Hard Goodbyes
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Dion bit his cheek slightly as the morning brought cold light to his eyes. Nothing felt worse than waking up alone in the sitting room, early than everyone else. It was the loneliest feeling in the world.
Especially when your brother is sleeping in the next room, one you loved, one you needed, and you were stupid enough to fall asleep in the sitting room chair.
His neck felt stiff... unbelievably stiff. Groaning, he sat up and took a glance of his surroundings. Against his chest the crystal throbbed and pounded, warm and sleepy as though it had too had recently arisen. For several minutes it was difficult for him to focus on anything. A wretched throbbing dominated his left temple where he ran his finger lightly over his skin, feeling the vein there throbbing, bulging painfully with the strain of transporting blood.
"Good morning," he whispered to the jewel with a wistful chuckle. Then he rose and walked around the couches, fumbling to turn on the electric lamp that hunched over upon the dilipidated little crate. That finished, he slipped into his room where he found Vax huddled over a small backpack, packing it with clothes and things.
He spoke without turning around.
"That one's yours... we'd better get started before the others wake up."
"Vax...?" Dion approached him, resting a hand on his arm. "You changed your mind?"
"Had to. I ought to know better than to argue with *you*... even if you're an evil, cold-hearted bastard with no feelings for anyone. But I love you anyway." Vax glanced over his shoulder. For a chilling moment, Dion was uncertain. Was his brother trying to make a joke, or attempting to drill him deeper into his guilt?
Dion picked up the backpack, swinging it over his shoulder as he puzzled over it. Oh, well... insults rolled off of him like droplets of water. "Look, I was thinking we could head back to our house. We could.... we could just go around the kitchen and look for dad's guns. He keeps them in the rec-room in the basement."
Vax shook his head. "I'm not going all the way with you. I'm going on the morning rounds to get some food. You're going to our house. You can get the guns yourselves. Not that they'll do any good against them." Mechanically, he finished packing, and reached for his jacket.
"Vax..." Dion hissed as he reached out to press his hand against his arm. "This isn't fair. I'm not leaving without you."
"Yes, you are. It's what you want to do. I understand... you want to find out if you're a hero. How can I stop something like that? All I ask is, hurry up and find out... and then come back and save these kids, do you understand?"
Dion gritted his teeth. "Brother..."
"Just... be quiet!! Here!" Vax suddenly shoved him toward the door. "Get out! Take your damn stuff and go, and get that damned magic crystal out of here, too!"
Dion grabbed his jacket, turning around. He flung the blanket aside and crossed the room in a few simple leaps, vanishing through the doorway into the crisp, subarctic air.
His house was located nowhere near this district. He had to walk very carefully along the outside of the city, taking pains to avoid areas where he knew for *sure* the demons would emerge. Running was the only best option, for no weapon on this side of the border or the other was capable of killing them completely.
It was a regular house, two stories high with a singular basement used for games and displays. Their mother had been an avid collector of trophies - some of them, she said, even belonged to their father before he died. If he remembered correctly, their mother ought to still be at the house... in body. Not in mind.
Her soul belonged now to a demon that had stolen her soul... it had barely gotten inside the house when the twins fled, fleeing with the other children to the safest place they could find - the warehouse. But now, the streets were empty. Silence, other than for what little electricity was left to run the news radios... which buzzed in and out with random technological nonsense that made no sense to him.
His house was as he had left it. The shadow walkers did not particularly destroy things randomly. Their one true hunger was for the hearts and souls of men. So, the village district was left practically untouched. Natural forces had weathered the buildings over the past weeks for sure, but nothing unnatural seemed to have occured.
He stood on the sidewalk in front of the porch steps. Fear seized hold of him, rooting him to the spot. That unnatural chill of their presence which still lingered locked his feet to the ground. Truth be told, he didn't *want* to go inside the house. But he had to get those guns.
The door was still open, unlocked, swinging open and shut in the bitter breeze. It would surely be cold in that house. But colder still would be the sight of his mother, prone, sitting on the floor in the kitchen, gazing as she wasted away to nothing.
Finally, he walked into the front door. The hardwood floors were dull. Without attention, they began to do so at the drop of a hat. He walked inside, seeing the chair from the kitchen. No, no, don't look into the kitchen. Where are the stairs? The cabernet carpet met his feet and without a sound, he walked the familiar steps. It was oddly alien to find himself here again... and alone.
He wished Vax were here. His smile might warm the shadows of this hollowed tomb, make the shadows fall away to reveal familiar, bright faces.
But there was nothing bright left in this shadowy place.
The bannister was cold against his hand, but he always used it to guide him safely down into the unfamiliar darkness. He stopped stopped when he was suddenly faced by the pitch black gloom that yawned below, waiting to swallow him completely. He fished out a flashlight. Comfortable with his new weapon, he continued... keeping his head down as he recalled the countless time he'd hit his head on the low-hanging beam just before the last three steps.
He crossed the chilly room, swerving around the pool table, running his free hand over the velvet smooth softness. Against the back wall, he saw his father's gun rack. It once loomed there like a silent sentinel, guarding the precious weapons inside with the imposing broad lock. It was open now. The wide oak doors hung open, torn straight off the hinges, clinging with its last strength to continue its duty. The guns hung there with one single space missing. His father's favorite hunting rifle.
No doubt it would still be clutched, white-knuckled mother's hands around the stock, having uselessly emptied every single shell in the entire clip. Not a single demon had dropped from the bullets.
Dion shuddered, quivering in the cold of the basement. He reached down into the large gun cupboard, opening the drawer in the bottom where he felt for the familiar smooth, old box. These were the guns he wanted, the customized .45's his father had made years ago but never used anymore. They were unlike any weapons that the government possessed, for his father claimed there were far more advanced than the old-fashioned pistols the officers of the city possessed.
He lifted the box, turning around to set it on the pool table and blow the layer of dust away from the surface. The clasps came undone in a matter of simply putting aside the flashlight and flipping the metal latches up away from the lock.
The pistols were smooth and well-worn, treated redwood stocks and silver barrels, both set for automatic or manual. He ran his fingers over the carefully etched initials, the curvacious D, the swooping V.
He realized he didn't even know his father's full name. All he knew of him were his initials... D.V. And his mother would never tell neither him or his brother who he was... it's as though it was some awful secret that needed to be kept.
"He was probably some sort of magi or something..." Dion said softly, and felt the crystal throb against his chest. Immediately he felt warm, the sensation prickling down his arms and his legs. "What? Do you think he was, huh? I wish you could talk... you spoke last time. How come you won't talk to me now?"
The gem hummed. He sighed, lifting the guns out of the protective, fuzzy crimson molds. He had to find the holsters he knew they would be kept in. He set them aside, turning to rummage through the drawer again, mumbling things such as, "Stupid..belt..where the hell are... no, that's not it..."
Finally, he lifted it out with a triumphant, "AHA!" It rang in the little basement and he stiffened, huddling on the ground out of fearful instinct. Then he stood up, slipping the belt underneath his jacket behind his back, buckling it around his waist. It was kind of loose, but he could fit the leather strap through the beltloops of his jeans and adjust the belt itself later.
It was when he had secured the weapons to his person that he encountered a problem. Not only were they cumbersome and strange to carry, Dion realized they needed ammunition. Feeling outright foolish, he once more turned to search the gun drawer but found nothing of the like.
"That's stupid," he growled. "How in the hell did he shoot these retarded things if he didn't have any bullets?"
He found nothing that fit the pistols in the drawer. He stood up again and rubbed his hands over his face, grabbing the flashlight. Feeling as though this whole trip had been for nothing, he shut the drawer with a loud smack, putting the box back inside. He clambered up out of the basement and crept out into the silent hall. It had grown darker outside during his adventure. The light that now spilled through the windows was a muted gray. It bred shadows in places that there previously were none. Near the kitchen, the light was strongest but he wouldn't venture there just because it was lighter.
He tucked the flashlight into the back of his pants, moving across the carpet quickly, finding himself taking a wide berth around a bulk of darkness that hovered near the living room cabinet. He passed so close to the kitchen... no, *don't* look in there!!
His eyes wouldn't obey. His head turned.
Her flesh was barely clinging to her body. Starvation ate away at her youth, making her seem like a living mummy, her eyes bulging from the sunken depths of her eyesockets. Her chest moved in and out by pure habit alone. Her fingers were thin, gnarled as she clutched the stock of the rifle. Empty shells were scattered around her legs. A leaf blew in through the door and landed against her hollow cheek, but she did not move to swat it away.
Dion's heart lurched into his throat. He gagged on it, turning to fumble to the door and get outside as quickly as possible. The chill in his bones was harsher than the wind that bit against his flesh. Hot tears, quickly freezing by the air, blinded his eyes and he couldn't see as he dashed into the street, encountered something hard and fell backwards.
When the stars and bright light cleared from his vision, he rolled slowly onto his side. He felt the flashlight jabbing into his back and it *hurt*, knew that bruising was going to happen whether he wanted it to or not. He heard the light crack of footsteps walking by him, saw the boots responsible for the sound walking around toward his field of vision. Then a hand passed in front of his eyes, as though offering for help.
He took it without thinking, and the hand pulled him to his feet. Looking up - way up - he saw twin orbs of glowing ocean blue staring at him. Expectantly. As if waiting for him to speak.
"I wasn't stealing," he stammered suddenly. "That's my house and I went inside to get something so that when people come to get me, I can defend myself and I didn't want to... didn't mean--"
"Be quiet," the man said. "Please. I'm not the law. And even if you were, do you think I would care?"
Dion frowned, stepping back. "No...."
"Good boy." The man stared at him a moment longer, before lifting his eyes beyond him. His body tensed and suddenly poised to spring, his hand on the hilt of a massive looking sword sheathed at his waist. Dion jumped out of the way, turning in time to see a shadow walker rent to shreds by the man's sword.
Dion gaped. Never, *ever* had he seen a shadow walker killed. The thing fell apart like a mannequin made of black ribbons, freeing the bright, shining heart inside. It bobbed, hovering, before it streaked straight into the sky, making a right angle as it flashed and flew off at full speed, parallel to the ground.
"What the hell did you just do!?"
The man turned around, looking at Dion with an arched brow. His hair was silver and bright, tied back to a pony tail that swung freely behind him as he moved. "I destroyed it," the stranger answered coolly. "Surely you didn't expect me to negotiate over coffee?"
Dion felt stupid, yet directed his irritation toward this arrogant fool. "I've never *seen* one killed before. Nobody's ever *destroyed* a demon before."
"Perhaps they're too cowardly." He shrugged. "It seems to me this place is just as I have heard it to be... There's absolutely no drop of magic here. Anywhere."
Dion hissed. He felt the crystal humming even louder and wondered if this man could hear it. Shut up, he begged it silently. Be quiet, please!!
"Maybe that's the way we like it. Look what magic does to our world! Where do you think these things came from?!"
"Darkness. Not magic. Not even magic truly kills them for good. Who are you, boy?" The stranger's gaze captured his own again. He slipped his hands into his pockets and stared back, gave him his name.
"My name is Sephiroth. I'm searching for...something. Information."
"Are you from South Tarbina?" Dion looked around suddenly as though trying to be wary for other black beings, his heart pounding loudly... or was it the gem's?
"Yes.... I'm afraid this is the first time I've visited this part of the world."
"Lucky you... if you're looking for information, you'd best take me along with you. I know this place better than anyone. And... I'm probably among the few sensible people left." Dion looked down, hoping Sephiroth would take him along. It would do him a great deal of help to have him for protection. It would make his job a lot easier.
"Do you know how to use those?" Sephiroth said, looking him over critically. He wore a full-length cloak of midnight black, snug pants, boots, and tunic. (He was amazed this man wasn't freezing, or else he was made out of wood.)
"I'll learn really fast, won't I?" That is, if he had any bullets for them. Yet he, too, had a tough composition and grinned up at him with boyish confidence.