------'-----,---Chapter Two------'-----,---

------'-----,---Destroyed------'-----,---

It was cold.

All he knew was the coldness surrounding him. The darkness lingering on his skin, the taint of blood on his mind, flashing before his closed eyes. Bitter rage and anger burnt into his heart.

He threw his eyes open, beating at the surface barely a foot above him. His knuckles began to bleed form the effort, the skin splitting, bursting with crimson. Finally, with a mighty shove, the roof of his prison fell open to reveal the darkness lingering above.

He sat up so fast that his mind reeled. He stared down at his pale, naked self, glaring at the needles and wires inserted in to his skin. Tearing them from his arms and chest, he watched as the glass and metal clattered to the floor. Then he climbed out of the metal coffin, his bare feet thudded on to the floor.

The metal beneath him was strange, and hard to see in the darkness, but sleek and smooth just like the box he had been imprisoned in. He stumbled forward closing his eyes, his hand coming up to caress his temple. His head was killing him; the pain tore though him like lightening.

Suddenly he fell forward, embracing the cool metal. He could remember - killing them, killing all of them.

His throat erupted with a scream, blood tainting him to his very soul. The floor was cold, harsh, pressed against his bare skin. So cold it was hurting, stabbing him with tiny metal needles. Jerkily he stood up, staring at the dark floor. He only saw metal gazing back.


"Daddy! Save me..."
kill
"There is no one left to save you now"


The room was so very cold, he was shaking in his naked form. Blood splattered on to the dull sheenless metal, dripping from his broken knuckles. He watched it. Splatter, splatter. Red, slippery, wet, it tainted his very skin.


"Take my life, but leave my wife"
kill. kill. kill.
"She shall suffer the same fate as you"


"Where am I?" he shouted, trying to ignore the voice that seemed to whisper all around him. It whispered along the darkness, riding through a cloud to his insanity. He took a shaky step, his foot meeting only the same cold metal.


"Spare the children"
kill. kill. kill. kill. kill.
"No one is innocent"


He threw his hands out, colliding with the cold, smooth wall. It was slick beneath his fingers. A metal he had never felt before.

His hands flew to his head again, the ground rushing up to meet him in a painless embrace. Blood stained his very vision. All he knew was death, all he wanted was blood to stain his blade again.

"No. No. No. No. No." He repeated the mantra again and again out loud, running his hands through his hair. His blond hair was now stained red.


"My baby!!!"
kill. kill. kill. kill. kill. kill. kill. kill. kill.
"It will never know the pain of life"


Voices calling from the darkness, forever the constant thudding inside his head. The pulling of the voice, the power of life. The divine sensation of holding someone's life in your hand, and then snuffing it out. Like a dipping a match into water.


"How could you do this?"
kill. kill. kill. kill. kill. kill. kill. kill. kill. kill. kill. kill. kill. kill. kill. kill.
"Only the blood can tell you"


It was a primal sensation, an urge he needed but didn't want. He prayed for the voice to end.

"What have you done to me?" he screamed at the shadows. As the pain enveloping his soul, it seemed to burst in his head. Pain shoving, lancing into his brain.


"You're a monster"
kill. kill. kill.
"We all succumb to the monster, eventually"


He screamed, jumping to his feet. He racked his nails hard across his chest, breaking the flesh, sending fresh blood splattering to the floor.

Slowly, carefully he looked down at his hands. Crimson red tainted his fingertips. Slowly, he brought the tip of his finger to his lip and tasted. The coppery saltiness of his own life slid across his tongue.

He raised his head and stared into the darkness, his green eyes defiant. It had come, the time had arrived. It was all behind him. There was only one thing he knew now.

Seifer Almasy was ready to kill.

------'-----,---------'-----,---

He was a statue. Tall and proud with his shoulders thrown back. His face held its natural defiance, green eyes flat, emotionless.

They stood in a line in front of him. Inspecting him, every line in his body. The curves of his muscled chest, the hardness of his legs.

They pointed him to a table and he was commanded to dress. It was a daily routine for them. He was their puppet, their toy.

His clothes lay there complete with grey trench coat. They were his battle armor. Melded to his skin, they were his dearest friends. His Hyperion slid into his hand, clean, but the taint of blood still lingered.

He was like their arm, only an extension. A weapon for them to use. The wires they had inserted writhed under his skin as he shrugged the coat on.

Then he sat in the chair, as the metal helmet sunk down from the ceiling. It was placed on his head, a chinstrap tightened.

Electricity bolted through him, images playing across his mind.

Balamb. Woman. Garden. Blond. Balamb.

When the helmet came off, rage was struck in his eyes. He stood, hand tight around the hilt of Hyperion. He strode out of the room with deliberate steps, heading for what he had once called home.