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damned_lounge2007-10-25 08:08 pm
katsu) wrote in damned_lounge2007-10-25 08:08 pm
Entry tags:
Oktoberfest '07 Entry, Dies Iræ by Katsu
Title: Dies Iræ
Author: Katsu
Beta (if applicable): Both David and Chelsea looked this over for me. <3
Word Count: 4,635
Rating: PG-13
Character(s): Sora, Kairi, Kasady, River, Daemon, Artemis, Byakuya, Harry Potter
Pairing(s) (if applicable): None, really
Summary: On the night the head doctor is finally defeated, everyone begins to go their separate ways.
Notes (if applicable): Some character death, some horror-ish stuff. Nothing too bad.
I. Kyrie Eleison
It smelled like blood, like fire and acid mixed together in it and through it. His nose burned, his eyes watered more each time he blinked. "Is that it?" he whispered. "Is it done?" He dragged one hand across his forehead, scraping aside tangled hair that was heavy with more than sweat. His side throbbed in time with his heartbeat, bruised and scored by the lion claws the last monster had worn.
Kairi's only answer was a soft sob.
The keyblade dragged on the ground; it hadn't left him this time. For once, he wasn't sure if he was glad about that fact. "We should go," he said. "I... something else might come." He stopped next to Kairi, but his gaze drifted over her without seeing. He didn't want to see. He had to be strong and keep going.
"Just another minute," she whispered. "One more."
Sora looked away, out the shattered glass doors. Sharp shards as long as his arm littered the ground, edges traced out with lines of dark blood. The metal frame of the door was a twisted cage over twenty feet away, filled with the black remains of the monster that had guarded it. He swallowed hard, keeping his breath even by force of will. "Okay," he said. "We... let's get the others. Let's get out of here before the morning. Just in case."
"But... he's dead, Sora," Kairi whispered.
She meant the Head Doctor, he told himself, just that. Thinking about it made him a little ill; not because he'd seen it done, heard it, but because deep down, he'd been glad to see someone's head rolling across the floor, truncated neck streaming blood across his feet. Another thing he'd deal with later. Like Renji said, deal with now so there'd be later.
Renji'd also said be strong.
Don't look back.
Leave no one behind.
"C'mon," he said. "Let's go."
Kairi made a choked sound, but staggered to her feet; some tension loosened in him when she stood. She rubbed her palms against the front of her uniform, leaving dark streaks behind. Dried blood streaked one cheek in a gross parody of her tears, the red leaked from a cut just below her eye. "We'll have to run. They're all going to be scattered through the building."
"Leave no one behind," he said.
"Right." Her voice shook, but so had his.
Going back inside was the bravest thing he'd ever done. His legs trembled. He propped the keyblade on his shoulder, it was so streaked with gore that his reflection in the metal was a dirty blur.
Taking Kairi's hand was the second bravest thing he'd ever done. Her skin was still sticky with blood, striped with tangled strands of red hair, too long to be hers. His eyes stung. There was no smoke.
* * *
II. Dies Irae
Whatever the fuck'd happened, Kasady was having the greatest fucking day of his life. The old man was dead, a smear on his hands and some skin under his fingernails that made him all tickly inside, itchy all around. Mass panic and hysteria, the man screaming on the radio like music in the halls, made him want to shuffle up a little dance. The monkeys running around and shrieking like they were, no one missed their sweet little friends until they were long gone and crunched in to snack food. Kasady grinned, long tongue working a bit of fibrous grey matter out from between his teeth. He'd say he was full, but he never was. Always room for one more. As he headed for the lobby – now a blackened shell filled with the remains of furniture and fluttering bits of paper – he passed by two kids, walking hand in hand back into the building. So sweet, it made him want to puke.
He strolled out the wrecked front doors like he owned the place, skipping daggers of glass ahead of him with his toes, scaled and tough now the wicked witch was dead and they were out of his little game. "Beautiful fucking day," he said, baring his teeth to the warm, humid night air and sucking in a sweet breath.
He'd never gotten a good look at the outside of the institute before - no one had. Couldn't say he was impressed. It was just a cheap knock-off of the botanic gardens in New York, humid and green and full of flowers that weren't even that fun to step on. Flowers didn't scream, after all.
"Gotta be a gate somewhere," he muttered. As much as he wanted to stay and play, paranoia told him to get while the getting was good, before dawn and the possibility that things could go all queer and shit again.
Glass and half-melted metal decorated with chunks of monster-flesh (he tasted one, just to try it, but it was like sucking on a piece of half-rotten ass) gave way to poured concrete, gave way to a white gravel drive that wound off into trees. He couldn't even see the high wall they'd no doubt put around the nut barn, but it was probably just cleverly hidden with greenery. Give the illusion of space, soothe the psychos, that sort of bullshit. He crunched down the gravel, chuckling to himself now and then as the snap of a window breaking or a strangled shriek emanated from the building behind him.
They were still fighting. Fucking morons.
The gravel drive became thinner and thinner, until it was just a path, a merry little trip through the dark woods that were trying so desperately to be spooky. He came to a split in the path and hissed in annoyance. "I'm going to find the fucking architect and crush his skull," he muttered. Before he had a chance to flip his mental coin, something rustled in the bushes next to him. He froze, crouching, and turned his head that direction.
It giggled.
Kasady grinned. "Hey, honey, you lost?" Then it was rustling away, still laughing like an annoying kid. He jumped off the path and followed, sliding between branches and clusters of vines. He wasn't about to turn down what might be his last free meal for a while.
The faster he moved forward, the faster the fucking brat ran, until he was sprinting and cursing, whipped in the eyes with leaves. It wasn't a meal, any more. It was a point of pride.
The woods broke, trees one minute and gone the next. He stumbled to a halt three steps out, cursing as flowers flooded the world, a field of poppies that looked black in the moonlight. As soon as his foot hit the soft plants, a cloud of pollen and fluffy seeds kicked up around him, choking his breath out.
It burned, like fire.
"Fucking! Fuck!" He staggered back, meal forgotten, trying to scrape the stuff from his skin and eyes. It clung like glue, hissing and spitting across him like bacon. Half blind, he cast around, staggering into another cloud of pollen.
But water. He smelled water. He ran for it, frantically scraping at his own skin with his claws. The flowers gave way and there was a pond at his feet. "Fucking finally!" he shouted, voice raw and choked. He dropped to his knees, splashing the water on his face, drinking it down. It soothed, cool and almost minty. Handful after handful got scooped up, smoothed over his arms.
He paused, blinking rapidly. It was the aftereffect, fuzzing up his fucking vision. He still wasn't sure how he'd get back out, through all the flowers. But as another slick of water washed over him, he could have sworn he could see the moonlight rippling across the surface below, through his arm. He shook his head. "Too long in the fucking nut house," he grumbled.
He shook the water from his hands. Drops sprayed in all directions; he was fast, he had the force behind it. When he stopped, though, streams of water still ran from his fingertips, striking the water in the a steady patter.
Again, he shook his hands off.
More water.
Kasady surged to his feet. His legs tickled; more water, running faster and faster. It leapt off of every joint he had, his chin, his elbows, his knees.
"You're kidding me," he said, spitting bubbles from his mouth. He tried to step away, but his feet were already gone, his arms thin like pencils. One eye dropped from his face, hitting the pond's surface with a plop. It sank like a stone.
And then he was gone, the last memory the feel of a child's fingers combing across his back, little feet splashing in a cool pond.
* * *
III. Recordare
"You can get out the front door! Run before it's morning!"
Harry looked up at the sound; he was tired, more tired than he'd been his entire life. He watched the two younger teenagers walk by, calling out their message to the few people scattered down the hall. The others started moving in the direction of the front of the building, some holding still bloody weapons.
He couldn't go yet, though. He'd found his wand, hidden in a desk in one of the doctors' offices, but that was only half of what kept him in the halls. "Come on," he muttered, as he limped forward, one hand pressed against the wall. The fabric of his pants clung to one leg, wet with blood. His other hand, holding his wand, trembled slightly. It was probably just fatigue, he told himself.
At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped for a moment, pausing to catch his breath. He'd been over most of the first floor, at least that he could remember; it was a mess of cracked walls and bodies, the floors slippery where captives had made their stand against the monsters. While he'd found his wand, he hadn't found Snape's, or the man himself.
The darkness up the stairs was impenetrable. "Lumos." The tip of his hand began to glow, and he dragged his arm up to hold it aloft. It didn't do much to brighten the stairwell.
Even a few months ago, he would have been happy to believe that the man had run off and left him behind, or wasn't worth attempting to find. Instead he gritted his teeth, took firm hold of the banister – it was sticky, and he didn't want to think about that – and made his way up into the dark staircase, one painful step at a time. He could only hope that the man was up here, and not down in the basement. He didn't think there was a chance in hell of finding anyone down there, and he'd heard shouting earlier that it had collapsed, or at least part of it had.
One step at a time.
It felt like a thousand years of inching up step after step, the muscles in his arms and legs burning, but he doubted it was more than a few minutes. It was cold upstairs, colder than it had been below, and tendrils of fog crept along the floor. He recognized the feeling in an instant, the heaviness that settled into his joints. The Dementor that roamed free at times had gotten loose tonight.
Harry swallowed hard and licked his lips. "Don't worry," he murmured to himself. "The man's got a Patronus. You've seen it, haven't you?" But there was no guarantee that he'd found his wand, that anything...
He shook his head and moved ahead, wand at the ready. He headed for the furthest hall, walking as quickly as he could with his leg dragging behind him; he expected Snape to do the most logical thing, follow the most logical pattern.
It was so quiet he almost missed it; a hiss of air, escaping through a door opened only a crack. He stopped, backtracked, leaned to press his face to the door so he could see through. It was hard to make out at first; too much was moving, constantly sliding by. It was the texture that caught him, the dry scent; a snake, the biggest he'd seen, bigger than Nagini. And then a blotch against the dusty scales, a tatter of fabric, a greasy strand of black hair...
Harry choked, fighting his gag reflex, as he saw it again; Snape's face twisted with poison, and any moment the memories would pour out, this time to spill uncollected across the floor, unremembered, and unmourned. But not yet.
Against the snake's back, Snape's pale, twisted fingers twitched.
It's a trick of the light, what are you doing, you couldn't succeed anyway, you're no doctor, he'll die as you watch...
Harry ignored the doubting voice, the cold fingers he could feel hovering over his shoulder. "Not this time," he said.
He flung the door open and lunged into the room, wand raised, a curse on his lips.
* * *
IV. Lacrimosa
Ignoring the mess that had been made of the rest of him, Byakuya carefully wiped the blood from his sword with a scrap of cloth he'd torn from the uniform of a dead nurse. His hair felt stiff and unnatural, his skin crusty with filth he did not care to think on, but he remained unwounded, dignified.
"You can get out the front door! Run, before morning!" The boy – Byakuya recognized him as one of his lieutenant's friends, though he didn't bother to remember the name – sounded hoarse, his shout forced.
"You," Byakuya said, holding a hand out to stop him and the girl he was with. "Have you seen Kuchiki Rukia along the way?"
The boy looked down at the floor. The girl, her eyes watery, shook her head. "Not since dinner," she whispered. "I-- I hope she's okay."
"What about Lieutenant Abarai?" he asked. Whatever it might mean, he was certain they wouldn't be far from each other, not now, of all times.
"Renji's..." The girl choked, hands clutching at her shirt.
"Rukia wasn't with him," the boy said. "I hope... I hope you find her." He tugged on the girl's sleeve, getting her moving again, down the hall.
Byakuya frowned, replaying the conversation in his mind. His thoughts felt slow, slower than he wanted to admit; he was tired. His eyes widened, and he turned to speak to the children again, but they were already gone. He had to hope that he'd understood wrong.
The dirty cloth dropped, unnoticed, at his feet, and he walked down the hall. He'd last seen her in the courtyard, though that had been hours ago. Perhaps she'd made her way back. Perhaps she'd be there, standing next to his idiot lieutenant. He had to admit, he liked that idea better.
The courtyard was silent; it felt wrong, somehow, for it to be so clean. No bodies, no rubble, not even smears of blood to decorate the walls. The air smelled faintly of the trees, the water in the pond that reflected the full moon overhead. He paused to consider the reflection, caught by the ripples for a moment. The pale moon became a delicate hand, a slender wrist that lead his eyes to a familiar face, half-hidden by strands of dark hair.
"Rukia..." he didn't try to hide the relief in his voice.
She looked up, eyes round with shock. "Byakuya?"
His sword clattered onto the path; his hand no longer had the strength to hold it. "...Hisana."
She stepped back from the pond; the legs of her grey pants were dark with water to the knee. "Byakuya. I-- where are we?"
"It doesn't matter," he said, quietly. "We'll be leaving shortly." His throat felt strange; so often he'd seen his wife's face reflected in Rukia's, and it had clawed at his heart. But this was his wife, his Hisana; it paralyzed him.
"Alright," she said, taking a few steps toward him. "We'll go home? Tonight... so many things have happened..."
"Yes, home," he said. He moved forward to meet her, his steps hesitant. No one knew what would happen when they left; no one. She was dead in his time, so many decades dead, and to lose her again, to know it was coming... he took her into his arms, fighting for composure.
"Byakuya? What's wrong?" She wrapped her arms around him in turn, face resting against the curve of his neck, as it had so often in the past.
"Don't worry," he said. "We need to find Rukia, and then we can go." They could send Rukia ahead, because he needed more time, more time. To explain, to beg forgiveness for every wrong he'd done in her memory, for the monster it had nearly made him. "I'm sor--"
Her teeth sank deeply into his flesh.
Byakuya's hands spasmed once, against her back. Feebly, he thought to push her away, but even now, he couldn't. It was she that pushed him back; his legs felt like water and he fell, heavily, to his knees.
She smiled, her mouth a smear of gore that she wiped at with the back of her hand. It was the only color he could see as his weight took him to the ground, air gasping brokenly from his throat. "Worry not, my love," she said, her voice still that same, dear music in his ears. "You won't ever have to leave."
* * *
V. Benedictus
"Don't worry about it," Artemis said. "You both look exhausted. I'll take the upstairs."
Sora nodded slowly. "Maybe... there was a knife back there, let me get it for you..."
Artemis shook his head, grinning, though the expression was more than a bit strained. "I've got a weapon of my own now," he said. "It's a full moon, and I found an acorn."
Sora frowned, but didn't ask; he was too tired. "Okay. Just get done with the upstairs and head out. We'll head that way soon, too." His voice cracked; he realized that he might not get a chance to say goodbye to people; they were all so scattered already.
"Don't worry," Artemis said, clapping Sora on the shoulder. "I'll make it quick." He turned and headed up the stairs, managing to put a little spring in his step in spite of his own exhaustion. There was a trail of fresh blood that lead him on; a little eerie, but the way things were right now, there was fresh blood in more places than he cared to think about. He tried not to step in it and did his best not to even look at it.
He was about to follow the trail, turning at the second floor landing, when the beam of his flashlight showed the stairs up to the third floor, partially cleared of the rubble that normally blocked them at night. He remembered the mad plan of the various "clubs" – this was no doubt one of the ways they'd ascended. Even though he doubted there was anyone left alive on the upper floor, curiosity guided his feet that way. Someone could be injured and unable to move up there, and now he had the means to help, after all.
It was better, and worse, than he thought at the top of the landing. Not as much blood and death as his imagination had supplied. But in exchange, he recognized the face of each limp, twisted body he passed. After the fourth one, he stared straight ahead, his breath catching in his throat, and pretended that someone else's eyes were stinging, someone else's cheeks were being dirtied with tears.
The halls lead to one location; the spider's nest, the Head Doctor's office. The door was wedged open, someone slumped against it. He stepped carefully over their splayed legs and invited himself inside. The doctor himself, Landel, slumped over his desk at the center of the room, his head conspicuously absent.
Artemis smiled. That was one sight his own squeamishness refused to visit. He noted that one of Landel's hands had frozen, clawing at one corner of his desk, and examined the space. The blood that had pooled there revealed the thin lines of a hidden panel quite nicely; he used a bit of spare bandaging to protect his hand and pried it up. "Not very creative," he remarked, as a single red button was revealed. It simply screamed to be pressed, so he did.
As he expected, a section of the wall behind the desk slid back, revealing a brightly lit, clean white room, filled to the brim with as many blinking lights and shining machines as any mad scientist could ever hope for. Artemis smiled and all but skipped to the nearest computer terminal. It was pathetically simple to override the system; they hadn't bothered to put security of any sort on it, and he quickly learned what bit of softly whirring technology did what. Most of it, he handily ruined in an instant. The important things, the devices that would allow them all to return home, he set to short out and destruct when the morning came. He had no doubt everyone would be long gone before then.
"Maybe the Captain's rubbed off on me a bit," he remarked. "Or I've gone soft." As he turned to leave, though, he noted a portable hard disk, sitting on a shelf of manuals. A handwritten label on it read, 'Backup.' He picked up the small device, struck with the urge to dash it on the ground, and hopefully end all possibility of someone following in the footsteps of Landel.
He slipped it into his pocket and walked away. He still had things to do, after all, before he took himself from this cursed place.
* * *
VI. Agnus Dei
It was Kairi squeezing his hand that made him pay attention again. He'd been concentrating so hard on just putting one foot in front of the other, of moving, that he'd gone into an exhausted trance on his feet. He grimaced at the feeling of her skin sticking to his, but quickly changed the expression to a smile.
"We're almost done," Kairi said. "I think... I think this is the last hall. Artemis did say he'd take care of the upstairs..."
"Yeah, you're right," Sora said. He did his best to put a little more spring in his step. Kairi was pale, her feet dragging. But they had to keep going.
River stepped around the corner to meet them, her hands dyed to the elbow with blood, her hair made into stiff ropes with it. She tilted her head to one side. "No one left in the sand box," she said.
Sora stopped. For once, her meaning seemed clear; no one left down this hall. Which meant that it was time for he and Kairi to turn back and go. "Thanks," he said.
Daemon came out of the dark hall behind her. He looked tired; the small nest of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes said that he was as weary and sickened as Sora felt. "Sora," he said. "Have you seen--"
River reached back and grabbed his sleeve. "They went on ahead," she said. "They left their foot prints for me to follow. Don't worry." She stepped forward, her feet light and soundless, drawing the man along. As she passed Sora, her fingers danced across the edge of his sleeve, and flipped up one lock of hair. "If you start now, there's no need to hurry. Second star to the right and straight on, into the morning. Sun'll swallow you whole, make you some pancakes for breakfast."
With a merry smile, always at odds with her rags and paint, she left them behind. They'd walk and follow and be home before tea. She led Daemon out the door, never once stepping on the glass – step on a crack, break mother's back, and that would be too cruel to her now, safe and sound – and onto the yellow brick road.
"Not so yellow," she said. "Washed up on the beach. Color just ran from them."
Daemon brushed his hair back from his eyes. "Where are we going?" he asked, more for something to say than anything else. He managed a crooked smile. "And will there be pudding?"
River laughed. "There's always pudding, if we're good," she said. "The cupboard, Daemon, to be with the other cups and plates." Finally, she let go of his sleeve, once they were in the trees. A small break in the bushes made her giggle and wiggle her fingers. "Stop to smell the flowers, oh dear," she murmured.
"Do you know... has my father gone ahead?" he asked quietly.
"Gone ahead, yes. Not so far ahead; you can still catch up if you don't dawdle," she said. "She knows the way, worry wart. Backwards and with her eyes crossed, upside-down and turned around."
"I never doubted," Daemon said.
"Of course not," she said. "Doubt gives you wrinkles, and that wouldn't do, now would it." She smiled, skipping a little ahead on the path. The smooth pebbles slid under her feet, but didn't skip away. Pebbles didn't skip when a river flowed over them, after all.
The path was too long and too short, and just right. At the very end it branched, one gate, another gate. River stopped at the fork, looking from one to the other.
"Lady?" Daemon said.
"She's not confused," River said. "Just not good at the fare thee wells." She spun on her heel to face him, hands clasped behind her back. "This one's yours, Daemon. It'll take you home."
He looked at the gate; it was plain steel, institutional, its only nod to decoration a few thin lines etched into the posts. "And you?"
She glanced at the other gate, rusting and crooked; the path that lead through it looped rapidly away. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the sky there seemed a little red, like some fire burned in the distance. "That's my way," she said. "Things to do. It's a hobby, really, a charm."
"River—"
She shook her head and bounced up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Go, go," she said. "You've a partner waiting for her dance, and it's rude to keep a lady in waiting. And your father will be most annoyed if you miss breakfast." He gritted his teeth, a small growl slipping between them. She only kissed him on the other cheek and stepped away. "I'll go home too," she said. "But I've a trail of footsteps to follow first. They'll lead me a chase yet."
Then she was gone, in the blink of an eye, the other, rusted gate shrieking as it slammed shut behind her. Daemon's eyes stung as he turned his feet down the path that River had told him to follow.
And on the other path, the not home one, the brave, cracked little tea cup filled itself to the brim with purpose and went to find her friends; they hadn't gotten that much further through the looking-glass. There was a world to save, and someone needed to share in the fun.
* * *
VII. Lux Aeterna
They lingered, just a little longer, at the ruined front door of the institution. Kairi left behind her tears before she turned down the path with Sora. They walked in silence, tired feet scuffing at the smooth gravel of the path. It felt like forever before they came to the fork, the two gates. The sky to the east was beginning to lighten, the first hints of orange glory heralding the sun.
"Look, Kairi," Sora said.
The morning light caught on the steel gate, falling into the etched lines in star patterns.
"Straight on 'til morning," Kairi said. She smiled. It was tired, and sad, but it was a smile.
Hand in hand, they walked together down the path to home.
Author: Katsu
Beta (if applicable): Both David and Chelsea looked this over for me. <3
Word Count: 4,635
Rating: PG-13
Character(s): Sora, Kairi, Kasady, River, Daemon, Artemis, Byakuya, Harry Potter
Pairing(s) (if applicable): None, really
Summary: On the night the head doctor is finally defeated, everyone begins to go their separate ways.
Notes (if applicable): Some character death, some horror-ish stuff. Nothing too bad.
I. Kyrie Eleison
It smelled like blood, like fire and acid mixed together in it and through it. His nose burned, his eyes watered more each time he blinked. "Is that it?" he whispered. "Is it done?" He dragged one hand across his forehead, scraping aside tangled hair that was heavy with more than sweat. His side throbbed in time with his heartbeat, bruised and scored by the lion claws the last monster had worn.
Kairi's only answer was a soft sob.
The keyblade dragged on the ground; it hadn't left him this time. For once, he wasn't sure if he was glad about that fact. "We should go," he said. "I... something else might come." He stopped next to Kairi, but his gaze drifted over her without seeing. He didn't want to see. He had to be strong and keep going.
"Just another minute," she whispered. "One more."
Sora looked away, out the shattered glass doors. Sharp shards as long as his arm littered the ground, edges traced out with lines of dark blood. The metal frame of the door was a twisted cage over twenty feet away, filled with the black remains of the monster that had guarded it. He swallowed hard, keeping his breath even by force of will. "Okay," he said. "We... let's get the others. Let's get out of here before the morning. Just in case."
"But... he's dead, Sora," Kairi whispered.
She meant the Head Doctor, he told himself, just that. Thinking about it made him a little ill; not because he'd seen it done, heard it, but because deep down, he'd been glad to see someone's head rolling across the floor, truncated neck streaming blood across his feet. Another thing he'd deal with later. Like Renji said, deal with now so there'd be later.
Renji'd also said be strong.
Don't look back.
Leave no one behind.
"C'mon," he said. "Let's go."
Kairi made a choked sound, but staggered to her feet; some tension loosened in him when she stood. She rubbed her palms against the front of her uniform, leaving dark streaks behind. Dried blood streaked one cheek in a gross parody of her tears, the red leaked from a cut just below her eye. "We'll have to run. They're all going to be scattered through the building."
"Leave no one behind," he said.
"Right." Her voice shook, but so had his.
Going back inside was the bravest thing he'd ever done. His legs trembled. He propped the keyblade on his shoulder, it was so streaked with gore that his reflection in the metal was a dirty blur.
Taking Kairi's hand was the second bravest thing he'd ever done. Her skin was still sticky with blood, striped with tangled strands of red hair, too long to be hers. His eyes stung. There was no smoke.
II. Dies Irae
Whatever the fuck'd happened, Kasady was having the greatest fucking day of his life. The old man was dead, a smear on his hands and some skin under his fingernails that made him all tickly inside, itchy all around. Mass panic and hysteria, the man screaming on the radio like music in the halls, made him want to shuffle up a little dance. The monkeys running around and shrieking like they were, no one missed their sweet little friends until they were long gone and crunched in to snack food. Kasady grinned, long tongue working a bit of fibrous grey matter out from between his teeth. He'd say he was full, but he never was. Always room for one more. As he headed for the lobby – now a blackened shell filled with the remains of furniture and fluttering bits of paper – he passed by two kids, walking hand in hand back into the building. So sweet, it made him want to puke.
He strolled out the wrecked front doors like he owned the place, skipping daggers of glass ahead of him with his toes, scaled and tough now the wicked witch was dead and they were out of his little game. "Beautiful fucking day," he said, baring his teeth to the warm, humid night air and sucking in a sweet breath.
He'd never gotten a good look at the outside of the institute before - no one had. Couldn't say he was impressed. It was just a cheap knock-off of the botanic gardens in New York, humid and green and full of flowers that weren't even that fun to step on. Flowers didn't scream, after all.
"Gotta be a gate somewhere," he muttered. As much as he wanted to stay and play, paranoia told him to get while the getting was good, before dawn and the possibility that things could go all queer and shit again.
Glass and half-melted metal decorated with chunks of monster-flesh (he tasted one, just to try it, but it was like sucking on a piece of half-rotten ass) gave way to poured concrete, gave way to a white gravel drive that wound off into trees. He couldn't even see the high wall they'd no doubt put around the nut barn, but it was probably just cleverly hidden with greenery. Give the illusion of space, soothe the psychos, that sort of bullshit. He crunched down the gravel, chuckling to himself now and then as the snap of a window breaking or a strangled shriek emanated from the building behind him.
They were still fighting. Fucking morons.
The gravel drive became thinner and thinner, until it was just a path, a merry little trip through the dark woods that were trying so desperately to be spooky. He came to a split in the path and hissed in annoyance. "I'm going to find the fucking architect and crush his skull," he muttered. Before he had a chance to flip his mental coin, something rustled in the bushes next to him. He froze, crouching, and turned his head that direction.
It giggled.
Kasady grinned. "Hey, honey, you lost?" Then it was rustling away, still laughing like an annoying kid. He jumped off the path and followed, sliding between branches and clusters of vines. He wasn't about to turn down what might be his last free meal for a while.
The faster he moved forward, the faster the fucking brat ran, until he was sprinting and cursing, whipped in the eyes with leaves. It wasn't a meal, any more. It was a point of pride.
The woods broke, trees one minute and gone the next. He stumbled to a halt three steps out, cursing as flowers flooded the world, a field of poppies that looked black in the moonlight. As soon as his foot hit the soft plants, a cloud of pollen and fluffy seeds kicked up around him, choking his breath out.
It burned, like fire.
"Fucking! Fuck!" He staggered back, meal forgotten, trying to scrape the stuff from his skin and eyes. It clung like glue, hissing and spitting across him like bacon. Half blind, he cast around, staggering into another cloud of pollen.
But water. He smelled water. He ran for it, frantically scraping at his own skin with his claws. The flowers gave way and there was a pond at his feet. "Fucking finally!" he shouted, voice raw and choked. He dropped to his knees, splashing the water on his face, drinking it down. It soothed, cool and almost minty. Handful after handful got scooped up, smoothed over his arms.
He paused, blinking rapidly. It was the aftereffect, fuzzing up his fucking vision. He still wasn't sure how he'd get back out, through all the flowers. But as another slick of water washed over him, he could have sworn he could see the moonlight rippling across the surface below, through his arm. He shook his head. "Too long in the fucking nut house," he grumbled.
He shook the water from his hands. Drops sprayed in all directions; he was fast, he had the force behind it. When he stopped, though, streams of water still ran from his fingertips, striking the water in the a steady patter.
Again, he shook his hands off.
More water.
Kasady surged to his feet. His legs tickled; more water, running faster and faster. It leapt off of every joint he had, his chin, his elbows, his knees.
"You're kidding me," he said, spitting bubbles from his mouth. He tried to step away, but his feet were already gone, his arms thin like pencils. One eye dropped from his face, hitting the pond's surface with a plop. It sank like a stone.
And then he was gone, the last memory the feel of a child's fingers combing across his back, little feet splashing in a cool pond.
III. Recordare
"You can get out the front door! Run before it's morning!"
Harry looked up at the sound; he was tired, more tired than he'd been his entire life. He watched the two younger teenagers walk by, calling out their message to the few people scattered down the hall. The others started moving in the direction of the front of the building, some holding still bloody weapons.
He couldn't go yet, though. He'd found his wand, hidden in a desk in one of the doctors' offices, but that was only half of what kept him in the halls. "Come on," he muttered, as he limped forward, one hand pressed against the wall. The fabric of his pants clung to one leg, wet with blood. His other hand, holding his wand, trembled slightly. It was probably just fatigue, he told himself.
At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped for a moment, pausing to catch his breath. He'd been over most of the first floor, at least that he could remember; it was a mess of cracked walls and bodies, the floors slippery where captives had made their stand against the monsters. While he'd found his wand, he hadn't found Snape's, or the man himself.
The darkness up the stairs was impenetrable. "Lumos." The tip of his hand began to glow, and he dragged his arm up to hold it aloft. It didn't do much to brighten the stairwell.
Even a few months ago, he would have been happy to believe that the man had run off and left him behind, or wasn't worth attempting to find. Instead he gritted his teeth, took firm hold of the banister – it was sticky, and he didn't want to think about that – and made his way up into the dark staircase, one painful step at a time. He could only hope that the man was up here, and not down in the basement. He didn't think there was a chance in hell of finding anyone down there, and he'd heard shouting earlier that it had collapsed, or at least part of it had.
One step at a time.
It felt like a thousand years of inching up step after step, the muscles in his arms and legs burning, but he doubted it was more than a few minutes. It was cold upstairs, colder than it had been below, and tendrils of fog crept along the floor. He recognized the feeling in an instant, the heaviness that settled into his joints. The Dementor that roamed free at times had gotten loose tonight.
Harry swallowed hard and licked his lips. "Don't worry," he murmured to himself. "The man's got a Patronus. You've seen it, haven't you?" But there was no guarantee that he'd found his wand, that anything...
He shook his head and moved ahead, wand at the ready. He headed for the furthest hall, walking as quickly as he could with his leg dragging behind him; he expected Snape to do the most logical thing, follow the most logical pattern.
It was so quiet he almost missed it; a hiss of air, escaping through a door opened only a crack. He stopped, backtracked, leaned to press his face to the door so he could see through. It was hard to make out at first; too much was moving, constantly sliding by. It was the texture that caught him, the dry scent; a snake, the biggest he'd seen, bigger than Nagini. And then a blotch against the dusty scales, a tatter of fabric, a greasy strand of black hair...
Harry choked, fighting his gag reflex, as he saw it again; Snape's face twisted with poison, and any moment the memories would pour out, this time to spill uncollected across the floor, unremembered, and unmourned. But not yet.
Against the snake's back, Snape's pale, twisted fingers twitched.
It's a trick of the light, what are you doing, you couldn't succeed anyway, you're no doctor, he'll die as you watch...
Harry ignored the doubting voice, the cold fingers he could feel hovering over his shoulder. "Not this time," he said.
He flung the door open and lunged into the room, wand raised, a curse on his lips.
IV. Lacrimosa
Ignoring the mess that had been made of the rest of him, Byakuya carefully wiped the blood from his sword with a scrap of cloth he'd torn from the uniform of a dead nurse. His hair felt stiff and unnatural, his skin crusty with filth he did not care to think on, but he remained unwounded, dignified.
"You can get out the front door! Run, before morning!" The boy – Byakuya recognized him as one of his lieutenant's friends, though he didn't bother to remember the name – sounded hoarse, his shout forced.
"You," Byakuya said, holding a hand out to stop him and the girl he was with. "Have you seen Kuchiki Rukia along the way?"
The boy looked down at the floor. The girl, her eyes watery, shook her head. "Not since dinner," she whispered. "I-- I hope she's okay."
"What about Lieutenant Abarai?" he asked. Whatever it might mean, he was certain they wouldn't be far from each other, not now, of all times.
"Renji's..." The girl choked, hands clutching at her shirt.
"Rukia wasn't with him," the boy said. "I hope... I hope you find her." He tugged on the girl's sleeve, getting her moving again, down the hall.
Byakuya frowned, replaying the conversation in his mind. His thoughts felt slow, slower than he wanted to admit; he was tired. His eyes widened, and he turned to speak to the children again, but they were already gone. He had to hope that he'd understood wrong.
The dirty cloth dropped, unnoticed, at his feet, and he walked down the hall. He'd last seen her in the courtyard, though that had been hours ago. Perhaps she'd made her way back. Perhaps she'd be there, standing next to his idiot lieutenant. He had to admit, he liked that idea better.
The courtyard was silent; it felt wrong, somehow, for it to be so clean. No bodies, no rubble, not even smears of blood to decorate the walls. The air smelled faintly of the trees, the water in the pond that reflected the full moon overhead. He paused to consider the reflection, caught by the ripples for a moment. The pale moon became a delicate hand, a slender wrist that lead his eyes to a familiar face, half-hidden by strands of dark hair.
"Rukia..." he didn't try to hide the relief in his voice.
She looked up, eyes round with shock. "Byakuya?"
His sword clattered onto the path; his hand no longer had the strength to hold it. "...Hisana."
She stepped back from the pond; the legs of her grey pants were dark with water to the knee. "Byakuya. I-- where are we?"
"It doesn't matter," he said, quietly. "We'll be leaving shortly." His throat felt strange; so often he'd seen his wife's face reflected in Rukia's, and it had clawed at his heart. But this was his wife, his Hisana; it paralyzed him.
"Alright," she said, taking a few steps toward him. "We'll go home? Tonight... so many things have happened..."
"Yes, home," he said. He moved forward to meet her, his steps hesitant. No one knew what would happen when they left; no one. She was dead in his time, so many decades dead, and to lose her again, to know it was coming... he took her into his arms, fighting for composure.
"Byakuya? What's wrong?" She wrapped her arms around him in turn, face resting against the curve of his neck, as it had so often in the past.
"Don't worry," he said. "We need to find Rukia, and then we can go." They could send Rukia ahead, because he needed more time, more time. To explain, to beg forgiveness for every wrong he'd done in her memory, for the monster it had nearly made him. "I'm sor--"
Her teeth sank deeply into his flesh.
Byakuya's hands spasmed once, against her back. Feebly, he thought to push her away, but even now, he couldn't. It was she that pushed him back; his legs felt like water and he fell, heavily, to his knees.
She smiled, her mouth a smear of gore that she wiped at with the back of her hand. It was the only color he could see as his weight took him to the ground, air gasping brokenly from his throat. "Worry not, my love," she said, her voice still that same, dear music in his ears. "You won't ever have to leave."
V. Benedictus
"Don't worry about it," Artemis said. "You both look exhausted. I'll take the upstairs."
Sora nodded slowly. "Maybe... there was a knife back there, let me get it for you..."
Artemis shook his head, grinning, though the expression was more than a bit strained. "I've got a weapon of my own now," he said. "It's a full moon, and I found an acorn."
Sora frowned, but didn't ask; he was too tired. "Okay. Just get done with the upstairs and head out. We'll head that way soon, too." His voice cracked; he realized that he might not get a chance to say goodbye to people; they were all so scattered already.
"Don't worry," Artemis said, clapping Sora on the shoulder. "I'll make it quick." He turned and headed up the stairs, managing to put a little spring in his step in spite of his own exhaustion. There was a trail of fresh blood that lead him on; a little eerie, but the way things were right now, there was fresh blood in more places than he cared to think about. He tried not to step in it and did his best not to even look at it.
He was about to follow the trail, turning at the second floor landing, when the beam of his flashlight showed the stairs up to the third floor, partially cleared of the rubble that normally blocked them at night. He remembered the mad plan of the various "clubs" – this was no doubt one of the ways they'd ascended. Even though he doubted there was anyone left alive on the upper floor, curiosity guided his feet that way. Someone could be injured and unable to move up there, and now he had the means to help, after all.
It was better, and worse, than he thought at the top of the landing. Not as much blood and death as his imagination had supplied. But in exchange, he recognized the face of each limp, twisted body he passed. After the fourth one, he stared straight ahead, his breath catching in his throat, and pretended that someone else's eyes were stinging, someone else's cheeks were being dirtied with tears.
The halls lead to one location; the spider's nest, the Head Doctor's office. The door was wedged open, someone slumped against it. He stepped carefully over their splayed legs and invited himself inside. The doctor himself, Landel, slumped over his desk at the center of the room, his head conspicuously absent.
Artemis smiled. That was one sight his own squeamishness refused to visit. He noted that one of Landel's hands had frozen, clawing at one corner of his desk, and examined the space. The blood that had pooled there revealed the thin lines of a hidden panel quite nicely; he used a bit of spare bandaging to protect his hand and pried it up. "Not very creative," he remarked, as a single red button was revealed. It simply screamed to be pressed, so he did.
As he expected, a section of the wall behind the desk slid back, revealing a brightly lit, clean white room, filled to the brim with as many blinking lights and shining machines as any mad scientist could ever hope for. Artemis smiled and all but skipped to the nearest computer terminal. It was pathetically simple to override the system; they hadn't bothered to put security of any sort on it, and he quickly learned what bit of softly whirring technology did what. Most of it, he handily ruined in an instant. The important things, the devices that would allow them all to return home, he set to short out and destruct when the morning came. He had no doubt everyone would be long gone before then.
"Maybe the Captain's rubbed off on me a bit," he remarked. "Or I've gone soft." As he turned to leave, though, he noted a portable hard disk, sitting on a shelf of manuals. A handwritten label on it read, 'Backup.' He picked up the small device, struck with the urge to dash it on the ground, and hopefully end all possibility of someone following in the footsteps of Landel.
He slipped it into his pocket and walked away. He still had things to do, after all, before he took himself from this cursed place.
VI. Agnus Dei
It was Kairi squeezing his hand that made him pay attention again. He'd been concentrating so hard on just putting one foot in front of the other, of moving, that he'd gone into an exhausted trance on his feet. He grimaced at the feeling of her skin sticking to his, but quickly changed the expression to a smile.
"We're almost done," Kairi said. "I think... I think this is the last hall. Artemis did say he'd take care of the upstairs..."
"Yeah, you're right," Sora said. He did his best to put a little more spring in his step. Kairi was pale, her feet dragging. But they had to keep going.
River stepped around the corner to meet them, her hands dyed to the elbow with blood, her hair made into stiff ropes with it. She tilted her head to one side. "No one left in the sand box," she said.
Sora stopped. For once, her meaning seemed clear; no one left down this hall. Which meant that it was time for he and Kairi to turn back and go. "Thanks," he said.
Daemon came out of the dark hall behind her. He looked tired; the small nest of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes said that he was as weary and sickened as Sora felt. "Sora," he said. "Have you seen--"
River reached back and grabbed his sleeve. "They went on ahead," she said. "They left their foot prints for me to follow. Don't worry." She stepped forward, her feet light and soundless, drawing the man along. As she passed Sora, her fingers danced across the edge of his sleeve, and flipped up one lock of hair. "If you start now, there's no need to hurry. Second star to the right and straight on, into the morning. Sun'll swallow you whole, make you some pancakes for breakfast."
With a merry smile, always at odds with her rags and paint, she left them behind. They'd walk and follow and be home before tea. She led Daemon out the door, never once stepping on the glass – step on a crack, break mother's back, and that would be too cruel to her now, safe and sound – and onto the yellow brick road.
"Not so yellow," she said. "Washed up on the beach. Color just ran from them."
Daemon brushed his hair back from his eyes. "Where are we going?" he asked, more for something to say than anything else. He managed a crooked smile. "And will there be pudding?"
River laughed. "There's always pudding, if we're good," she said. "The cupboard, Daemon, to be with the other cups and plates." Finally, she let go of his sleeve, once they were in the trees. A small break in the bushes made her giggle and wiggle her fingers. "Stop to smell the flowers, oh dear," she murmured.
"Do you know... has my father gone ahead?" he asked quietly.
"Gone ahead, yes. Not so far ahead; you can still catch up if you don't dawdle," she said. "She knows the way, worry wart. Backwards and with her eyes crossed, upside-down and turned around."
"I never doubted," Daemon said.
"Of course not," she said. "Doubt gives you wrinkles, and that wouldn't do, now would it." She smiled, skipping a little ahead on the path. The smooth pebbles slid under her feet, but didn't skip away. Pebbles didn't skip when a river flowed over them, after all.
The path was too long and too short, and just right. At the very end it branched, one gate, another gate. River stopped at the fork, looking from one to the other.
"Lady?" Daemon said.
"She's not confused," River said. "Just not good at the fare thee wells." She spun on her heel to face him, hands clasped behind her back. "This one's yours, Daemon. It'll take you home."
He looked at the gate; it was plain steel, institutional, its only nod to decoration a few thin lines etched into the posts. "And you?"
She glanced at the other gate, rusting and crooked; the path that lead through it looped rapidly away. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the sky there seemed a little red, like some fire burned in the distance. "That's my way," she said. "Things to do. It's a hobby, really, a charm."
"River—"
She shook her head and bounced up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Go, go," she said. "You've a partner waiting for her dance, and it's rude to keep a lady in waiting. And your father will be most annoyed if you miss breakfast." He gritted his teeth, a small growl slipping between them. She only kissed him on the other cheek and stepped away. "I'll go home too," she said. "But I've a trail of footsteps to follow first. They'll lead me a chase yet."
Then she was gone, in the blink of an eye, the other, rusted gate shrieking as it slammed shut behind her. Daemon's eyes stung as he turned his feet down the path that River had told him to follow.
And on the other path, the not home one, the brave, cracked little tea cup filled itself to the brim with purpose and went to find her friends; they hadn't gotten that much further through the looking-glass. There was a world to save, and someone needed to share in the fun.
VII. Lux Aeterna
They lingered, just a little longer, at the ruined front door of the institution. Kairi left behind her tears before she turned down the path with Sora. They walked in silence, tired feet scuffing at the smooth gravel of the path. It felt like forever before they came to the fork, the two gates. The sky to the east was beginning to lighten, the first hints of orange glory heralding the sun.
"Look, Kairi," Sora said.
The morning light caught on the steel gate, falling into the etched lines in star patterns.
"Straight on 'til morning," Kairi said. She smiled. It was tired, and sad, but it was a smile.
Hand in hand, they walked together down the path to home.