This my attempt at establishing atmosphere. Did I succeed; or am I fooling myself?
Chapter Six: Silent Edge
Vincent, to his great chagrin, was completely lost. He was somewhat familiar with Edge's main thoroughfares, but he never could have imagined what labyrinth the back alleys would be.
There had not been any real building plan when Edge first popped up next to Midgar's ruins. Tents were set up for the recently homeless, which were gradually replaced with homes built from what could be salvaged from the wreck. As a result, half the city's streets were a confused jumble of alleyways and dead ends, interrupted only by the main avenues which led to the newer, more organized section of the city.
It had been a half-hour since Vincent set out to find Shalua, and nothing to show for it. The walls stretched on, seemingly endlessly, above his head, into the black stormy night. The alley seemed just as endless, because Vincent could only see a few yards ahead before the walls faded into the darkness. The longer he walked along this passage, the more it was starting to feel like they were closing in on him.
If Shalua had left any kind of trail, it was long gone, erased by the icy rain. For all Vincent knew, she was already dead.
Suddenly, he heard something. No, sensed it more like. Vincent stopped short, his neck-hairs on end. It was the same sensation from outside the bar. There was a tapping noise coming from up ahead, like soft footsteps. Whatever it was, it was fully masked by the shadows. Vincent, on the other hand, was very exposed with only one possible direction he could run, which no option. If he turned his back on whatever was ahead of him, it would attack. All Vincent could do was hold his ground in the middle of the brick valley.
The footsteps stopped. Vincent stood still as stone, listening. The rain drowned out every noise. He couldn't trust his ears, so he waited for whoever it was to make the first move.
Nothing happened for a long time. Vincent stared into the gloom, looking for anything he could identify as the threat. His hand hovered above his gun-holster.
But then, a growl, and the sound of splashing water, but not from the original source. It was behind him!
Vincent spun on his heel, claw outstretched, and managed to backhand his assailant before it's claws reached his face.
The creature moved too fast to see clearly as it rebounded off the wall and pounced at Vincent again, this time succeeding in knocking him over. Vincent hit the ground, sliding on the wet pavement with the thing on top of him.
Using the momentum of the fall, Vincent kicked the brute off with his heels and rolled back onto his feet in one movement. He turned to face it, but it had already recovered and resumed it's charge. It was too dark to see anything but glowing blue streaks as it approached. It ran straight at him, then it hopped onto the wall. High above his head, it jumped off, claws bearing down on him.
Vincent watched it approach, his enhanced perception allowing him to see it fully now even as it plummetted towards him. It was somekind of feral dog-like animal, wearing what appeared to be a Deepground uniform, the blue streaks were the same tubes of mako that laced the soldier's uniforms too.
In a movement faster than the eye could follow, Vincent drew his tri-barrel revolver and, firing from the hip like a cowboy, put twelve bullets in the creature in four shots. It sailed past Vincent's head, dead before it hit the ground.
Vincent stooped to examine the thing. It was a frightening sight, even in death. It's movements had been inconceivable, to run along the wall as easily as the ground. But even with that speed, how had it gotten behind him so fast? Unless. . .
"Damn." With all the spinning and tumbling that had ensued in the scuffle, Vincent realized that his back was to the original source of the disturbance.
Vincent spun once again, claw outstretched, knowing what he would find.
With a disgusting ssshhhlk, Vincent buried his claw in the throat of another creature identical to the first. It swiped at him in it's death thros, leaving deep gashes in his arm and shoulder. Vincent tightened his grip inside it's neck, snapping it, and it went still.
Panting, and in pain, Vincent tried to free his arm of the dead weight. He was stuck, tangled up in tendon and whatever else he had torn through. Then his blood ran cold, one more had crept out of the shadows. It held itself low to the ground like a predatory animal. Vincent raised his gun and fired at it. It hopped to one side. The bullets flew past and struck the wall at an angle, chipping off pieces of brick and mortar. The creature charged at him, daring him to waste his last shot.
Vincent remained motionless as it approached.
It leapt at him, claws fully extended. Vincent threw himself down next to the dead one that immobilized him. Laying sideways, Vincent aimed up at the third creature as it flew over him. Vincent fired his last shot at it's unarmored underbelly. Before it even knew what happened, the creature's guts exploded all over the alleyway, bringing the fight to very inglorious end.
Vincent let out a lungful of air he hadn't realized he had been holding in. He got up, placed a foot on the corpse he was stuck to for leverage, and managed to free his left arm at last. He balled up a handful of his cloak to wipe the blood from his face. Vincent leaned against the wall to catch his breath as he did this, but it caught in his throat when he looked at the creatures. Now that they were still, he could see their heads properly. The helmet was different from the standard deepground headwear. While it too had three eye pieces, the bottom was left open, exposing the elongated jaws of, not somekind of hound as he had originally though, but something . . . human.
Vincent ripped the helmet off one of them, only to immediately regret his decision. He jammed the mask back on the monster's head and stood up to continue on his way as fast as possible.
Vincent strode down the alleyway in the direction the first one had come from. His wounds were already closed, with barely a mark to show, but he broke open a potion anyway to deal with the ache left behind. He turned a corner as he did this, only to meet a scene far more grotesque than the one he had just created.
It was mere hours since the assault, WRO members stood stationed at every corner. Bodies were still being identified. The fallen Dragonfly was still being scrapped and analyzed. But the fighting wasn't over. A few dozen Deepground soldiers had managed to hole up in the Neon District, one of the newer sections of the city, a little south of the Central square in the middle of town.
Civilians huddled together in houses, fearful of another attack. Every now and then, gunfire would pierce the night and they would cringe and draw closer together. Other houses stood dead silent.
But no one had come or gone to the city since the Commissioner had left. Kalm was on complete lock-down.
Lieutenant Jarek Ironside was standing in the East Church, having taken over for Reeve, marking off checkpoints on the city map. His men had the enemy pinned down where they were, but there was no way to tell if there were hostages or not. He had stopped their advance, but the edge of the district was under close watch. If only his snipers had taller buildings to work with. . .
Just then one of his subordinates burst into the building, he saluted hastily, "Sir, news from the gate!"
Kalm was one of the few cities in the world that still maintained an outside wall encompassing everything. Even when the city grew, the wall had been expanded with it. The people of Kalm said it was a relic of 'days gone by' or something; whatever the reason it was damn useful for their purposes this night.
"Report." said Ironside.
"The lookouts can see headlights coming from the direction of Midgar."
Ironside swore, "Is there anyway to tell who they are?" he asked, knowing the answer already.
"No, sir." replied the Private. "Orders, sir?"
Ironside made a decision, "Raise squads three and five, they were disappointed that they missed the action, well they may just get it now. I'll meet them at the gate. Dismissed."
"Sir!" The Private saluted and dashed off.
Ironside quickly snatched up his shotgun and strode down the street. He hopped into a jeep to be taken to the West Entrance. Five minutes later, he climbed the steps to the top and peered out into the rainy night. Visibility was pretty much nil, but the rain had quenched most of the fires. A fair tradeoff, but Ironside was less than pleased with it at the moment. He took a pair of binoculars from the nearest guard and looked towards the horizon. After a moment of searching he found them: Several sets of headlights, no mistaking them, and they were drawing closer. Ironside estimated that they were still about six miles off from Kalm, so they had maybe ten minutes to prepare. Turning back toward the town, Ironside was pleased to see that Squads three and five were already lined up in front of the gate.
Good. Very good.
Ironside went to the edge of the wall looking in and called down to them.
"Take defensive positions until I say otherwise!" The men and women under his command broke formation and took cover behind anything tall and sturdy enough. Piles of rubble, abandoned cars, the fountain in the center, all were put to use. Snipers lined the walls on either side of him. There was a city-gate, but there was no telling how well that would stand up a truck barreling at it. There were floodlights mounted on either side of the gate, Ironside had them turned on and aimed at a space fifteen meters from the doors.
Then they waited.
Ten nervous minutes later, the shapes of vehicles took form behind the headlights as they came within the final fifty yards of the wall. Ironside tossed a flashbang in front of the lead vehicle. It burst into a flash of light and all of them came to a screeching halt. They had heeded the warning, they either meant no harm, or they were simply smart enough not to attack yet.
Ironside spoke through a megaphone, "Kalm is under lock-down! Step into the light and state your business here!"
The figure of a women dismounted from a motorcycle and stepped into the light, her hands raised. Ironside recognized her before she needed to introduce herself, "My name is Tifa Lockhart of Avalanche."
Without hesitation, Jarek called down to the ground, "Open the gates!" A moment later the heavy double doors swung inward. Lockhart got back on the motorcycle and led the entourage of about a two dozen civilian cars inside. Jarek descended to the street to meet them. But once the doors were closed, Lockhart dismounted again and ran to a blue pickup, which had parked close to her. She opened the passenger door and two children, a boy and a girl, leapt into her arms.
"I thought you were going to get shot." whispered the girl, clutching at Lockhart's jacket.
"Don't be silly, I called ahead. There was nothing to be worried about." Lockhart reassured them.
Ironside heard this exchange, and had to feel respect for her. They had received no such message.
Lockhart gave her children one more squeeze and released them before she walked over to Ironside, who stood at attention. The children followed, just a step behind her.
"Edge is under attack from Midgar, we have wounded with us." she reported.
The Lieutenant nodded and signaled his men, they rushed forward to accommodate the refugees. "WRO reinforcements were dispatched to Edge soon after reports came in. Your ally, Colonel Valentine was with them."
Lockhart looked surprised, but pleased, "How did we miss them?"
"The Commissioner didn't plan on taking the roads when he left," Ironside replied, "They needed to approach Edge without raising any alarm from the enemy and the roads are too open."
"I see. That will be all then, where can we get some rest?"
Ironside summoned the same Private from earlier, "Take the Colonel and her wards to one of the empty houses near HQ." he ordered.
"Yes Sir!" The Private gestured to Lockhart, "This way Ma'am."
Lockhart and her children followed him towards the jeep, but as they left she turned her head towards the gate, a wistful look on her face.
With a loud 'BANG' the gates slammed closed.
The corpses of about a dozen of the same monstrosities that ambushed him littered the small space. Smoking bullet holes and slash marks decorated the walls, with blood splatters to match. Scattered among the bodies, here and there, a scrap of WRO uniform could be seen, attached to a formless mass of cold flesh. The various limbs and ligaments were so tangled together that they caught the rain in small puddles, the blood tinging the water red. The few intact faces held frozen looks of fear. It was scene straight from hell.
Amidst the falling rain, and dripping of blood, Vincent was able to pick up the sound of ragged breathing coming from the far corner. Vincent carefully picked his way through the hellish marsh to the source of the sound. Pulling away the body of one of the beasts revealed the form of a WRO soldier slumped against the wall. His right leg past his knee had been torn off, and there were bloody slash marks all over the front of his uniform. His left arm was hung limp, a bone sticking through the fabric of his sleeve. His right hand was clutching a bloodied combat knife, apparently wrenched from the brute's throat when Vincent had moved it. A quick look at the monster showed that the soldier had been stabbing it in a frenzy before, and probably long after, it had finally died.
The soldier looked up at him. His face was deathly pale, but his eyes still held life, and recognition. He opened his mouth, but only a hoarse gurgle came out as blood dribbled on to his chin. Vincent crouched down next to him, and offered the open potion to his lips. The man drank gratefully, his bleeding let up somewhat, enough for his pained expression to relax. After a moment, he was able to speak.
"Ambushed . . . by soldier . . . in red . . ." he whispered, straining, "Squad . . . wiped out . . . we tried to . . . tried to escape . . ."
He glanced at the carnage around them," trapped . . ."
"And the rest of your platoon?" Vincent inquired softly.
The trooper shook his head slightly, but enough to make the point clear as tears mixed with the blood on his cheeks.
"What about the citizens?"
"Warehouse . . . on the . . . edge of town . . ." he gasped, a renewed gush of blood flowed from his mouth. He dropped his knife and dug into a pouch on his hip. He pulled out a keycard and held it up for Vincent. Vincent took the card, but the soldier grabbed his wrist, his face etched with pain, "They were . . . gathering . . ."
"What about Cloud Strife, was he captured?" asked Vincent urgently.
The soldier did not speak again. Vincent gently removed the hand from his wrist.
The tag on his uniform revealed his name to be Myron Herrot, Private first-class of the WRO's eighty-first platoon. The tag came off with a yank.
Noticing something silver dangling out of his pouch, Vincent carefully picked it up and held it to where he could take a good look at it. It was a small silver SOLDIER logo on a fine chain. Coiling the chain around the name tag, Vincent stowed it in his pocket. He would give them to Reeve, and he would see that they were given to the right people. It was all the honor he could afford to grant him.
With a sweep of his hand, Vincent closed Myron Herrot's eyes.
After some careful navigating, Vincent had found his way out of the alleyways and into the newer side of the city. This half had been built after Reeve took charge of urban planning, so the road layout was arranged in a grid-like pattern. Edge's most defining site lay at the center of this district: the Memorial Circle, like the axels of a wheel, all of the main roads in Edge intersected here. The shape of the area, combined with the gray of the surrounding buildings, often gave one the illusion of a massive crater, at the center of which was the memorial itself. It was a pedestal on which the names of those who died on the Promised Day where carved around a plaque that displayed the old catchphrase: 'Keep on Rockin' in Midgar!' At the top was a crome statue of the Meteor .
Vincent found it strange being back here, in no small part because barely a year earlier he had reunited with his former comrades to fight a dark god in this very spot.
Having finally given up on finding Shalua, he had been seeking the warehouse. On his way he had come across the memorial.
Usually Vincent spent much of his time wandering the land in solitude, avoiding large settlements because he disliked the hustle and bustle of the city. That said, it struck him just how very empty the city felt. For how quiet it was, he may have well been in the Sleeping Forest to the far north.
A dead city, that's what it was. All Vincent could hear was the sound of rain on asphalt. The usual city smells replaced by the lingering sulfuric smell of gunpowder and charred meat. Blackened masses littered the lanes, burnt and twisted beyond any kind of recognition. It was impossible to know what they had once been, only that potent magic had been involved with their current condition. In some places, the blobs had been so affected that they were glowing with Mako exposure, the granite gray of the city was interrupted by eerie green light, forcefully reminding Vincent of the Northern Crater.
Gunshots interrupted Vincent's musings. He merged with the shadow of a building, removing himself from sight. But it seemed he wasn't the target. . .
"Survivor spotted! Don't let him get away!" shouted a voice, accompanied by a shrill cry. A child's cry.
Sprinting from his hiding spot, Vincent quickly homed in on the source of the scream.
The road to third avenue had been gated off, and it was here that the boy had been cornered. Two D-Troopers were slowly advancing on him with machine guns at the ready.
"No impurity detected, take him in." one of them barked . . . before a gun shot blew his gray matter all over the road. The child cried again out as he was hit with a shower of blood.
"What the f-?" was all the other one could get out before a claw sliced his gun in half on its way to his throat. The claw wrapped its appendages around the soldiers neck and lifted him off his feet. In desperation, the soldier pulled a knife and stabbed wildly at the red mass that was throttling him. But with a sickening snap the soldiers body became like a rag doll. The claw released him, and the body fell to ground in a crumpled heap.
The boy seemed seemed to be unhurt. By the look of him, he was was about Denzel's age and wearing about what one would expect a kid of his age to be wearing. A pitiful, scared looking thing with a splash of blond hair. Nearby lay a bloody hunting rifle, not belonging to either of the dead soldiers. He stared at his bloody hands, seemingly in shock.
Vincent knelt down in front of the boy. "Hey kid."
The boy's face jerked up to look at him, eyes wide with terror., but the demon had become no more than a man. Recognition appeared in the boy's eyes, as all the members of Avalanche were well known in Edge.
"You alright?" Vincent asked. The kid didn't say anything, all he did was stare at. . . ah.
Vincent pulled the knife out of his side with a no small amount of irritation. The wound healed up as soon as it was out.
The boy finally found his voice, "W-what are you?"
Vincent considered him for a moment, "You know what? I really don't know. All that matters is that they can't hurt you now. Come with me."
Ten minutes later, Vincent opened the door to the Seventh Heaven. He glanced around; still empty. He ushered the boy inside. He closed and bolted the door. More deadbolts than he remembered. As was natural for a business, the windows had pull down gratings over the windows, perfect for a temporary hideout. Going to the bar, Vincent brought the boy a glass of water. He held it out.
"Drink." he said.
The boy took it uncertainly, "It will help you relax," said Vincent. The boy sipped it a little, then downed the whole thing.
Vincent knelt down in front of the kid and put a hand on his shoulder, "You stay here, it should be safe. I'll come back when I'm done here."
The kid nodded silently.
Getting up, Vincent headed for the door. "Bolt the door behind me." he called over his shoulder.
"Avenge them!" The boy cried suddenly.
Vincent paused, taken aback. He looked at the kid, tears were streaming down his face. Avenge who?
"That guy. . . with the swords. . . he . . . they . . . mom and dad. . . right there . . . but I . . . I couldn't move. I was too scared. . ." he said between sobs.
The boy looked Vincent in the eye, his voice full of desperation, "Please! Please avenge their deaths!"
Vincent didn't say anything. He simply turned and left the bar. He understood now.
Poor kid.
But a moment later, something the kid had said caught up with him and Vincent stopped short.
"'Swords'?"