CHAPTER 4: And Its Name Was Vile
Xander walked home after the
"party" ended, vexed by his problems. Horrific dreams plagued him every time he slept, being banned from
Aerith's home, forever, trying to find the missing piece of his puzzle. But worst of all was that he had these awful
feelings. Not sorrow, hate, or happiness, but rather, love. Not like the love from parents, but the love
of a person that he wasn't tied to by blood. In all of Midgar, not one person was suitable for him. Sometimes he thought of Aerith in that way,
but she would probably say that they were to good of friends, or something like
that. Maybe, one day he'd find that
girl and take her away from this mess called Midgar, and start a family of his
own.
The pre-teen sighed. Dreams, that's all they were. Pitiful dreams that would only come true in
the movies. Guy meets girl. Girl falls in love with guy. They get hitched. Bah, those would never come true, not as long as he was still
sane… or had a severe drug overdose.
Anyway, he had to get home; his
parents were expecting him soon. At
least he wasn't too far away from his house now. Just a left here, and a right there…
One half hour later, Xander finds himself back at spot he was at a
half hour ago, except on the right track this time. Although it was dark from the plate that separated the slums from
the upper world, he could still see the dirt road. He was sure that this was the right road. In the far off distance, he heard a loud
boom. In school, he learnt about
lightning and thunder, but inside Midgar? Now there was a dim orange light that seemed to get brighter and
brighter. After hurried walking and
time, the light was so bright that the path was totally lit up.
This time he was correct. This path led straight to the burning inferno that was his house. Picking up the pace to a sprint, he raced to
his place of sanctuary, his life. Realization smashed upon him as he thought about his parents. What if they were inside the house
when…?
Moving even faster now, he was just a few yards from home.
A man cloaked in the shadows of an alleyway stood, listening to
the crackle emanating from wood of the nearby home he had just visited. Now all he had to do was wait for his catch
that was so eagerly lusted for by his superior. If the boss was right, then this was the one that everyone had
been waiting for, for almost twenty-two years. Yes, it had been quite sometime since they last met, so he figured he
should see if the dear lad remembered him. The day this "chosen one" left, was the start of something wonderful for
all his kind, although some had not realized it yet.
Footsteps resounded in his sharp hearing system. Just a few more seconds before it was time.
The smell of smoke was almost maddening as he ran, further and
further. Xander rounded the corner of a
black alley. Like lightning, a hand
shot out of the icy darkness, and pulled him in. The surprise showed in his features, but slowly melted away into
shows of pain as the hand slung his head into a brick wall. A throbbing pain was sent to his skull, and
he looked at his offender for the first time… and all he saw was a single, red
eye, looking at him. It wasn't like an
oval eye, but more like a pointed, glowing one.
Once more, the attacker
thought to himself. Yes, this was the
one they all wanted so badly. This
Xander. Now that he thought of it, he
had wanted revenge for along time with this… mortal, of sorts.
He could see clearly in the blackness, at the boy. Fear grip-ping him so hard that he could
hardly speak, or at least that was the impression the man wanted to inflict.
Xander tried to gather his thoughts. He didn't have time for this! His family was most probably dieing in the blaze, but some creep delayed
him. His apprehension turned into
frustration and anger, and he let out a growl. "Dammit! I don't have any time
to deal w-, w-, with whoever you are!"
The man narrowed his eye, and cocked his head to a side and back,
menacingly. "Such insolence from one so
small…" If he wasn't so… "Child," He
uttered, so filled with anger and venom, "My name is Vile." He dropped the lad, roughly to the dirt, and
turned his back to him. "Never forget
it."
Xander watched the man walk away, and disappear in the glow. For moments, he blocked everything out,
except for the man, or thing, whatever it was. The crackle of fire was nearly missed by his hearing, and it snapped him
back to the real world. Ignoring the
migraine drilling into his brain, he jumped out of the alley and caught view of
his home. It was still burning. Maybe he still had a chance, or maybe he
missed it, and it was game over. But
now wasn't the time to worry; he had to check any way.
Getting closer to the wreck, he noticed writing, burned into the
wall. It read: 0. Whatever it meant didn't matter. Too much time was wasted already, and Xander
raced inside.
Harold coughed, and hacked himself awake. Smoke and fire surrounded him on all sides,
and yet he was calm. Slowly but surely,
he was dieing, and his mind could barely keep him breathing, not to mention
think. Even though, he recalled the
events of the last few minutes.
He was upstairs, in his
bedroom, and was polishing the prized sword he received on that special
day. His wife, Alxdandria, was
downstairs, were it all started. Upon
coming to think about her, he new she was probably dead by now, and soon he
would be too. The man huffed. He hated getting off track like that. Anyway, he heard and felt the tremors from a
loud explosion. Naturally, he rushed
to see the cause of the agitation, sword in hand. By the time he reached his kitchen though, he was too late.
Crouching over his late wife was a man as far as he could
tell. The kitchen fire illuminated his
figure partly, but just enough to see his long white hair. Then slowly, the man turned his face to
Harold, and all Harold saw was his glowing red eyes and another explosion.
Footsteps brought his sub-conscious back to the present, and
Harold just clutched the sword tighter in his failing hands. The closer the sound got, the more fear grew
in his mind. Only a few feet away from
him now, and his vision was quickly fading. Deciding that he ought to at least find out who the second invader was,
he called out. His voice, although just
above a whisper, was just in range of the unknown, and he responded. "Dad?? Dad, is that you?" Came the frantic voice of his son.
Within moments, Xander reached his father and tried to pull him up
futily. After dropping him once, he
reached again, but his father waved his arm away. "You know it's too late for me son, but I want to tell you-"
Xander, disbelief in the fact that his father was actually giving
up on him, tried to yank his last remaing family member to their feet again
before he could finish speaking. He
already saw his mother, and he didn't want that to be the case with his
papa. In frustration, Harold shoved the
boy back. "This is important!" He
rasped, "Now listen to the last words
of your old man, alright?"
Holding back his tears, Xander nodded for him to proceed. Harold rested his back against the wall and
sighed, trying to remember what happened that day, thirteen years ago.
Just as he'd promised Alxdandria, he would tend to the flowers
today, just like he did last week, and the week before that, and so on. After getting out of the service, things
were pretty dull. Harold sighed, and
bent over a blue rose, her favorite, as a stormy gale pushed down on his
backside, into the dirt. His senses
tingled as adrenalin started its course through his bloodstream, and
immediately he was back on his toes, looking for the slightest hint of danger. Searching from greenish patch to greenish
patch, he went up and down the rows of plants. Then, as if he had just been hit by another gust, he heard the small
crying of a baby boy…
"What are you trying to say, pops?" Xander interrupted, the worry
in his voice very obvious.
Harold grunted, repositioning his head and looked his boy, square
in the eyes. "I'm trying to tell you, that you don't belong to me."
"WHAT??"
"We aren't blood related at all. In no way am I your father, and neither is your "mom."
The shock of the information started to take affect. "B-B- But how? I mean, it doesn't make any sense! I've been here all this time, and you never…" Gradually, his
voice became weaker, and he just rambled on, wide-eyed and coughing.
Shaking his head somewhat, Harold tried to get Xander's attention
back. "There's more," That did the
trick, he thought, when Xander looked back at him again. There was a-a note, that came with you,
t-too," Smoke was still in his lungs, impeding his speech. "It said, to take
care of you, and t- to give you this." Looking at the sword still clutched in his hands like it was the only
thing keeping him alive, he loosened his grip, and tossed it to his
adoptee.
Catching the prized possession awkwardly, Xander looked back at
his foster parent. This was HIS special
sword, not Xander's. Why would he give
it to him? Sword work was never the lad's best skill…
Seeing the doubt etched into the youth made Harold pipe up
again. "It really does belong to
you. It was never mine to begin
with. A-a- and I know you'll learn how
to use it. The Crystalline Dream works
for you, and no other. Be sure to treat
it with respect and dignity, like any other person you know-" Once again he was
stopped in his tracks, but this time, it was death rapping on his chamber door.
Knowing it was time to leave, Xander took the sword whose title
was Crystalline Dream in hand, and gave his foster father one more
embrace. Letting out a single tear
since he saw Alxdandria crumpled heap in the kitchen, he hugged tighter. He would have held on longer, but Harold
pushed him back. Nodding, Xander took
off for wherever it was that fate had planned for him to go to. Although he hardly got out from the house
before a plate fell onto his head from the last remaining shelf, and knocked
him out, he remembered "Vile" and he was sure he couldn't die yet.
