Chapter Two
Shiryu stared mutely at the body, frozen with grief and confusion. He fell to his knees at the bedside, tears in his eyes, fumbling for a pulse, a whisp of breath, a sign of life. His hands balled up, one over the other, and he attempted compressions. Seiya's chest collapsed in on itself, the last bit of trapped air sighing from his lungs. Shiryu hadn't even felt… anything… no presence, no loss, he'd known nothing. Nothing of his friend's pain, nothing of Seiya's attacker… nothing of Pegasus' demise.
He rose shakily, wanting to run from the room, find the others, but he hit the wall where a door should have been. He was swallowed by darkness, as if his eyes had been switched off. He didn't so much feel an enemy as he did… a void; a feeling of amorphous dread descending upon him and rushing up to overtake him all at once. It completely surrounded him, draining his strength and will to fight. He stepped back toward where he thought he remembered the bed to be. How had he not known? He owed Seiya everything, would gladly have died in his friend's place, but he'd felt nothing…
His vision was slowly clearing, adjusting to the pitch world he'd been thrust into. The blurred corners of his eyes noted movement, and he tensed instinctively. But, he never felt them. The fingers that clamped down on his arms, hundreds of them, holding him in place. He couldn't feel them at all, beyond knowing they were there and somehow also what they were. But he couldn't move his body, either. Why was everything so numb?
He struggled feebly, desparate to comprehend his predicament. Reality and nightmare, senses and imagination, everything was running together, playing with his mind. Logic seemed no longer to apply in this maddening non-place. He was held firm, but he could feel no gound beneath him, and no restraints. Yet, he was also crouching. His muscles rippled under his skin; the exposed patches showed him that his physical strength was intact. But he might as well have been a fly caught by its wings for all the good his resistance did.
"I suffered, you know. I called out to you. I needed you. But, where were you, Shiryu?" A voice taunted from the darkness. It was both completely foreign and painfully familiar. Roan eyes materialized, burning into his very soul. "Where were you, friend." The voice returned, matching the well-known eyes. Shiryu shivered.
"You are no friend of mine, murdered! Seiya is dead, yes, and I may have failed him, but I am not fool enough to fall for your tricks. Show yourself!" Dragon bellowed, a surge of rage bringing him fully to his feet, his skin tearing under the grip of the fingers he couldn't see. The blood was thick and black, but still his nerves were dead to the reality of damage. He braced himself for another round, extending his senses in every direction, trying to pinpoint an enemy, or anything, but even his cosmos failed him, refusing to flare or even flicker. He was suddenly unsure the enemy he saw was really there; he couldn't even focus his senses by closing his eyes. He felt utterly alone in an expanse of nothingness. The darkness around him had no particular temperature, feeling like nothing at all, but left him cold in his heart.
He shivered where he stood, braced for combat, listening to the laughter of his enemy that came from everywhere at once. He felt a pressure on the back of his head that for an instant flared as sharp, pounding pain, before he slipped further into the void, falling away from solid ground and reason.
He hit the ground inside a structure of some sort, but found that his body was still unresponsive to external stimuli. He rose shakily, hoping to see or hear or feel something familiar, but his mind was quickly becoming as blank as everything else around him. He shook his head, but found that only made the static that had replaced his thoughts intensify. There was a feeling of loss that nagged at him, and the need for atonement. But he couldn't even remember his own name, much less what he'd done… or whatever it was he felt guilty for. He knew that there was someone important that he was supposed to be helping; he kept imaging flashes of purple hair and gold armor, though he wasn't sure what they meant or why his heart thrilled at the memory. Or had he already failed them? For some reason, his mind's eye also saw red; red blood on pale skin, red flecks in brown eyes, red armor. He wasn't sure if the armor was supposed to be read, or if it was that gold armor he had seen, stained in blood. They felt similar, but he wasn't sure if the images were the same. He knew he had to stop whoever had drawn the blood, but he didn't know who they were or how to go about it. So, he was supposed to protect and avenge. But that didn't give him much to go on. It was maddening! And frightening. His feet started moving without his permission, and not having any better ideas on where to go or what to do, he let them.
He busied his mind with trying to remember… anything. He concentrated on purple hair, and made it lead him back to a pretty face. Someone he was meant to serve. Athena. His knees gave out once he saw her face clearly. Apparently concentrating made one tired here. His vision nearly blacked out, but he had never felt the strain, just the heavy exhaustion that came after. He shook himself and let his mind drift back to nothing until the lead lifted from his back and legs, allowing him to stand and continue moving. When he tried to let his thoughts drift back to her face, he couldn't make it appear as clearly as before, but there was another woman he had a strong conection to. He followed that train of thought and was once again brought to his knees by the effort of envisioning Shunrei's features, though they weren't as distinct as Athena's had been. This time when he regained his balance he turned around, going back the way he came as he focused on a thread that was closely connected to Shunrei. Roshi came to mind once he was back where he started from, but he nearly blacked out this time, deciding to stay down for awhile. Everything was just so tireing, he wanted nothing more than to rest. It seemed the longer he was in his nighmarish surroundings of warped, cracked plaster walls and brown-stained tile floors, the further behind he left his memories.
Before getting up, he focused on the most painful memory. It held the knowledge of why his eyes would grow moist, and why his heart ached with shame. He traced the blood up to a mouth, then zoomed out from the mouth, taking in a nose, ears, eyes, hair. Seiya. Seiya was… He didn't know why that name struck sorrow into his soul, but the unpleasantness was quickly fading. Someone had hurt Seiya. But who? Was it him? Why? Was he supposed to find this person? Perhaps it would not be so bad to just lay here and let the darkness take him. It already had his mind. It would soon enough claim his heart. The dull ache of guilt and loss was growing duller by the second. Soon he wouldn't remember anything -- not Hyoga, not Shun, not Ikki, the other faces he'd managed to conjur after Seiya's. Soon, he wouldn't even remember himself.
He started at that, panic spreading through him. For some reason, he didn't want that. He couldn't remember anything about the purple hair -- it had been purple, right, not brown? -- beyond the need to serve. But he knew he was still needed. He knew he still had to do that much. Right? He began to run, ignoring the weight of his body until he didn't even feel his own fatigue.
Once down the stairs, he realized he wasn't alone. But those around him were not like the people he'd once been able to remember. At least, he didn't think they were. He remembered color, if nothing else, and there was nothing of that to be had here. No blue, or green, or pink, or purple, or gold. Even the browns and yellows were muted. Everything was wrong, he knew that, but he didn't know how or why. He refused to look at his own body. He had an image in his head, when he concentrated real hard, of black hair flashing green and grey-blue eyes. He remembered pale cream skin and purple clothes. He was too afraid to look down and see the black outline of where a person should be, like he saw all around him. For some reason he knew that wouldn't be right, even as the blue faded from black and grey, and the yellow seeped from pale skin until it was white. Even when purple had lost its meaning, he still knew it would be wrong for him to look like those around him. But this building had no end! This non-place, this hell, was as unending as damnation was eternal.
He began to see it more clearly, now, as he searched empty eye sockets for non-existant emotions. The people here were twisted inside; living, walking corpses that only stayed in the hellish route of their pseudo lives because their brains had rotted out and they could no longer understand they were already dead. But he was alive. Slowly, as the memories slipped away, life flooded to take their place. He clung to that one fact; that he was different from the others. He didn't know how or why, and didn't dare think on it, but he knew it. So, he ran. He ran through the halls of his prison, mostly being ignored, searching for a way out, a proof that he was right. He had no name. No friends. There was a purpose in him, but it was far away. There was something he still had to do, though he would probably never know what. But he continued to run.
Agonized screams echoed through the foyer, scattering the huddled shadows that passed for humans. He pushed his way through the empty space, the play of light and darkness merging with his fear and becoming a tangible barrier. His ears rang with the sheer volume of his own pulse and breath, his sweat making his skin crawl. He paused in a pitch black corner behind the stairs to empty his stomach. There was too much about this place that was just. . . wrong. It made him sick. Rage and panic and pity battled within him, his only peace coming from their joint effort at holding back the despair that was building inside him, the utter hopelessness of the situation.
And so, he ran again, running past the tears and terror and fatigue until he was blind and deaf and numb. Until he could pretend he wasn't the one screaming, the one breaking, the one broken in a shattered world. Was it the world that had broken him, or was he broken because he was whole in a fragmented existance? Was it the curse of the sole sane man when everyone else had gone crazy to be labeled a lunatic, or did everyone seem crazy because his warped mind could no longer understand the sane? He almost didn't want to know. He was as tired of the endless, answerless questions as he was of being scared of the answers that would never come. But he wasn't sure if he only wanted them because he couldn't have them. If they were offered him, no strings attacked, at that moment, would he walk away? Probably.
He spat on the ground, unsure if it was a trick of the strange orange light or a rare truth that the saliva looked pink, as if laced with blood. Maybe he was the one dying after all. Maybe he was dead and this was hell. Maybe he was. . . he kept running. He figured if he didn't stop, he'd have to get somewhere eventually. He'd have to. . . but then what?
He closed his eyes, fighting back tears, so he didn't see the door. He hit it full speed, wrenching it open and landing himself hard on his shoulder. When he lifted his arm from the concrete, black blood oozed from the ragged scrape and he could see small stones that he knew he would have to remove for the wound to heal. He looked up at the grey-blue sky with it's charcoal clouds and orange sun and wondered why it was so dark. Why he could look straight at the cold-burning orb and feel nothing. Although he didn't know why, something in him said that things shouldn't be the way they were. It was as numb as the scrape on his arm, as the puncture wound through his leg, as the heart in his chest that he only knew was there because it sent his blood pounding through his ears. He stumbled forward, screaming his frustration at feeling nothing, knowing nothing into the faux day and fell into blackness, his long dark hair tumbling in front of his face like a shield, or a mask.
As he ran, he realized there was another voice under his screams that he had been running towards without even realizing he had heard it. But he knew now, he'd been searching for the owner of that voice all along. That was his purpose, the thing that had been driving him. Right? That was the person he was supposed to serve and protect. Somehow, that sounded wrong, but a voice inside him screamed it at him so loudly, he lost the will to fight with it. Sheer strength of repetition won out over his better judgement, and he followed where the voice -- the laughter -- lead him. It certainly was familiar. Maybe it was his purpose. Yes, he knew that much. The voice was part of his purpose. And his purpose was to… protect… and… avenge. He was supposed to protect the voice, and fight for it? It didn't feel right, but his mind kept egging him on, so it must be. It was the first definitive thing he'd come across in this entire mindscape. He just wished he could be sure.
A temple loomed before him, and he raced towards it. It was supported by four pillars on each side, and the stairs leading up to it were sheltered by twelve gates. This was familiar. The symbols on each gate spurred him on; he knew this. Upon the face of the temple was a flaming clock, the familiarity of it thrilling his heart. He raced forward, tears of relief streaming down his face as the last of his doubts were battered down by the joy of simply being on familiar ground. Of feeling like he understood and recognized something.
The first gate flew open before him, and passing through it made him feel stronger and mroe resolved. The next two also gave way to him, though his strength flagged after the second and remained constant after the third. The fourth he had to push at and he felt cold when he came through, but his senses were sharper and he was even more sure that he was going the right way; the world seemed more normal, the colors bleeding back in as a filter had been lifted from his eyes. Before reaching the fifth gate, he stumbled, but was able to pass through easily. The fith and sixth gates, however, felt like they didn't quite fit; like they had been someone else's to open. He shrugged off the feeling as he struggled with the seventh gate. Images kept appearing unbidden before him, but he fought them off. He knew nothing of purple skin or a long brack braid. Nothing of blue armor or green eyes. Nothing of… the door gave way and his mind felt at ease, like a burden had been lifted from it. An old life had been shed and he was freer now, to fulfil his new purpose, since the old was unatainable.
The next gate felt like the fifth and sixth. The seventh he surged through, a twinge of something missing pricking at the back of his mind. It was residue from who he'd been; that gate must have taken more than just him to pass through. Finally, he came to actual resistance, like the fourth gate. He felt like he was soaring as he leapt through the demolished door, his feet touching ground with a giddy, relieved exilaration, and the sense that he should be sad. But since he didn't know about what, he ignored that last part and passed through the final gates as he had the fifth, sixth, and eighth. Once at the temple, red eyes gleamed from the darkness. A flash of red -- this was who he was supposed to protect, right? That was what he needed to do -- protect and avenge. His own thoughts flooded back to him, relieving him, and he stumbled toward the seated figure, tears in his eyes. But why did they feel to be of sorrow? A small, dark hand rested on his shoulder, chasing away his concentration before deceptively thin arms slipped around his waist, sending chills up his spine despite the friendliness of the hug.
"Now perhaps you can finally answer me, Shiryu. Where were you, friend?" A familiar tenor struck his very heart, nearly bringing him to his knees under the flood of emotions and memories. That same dark hand striking his chest, bidding his heart to beat again. Seiya risking life and limb to retrieve the water of life for him; for Shiryu. Every instance that had solidified their friendship, and his devotion to the Champion of… of Athena! They protected Athena, and he served her Champion. Then he remembered the red -- red from a silver arrow, red trickling from pale, lifeless lips. He had failed Athena, and her Champion, his friend. And all he had left was justice.
Faces flashed before him, painfully familiar. He had never felt an enemy. He had never felt… anything. The only one who could have blocked him was a friend. The only one who could have wounded Athena and Seiya was among those three faces. He fell to his knees in shame, his pride screaming that he rise. The laughter rang around him, and he found it came from inside. He had been hearing Seiya laughing at him. Laughing at him for falling so far as to be tricked, betrayed again. Laughing to keep from crying that his only hope lay in so hopeless a friend. Shiryu remembered Ikki's treachery suddenly; and Shun's. Shun had knocked him out when they had gone to fight Phoenix. Ikki had tried to kill them all. Seiya had saved Shun, and tried to save Ikki. Apparently, it hadn't worked. So, in order to kill the older brother, he would make sure not to make the same mistake twice. He would stop the younger brother first, by whatever means necessary. But Hyoga would protect Shun; he was as loyal to Andromeda as Shiryu was to Seiya. And therefore no less of a traitor. Come to think of it, had not Hyoga also turned against them long ago? Dragon had a clear purpose, now. He would avenge their goddess and her champion; he would destroy the traitors. Tears streamed down his face as he held the faces of his enemy in his mind's eyes, one by one. Tears of betrayal and frustration; tears of loss. Tears of hesitation. This would be his hardest battle. But it was for Seiya; for Athena. And he was at last ready to fight.
The awakening was hard. He sat straight up, shaking with the weight of his dreams and his purpose. He reached out his mind, but still felt only void. Whoever had killed Seiya had also severed their mental bond, somehow. Only one of them could manage such a feet. His doubts fully assuaged, for now, he realized that sleepy green eyes were looking up at him.
"Shiryu?" Shun's voice was still thick with sleep, but Andromeda had soon launched himself at the Dragon's chest. Shiryu threw the surprised boy to the floor with a hiss. Shun rubbed his head, eyes wide, before blushing and giving a small, concerned smile to his friend. "Sorry, Shiryu. I didn't mean to startle you. I was just so glad you had finally come back to us. I thought we had lost you too…" His voice stumbled, and Shiryu's grey eyes narrowed as the boy before him looked away. "Shiryu, Seiya is…"
"Dead." Shiryu finished coldly, sliding his body to the side of the bed and testing his weight, ignoring the shocked green-haired boy at his feet. "I'm well aware. And I fully intend to find and punish the one responsible." Dragon's voice was clipped, sending a shudder through Shun that thrilled Shiryu, but also made him feel sick for some reason. He ruthlessly fought down the bile, finally turning to face his fallen, former friend and help the other man up.
"We weren't sure if you knew. You've been unconscious for three days. We found you sprawled across Seiya's body, as if you had been protecting him. We hoped you would know what had happened. I guess that means you don't." Shun sighed, his large eyes wet.
"Oh, no. Unfortunately, I know exactly what happened. And I cannot afford to allow you to stop me from administering justice. It's well past time I repay the favor, Shun." Shiryu growled, catching the nape of Shun's neck and slamming the boy's chest across his knee. Shun didn't even have time to whimper in pain, much less react, as his ribs were crushed under the blow and his eyes widened before glazing over with insensate pain. Shiryu flipped him around, lifting him almost gently and placing him in the bed. He really hadn't wanted to hurt Shun unnescicarily. Andromeda had been very careful with his chains not to hurt Shiryu. So, Shiryu would let the boy sleep through his brother's death, as both he and Shiryu had slept through Seiya's pain. And if Hyoga stood against him, Swan was no less a traitor than Phoenix and would suffer the same fate as Ikki.
Shiryu slid down the stairs with controled, predatory grace. His body felt strained but more alive than it ever had. He had to focus on his movements, but he could feel the power rippling under his skin. He would corner his prey soon enough.
Ikki was sitting downstairs with Hyoga, the two men speaking in low, conspiratorial tones. No doubt plotting some new heinous action right under poor, innocent Shun's nose. The boy was so enamored with them both, he would do anything for them. Even ignore the death of a friend when the evidence as to the culprit was as plain as the stars in a clear night sky.
"Shiryu!" Hyoga noticed him at last, half rising in glad surprise. Ikki was on his feet quickly, locking eyes with Shiryu and closing the distance between them.
"Shiryu, where's Shun." Phoenix asked softly, casually. Hyoga's gaze shifted from shock to distrust as he swept from Ikki to Shiryu.
"He won't be coming to your rescue this time, Ikki. I don't believe he had any part in it so he is mostly unharmed. But don't think I'm fool enough to overlook the two of you." Shiryu's mouth twisted ferally, causing Hyoga's eyes to grow far colder even than his element.
"Shiryu, you're being controled." Hyoga stated curtly, his satin tones etched with ice. "Snap out of it." Ah, he was afraid. Hadn't this little scene played out thrice before; he'd had to face a friend and two masters in mortal combat. And now he had to do it all over again. Poor Swan.
"Oh, I finally see it all clearly, now, Hyoga." Shiryu spat the name like it was poison. "I finally see this fire bird for what he really is. And if you had a hand in Seiya's death, then be it with fire or ice, I will match you both and win." Shiryu launched himself at Ikki, breaking the table Phoenix and Swan had been sitting at with Ikki's back. Ikki hissed, ignoring the blood that was pooling under his back, his attention on Shiryu's trapped hands. Shiryu could feel Hyoga making a wide circle behind him and braced himself for the onslought when he noticed Ikki give Swan a single shake of the head before motioning with his chin for Swan to leave. After a moments hesitation, Shiryu heard measured, retreating footsteps before Hyoga finally turned and bolted up the stairs, sounding as if he were taking them three at a time. Shiryu smiled, glad his justice would not be delayed or interffered with. Hyoga would be with Shun, and he could take out the traitor. He was sure it was Ikki's fault; he was just sick at heart over touching such a foul traitor. It wasn't that this monster was any friend of his. And Hyoga had to be innocent. Otherwise, he wouldn't be so loathe to hurt him. Right?
Shiryu's leg came up to connect with Ikki's spread legs, sending blue eyes rolling back into their sockets. The groan of pain made him want to empty his stomache; he was a Saint, but Phoenix had reduced him to little more than a street brawler. He rolled his eyes, pressing his advantage and forcing his hands to close around the wounded man's throat. Ikki's eyes slowly focused and hardened, but his hands rested on Shiryu's shoulder's, when they could easily have found Dragon's throat, or fisted in Dragon's hair, or punched him in the chest. Shiryu's eyes widened at the gentle touch. A friendly touch. Shiryu's grip loosened as Ikki gave him a quirked smile. This was wrong! If Phoenix was such a monster… he'd lure you into a false sense of security, the way he did with me. He's Phoenix; nearly impossible to kill. He can afford to be patient with his treachery.
As the voice in his head steeled Shiryu's resolve, Ikki's eyes darkened, recognizing the renewed zeal of his opponent. With a sad sigh, he released his hold, preparing to strike Dragon. The hit never came, since with a roar of pain, Shiryu toppled off of Ikki, writhing and clutching his head as gold lanced across his vision, engulfing and blinding him in its too-warm radience.
Shiryu felt her approach and screamed in rage and confusion. It was not the sound any man should be able to make; animalistic and desparate. Strong, dark arms were around him, larger than the pair he remembered renewing his life. Ikki was… bracing him? Was Ikki causing this pain; this delusion of a cruel Athena? Had he somehow thrown his Phantom Demon at Shiryu? No. Then what…
Words were ringing in Shiryu's ears, splitting his brain with their volume and force. Words of… encouragement. Friendship. Something was terribly wrong; this situation was wrong. He remembered, as those hands tightened, how Ikki had used these fists to fell Docrates. He remembered how Phoenix had fought Virgo, giving all of himself for thier success. Success? Yes, they had saved Athena, she was alive… she was… hurting him? So the traitor was him, all along. He let her power surround him, burn through him. If he let it, it would consume him. But there could be no doubt; this was the power of the one who had rescued him and the others from Death Queen Island; the one who had come to him in hell, freing him from Cancer's limbo. This was the woman he had pleged his very soul to. So, who was he to deny her his life if she deamed fit to take it. He relaxed into the anguish, letting it sweep from his mind the taint that had nearly cost him friend and soul, and would shortly cost his life. A fitting price; he had betrayed his friends and his goddess with his weakness.
But the pain and aura subsided. Delicate white hands were mopping his sweat-soaked brow. Athena was caring for him. Ikki's words had dulled now; they didn't rend his brain, they were almost comprehendable now. He struggled to open his eyes, hoping his head would clear. His attempt to sit up was thrawted by his own weak body, so he lay in Ikki's arms, where he'd been braced during his agony.
"Someone… someone toyed with my memory." Shiryu rasped, his voice hoarse from screaming. "That's why I attacked you; I allowed my grief to weaken my mind and was manipulated into believing that Ikki had betrayed Seiya, and that we had failed to save you, Athena, from Ares' arrow." Shiryu's words were cut off by a racking cough that sprayed his blood, mingling it with that spilled by Phoenix earlier.
"Shiryu!" Athena called, the concern in her eyes the only thing his swimming vision could see clearly. Her power seemed to surge from within this time, bolstering his flagging strength. He murmered in surprise, eyes fluttering, trying to understand why. He saw love and sorrow, forgiveness and understanding. Of course she would temper justice with mercy. That was the wisdom of Athena. She could forgive so much; even his foolishness. He smiled before letting her power sweep him to painless oblivion, so different from the void of earlier.
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TBC