Falling

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Magi Kessil marched from the clean white room where the meeting had just taken place. It was an intermission now, and a table of treats awaited his dry, parched throat. He was unable to articulate the emergency they were now in. Seventeen students already perished, and not a single explanation that rang of sanity.

He remembered Madam Sirril's exact words from the meeting just a minute ago. The way her voice quavered, how her eyes avoided anyone's gaze.

Their eyes... so empty, as though living a dream they knew would never come true, like their hearts were no longer in it, in life.

Several seconds later, he clutched a glass of wine with his trembling hand, his dark hair shadowing his usually jet black eyes. But now they were the brightest of emerald green, sparkling intensely with tumulous emotion. He had seen one of the afflicted students himself. They sat still, oblivious to the rest of the universe. Tight-lipped, serene, their chests barely moving. Their spirits drained...

And Kiriel Zefflek was gone. Vanished with the sword, apparently undertaking her own crusade to avenge the students. The Code of Meshal did not say *anything* about meting out vengeance.

Kessil sighed, unable to enjoy the taste of the bitter wine, and turned in time to see the Delegate from the ministry of the North striding toward him. The taste of iron suddenly overpowered the taste of the rare delicate wine. It made him want to wretch.

The Northerner approached him, clad in dark, rare leather, which whispered for every step he took. Beside him strode a woman, who wore her hair short, her face stoic, and her attire similar but decorated with less of those fancy jingling bangles on her arms and pins on the lapel of her jacket.

But it was the man who spoke to him. He recognized him from the local newspaper; the Northerners were here on account of the threat, of the inevitable 'affliction' that was slowly leaking into their territories. The man was general Arc Kage.

"Any news?" the general asked, his hand noticably itching at the holster of the alien weapon that hung there at his waist.

Kessil feigned annoyance. That weapon frightened him slightly, but he reassured himself by keeping faith in his power. "I'm not the one to ask... however, the only news I have is that we are working as hard as we can for a cure. But there seems to be no other cure than to return their life essence to them. And we simply don't *have* that. Without it, they will simply continue to exist until they either die or live their unlife eternally."

"It seems that magic fails here... we have no means of locating their... 'essence' either. We cannot revive them with our technology, nor can we find any way to defeat the onslaught of the monsters responsible for their demise." Arc Kage's grim facade, the sweep of his dark gray hair, gave him the look of an older man. Elderly, perhaps, although he was not yet even 50.

The man continued, diverting his gaze from Kessil to the wandering Magi that diffused with other Northerners. The woman spoke, her voice cold and empty with a hint of fear. "I have even heard that these creatures are starting to mimic the humans themselves... luring them to them, before stealing their life energy."

"We *must* do something. We have an agent on the field," Kessil reassured, searching the crowd for Analyn. She was speaking among others in her order, and when she glanced his way she caught his gaze and moved toward them, her violet robes sweeping behind her.

"And this agent," Arc went on after she had joined them. "Is he successful? Have you heard anything from him?"

"She, actually," the white magi corrected caustically. "And we haven't heard a word. But she is knowledgeable in the ways to contact us. A falcon will be sent... or a message by some other means."

Arc Kage narrowed his steel-colored eyes. The only thing that he disliked more than magic was a magi who thought he was being rude. When he was *not*. These "magi" were not to be trusted with such delicate matters. Once again he flicked his eyes toward Kessil and felt no inclination to continue *this* discussion here.

Suddenly the intermission was over. Thanking the merciful One God, Arc turned away with his familiar aide de camp to follow his equals into the chamber. Northerners, with their guns and technological gadgets, filed through the doors on one side, while the elegantly robed magus on the other.

Kessil glared at the back of his head for several seconds, and it only took a slender white hand on his arm to keep him from blasting him to oblivion.

"Control your anger, my friend," Analyn said with uncharacteristic softness. She pressed close to his side and spoke in low tones. "Remember, everyone is afraid. We cannot all be angry at each other and cause more death than there is already. We can't be fighting now."

Kessil put a lid, reluctantly, on his rage. He felt his power draining from him, the magic seeping from his bones. He sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, smiling grimly in apology at Analyn. He felt thankful for her... how many times she had saved his career - indeed, his life - with her calm and her reason.

He ran to escape the Darkness. Inescapable, impenetrable shadows everywhere, taking random forms every few awful seconds, their hungry eyes slithering over him, their whispers daggers to his mind until he almost screamed for silence.

The empty void swirled around him, but instead of the time dragons, it was a medieval gauntlet of razor sharp claws that pulled and teared at his clothing, his flesh. His mind was shredded by their endless multitude of knives that stabbed, twisted in his ears from every direction.

Help.

His eyes closed, trying to block out their eyes at least. But not their voices. His own as he screamed was lost in the darkness, echoed by the same disquieting chant that was disturbinbly human.

Help me.

Sephiroth, where are you?!

(How do I get out of this nightmare? Please don't let me sleep forever...)

His thoughts became jumbled together. He opened his eyes again, and felt a sickening cold hand grasping his leg, causing him to stagger. He rolled onto his back, kicking furiously, and threw himself into a forward sitting position and pulled himself forward and to his feet again. The touch alone had done enough, searing cold agony beginning to numb the entire left side of his body. He couldn't run, and instead fumbled uncertainly in the shadows, sobbing helplessly.

Please, let me let me wake up, please--

Helpmehelpmehelpme--

The voice was desperate, incessant, driving, drilling into his head until he thought he would plunge into madness just as he plunged into the swirling unfocused living hell that sought a firm hold on his ankles and drag him ever deeper into it.

"Ansem! Ansem!"

Sephiroth...? Ansem looked, but he saw nothing. The eyes engulfed him, his own vision swimming as they spun out of sight, back into it again at such an angle that it nauseated him. And then in the maelstrom of night he saw him, a sight that horrified him - the little demons clinging, their ravaging teeth and claws sinking into his naked body, until he was nearly wrapped in the shadowy tendrils that pulled him farther and farther away from him. He reached for him, ignoring the pain that was creeping up into his shoulder... he would die soon, surely, but he would die saving his Sephiroth.

Sephiroth reached back, his fingers muscles straining against the creatures' hellish clutches.

The moment stretched for eternity.

Ansem's heart thudded painfully, his breath forced into his lungs and out again, leaving less and less room for more.

Please...please...reach for me....help me...

It seemed endless, this reaching. Their fingers brushed. And in that moment, the coldness was complete. Sephiroth's eyes were not dying. They were not Sephiroth's. They were dead. That tangible, unsatiable desire filled his eyes to the brim, staining them yellow-red, and at once he fell forward, his hand clutching around Ansem's forearm like a snake-bite, like the bite of a mastiff, unrelenting and the cold was unbearable. And he was being pulled toward him, toward those hungry eyes and mouths that gaped open like grotesque baby birds for the grub.

"NO! NO!!" Ansem dug his heels in the nonexistent earth. They were everywhere, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling tears spilling like acid, burning his cheeks and gums and teeth, his tongue frozen to the roof of his mouth until that burned too. He was falling... falling into them...

Yesssss........

Sephiroth's ears burned and he sat up, his muscles sprung taut like a bowstring. That scream... where did it come from? He looked around him, the cave lit dimly by the strangely glowing azure, jade, amethyst gems. Their glow was easy on the eyes, subtle, peaceful... but things were not at all as peaceful as they seemed. Kiriel continued to sleep. He saw her form in the dim glow of the amethysts, moving slightly with her light, audible breathing.

Surely she heard the scream? he thought in confusion.

Ansem's bedroll was empty. Sephiroth slipped from his own, taking up his weapon and leaving his belongings behind, he slipped free of the cave and onto the jagged cliff. His eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly as they narrowed and searched the smooth stone point. The man was not here either. He shivered and moved forward to the edge, gazing down.

All was peaceful here as well. The only troubling sight was the absence of Ansem. Anywhere. He shuddered violently and started to panic. If he wasn't here... or down there... where *was* he?

He turned, walking back into the cave and stepping over Kiriel's sleeping form, venturing further into the cave where the gems were in greater abundance. The walls glistened with smaller, paler granules. The sheen was almost painful to look at it, so he kept his eyes gazing straight ahead of him, searching for Ansem's body if he had walked in his sleep and fallen.

The scream shredded up from further down the tunnel. The sound made his ears tickle, his bones shudder, and at once his heel kicked off the ground and he was flying down the tunnel, following the dull throbbing echoes. The gems were like the old car lights of Midgar, blinding, and drawing up more memories that he didn't have the time to want... but they came anyway, confusing him, and he thought wildly that Cloud must have gotten lost in the discolored, Mako-polluted caverns of Mt. Nibel.

The walls were blinding, yes... but he had to focus. He saw the sheer ledge seconds before he leapt it, sailing a handful of feet above the ground before he skidded in an awkward kneeling position across the gem-littered floor. The pain made him cry out, and he gritted his teeth, doubled over as he grasped his now throbbing, bleeding knee. The silence was unbearable thereafter. The cave ended here. There was no other way to go.

Sephiroth stood up, limping around the cavern floor, searching where the gems guided him. Ansem was not far from here, he saw at once, seeing his crumpled form huddled into a slope near the middle of the floor.

Painfully, he knelt next to him, turning him over, relief and apprehension twisting around each other in his chest. He pulled him over his good leg, patting his face. When he saw his eyes open, he sighed... but it choked in his throat. His eyes were dull..coppery, like old pennies. The gold was gone, the shine nonexistent. He gazed at him as though he didn't recognize his face.

"Ansem, what happened?" Sephiroth demanded hoarsely, shaking him. "Talk to me... damn it, say *something*--!!" His hand froze above his heart, jerked away at the disturbing chill as a ghastly shadow began to squirm free from the middle of his chest. It was transparent, tendrils of pale, dim energy clinging to its body as it bounded free, a pulsating light from its chest. It stumbled away toward the wall, scrabbled at the stones and shrieking as Sephiroth released Ansem's body and lunged after it.

"NO, you bastard!! He's... MINE!!" His hands closed around its small, wriggling body, ignoring the agonizing burning that glided silkily up his arms. He held tightly, gritting his teeth and pulling the creature toward his body, as much as he loathed its presence - its very flesh induced a sickening nausea that made him almost gag. "N-No... you're...staying--"

It shrieked again, and turned, defying all preconceptions of its anatomy to sink its teeth into his hand. With an outraged scream, he shook it again, his fingers closing even tighter, reaching toward that pulsing light he could see from inside of its chest. "LET-IT-GO!!"