts, even though it makes his head pound. He can't breathe fast enough, not as the door inside his mind opens and closes, and the images that Roxas had made himself forget flashed before his eyes. He closes them, wishing for darkness. Axel remains silent. In the quiet, people, places, words echo in his mind.
Then footsteps. They bring him back. The mattress groans and sighs as Axel sits.
Roxas buries his face in his sheet-covered knees. To his embarrassment, tears flow from his eyes. He can't go back out there in the middle of winter and while his father is still after him. But why was Axel so quick to suggest they leave the Faceless? Something about his tone makes Roxas uneasy. He's hiding something, but right now, Roxas is too tired to care.
To Roxas' surprise, Axel gives a chuckle. "You just can't seem to escape trouble."
Roxas lifts his face from his knees, unable to keep a hint of a smile from his lips. "It would go against my protocol."
"There!" Axel says. "A reaction – thank the gods I've finally amused you." He takes Roxas' hand in his warn, dry one. Roxas opens his eyes, but stares at the wall across the room. Axel squeezes Roxas' hand. "You know I love you, endlessly, Roxas. It hurt me – hurt me more than I realized it would – to have things become so cold between us. To see you look at me with such distrust in your eyes. And I don't ever want to look at you like that again." His green eyes shine, Roxas shivers when he feels Axel's warm lips press against his callus knuckles. "I can never compare to what you went through with your father. But you did not let his cruelty harden you; you did not let it shame your own soul into cruelty."
He traces his thumb on Roxas' hand, his fingers pressing into the assassin's skin, working its way to the gold ring that Roxas still wears like it's a simple addition to his skin. "You bear many burdens, but I want to give you a promise." Axel kisses the assassin's brow. "I give you the promise of our future. Our freedom of everything that threatens us, and together we can live in peace. On the plains of the 100 Acre Woods, or along the glimmering shorelines of Atlantica, we will make it together."
Roxas is held in place. He can feel the promise fall upon him like a shimmering veil. This is unconditional love. Lovers like this do not exist. Why is he so fortunate to have found one?
"Come," Axel says brightly. He scoots himself onto the bed and towards Roxas where he wraps an arm around the assassin's shoulder and cuddles him to his chest. "Tell me about how you found Sora and why he as captured, and what it was Zexion had brought into the castle upon him fucking up."
Roxas gives him a sheepish smile.
Even without a blade or magical incantation, Axel had saved Roxas life. More than once. And a show of appreciation will come later. So Roxas wriggles himself down and rests his head on Axel's chest. He speaks.
Deep in the bowels of the castle, Tifa and Aerith walk side by side through the dampened, stone hallway. The torches burn but darken easily from the slightest breeze with the moisten air. Their capes whisper against the floor and Aerith tries not to focus on the sweat gathering in her palms as she catches a glimpse of the Mistress with the flames casting ominous shadows across her flawless face.
"He is persistent, Madame." Aerith speaks. "He wants to advance so quickly."
"I expected better control from your part, Aerith. Although I quote you on your quick thinking to have my son defeat the creature."
They come to a thick wooden door with a black round knocker, and Aerith wordlessly steps aside and opens the door for the Mistress. After she steps through, Aerith follows reclaiming her position by her side.
"There's also the matter that Zexion was able to even summon the creature at his skill. I'm not sure if it was a mistake but –"
"But it still worked well for us as it proved those creatures can be summoned as well as killed. It'll be useful to use for later on." Tifa says. "Now, onto more important matters. How is your progress?"
"We seem to be advancing well. Teaching Zexion has given more time to sort through all of the needed ingredients. I've managed to solve the need for the base of the serum, however it's proving difficult to obtain the proper poisons as well as considering which ones can collaborate well without shutting down the enter central nervous system." Aerith explains.
They come to another door and Aerith opens it once again, allowing the Mistress inside.
"Have you gotten the chance to test it out?" The Dark Mistress asks.
"We have, though whether the results are laudable remains to your decision, Milady." Aerith bows her head.
They've finally reached the secret dungeon dedicated to Aerith's experiments. The woman has done well keeping things vague for the students she brings down here for lessons as well as manipulating them to helping her finish the recopy.
This, Zexion however seems like he might be a larger step for them in the right direction. According to Aerith, he seems rather talented in the arts of magic, as well as having an incomparable intellect to back it up. If Aerith can't coax the truth out of him, perhaps she can use her skills to get him to unknowingly help.
The entire room is a circular jail cell with multiple wall shackles binding people to the grimy stone. Some are simple innocents, slaves, others are prisoners of war . . . betrayers.
In the room already are two other faceless who straight away, stop whatever it is they're doing to turn and bow lowly to the Mistress. There are two tables shoved up against the walls opposite each other. There's a butchering block located in the corner, a headless corpse lying feet away, his blood trickling towards the drain on the floor. Splatters of crimson coat the wall, the smell correlates with stale urine and the smoke from bubbling liquids of different kinds. The Faceless trainees resume their work.
A metal tray is lined with multiple syringes with each bearing different color liquids.
Tifa glances all around the room and finds a familiar young man chained to the wall. His head hangs low and his fingers lazily move like he is drowsy. He's seen that boy before, he and Roxas sparred a few times together, and once her proud son made a fool of him, he would help the boy to his feet and teach him new stances.
The boy has silver hair speckled with black lowlights and he has been stripped down to a simple loin cloth. His skin is pale and battered and bruised. Tifa can see several cuts where he had fought against the women as the needles poked his skin.
Hunter, is his name.
"I wish to see a demonstration." The Dark Mistress demands. Aerith nods and jerks her chin to one of the Faceless, who submissively goes over to the tray and picks up a random syringe.
"These are out closest results we've come to replication." Aerith explains.
The Faceless trainee approaches Hunter who jerks his head up, and his eyes – one being an icy blue, the other a mocha brown – widen to where white shows all around. He immediately scrambles and begins to thrash against the chains. The other Faceless member comes over and links shackles to his feet to keep him kicking. His eyes show no signs of humanity, only animal instincts and the need to get away from the woman approaching.
The second Faceless grabs him by the hair and shoves his head against the wall while the one holding the syringe rounds to the boy's side. He hisses, baring his teeth as he wriggles underneath the grip. The second Faceless draws her dagger and sets it under his neck. The first Faceless aims the needle at the neck, the tip of the needle inserting into the tender skin. Hunter begins to whimper like a dog.
It slowly breaks out into a scream as the pain spreads as she pushes down on the plunger, injecting the colored water into the boy's neck.
The boy instantly stops his struggling and drops to a dead weight; his body slacking and his head hanging. The Faceless back away and wait.
It's four seconds before the boy's head jerks up, his pupils shrinking back to the size of a pinprick. He immediately throws his head back and howls in pain. It nearly matches the roar of the Heartless, only it's filled with endless agony.
Tifa can see him start to show the symptoms of fear. His forehead gleams with sweat in seconds, his breathing ragged, and his heart beating so fast she can see it underneath his pale, skin, and rattling his thing bony frame. Perhaps he was once a boy of exquisite looks with those eyes. But now he's nothing but a hollow, yellow-skinned skeleton. She can see the hallucinations striking terror through him.
He starts the thrash back and forth, his wrists pulling so tight against his shackles that they begin to stream blood. He continually bangs his head against the stone wall behind him, his limbs bending odd ways and constantly screaming to stop whatever it is he sees. His bangs stick to his forehead in clumps.
Then he stops and stars straight ahead at the Mistress, who simply looks to him with a cold and bored stare. She has her arms folded waiting for the show to be over and to yield the results she yearns.
Hunter soon begins to cower in fear and he's pressing himself against the wall, his feet slipping on the floor as he tries to push himself further away. A warm wet spot appears on his pants as he soils himself from the fear only he is seeing. He whimpers and sobs, mumbling slurred words that none can understand.
"Is there anything else?" Tifa asks, over the whimpering and sob coming from the boy.
Aerith, who seems rather pale, simply stares at the boy. "That is all we know, we can instill the fear, yet he doesn't seem to be able to focus well enough."
"Very well. I'll admit you're farther than I anticipated. Well done Aerith. See to it you keep up the work." The Dark Mistress says as she turns away and exits the dungeon. One of the trainee Faceless hold the door open for her, and she spares them a nod of approval. She stops halfway through the threshold. "Oh, and dispose of him. He's served his purpose, and his noisemaking is highly exasperating."
With a whisper of her cloak, she is gone. Aerith looks to the boy and sighs. She turns to the two other Faceless, who stand aside awaiting her command. She folds her lips in, her eyes blurring. "Prep the block."
The two Faceless infuse Hunter with a numbing agent as they unshackle him and drag him forward. They force the boy to his knees before the stained stone. Hunter still whimpers and can merely sway himself back and forth as the numbing agent immobilizes all use of his body.
They shove Hunter to his quaking knees before the stained stone. Hunter just stares at Aerith, his eyes bright.
One Faceless shoves his head down on the block. Tears run over the bridge of his nose and onto the block. He whimpers again, pleading. Begging.
Aerith bites the inside of her lip.
Suddenly, Hunter then speaks. "He worked . . . too well."
All three women stop to look at him. Hunter merely gazes into oblivion.
"He's still alive. Filled with the nightmares." He mumbles.
The second Faceless clicks her tongue in annoyance and steps forward.
"They couldn't control him." Hunter cocks his head to Aerith so quick that she can hear the pop of muscle in his neck. His eyes are wide and feral. A hideous grin spreads across his thin lips. "And you can't control him! Nobody . . ."
The Faceless woman raises her axe.
"Nobody."
Aerith bites through her lip. The taste of blood saturates her tongue.
"Nobody!"
This is his last word as the ax falls.