My Heart Doth Wander

Chapter 19 : The God of Scars

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain

With the world turning circles running 'round my brain

I'm always hoping that you'd end this reign

But it's my destiny to be the King of Pain

I'll always be the King of Pain.

"King of Pain" – The Police

His boot splashed into a puddle. Footsteps echoed off the metal walls. Snively glanced up, squinting against the drizzling rain. He rarely went outdoors in Robotropolis, not anymore. Now that Robotnik wasn't around to enforce weekly patrols, he didn't even bother to come out and check the factories.

He was going down this way, towards the water refinery, because it was high time he checked the damages that had been wrought during the Freedom Fighter's failed attack. Their final attack, he thought, with a sneer. They surely would never have the balls to come back NOW.

He snickered aloud. His foot slipped into a puddle, splashing onto his pants. It sent a rush of shivers up his spine, but there was something else...something else made his skin squirm like the worms drowning in water on the street.

Snively had lived a long time with the weight of eyes upon him. Watching, scrutinizing. Malicious, waiting for slip-ups. He knew the weight of those eyes well. He felt them upon him now...

He stopped, feet sunk into the puddle, the drizzling cold upon his head – staring into the darkness of the closest alleyway. Something else shuddered his skin, a thing as equally familiar as the weight of eyes. An intake of breath and a low sinister chuckle. It was oily, somehow, coating the inners of his ears and leaking into his brains, staining permanently.

O gods, he recognized that sound anywhere.

His body went ramrod stiff, his feet were frozen down in the puddle, unable to be lifted even if he could will them to lift. His eyes were wide as eyelids could possibly stretch and it hurt to keep them open like that. But he couldn't turn away or move, or breathe, even. The chuckle was turning to a triumphant booming laugh.

From the alleyway Robotnik emerged. Blood coated him, his mustache had been drenched in it and dried into stiff broom-like bristles, jutting away from his face. Even his teeth, revealed in that hideous wide grin, were dotted with maroon splotches. He reeked of death and decay, but he looked so strong...

"Oh Snively..." he cooed. "Will you ever stop seeing me? Hmmm?" He approached the smaller man and snarled down at him. "No...you won't."

"You're dead," said Snively, his voice squeaking.

"You can't kill me, fool." Robotnik wouldn't stop smiling. His robotic arm was the only thing free of scarlet; it gleamed unusually bright under the cloudy skies. A symbol of his power and cruelty...a fist to break, an arm to swing like a hammer, crushing everyone and everything. Choking, strangling, shattering in deathly blows. "I'm not dead...I never will be."

Snively didn't stare at his uncle's face, instead he looked at his arm. That stupid robotic arm. That stupid fucking arm that had brought about so much pain, so many broken bones and so much mental fear. Every time it moved or aimed a finger threateningly. And the arm itself was an accident. Robotnik didn't roboticize it on purpose. He turned an accident to his advantage, he made a defeat into a tool that would ensure later victories.

Snively imagined the corpse of Robotnik would be so rotted by this time that it wouldn't be able to support the weight of that arm. If the corpse could rise up and stand, the arm would rip away from its weakened support. The metal of that arm would be rusted and dirt-stained; it would be bloody.

The muscles in his slight body unlocked and he lifted one foot. Savagely his lip curled and his eyes blazed. "But you ARE, Julian. YOU ARE DEAD!"

The fat man began to laugh again but Snively ignored it. He moved towards the walking dead; he extended one long white finger. "You're dead." He spoke with little fire...just the flat monotone of announcing a fact. Robotnik's red-clad chest was assaulted by Snively's finger, a hard jabbing poke.

Instantaneous, like bursting a bubble. Robotnik's body exploded in a wafting cloud of dust, blown away immediately by the humid breeze. There was nothing left...not even the robotic arm. Gone into dust, obliterated.

Snively smiled.

He awoke, his slender body beaded with sweat. The room was intensely cold. He sat up, shivering, clasping his arms around his bare chest. The smile that had ended his dream still arced his lips and he got up quickly and eyed himself in the mirror. So strange...to see that expression displayed so naturally and genuine on his face.

He couldn't decide if he liked the looks of it or not, but the feeling was definitely wonderful. He hugged himself again, trying to hold that feeling in.

It was too cold however, to dawdle much longer at the mirror. He donned clothing and left the room, wandering leisurely down the hallways of his metal realm. His thoughts traveled their own path, delving into the recent dream and focusing on the arm.

The arm hadn't been found...and neither had Robotnik's corpse. The thought irritated Snively; like a bruise on an otherwise perfect peach. He'd wanted to stamp a boot upon the remains and chortle in triumph. Or to at least have proof that Uncle was never coming back.

"I imagine he got blown into miniscule bits of fat," he said aloud, snickering to ease off the faint worry. "He crawled into a sewer and rotted away. Or the bay, perhaps. Maybe the fish are eating him right now."

A techbot rolled past, swiveling its head towards him. He gave it a sneer, speaking jovially, "What are you looking at?"

It rolled off without a response but Snively found it inexplicably funny anyway. He laughed all the way down to the Command Room.

The large room was filled with a strange combination of cold and warm breezes, each swooping over each other. Casssar was lounging in the throne, slouching with her legs sprawled. He felt the familiar hitch of breath and skip of the heart.

"It was rather chilly in here, so I asked the computer to turn up the heat," she said, gesturing towards the gaping hole on the far wall. The balcony. Half of it had been blown away by the Freedom Fighter's attack and a hole had been blown in the wall. Repair-bots were out now, fixing it; he could hear the sounds of their soldering guns and hammers. A cold breeze was blowing in.

He approached the rope stretched across the balcony's entrance, peeping out. The robots ignored him; he gazed through the twisted metal and onto the streets far below. There was Robotnik's statue, the one Sally had bombed. It had exploded into pieces, littering the streets, blocking off some of them (It had been an enormous statue) One piece, Robotnik's left leg to be exact, had crashed into the main entryway of the Death Egg, preventing anyone from coming in or out. The robots had to take an alternate route to get inside; Snively was not too upset about it. He liked the idea of Robotnik's stupid kicking leg protecting him from intruders.

Though, he mused, most intruders probably didn't use the front door...

Turning away, something flashed in the corner of his eye. He pivoted around and took in the scene once more. The skyline of Robotropolis...sprinkled with falling snow! He took a few tentative steps right up to the rope; Cass half-rose out of the throne, perhaps fearing he was trying to jump again.

"Look Cass!" He gestured outside. "It's snowing."

"So it is..." She settled back into the throne, less enchanted than he. "Rather early for that."

He turned back to reaffirm the frozen precipitation was real, and indeed it was. "Yes, and snowfall in Robotropolis is almost as rare as sunlight."

"Why is that?" She wasn't very interested, but he didn't mind.

"The smog, I imagine. The heat of the factory smoke. I never really thought of it."

He gazed down at the broken statue. Ah winter... It wasn't officially here; this snow was just a fluke. He didn't care – the cold air tingled his nerves and skin. He had grown to love this season in a twisted bitter sense. It was mind and soul numbing. It killed the will to care; it froze his conscience into apathy. It was so much easier to kill and hurt when the world was blanketed in white death.

The flakes came thicker and he purred contentedly. Robotnik's corpse would be covered with it. He was dead finally. It was too cold for things to grow and come back. Robotnik's chances were spent and his body rotted away, out of Sally and Cu Chulainne's treacherous reach.

He found himself humming under his breath, a melody come unconsciously to his mind.

Cass perked an ear at him and he tried to think of the words, grinning, he trilled the last bit aloud. The melody was bouncy, irritating, made further so by his rasping unrefined singing voice. "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmasss..."

He shivered, moving away from the gap; the wind was making his ears tingle and his hands ache. Casssar had one eyebrow lifted, her green-olive eyes perplexed. He sat on the arm of the throne, smiling at her. One hand extended and brushed a clump of hair from her eyes. "What's wrong, m'dear?"

"What is Christ-a-mass?"

"Christmas," he said, fluidly. She repeated it, then nodded.

"What is it?"

"Well..." He stretched back against the throne and leaned his head upon hers. "It was an ancient Earth holiday. Way before my time. But it was prominent enough to be mentioned in many of the school's textbooks. It was a religious holiday, quite sacred to the believers."

"Do you believe in this religion?" she asked, reaching a hand up to play with a strand of his hair. The edge of his crown was cutting into the side of her head. She listened to him exhale a breathy chuckle.

"No Cass...I'm a man free of such beliefs. What about you? Do you have a religion?" He chuckled again, seemingly finding that funny to imagine.

She shook her head slightly. "I believe that our planet is alive and gives us life. I believe...in the forces of light and life and dark and death. Was there a god in that religion, Christmas?"

"There was. One God, who supposedly created the entire Earth and everything on it. Early books painted him as wrathful and then later books said he was loving. Christmas was the day his son was born to Earth."

"Interesting," she said, and this time, she actually sounded interested.

He nodded. "The son eventually martyred himself. You see, in this religion, there were many different sins, and a human committing a sin could land them in hell-"

"I know the word hell," she said. "A terrible place."

"It's an Overlander word. I imagine it got integrated between Mobians and Overlanders quite early. In this religion, Hell was the place where people committed a sin would go. It was ruled over by a creation of God's who had turned rouge."

"Hmmm."

"So the son of god chose to hand over his life in exchange for people being able to sin and not go to hell. The people would still have to repent for their sin, but they wouldn't be automatically damned. At least...that's how I think it went...we studied ancient religion quite early..." He made a face. "The teacher was a bitch, too."

She cackled. "Be thankful you got to complete school, Cass. My father wouldn't let me go."

"Bah." He yawned. "School was a bother. I would've gladly given it up."

"Did many people believe in this God?" she asked.

"Oh yes. Millions. Billions, I daresay. Some Overlanders still do..."

"I don't believe in gods," she said.

Snively laughed, a cruel jarring sound, as he slid from the arm of the throne. He paced melodramatically before the throne. Casssar sighed. He was going to say something dark and caustic; he was going to rave, she could see it, a light flickering in the depths of his eyes. It was a lighthouse, steering the dark ship out of his mind and into the air.

"I knew a God."

"And who was that?" She toned her voice flat and dull, hoping to sway him from his speech.

He neither noticed, nor cared. "Julian, of course. He was my God. I worshiped him. I sacrificed for him."

"I know, Cast..."

"No, you don't know." His grin cut across his face. "I didn't stay that blind for long. I found out he was false. He thought he was a God, Cass...thought he was all-fucking-mighty."

"But you-"

"Yes...I KILLED him, I killed an immortal powerful God, didn't I? So that must make me a god too!" He giggled madly and whirled to face the window, prancing to the edge, holding his arms out to the snow. "I am a GOD!" he yelled out to the clouds and sky.

"So I am a Goddess?" She pushed at the crown on her head.

"Of course you are..." He turned back, still smiling madly. "You're the Goddess of Darkness...and me, what am I the God of, Cass, what?"

She leaned her head on one hand, frowning, examining him. Those beautiful mad eyes, the nose, the smile. Her eyes alit on his uniform sleeve. His arm was extended outwards, and the sleeve had slipped down his pale little stick-arm. Slid down far enough to show a jagged line where a wound had healed.

"Scars," she said. "The God of Scars."

His eyes widened and he dropped his arm. The madness fled his eyes and his face went pale. Scars – the pain that never healed, the marks on a map of life, reminders of the loss. Happy things never left such marks...

But she trounced his thoughts. "The God of looking at scars that have healed enough for life to go on...but dwelling on them anyway..."

"I don't want to be the God of that," he hissed.

"Nevertheless, you are."

"I am NOT!" His rage, like his Uncle's, came like a flashflood; he took two steps towards her with his hand upraised for a blow. She sat back passively, daring him with her eyes. He growled through his teeth, leaning his body over hers, his nose inches away. "Then you're the Goddess of that, Cass. Hypocrite. Dweller. Scarred...." His hand twisted into her hair. "I wonder how many marks YOU have under this fur coat of yours."

She echoed his earlier growl, but with more ferocity, jerking her head away from his grip. Black strands were left in his clenched hand. "I do not dwell."

"Oh. Oh really?" Her eyes were growing feral, but he didn't care – he wanted to push her, punish her for mentioning scars. "You certainly talk about ole daddy enough."

"I remember him. I do not dwell on him."

Hatefully he hissed, twisting her hair again. "That's not what it sounded like the other day – when you were dreaming, Cass..." Suddenly his voice shifted, turning to a child's. "No daddy, no!"

She pushed him off, viciously, knocking him to the floor. "Be silent!"

Sprawled on the floor, he hugged his arms to himself, but it was all a pretense of fear; his voice mocked on: "Daddy noooo! Sounded suspiciously like dwelling to me, Cass! Hypocrite!"

Her chest heaved, she stood, the phantom lights of magic encircling her fingers. Fair warning. "Be silent, Snively, NOW!"

He was on his feet in one smooth motion, one hand to his belt, drawing his pistol – the weapon of choice her mother had used for suicide- and aimed it directly at her. It was enough to set her trembling in rage and panic. He knew she hated guns. He knew it. He knew it! It was the ultimate slap in the face. "Then this," he waggled the pistol, "Shouldn't bother you ONE bit, Cass."

Oh, but it did. A spell was heaved like a dagger, ripping the gun from his hand. Scattered pieces of the weapon clattered to the ground twenty feet away; Snively let out a screech and clutched his hand to his chest. She tossed her head savagely, unconsciously licking her lips as blood streaked down the front of his uniform.

"OW, Cass, OW!" He whimpered, panic in his eyes. "You crazy bitch!"

She said nothing; she stepped down from the throne, but her feet did not touch the ground. She levitated, a glow haloing her fur.

He backed away, afraid dearly now. "Cass, STOP! I didn't mean-"

His fear did not appease. Another burst of power came from her and he threw his arms up in useless defense. It struck, staggering him backwards. Those arms went rigid at his sides, his wounded hand leaking onto the floor, his eyes wide.

"Never," she snarled, "Never speak to me like that again!"

He was starting to tremble, a moan coming from his mouth and sweat beading on his brow. Under the skin, it felt as if bones had snapped, as if his veins were circulating acid instead of blood. He tried to move, but he was frozen.

"OH...Oh...God...Cassss, STOP!"

Funny, he was talking about those silly gods now as if he really believed in them. She smirked, flicking a finger – his body jolted again.

"Why should I?" she stepped towards him, taking his pale cheeks in her hands, caressing her tongue across his trembling lips. His pain was pushing her back from the edge. She could breathe again. "You were so very rude, Black Flower..."

Another plea was muffled by her kiss, deep and aggressive, her hand roaming over his chest, down to his hand, where she clenched the bloody appendage in hers. "Do you apologize?" she whispered.

The word came out in a long agonized moan. "Yessssssss."

A smile curved her lips and instantly, the magic was gone, leaving him shivering, collapsing in her arms. She kissed the top of his head. He spoke muffled into her chest. "...damn you...I'm NOT a god of scars...I'm not!"

She clenched his hand – the God of Bleeding Wounds? – in hers. The dagger of magic had cut to the bone. His blood was warm and thick, seeping into her fur. Gingerly, she fed magic into the wound, the healing variety this time. It was always awkward for her. Anger and pain were always a rich energy source to draw magic from, but love? Nurturing?

But she did find them...

She found them because of him.

A/N: Yay, so people are reading! I'm glad to know that! :D

Heh yeah. Hope people didn't get offended by the religious thingy in here. If you did...uh... too bad. And stuff. XD