Hello, everyone. I am taking a short break from writing The Dark Emerald trilogy to focus on a short fic based on a game I've not yet played, yet, have read about one of the main villains, Infinite (a.k.a., "Zero") the Jackal in varying fandoms and wikis, and have viewed his demeanor in snippets of the comic as well as cutscenes from the game itself via YouTube. It seems this character had a dark and mysterious backstory that wasn't very-well explained, leaving us to simply believe that he was this terribly sadistic person with an inferiority complex that wanted nothing more than to destroy the entire world and everyone in it, regardless of those he had forsaken. Kind of a tall order, you think? Definitely something someone without battling inner demons would, or could, ever actually want, right? This short fiction focuses on this backstory, though there are some instances based on actual events that hit very close to home, and was hard to write, let me tell you. :(

Again, I have never played or read Sonic Forces, so if my accuracy is a little off, please keep that into consideration, as I'm not trying to incorporate any of that into this story (ok, well, maybe a morsel, but no more than that!). This is simply an AU-based version of what I think happened to Infinite after his defeat.

I hope you all enjoy this. Please feel free to leave a review, and, by all means, offer up suggestions you might think could improve this! I am a writer, so critical remarks are the norm, but please be nice about it! ;)

J. Maxwell

Sonic, Sonic Forces and all other various Sonic The Hedgehog characters are Copyright SEGA, Sonic Team, Archie, and all other associations affiliated with the Sonic the Hedgehog game/literature/anime/manga. Names used for other characters are random. Any people bearing the real name, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Descension

1

Morning had come, but there was no sunrise, rather, an ashen light that bathed the city in a sullen gray hue which dimmed the colors within. Silent were the streets, save the random swirls of dust and soot kicked up by passing breezes. All around, the effects of the war that had finally ended could be both felt and seen: buildings that were damaged, collapsed, or disabled to the point of inevitable collapse, fires that still glowed, filling the air with toxic reminders that now billowed in tall pillars of black, congregating into what looked like a giant hand outstretched and bent over the skyline, terrible yet impotent.

The putrid scent of destruction lingered heavily within the air despite the cool winds indicative of coming rain, for random piles of destroyed robots lay scattered everywhere, some still sputtering, sparking, smoking, leaking fluids that pooled around them, some snaking toward drains that would ultimately guide their poisonous blood to a vulnerable pond or river and sully its tepid innocence.

And yet, despite the overwhelming appearance of disparity, of heartbreak, of grief over the fallen, and of uncertainty, the inhabitants of the city sought comfort with each other, openly embracing when catching site of the other, as if thankful for survival and of their heroes that urged them to find courage within themselves to stand and fight for their freedoms the evil Dr. Eggman had tried in vain to forcefully remove from them. Sadly, many would never be able to share in the celebratory sentiment, having fallen by way of various attacks spearheaded by the portly maniac hellbent on worldwide domination, having been seduced by visions of grandeur displayed to him after discovering a gemstone possessing almost otherworldly powers almost by accident, having plucked it from the ground, his contact with it building a psychokinetic bridge that allowed it to delve into his darkest desires and create a twisted scene of altered reality for which such desires could be seen as clear as the daylight.

But the fallen would never be forgotten, for those that had once been shrouded under the blankets of fear began to find their strength within as they watched the courageous members of the Resistance march ahead, and they joined the final fight, discarding the notion that they would live free by hiding in the shadows of Eggman's reign had the war ended in his favor.

It was the effort of many that ultimately overcame the seemingly insurmountable odds and put an end to the war once and for all, and within the ensuing days of celebration, the fallen were honored, for their courageous efforts had not been for nought, and the memories of those efforts would forever live on with each tearful embrace they would share while surrounded by permanent reminders forever etched into the city, the land, and in their hearts, left alone to convey the importance of perseverance above all odds.

But on the outskirts of the city, away from the decimation, the revitalized comaraderie, and the rejuvinated spirits, a lone figure was seen struggling to walk along a winding path, meandering to and fro as if in a confused state of drunkenness. Black as the bending smoke in the sky was he, with markings upon his back as if his skeletal build had become visible, and long white locks of hair flowing wildly behind him from the wind that had begun to intensify more as it was pushed by the approach of rain-filled clouds. Behind him lay a trail of blood, spattered amongst the dirt, following his troubled sense of direction.

Upon his head lay the remnant of a mask that gleamed its metallic grays despite the dullness of the daylight except for the one triangular shape of red bearing just enough opaqueness to allow his eye to peek through, half-closed, half-grayed where brilliant yellow had once been.

He huffed as he labored on, a small line of red lazily trickling down from his mouth until it hung precariously off of his chin. Each shuffled step he took, he grimaced while clutching his chest tightly, trying his best to suppress the bleeding from the large, angry wound that was there, but to no avail, as blood continued to ooze from it, covering his gloved hand, dripping freely onto his legs and shoes before staining the ground he struggled mightily to walk upon. He could feel the last of the strength quickly ebbing, but spotted a felled tree ahead as the path bordered a small thicket of woods.

Slowly, gingerly, he sat upon the ground, his back against the decaying trunk, his chest heaving; and as he pulled his hand away from his chest, seeing his hand covered with his own blood, Infinite began questioning whether or not he had been the recipient of good fortune, or a victim.

Upon being handed defeat by Sonic the Hedgehog and a relatively unknown Resistance soldier who displayed exemplary courage and confidence, the ruby that had been infused to his chest by way of surgical grafting weakened to a point to where it could no longer rely on him as its host and began losing its structural form as its power continued to drain; and in a last frantic attempt to regenerate its power, enveloped him in a dimensional wormhole that caused him to disappear with it despite his pleas of continuing the fight.

While Sonic watched him simply fly off into literal obscurity, Infinite found himself in an altered reality overwhelmed with troubled confusion as if the world itself was collapsing into a sea of red pixels melting away into blackness. The air seemed to be on fire, and a howling sound like an engine on the verge of tearing itself apart assaulted his ears. He cupped his ears from the deafening roar, tried to run, but found that he was on a lone island, surrounded by the lava that was null space that was slowly devouring it.

Soon, he, too, would be taken by it.

He crumpled to the ground, cursing what he deemed as an unfair fate bestowed unto him as he beat the ground with his fist in fury. But as he watched the eroding land advance closer and closer to him, he could see what looked like hands reaching up from the dying ground, their long fingers grasping at him until they wrapped around his ankles, trapping him. He fought as much as he could, yelling that he would not be taken, that he was not weak, but he became ensnared within their wicked web, unable to move. Steadfast, unyielding, were the fingers that continuously wrapped themselves around his body, anchoring him to the sliver of land that was left until he could no longer move.

For a moment, all he could see was the sky above, swirling in pixels of red and orange, glitches of the ruby's weakened state overwhelming it, until a sudden and intense burning sensation began to grow within his chest. He cried out in agony as pieces of the prototype began to break off and rip free from his body, taking with them his flesh. Over and over again could he feel his chest be torn asunder as the ruby fragmented, and as the last section of the land he laid upon was taken by the darkness, he felt as if he were falling. He cried out "NO!" one last time as the last shard pulled itself free. There was an intense flash of white, and Infinite found himself at the foot of a crumbled building, a shallow crater in a nearby wall where he had been thrown out of the dimension that had collapsed around him.

Slowly, he began to move his hand, then his arm, trying to muster the energy to deny the burning pain that coursed throughout his body all while trying to fathom what had happened, and whether or not he was back in the true reality, or perhaps a dream-like state of purgatory where pain could still be felt.

Each move brought a river of pain upon him, but, somehow, he managed to roll onto his side, only to see a body partially uncovered within a pile of rubble before him that had not yet been discovered. His mouth, bloodied from the trauma he had suffered beforehand, fell open in shock, and he instinctively scrambled toward the wall to get away from it, only to have his chest quickly feel as if it were ablaze, and a thousand knives had been plunged deep into different parts of his body. That, along with the gruesome discovery nearly proved too much for him to process, and he fought the urge vomit. It was no dream, nor false reality.

He abruptly leaned back, letting his head smack the brick wall, and tried to make sense of what was going on. His eyes darted to and fro, as if his mind was struggling to find an explanation as to how and why he had survived the nightmarish extraction of the ruby from his chest, only to be left to suffer from the after effects until he would eventually perish from the loss of blood.

He looked over at the corpse half-buried in the wreckage again, and his head began to ache as memories began to trickle into his mind; this was what he had desired once he had been gifted the power of the Phantom Ruby, albeit a functioning prototype. He had convinced himself that he had grown tired of the world, and wanted nothing more than for it to fall into apocalyptical disarray, and those lucky to survive would fall onto their knees before him as the weak and pathetic suing for mercy so that they could cling to whatever morsel of life that might be granted to them. It should have been sheer delight to see the fruits of his labor having come to fruition, but upon another glance at the deceased mere feet from him, such was not the case. He narrowed his eyes, focusing. Something seemed amiss. Though nightmarish in its own right, the body appeared to be alarmingly smaller those he had dealt with, making him assume the worst. Carefully, while holding his chest, he scooted himself closer, grabbed a bent section of rebar that protruded from a chunk of concrete, and managed to drag it off of the body, revealing the bruised and bloodied face of the victim that had been caught within the throes of a battle he had instigated, confirming his assumption as his eyes were fixated on the lifeless child amongst the ruins, and his expression one of utter dismay.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and the rain that had been falling on Infinite as he sat very still against the tree began to find its way into the broken parts of his mask and onto his face, mixing with the blood that had already stained it, his eyes still wide from the disturbing vision of what he had seen, which could not be shaken from his mind.

That child. I...I killed that child. I took a child's life. I...I never...that was never my intention. I was...I was so consumed with wanting the world to burn because I felt it had taken everything I ever had from me. I never wanted that...never! I never wanted that! What have I done?

Guilt, regret, and remorse all spilled over, and he began to weep until a fit of coughing overtook him, worsening until he could taste blood coming up and over his tongue, coating it while also finding its way to the side of his mouth.

All the desires I lusted for...all the killing...all the fear I wanted to see in everyone's eyes...it matters so little now because I know nothing will ever bring that child back, nor anyone I've lost...they're gone...gone forever...

His head slumped over to the side.

The black hedgehog was right all along. I am weak, pathetic...worthless. I am glad to be gone from this accursed world.

And as his eyes closed, a figure cloaked within the curtains of rain was seen approaching from the distance.

End Chapter 1