Can You Hear?
The stars are wonderful things this time of night. X gazed up at the stars mindlessly, clutching his black cloak closer to himself whilst watching the earth turn slowly in the revolutions of the universe. It was an odd thing; that it was, that things had come to this. Where did everything fall apart, and where did he lose…
He continued down the streets in a restless, wandering search. The streets where empty now, though earlier there were many festivities about for the occasion. The streetlamps were adorned from fixture to fixture, crisscrossing the streets with furry tinsels of gold and silvers. Massive buildings of indisputable size and small corner shops all met with each other a common goal in these days, as each held within themselves messages of kind greetings of cheery holiday seasons. It was so colorful now; a great contrast to the rusty grays of the normal city life, so hectic and worrisome. Now was the time to enjoy, and now was the time to partake in the happiness that was the holidays with those that truly mattered.
As it just so happened, the wanderer had made his way into the great town square, standing before a giant of a pine, also decorated with the most intricate and defined ornaments of handcrafted legend. It loomed over him in almost an ominous way as the shadows of the light of the moon were cast upon him, his armor reflecting the pale light. For a moment, he could only stand there, beholding the mighty tree in its entire splendor while images of people passed through his mind's eye. Everyone was there, standing around and before him with smiling faces; each man and woman whom he had met in the past was there, good and bad, it didn't matter.
Dr. Light, Sigma, Double, Zero; they were all present and accounted for. The coffee boys, Douglas, the technician girls, Signas, and Dr. Cain too, they greeted him kindly. Each to his own, Vile, Serges, Gate, Bit; they were all there to greet him a fond hello, and to celebrate the new day; that is to say, all except for the one. He desperately shook away the calming feeling that the others bestowed upon him and X tried to look around his comrades for the missing sheep of the herd. Gently, he was able to force his way out of the crowd, just long enough to see the slim retreating form slip away into the shadows. The hunter's eyes widened considerably, so much so that he had to shake his head vigorously to finally rid himself of the opening view, though this ultimately lead to the fading away of the visions completely. At once, X desperately tried to call out to his soon disappearing friends. He dashed from one to the other as was closest, reaching out to touch each one, but ending up punching his fists through the weightless images of the fallen.
At end's meet, the lone champion fell on his knees. His hands gripped the icy stone floors with all their might, crushing the floors with his untapped strength. His very body shook bitterly and against his own restraint. What does it matter… fighting from one to the next? After all my efforts there is still nothing to show from them, and how very pointless my struggle is now... I can hardly stand, much less fight anymore… what am I even fighting for? Or for who…?
Bending question after question assaulted him, tearing his resolve away to the ground. Fragmented tears of memories began to drip away from him, fading away as fast as time itself and leaving him empty and alone. The streaming emotion flooding his body left him shriveled, curling him on the floor like some discarded paper. He fell silent; not even his grief could be heard.
Yes, so silent indeed that even a calming terror was lifted from under X's cowardice. Gentle sobs dipped over the horizon, tapping the soul like pebbles over a lake. Yes, he knew that voice, so very dear to him it was. Slowly the hunter's head began to rise with a look of dismemberment on his stricken face. His eyes slowly traced the voice and the pure trepidation he felt alone compelled him follow it, leading him to the corner of a small, back alley. He stopped though, just before turning that dreadful corner. The champion's legs trembled and a film of cold sweat was forming under his helmet. His green eyes could barely blink and his hands gripped and slacked without certainty. Smacking his lips X soon found how dry his mouth had become, and he bet that if he could look in the mirror, he would see a great loss of color. Another soft whimper crept past him. The hunter finally clenched his hands in determination, steeling himself as his first foot stepped past the corner to behold what fate dealt him.
"Al…" It was all X could do to not puke, much less speak her name at the sight. Before him was a vision, not of loveliness, but of a ghastly scene. At the end of that passage, pinned high against the wall by a spike in each hand and one through both feet, was a grisly crucifixion, a mock out of Christ Himself done in the crudest of manners. Even a cross of blood was still being outlined around her naked body, beaten and bruised as it was, by the perpetrator.
Wanderlust…
The latter, just now becoming aware of the hunter's presence, turned to greet him with a great grin. "Oh? My first onlooker!" His face was big, but the grin on it was bigger, eclipsing it even. He rushed to X's side, turning to face his work as if it was from the hero's point of view so as to full appreciate it. "Isn't it magical?" He said gleefully. "It's my masterpiece! But what to call it, what to call it? Hmm…" nodding his head down in thought, the reploid began to ponder, "… maybe 'Acquiescence'? No, more like 'Babe in Red'." On and on the self proclaimed artist went, sometimes murmuring simple muses, other times seemingly proclaiming his ideas to the little world in that alley.
And yet, it was all lost upon X, somewhere in between his ears in the tiny, still small fire brewing inside him; some indisputable rage that had been dwelling inside his depths for far too long, eating away at his soul like termites to wood. Years ago, when he began to finish these wars, it had seemed like he had lost bits of himself along the way, gradually losing buoyancy and sinking into the choking sands of self destruction. Now, like a giant hand had come down to the sinking sands, but rather than taking the hunter's hand and lifting him from despair, it had driven him past the point of no return. There was no going back, no point in any of it really.
So the still small fire ceased to be, bursting into a great inferno. "Or maybe 'Sleeping Beauty'? Oh! How about 'Painting Distress'!" The maniac hadn't stopped rambling, as if there wasn't another living soul there with him. Perhaps he was subconsciously correct, but instead of becoming aware of anything outside his obsession, he opted for a different route. "…it's not quite right. Perhaps it needs a little more tweaking. A slash here, a splatter there…" He started towards his "art" reaching for the knife concealed in the small of his back.
Before he had taken more than four steps to Alia's frigid body, he raised the small dagger, poising for a strike when a small bullet of energy blew past him, smoke lifting from where it had grazed his left earlobe. Whipping around he was greeted with four knuckles colliding into his poorly-battle equipped cheeks. The force of X's attack was enough to effectively shatter the monster's metal jaw and plastering him to the titanium wall at the end of the alley. He coughed, sputtering a bit of fluid onto the floor. "What?!" he cried in astonishment. "Can't you appreciate the art of Wanderjahr, the magnificent? Is it not beautiful? Is it not wonderful? It is my masterpiece!"
Coal in the furnace, that's all it was to X. With another burst of fury he was upon the artisan, savagely beating him against the wall with his barren fists, shadowed over by Alia's body. With each blow to his midsection, face, everywhere, the wall bent a little more. Steadying his body by placing his hand on Wanderjahr's shoulder, X drew his hand back for a killer blow. With a few feet of distance between them now, each repliroid was given a good view of what each other looked like now.
From X's perspective, the fiend might have just been a pile of mush, as his body had been transformed into a variable play doe with his strength. His blood was splattered against the wall, dripping into a second pool on the floor. It wasn't until he had seen the second pool that he had noticed the first pool, and traced it back to the bloody cross… and the multiple gashes inflicted upon her skin to make that symbol. His normally green eyes, quoted to be the most serene eyes a person had seen, had changed, reflecting the precious blood and his own boiling anger, mixing them into one. His drawn back hand quivered now, shivering with the hot tears, or as it could be said, the blood of his broken heart. They ran along his distressed face, hitting his lips and running into his open mouth, their salty taste seasoning his soul.
On the other end of the long tunnel, since the beatings Wanderjarh received had caused him to see in a tunnel vision, his view was perhaps more than just slightly skewed. A might gust had blown, blowing the man's cloak before him and unwrapping the mystery of his assailant, if only slightly. The cloths opened, revealing a light blue armor, nothing special. Though it might have only been attributed to the head trauma, Wanderjarh could have sworn something wasn't right with this reploid. Yes, he saw it now. That armor… was melting away. That hellfire in the attacker's eyes, yes, it was a blaze scorching enough to burn away the shell holding him to the wall, and to reveal the truth of behind it all.
It was true, X's armor was melting away, falling off of him like meat on well made ribs. With a low and guttural cry emitting from the both of them, his fist crashed into the artiste, his face exploding into a mass of metal and a spurt of the reploid's "blood", the sound trailing the sonic boom created by the fist.
X let the corpse drop then, as did his arms to his side. That last spurt of blood had covered his body, dribbling down crevices and curves not there before. Yes, his anger had burned the old away and it was blown like ashes through the late air. He stood upright in his darkened armor, hardly noticing how free his power had become because of it and its "human" design. Looking up, he bit his lip as the weight of Alia's death was finally given time to crush him thoroughly. Her body wasn't equipped like a war reploid's. Where they had the ability to be easily resurrected for more fighting, she was built more human-like. Repair was not an option here, not anymore at least. Just seeing her in such a position was enough to water his eyes, even though his body was drained as it was.
Wiping his eyes as best he could, the champion took his love down from her perch and wrapped her body up, leaving her face uncovered so he could gaze upon it one more time. Suddenly, it was as if biting his lip wasn't enough for X anymore as more bitter tears broke what little dams he had been able to build within himself. He couldn't help it; Alia seemed so serene right now, like she was sleeping back in the Hunter Headquarters and none of this had ever happened.
It was his fault, he knew it. His feelings had gotten the better of him once again, and they always did. X brought her body into a tender embrace, hugging her as tight as he would dare. His hand pushed her head against his shoulder, resting it there as he let himself pretend she was sleeping under his gentle protection. With all the love he had neglected to show her before, he made his feelings clear now, and though she could not see his affection, he still hoped that wherever she was, that she'd would know how deeply he truly felt for her.
Nothing would make it better.
From his perch on the roof of an overlooking building, a solitary figure watched it all unfold. He sighed, turning and fading away into the night with the picture of the two engraved into his heart and soul. Brushing a blonde lock from his eyes, he pondered deeply about lessons long taught to him by life.
If memory serves correctly, many years have passed in this lifetime, yet none of them holding a moment ever as precious. Most don't enjoy such times ever often, except those of us with luck enough to have them every so often; as the same goes for those of us on the other side of the spectrum. However, there is always the one who dwells in-between.