Hello, hello. Early update, because I was feeling very alive at 2:00AM in the morning, hehe. This is, I am afraid, the last chapter for Infatuate Infection. –Wails- My first completed fanfic, wow. Yeah. Anyways…I love you reviewers to death. Thank you so much for dropping in your comments, 'cause you know it counts!
A reply to Wolf Ravensoul – Miki may, or may not be, a false disciple. I suppose it's all in how you portray him. To me, he is not; I'm sure the Cult hasn't always been wise in their choices of leadership and so on. Here is a very nice example of that.
The chapter is an "epilogue" due to the events, which occur later on. In the beginning of the chapter, it continues on from where it left off; however, I found it fit to put in the special aftermath word because these are the ultimate results. I could not separate the beginning of this chapter from the end, because both would have been unacceptably short. So, I do hope you enjoy the last of Infatuate Infection!
Disclaimer: Characters except a select few are mine, and the town of Silent Hill is definitely Konami's…yes, yes, and I have yet to steal it from their grasp. xD
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"Our Lord is here."
The words rung through the night's still air; Raephin's limbs had stiffened, and his ears had apparently gone deaf. He could no longer hear the mournful cries of Ryland. He couldn't hear the maniacal giggles coming from the siblings' leader, nor the rocking of the chair, which held the so-called 'sacrifice.' "And with your Lord…" he murmured under his breath, eyes narrowing as they searched the area. Nothing seemed to be approaching. "…Comes what?"
Miki had rolled over onto his stomach, eyes growing as wide as dinner plates as he jerked his head this way and that, as if trying to find the source of their conversation. His lips uttered unheard mumbles; his fingers twiddled with the opening of his robe. Glances indicated that everyone had noticed his paling of skin, even more so than it had been before. The sickening gray tinge on the surface only seemed to grow a shade thicker in worry and impatient expectance.
Tonek had fallen to his knees beside the rocking chair. Ryland was bowing her head, still clutching the arm of her dear unmoving brother. Raephin stood frozen to the spot.
A sudden, blinding flare engulfed the entire orphanage—perhaps even the town beyond the stable, surrounding walls. The fog was no longer there; had dissipated into thin air, leaving the bright light to shine in its departure. Although Raephin would have been glad to wave the heavy mist a cheerful good-bye, it seemed this unbearable beam was no better. He'd closed his eyes tightly against the painful gleam, and therefore was unknowing to all around him. Ryland was no different; her eyes, as well, were shut tightly as to prevent her eyesight from becoming overwhelmed.
However, the one farthest from the three had plans that were not so similar. The black-attired male had leapt to his feet, dark eyes once holding a clever and mysterious air about them seeming to burn from their very sockets; they kept in their rightful place, but burned incessantly with a vicious fire that refused to decrease to sparks. He could hardly see as he stumbled across the uneven ground, determined to grasp the very core of where the light was truly coming from. Where was it coming from? There was no definite source to be found.
He didn't care about the others anymore. Didn't care about his high followers, those two traitors, who'd snapped and attacked him ever since The Beginning had started. He didn't need that Fifty-Two boy anymore…the ritual had been completed, and he no longer desired any sort of evidence to confirm to him that this was the actual time. The fork boy was just useless. Why had he been there in the first place?
Raephin was trying hard not to trip over the various toys scattered all across the yard in front of him. He knew the distant footsteps belonged to Miki, because the vague outline he could picture behind his eyelids was not shaped like a girl. "Hey!" he called out, trying to get the other's attention. Something was happening…something very dangerous. This, he decided, was a 'Lord' that did not like to be pestered with. Why was everyone so keen on trying to bring this savior of theirs to life so they could fawn at its feet?
Miki dropped to his knees, shaking hands clasped together tightly in prayer. His head bowed fervently as he opened his mouth to speak.
Raephin's voice broke the rushing air once more. "Hey, come on!"
"Now I lay me down to sleep…" the dark hair covered his eager, glimmering eyes.
"Listen to me, dumbass! You're gonna make this…this thing even angrier than it already is!" Raephin didn't know what he was saying, exactly, but for some odd reason he had a feeling what he was saying was right.
"…I pray the Lord my soul to keep…" He gripped his hands tighter together, teeth clenching in resistance to nervous chatter.
The light seemed to grow brighter with every word that flowed from Miki's lips. Raephin shivered, backing away slowly, and rose his hand to try to give his eyes a bit of shade.
"…If I die, before I wake…" Miki took another heavy breath in, holding it, chest growing anxious and heart racing.
Raephin shook his head slowly. "No," he murmured, falling back and becoming lightly dizzy.
"…I pray the Lord my soul to take."
And then, so very abruptly, darkness came.
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Ache…terrible ache…and an eruption of soreness everywhere…
Raephin let out a low groan as he turned on his side, eyes fluttering open as feeling came to his bones once more. The ground under him was soft…and he could see again. His vision was as clear as ever, no light to threaten him of going blind, no fog that made him squint his eyes in effort. He rolled over once more, bumping into a soft padded wall—he let out another groan as he noticed where he was. Hoisting himself up to sit upright, he raised a hand to brush a few damp strands out of his face. Sweaty and exhausted, he blinked away the haziness from his eyes. "A dream…?" he murmured under his breath, trying to shake away the tiredness in his head. "…Was all of it…a dream?"
His door swung open to reveal a tough looking, burly male who wore the usual suit of a guard. "Breakfast," he grunted, turning and stalking off; he didn't take the effort in closing the cell door back, knowing the other would soon follow anyways.
Raephin stalked out after the taller man, making his way slowly into the stuffy kitchen where talk met his ears at once; not only the civilized exchange of words, but also the howls and shouts of some—he was used to all of this, of course, and chose to ignore it this morning as he took a seat on the far side of an empty table.
"Odd…" he mumbled, brows furrowing as he noticed the lightly crackling radio perched at the front of the dining room. They had never let them listen to radios before, and he sometimes had had to hold back to listen to one in the guard's room. He wondered what the occasion could be, and focused his attention solely on the fading words, trying to catch what was steaming from the machine's overused speakers.
"…With us today is a witness from the current events that have been updating by the second; a most horrific scene we were unable to capture on film when we entered Wish House, an orphanage located on the outskirts of the town of Silent Hill, has been discovered today by a local named Robert Jones, age fifteen, exclaiming he had gone in to investigate because of a dare his friends had given him."
Another voice.
"Yeah, that's right! That's when I saw all that stuff, y'know? Lots of freaky looking bodies nailed to the ground, an empty rocking chair, and even four people on the ground! Two of 'em wouldn't talk to me, some guy with bandages started to freak and passed out, and then the oldest one was—"
"—And I believe we have the eldest victim here with us today, a resident of Silent Hill for almost ten entire years. Sir, what do you have to say about this?"
"Well," the man started, and Raephin's eyes widened—was that Logan they'd found? "Being here in Silent Hill for ten years, I have found some pretty creepy things here myself. But the incident that happened to me the night before—it was nothing like I'd ever seen. Crazy people, all around me…this kid, pettin' at my damned hair…"
"Petting at your hair?" There was amusement in the reporter's voice. "So, tell us, Sir, about this child you're speaking of? We're really curious. We did not find any children other than Robert Jones around the area."
"Boy was a lunatic or something," the man replied confidently. "Took my leg, as you can so clearly see, and was aided by this two-headed dog lookin' thing…said he was dead or something, he did…"
"…O…k…" The reporter's voice was hesitant momentarily, but soon picked up her perky tone to continue. "Well, Sir, we'll have to of course take you in for questioning during this important time of investigation; our researchers are still trying to find out why our cameras and their cameras both broke when we entered the area in which the scene took place."
Breakfast had been the usual, though it seemed the food Raephin had swallowed held more taste than before—probably because he was being occupied with something interesting while he was eating it. He was hurried back to his cell in ponder, where he settled himself in the corner and began thinking over the events which had happened to him so far.
So it hadn't been a dream. It couldn't have been, had it? It had been on the radio. Unless, of course, he was still dreaming…or maybe the very radio was a hallucination of his? Illusions were something he didn't doubt that he got, but he'd much prefer that it had happened rather than think he'd made all of it up. That would only encourage the meek thought in the back of his head that perhaps this crazy house was the right type of home for him.
It hadn't even been two hours before the cell door opened once more; Raephin yawned, but did not raise his head. He was still thinking, still too lost in thought to care what the guard had to say. "What?"
"…As I recall, your name is Raephin?"
He blinked for a few moments. No one in the hospital called him Raephin. He jerked up his head, not too sure what he might find.
"Hi, there." In front of him stood the two from before. The sobbing girl whom he had helped had a timid smile tugging at her lips. Her chestnut hair was brushed back into a small ponytail, where a few strands had strayed from their binds and brushed down against the shoulders of her black-colored robes. Beside her, the redheaded brother held a large grin. "How are you feeling?"
Raephin gave a small, lopsided smile in return. "Like shit."
"If you think you feel like shit," Roth chuckled as he tapped the top of his head with an index finger. "I'll tell you, I've got one hell of a headache." Beside him, Ryland shook her head, though the same smile was still planted on her lips.
Raephin was surprised to see the two, but was even more shocked to see the male standing beside his sister. "Wait—I thought he'd—?"
"—Died? Yeah, me too," Roth started, but Ryland quickly interrupted him; it seemed a habit of hers, and one that didn't die all too soon.
"He'd started breathing again after the light had vanished…" she began, taking on a thoughtful look. "After Sir Miki had ran forward and—"
"Sir Miki?" Roth sneered, receiving a sour look from her brother.
"Will you stop? Don't show disrespect, okay? You don't have to deal—"
"Damn right I'll show disrespect! He bashed my fucking head in, Ry!"
"Shh!" The girl slapped her brother over the head lightly and turned to Raephin, continuing. "After Sir Miki had ran forward and offered himself."
"Offered himself…?" Raephin mumbled in question.
"If you didn't catch it," Roth took to explaining. "The body had every part completed…and all it needed was a soul. Miki obviously found this out, and thought that perhaps if he gave it willingly, something good would be in store for him when the future came."
"What happened to him?" Raephin looked from one to the other, trying to get his facts straight.
"Completely vanished," Ryland answered, before her brother had even opened his mouth. "Not even the body was found by the people who later came."
"I swear, that Miki…" Roth mumbled, rubbing his head and wincing all the same. "I think Lord Sammael seriously came just in time…kind of saved me, too, if you ask me. How else would I be able to breathe properly, if I'd been dead, an hour before?"
"So they discovered us…and Miki's nowhere to be found…and…Fifty-Two?" he was afraid to hear the results. Throughout the year, the boy had become somewhat of a friend to him, and to hear that perhaps he'd suffered would be a jolt to the soul.
"Didn't see him, either," Ryland gave a warm, reassuring smile. "But I do think he has gone off to a better place. We can't see him anymore, right? I suppose at the moment he's resting in peace, just like it should be." She was fumbling with something over her shoulder, and soon afterwards she had tossed him a black robe, much like theirs. "Come on."
"Huh?" Raephin almost dropped the heavy bit of clothing, turning it over in his hands. A light scowl crossed his face as he noticed the religious mark—Halo of the Sun, he supposed—which was sewed onto the chest part, identical to the siblings'.
"Put it on, and let's go," she replied simply, turning to leave.
He hastily shoved his arms through the sleeves and staggered to his feet, keeping at their heels as he walked down the hall. "Where are we going?"
Roth shot a glance over his shoulder, giving yet another silly grin. "We took a liking to you during the ritual's night. You're coming with us."
"Though don't think that will be an invitation to goof off and run around town setting mischief afoot," Ryland added sharply. "We said we'd look after you a while, so you better be on your best behavior possible. If I catch you doing the slightest thing—"
"Okay, okay, Sis," Roth rolled his eyes, waving a hand towards her. "I think he gets it."
The warmth of the sun hit Raephin's face as the entrance opened and they made their way down the front stairs. He felt a rush of excitement enter his chest, a freshening of the lungs, and a feeling that his life would suddenly be reborn. For some reason, it did, indeed, feel like a Beginning—not the Beginning they were necessarily talking about, but a Beginning for himself to start his path anew. "So," he looked around, happy to see that some of the floating fog had cleared up somewhat. "Where do you think your leader is now?"
"Oh," Roth let his shoulders sag into a light shrug as he shook his head, contemplating this momentarily before he said, "Perhaps he's in Paradise…the Paradise so many of us have been striving to reach all these years."
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Darkness…that's what he'd seen. A swirling of black and more black, but not a shade less or more. He'd been swept up in this invisible tornado, thrashed and thrown about, until he had landed here…but where was he, exactly? A dark environment still prevented him from seeing absolutely anything; he still was lingering in a realm of shadows.
The only difference he thought he might have noticed was that he was no longer planted safely on the ground. In fact, he felt like he was hanging upside down, because the hair, which liked to conceal his face from outside view, was no longer hanging over his eyes and nose. But he couldn't tell if he was hanging or flying or floating or standing. He couldn't tell if there was a ground, or a sky, or walls closing in on him for every second wasted.
And then he noticed that his eyes had been closed shut tightly.
Opening them gradually, as if cautious to find what lay behind, he took in the scene before him with awe. First, he strained his head to look up and notice that a rough, knotted rope bound his ankles, and his body was indeed dangling from below it. He was still wearing his raggedy robe, and nothing much had really changed. Other than the atmosphere, which seemed to glitter warmly with welcome. The feeling of Paradise caused a candle of ease to flick inside him.
There it was; that town...the town that he'd wandered in for what seemed like forever. The fog had lifted from its lazy drift, so that the sun's rays smiled upon all beneath its nest in the sky. He was dangling from a marvelous, gigantic oak, its majestic branches curled outwards so that the branches draped and touched ever so softly the surface of the glittering water nearby. Toluca Lake, he noted to himself, but with a sort of...red outline, faint but dark enough to catch.
He wondered, perhaps, what could be under that lake.
He lifted his gaze from the water, and observed the chattering people. All of them looked so joyous, minds in flight and lips moving to the instinct of just making noise. This was a kingdom of Paradise, was it not? And was he not in high position beside Lord Sammael, for giving up his very soul? Why didn't they notice him? Why didn't the people rush over to take him down? Ah, well...perhaps they merely did not see him at the moment.
Everything was so beautiful…so marvelous in its shining comfort…
…All except one thing.
…Make that two, ambling towards him with a horrendous appearance, and an atmosphere they dragged along which made shiver after shiver slide through his body uneasily.
It could have been the spears that made them look most intimidating…or perhaps the aprons splattered in red, which they wore with a strut of pride. It very well might have been the enormous, scarlet-colored pyramids placed on their shoulders for heads that made this pair look oddly off-putting and frightening. He didn't know. The only thing on his mind was to get out of these ropes, and get the hell out of here. This wasn't Paradise, no…this couldn't be Paradise…anything but Paradise…
One of the two halted just below him, raising its cocked head to examine him with eyeless curiosity. The tip of the blade poked at his ribs in examination, but had prodded a bit too hard and was sent through cloth and flesh, right through the other side where it burst out of his back with a sickening tear. He let out a gasping breath, body shaking in excruciating, brain-ripping pain. Its other pyramid-headed companion had come up to join its partner, now beginning to repeat the constant jabbing, where the skin split once more—only this time, the target had been the stomach—and so with the splashing of blood came several chunks of innards which flopped to the floor below.
His lips were overflowing with excessive amounts of thick blood; it gurgled and slapped to the ground below, but not a word could be said as he coughed out an attempted sentence. He could hardly keep his thinking straight; all he knew was that he could not die, and he wanted to die, and with these wounds he should have died…so why wasn't he dead?
Raising his head, his eyes caught the nearby and indistinct picture of pure hope; goat-headed, winged, and staring straight towards him. Cross-legged, his Lord was rested upon a seat of twisted limbs and faces, all of which were disgustingly sticking out from every direction possible. The marred bodies were piled atop one another, coming up from out of the water and building up a tower—or royal chair, for the highest to lounge on top.
Lord Sammael!
He could see amusement in his Lord's eyes; tease that he could not understand.
Lord Sammael…please…If a goat could curl its lips in a mocking smirk, would Lord Sammael do just that?
…Help me…can't you see I'm…
Why wouldn't his Lord move forward to let him down…?
My soul belongs to you, my Lord, forever…forever, forever…help me, will you? Help me, help me…I beg of you, Lord Sammael, I'm hurt…help me…