AN:
This is part ten. No, This is no where near wrapping up. It has crossed the half waypoint,
but there's still quite a bit to read yet. As always, props to darknightdestiny
who's helped me with so much stuff it's not even funny. And props to everyone
who reads this. Thanks for your reviews, I can't tell you how much they mean to
me.
* * *
Vincent made an awful face at the locked door, wondering
why he hadn't seen it coming before. Hojo would probably leave him
down here without a second thought, and with this loose end tied,
go on with his post-Valentine life. Perhaps he'd leave him down here
to slowly starve to death.
His thoughts were interrupted with a skittering sound a few feet
from where he stood. Rats. Suddenly, he giggled. How could he ever think
Hojo, kind, thoughtful, honest Hojo would lie to him? He'd seen to it that
he'd have plenty to eat, all he could catch. His laughter climbed higher and
higher until it was a nearly deafening high-pitched shriek. Unaware, he kept
laughing hysterically at his utterly pathetic situation, peals of laughter echoing
through the small room reverberating off the stone walls madly.
Suddenly, he clamped his mouth shut, eyes wide with horror. Gods, had that insane
sound come from him? No, it couldn't be. That horrible clatter had been the laugh
of a madman escaping his lips, shattering the silence, as well as sanity. Immediately
he plopped down in the corner, not caring about the disgusting floor anymore.
He still kept his lips sealed tightly, silencing the scream that lay tickling
the back of his throat.
Had he finally started to crack? Was JENOVA only a few steps away from
stripping him of reasoning? Vincent shuddered uncontrollably at this frightening
notion, screwing his eyes shut as tightly as possible.
Now the only sound in the room was his racing heart beating madly against
its bony cage. He could not, would not let it end this way. He had fought long
and hard for so very long; he couldn't let her snatch his sanity away from him
now. He would never, ever surrender.
"Do you hear me, you sick, twisted creature? I don't give a fuck who
or what you are, what powers you have, I won't let you win! I'll not give in!
I won't allow you to do this to me! Never!" he shrieked madly, face flushed with hate.
Then he clamped his mouth shut again. He was yelling at nothing.
Not a good sign. Best to just shut up before he really cracked.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he settled his eyes on the heap
of rubbish Hojo had shoved out of the way. Something shiny glinted at him,
circular and silver. Sapped of his strength, he wearily crawled over to
the mound, undisturbed by the unidentifiable filth surrounding him.
He stumbled several times, crying out faintly as he skinned an exposed
knee on the rough cement. Blood oozed out lazily, painting the dreary gray an
interesting dirty red. Pausing momentarily to inspect the wound, he shrugged
it off and continued his pilgrimage. There. He almost had it. He reached out
for the silvery circle, and feebly closed his hand around it. He drew it close
to his face, his ruby red eyes narrowing to inspect the item he had fought so hard for.
A tarnished silver compact that must have been a lady's prized possession
long ago. She obviously thought enough of it to have it interred with her. Delicate
silver filigree adorned the pretty object, exquisite silver looping around
itself in a beautiful pattern. It was a true piece of work, an heirloom to
be cherished for generations to come. But now it lay forgotten in the dust
and trash of this crypt, never to be admired by human eyes again.
Intrigued, he fiddled with the clasp, cursing his partially formed fingers.
They lacked true fingertips, as well as nails, so they weren't ideal for
manipulating tiny clasps. He persistently continued to work on it,
finally balancing it somewhat in the left palm, and picking at the clasp with
his right hand. Success at last. He had managed to flick the lid open with
the help of his right index finger and thumb.
His features dimly illuminated by the flickering lantern he gazed
into the mirror only to see the pallid face of a monster. Burning red eyes stared
back at him from a ghostly pale face framed by disheveled raven hair. Was this
the man -no- the creature he'd become? Where were the warm, velvety brown eyes
that Lucrecia had gazed into so lovingly, the eyes that had beheld all of her beauty?
These weren't his eyes, no way. These eyes had to have been leased to him by the devil
himself, cast up from the pit of hell.
This couldn't be him! This was some freak, someone he didn't know, didn't
want to know, and sure as hell didn't want to be! No, it had to be a mistake,
a trick of the light. Hesitantly, he sneaked a glance into the mirror again.
Frightened monster eyes stared back at him; tears beginning to trickle form the
demon's eyes.
With a hurt cry he flung the mirror far from him, the racking sobs bursting
from his chest obscuring the tinkle of shattering glass. Faced with the grim reality
of just how monstrous he'd become, he slumped down to the ground in hurt shock. How
could Lucrecia ever love him now? How would she even be able to stand looking into
those hellish red eyes without fear and revulsion? He couldn't expect her to.
All though he knew 'Crecia hadn't loved him for his brown eyes, or for his
appearance at all for that matter, he despaired. She had loved him for the man he
was inside, and even that had been taken from him. Vincent Valentine would have
never let himself be thrown into a hole in the wall to starve. Vincent Valentine
wouldn't have put up with a crazy alien bitch in his head, nor would he have laughed
so madly. Vincent Valentine wouldn't have failed her. How could he honestly call
himself that anymore? He was no Vincent Valentine.
Better to be nothing, nobody. Wasn't that all he really was now anyway?
An empty, faceless shell of the man he had been, JENOVA's plaything and Hojo's
little specimen. What else was there for him?
Nothing, he supposed. He wondered why he hadn't realized it before. Now
that she was gone, there was nothing. Just as well that he forget about living,
because the life that had been his was simply not anymore. He'd fallen so very far
in just the last week, gone from ecstasy in her arms to torment in this cold crypt.
Could he fall any further? Of course he could, but only a little more,
for then he would hit rock bottom.
So be it.
This is part ten. No, This is no where near wrapping up. It has crossed the half waypoint,
but there's still quite a bit to read yet. As always, props to darknightdestiny
who's helped me with so much stuff it's not even funny. And props to everyone
who reads this. Thanks for your reviews, I can't tell you how much they mean to
me.
* * *
Vincent made an awful face at the locked door, wondering
why he hadn't seen it coming before. Hojo would probably leave him
down here without a second thought, and with this loose end tied,
go on with his post-Valentine life. Perhaps he'd leave him down here
to slowly starve to death.
His thoughts were interrupted with a skittering sound a few feet
from where he stood. Rats. Suddenly, he giggled. How could he ever think
Hojo, kind, thoughtful, honest Hojo would lie to him? He'd seen to it that
he'd have plenty to eat, all he could catch. His laughter climbed higher and
higher until it was a nearly deafening high-pitched shriek. Unaware, he kept
laughing hysterically at his utterly pathetic situation, peals of laughter echoing
through the small room reverberating off the stone walls madly.
Suddenly, he clamped his mouth shut, eyes wide with horror. Gods, had that insane
sound come from him? No, it couldn't be. That horrible clatter had been the laugh
of a madman escaping his lips, shattering the silence, as well as sanity. Immediately
he plopped down in the corner, not caring about the disgusting floor anymore.
He still kept his lips sealed tightly, silencing the scream that lay tickling
the back of his throat.
Had he finally started to crack? Was JENOVA only a few steps away from
stripping him of reasoning? Vincent shuddered uncontrollably at this frightening
notion, screwing his eyes shut as tightly as possible.
Now the only sound in the room was his racing heart beating madly against
its bony cage. He could not, would not let it end this way. He had fought long
and hard for so very long; he couldn't let her snatch his sanity away from him
now. He would never, ever surrender.
"Do you hear me, you sick, twisted creature? I don't give a fuck who
or what you are, what powers you have, I won't let you win! I'll not give in!
I won't allow you to do this to me! Never!" he shrieked madly, face flushed with hate.
Then he clamped his mouth shut again. He was yelling at nothing.
Not a good sign. Best to just shut up before he really cracked.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he settled his eyes on the heap
of rubbish Hojo had shoved out of the way. Something shiny glinted at him,
circular and silver. Sapped of his strength, he wearily crawled over to
the mound, undisturbed by the unidentifiable filth surrounding him.
He stumbled several times, crying out faintly as he skinned an exposed
knee on the rough cement. Blood oozed out lazily, painting the dreary gray an
interesting dirty red. Pausing momentarily to inspect the wound, he shrugged
it off and continued his pilgrimage. There. He almost had it. He reached out
for the silvery circle, and feebly closed his hand around it. He drew it close
to his face, his ruby red eyes narrowing to inspect the item he had fought so hard for.
A tarnished silver compact that must have been a lady's prized possession
long ago. She obviously thought enough of it to have it interred with her. Delicate
silver filigree adorned the pretty object, exquisite silver looping around
itself in a beautiful pattern. It was a true piece of work, an heirloom to
be cherished for generations to come. But now it lay forgotten in the dust
and trash of this crypt, never to be admired by human eyes again.
Intrigued, he fiddled with the clasp, cursing his partially formed fingers.
They lacked true fingertips, as well as nails, so they weren't ideal for
manipulating tiny clasps. He persistently continued to work on it,
finally balancing it somewhat in the left palm, and picking at the clasp with
his right hand. Success at last. He had managed to flick the lid open with
the help of his right index finger and thumb.
His features dimly illuminated by the flickering lantern he gazed
into the mirror only to see the pallid face of a monster. Burning red eyes stared
back at him from a ghostly pale face framed by disheveled raven hair. Was this
the man -no- the creature he'd become? Where were the warm, velvety brown eyes
that Lucrecia had gazed into so lovingly, the eyes that had beheld all of her beauty?
These weren't his eyes, no way. These eyes had to have been leased to him by the devil
himself, cast up from the pit of hell.
This couldn't be him! This was some freak, someone he didn't know, didn't
want to know, and sure as hell didn't want to be! No, it had to be a mistake,
a trick of the light. Hesitantly, he sneaked a glance into the mirror again.
Frightened monster eyes stared back at him; tears beginning to trickle form the
demon's eyes.
With a hurt cry he flung the mirror far from him, the racking sobs bursting
from his chest obscuring the tinkle of shattering glass. Faced with the grim reality
of just how monstrous he'd become, he slumped down to the ground in hurt shock. How
could Lucrecia ever love him now? How would she even be able to stand looking into
those hellish red eyes without fear and revulsion? He couldn't expect her to.
All though he knew 'Crecia hadn't loved him for his brown eyes, or for his
appearance at all for that matter, he despaired. She had loved him for the man he
was inside, and even that had been taken from him. Vincent Valentine would have
never let himself be thrown into a hole in the wall to starve. Vincent Valentine
wouldn't have put up with a crazy alien bitch in his head, nor would he have laughed
so madly. Vincent Valentine wouldn't have failed her. How could he honestly call
himself that anymore? He was no Vincent Valentine.
Better to be nothing, nobody. Wasn't that all he really was now anyway?
An empty, faceless shell of the man he had been, JENOVA's plaything and Hojo's
little specimen. What else was there for him?
Nothing, he supposed. He wondered why he hadn't realized it before. Now
that she was gone, there was nothing. Just as well that he forget about living,
because the life that had been his was simply not anymore. He'd fallen so very far
in just the last week, gone from ecstasy in her arms to torment in this cold crypt.
Could he fall any further? Of course he could, but only a little more,
for then he would hit rock bottom.
So be it.