Sunday, 6 February 2011
07:01:56 PM (GMT)
Tick - tock - tick -to--
Nervousness and fear was the closest terms to ever be met, drowning out every single
sound that could come forth from a quiet room. The Grey Room was lifeless, just as
it's colours. It held nothing but a grave it would seem, and beauty seemed to be the
only thing far enough to not ever be deemed in such a place. Fingers, much paler than
usual, were stroking along a heavy metal bar encarved with many engravings of swirls
and other designs. Absent-mindedly these fingers started to follow along one path.
The green eyes looked tot he ground then spaced off into the deepest of distances.
Whatever eternity was, it would seem they were climbing along this feeling. A tick
nor tock never came every second, but rather every year. It only slowed down further,
decrescendoing but he expected it, this song, to suddenly jump. He expected the bass
to staccato in substitution of his heartbeat that once-was. It was a similiar feeling
to what had been felt before.
He imagined the cloudy and sprinkling day of that cold September morning. He
remembered the small hummings and gentle chnats but harsh facades. He remembered that
tanned hand, matching up to his own at that time, tightly gripping that wooden stake
above his chest. That heartbeat then - the one of death and being unable to surpass
it and knowing this completely - could onyl compare to the moment now. But he had
none of that heartbeat to tell him this.
Xilatz's hand self-consciously reached up and touched his neck, tracing the
stitching that went along one side. Never once had he acknowledged its existance,
never once had anyone even seen it before, he was positive about that, but the
existance of it was still there. And now his fingers ran across it, his thoughts
drifting past the 'never-will-again'. The sound of boots sounding down the hallway
came as suddenly realization and his head perked up - but to his very own please it
was not Xierox.
Not that the Russian was any good substitute, he just wished to not share forth a
The girl's knuckles gingerly knocked against the wall as she walked in, giving him
her sympathetic look, "Xilatz," She then appeared grave, "It's your turn." His green
eyes came over and he let out a hiss.
How was she still alive? Of all people, how could a Russian still live? He
let out a scoff. He knew her plan though. He had to give her credit for her openness.
It was fond and he remembered the entire thing ---
'I can't do it. That boy will get me before I can even dream of getting him. Why
should I help this man anyways? I don't even recall his name, so there's no point.'
'Then, what're you going to do? Rebel? Kill him? I fancy the killing of Xenmas.'
'Huh? Oh... no, same story. When it's my turn, I'm just going to take the easy way
'I'm going to kill myself, Xilatz. It's only logical. I'll help out for now, but
when it comes to that -'
'I'm sure you'll understand... Maybe you might even do such. I'm sure God would be
upset if we died trying to kill someone else.'
'Dumnezeu has nothing to do with this.'
'...I'm sure you'll get it one day, Xilatz...'
"Great, this'll be easy," The Romanian stated as he rose to his feet, the large
hariken brought up with him, fingers grasping it's handle as the crescent bladed ends
shown to the light.
"You haven't changed your mind?" Vaproskiax asked aloud, feeling his distaste of her
even in the room - but that didn't much matter. "Going is -"
"Look. This has nothing to do with pride," He hissed, hearing this twice had felt
dishonouring. It stopped with pride.
The room grew silent, Vaproskiax's head was hanging, her lovely blonde tendrils
slipping over her shoulder. A nod soon slipped from her, "Alright, Xilatz. I wish you
good luck with this..."
"Good luck?" Xilatz scoffed aloud, "I won't be like that moron, Dex-dulce, I'll
demolish this kid!"
"No -" He hissed abruptly, "Just to spite that stupid fag."
"... Then we'll be seeing you later."
And that was it. Vaproskiax walked with her head down.
His voice had been so rough and so easy, so perfected by the edgings and cocky. It
showed strong faith and motivation that he was coming back - that he'd kill that
child who so ruthlessly killed Dexion and others, 'just to spite him', just to make
his death look like a waste of time spent crying over. That was how he had said it to
the girl. He assured her that he'd come back - and he wasn't taking any doubts from
her or anyone else. He was happy it was her, though. It made it so much easier to
yell at her for her stupidity than it would've been for Frixie or Xierox.
Despite this, it wasn't true. He cheated past the corruption of his mind, the part
of him that knew what was going to happen, but he wanted to make sure this
would not. Xilatz's fingers tensed so hard against the metal of the cold hariken,
skin a this finger tips lined with once pink then with dastardly ghost-white. That
had been a lie - about spiting him and them, showing and proving they all were a
waste of time in the first place. No, he remembered the pain of when Dexion had died.
How everything ached and how it seemed to be so real, despite there was no heart to
ache in his chest. It was like no one else mattered, but maybe he just believed this
because the other two were still well-alive and speaking, but Dexion was not. It came
as a feeling of something snapping inside of his body, and it felt horrible.
Rage burned but he'd managed, for most of the time, to not cry over it. No - he was
going to be strong ----
He was going to kill Sora.
Night after night he imagined the same sweet dream - basing off the descriptions
he'd been given of course - of some spikey-haired brunette, with his chest cut open
or a crescent-blade clawing inside of it, and all of these lavish guts spilling all
over the ground. He imagined the scarlet colour pouring out into a beautiful puddle,
then his organs seeping out like strange boats upon this endless ocean of red. In his
dreams, Xilatz smiled, and looked to his side where Dexion would somehow appear
telling him he'd done a good job, and that it was really just a curse, and now that
this fellow had died, he was free, then thank him whole-heartedly with a simple
embrace. Then they'd go back to the Castle of Oblivion, the two of them, and they'd
see Frixie and Xierox. Dexion would run to Frixie and he'd give him the biggest glomp
ever, Xierox would laugh, say words that Xilatz never understood ---
And Xilatz would smile. Everyone else would appear, praise for a good job of
breaking the curse, and Xaveria would come over and they'd play spaceman again.
Just one death - it only took one death - and this would happen.
It seemed so simple too.
But his palms began to sweat and his legs felt like jelly. Be strong - be strong
- it's up to you. You're the only person capable of this - you aren't Xilatz, you're
Alitz. Your father was Fane and your mother was Doina. You're strong and
powerful, and Doina is always there. Dumnezeu is on your side - this is your world,
no one else's. You will keep it in line, you are Alitz. No one but you can
destroy your world. And it won't ever happen.
There was a deep breath, his hand outstretched forward and the portal opened - it
opened to the place where fate would direct itself.
But who are you really?
Goddamn, I suck with these, ahwell. CONTINUE FORTH.