Chapter 11 - Something Wicked This Way Comes

Eric stared deep into the inky blackness of sleep, that world where all dreams take shape. Tonight however, no images stood before him, just the darkness of his thoughts. His confusion swirled around, confusion about Vincent, himself, and so many other things. Finally, though, his thoughts fell onto one thing; his parents. He missed them terribly, and the thought of them being shot, gunned down when they had done nothing wrong, pained him so much that he fell to the black ground and wept softly, his shoulders shaking with each sob.

“Aw, how sad,” a cold voice said from the darkness, its tone bitter, wicked and cruel, and Eric look up and peered into the black fog for the source. At first, he saw nothing, but then from the swirling mists, a figure stepped forward, and Eric gasped when he saw who it was, his entire being feeling cold. The voice belonged to a being who's features were familiar; as Eric looked at the figure, he realized he was looking at a reflection of himself. Long, silver hair swirled around its pale face like the mists around him, and his red eyes glowed intensly. He wore a simple black robe, and on his back was a set of black-feathered wings that shimmered like oil on water. The nails on his hands were long and sharp, like claws, and his teeth were pointed and menacing. Is this what I look like when I transform? Eric asked himself.

“Is the poor little boy sad?” the shadow Eric asked mockingly, “Do you need to cry?”

Eric didn't reply, but looked back down at his hands sadly, the creatures words seeming to come down on him like stones. Regardless of how startling the reflection may have been, Eric simply couldn't look up, crushed beneath a weight of sorrow.

“Answer me when I speak to you!” the being shouted and slapped Eric hard on the side of his face, his nails scraping against his cheek and causing tiny lines of red to form on his skin. Eric tumbled to the ground from the force of the blow, and looked up bitterly at his attacker. “That's better,” the demon mocked, “Look up at your master.”

“What are you?” Eric asked slowly, rising to his feet. “What's going on here?”

“This, dear boy, is your mind, or at least the darker portion of it. And I am you, or perhaps to be more precise, your darker half; the half that will soon be in control. You may call me Cire.”

“What do you mean, `soon to be in control'?”

“I mean,” the Cire replied with a huge sigh, as if it were bored, “I have been watching your actions from within here for quite some time, and it has come to my attention that you have not been using your gifts the way you should.” Eric just gave the demon a cunfused look, and the hungry look Cire gave him sent a chill up his spine and goosebumps cover his arms.

“And how should I be using them?” Eric asked, giving the being a suspiscious look.

“Need I remind you of the dragon? You eliminated the beast with minimal effort. So, what do you think would happen if you used that power constantly? You could rule all on this planet. All would fear you, and your kingdom would be founded on the blood of those who opposed you.”

“I couldn't do that,” Eric replied, almost horrified.

“And why not? Wouldn't it be nice to be in control? Wouldn't it be nice to serve justice to those that have shown you none? Think about it. With this power, you could get rid of Shinra completely. You could make them suffer as you have.” Eric stopped for a moment, listening to the demon's words. It was true, he could destroy Shinra. Those wretches who had taken everything away from him, the people who had ordered his parent's death in the name of greed. Yes, they could feel his pain. It would be good to make them taste sorrow.

The demon saw that his offer was having a significant effect on his listener, so he leaned in closer, practically whispering. “You could give Vincent his just reward.”

Eric's mind flashed back again, this time focusing on Vincent. He could do it. Vincent could be made to suffer longer, feel pain and sorrow, and then despair as he died slowly. Wait! His mind practically screamed, what are you thinking? Kill Vincent? The man who risked his life to bring you to your senses, who saved you from so much disaster, and then felt so much remorse for what he had done to you in the past? How could you even think such a thing? He reprimanded himself. Cire looked at the change in Eric's eyes, the bitterness, but then a sudden change to guilt.

“I could never do that,” Eric stated slowly, “I could not stand having the blood of others on my hands.”

“How dissappointing,” Cire sighed again, “I had hoped you would see things my way. Regardless, I will take control, whether you like it or not.”

“I won't let you,” Eric replied, clenching his fists, “I won't let you bring harm to anyone! Not even Vincent!”

“Oh really?” the demon asked, then snapped his fingers. Before Eric could react, two large, black hands shot up from the ground. They wrapped themselves around Eric's arms, and lifted him high into the air. He struggled against the cold, disembodied appendages, but they held on relentlessly, crushing his arms in their terrible grip. Eric struggled on for several moments, but soon felt as if the very strength was being syphoned out of him. He finally stopped, and hung still in the air, hoplessness enveloping him.

Cire just smiled up at his victim, then spread his wings and flew up, stopping in front of his captive.

“Now, while you hang there, listen carefully,” he chuckled wickedly. “I have a very low tolerance for resistance, and an even lower tolerance for fools.” His voice became a growl, a deadly and cruel sound that Eric couldn't drive away, couldn't escape. “I will ask you this one time, and one time only. Will you relinquish your control on this body to me, or will you not?” Eric didn't answer. Cire roared, “Answer me!” then punched his captive in the stomach. Eric coughed as the wind was knocked out of him, but still looked forward, refusing to answer. Another blow came, reaping the same results, then another to his face, and a kick in the gut. “You will answer me!” he shouted, “Or I shall make you wish for death! You will scream for it, but will not be able to find it, and I will be here all the while, pulling away that relief each time!” Eric just shook, his eyes turning red from the tears he was trying to hide. “Tell you what,” the wicked being said, leaning in close, “I'll kill Vincent for you. That way, you won't have to. And don't worry, I'll make it long and painful. Then….hmm, maybe I'll take care of Yuffie next. Yes, Yuffie, she'll be fun to hear scream.”

Eric couldn't contain himself any longer. The thought of Yuffie, the one person that he could maybe admit to having some feelings for, being tortured by anyone, made him forget everything else. He forget where he was, he forgot who he was talking to, and he forgot the overwhelming fear, anguish and hopelessness. Jerking forward, still unable to free his arms, he spit in the face of his tormentor.

“If you ever….ever lay a hand on her,” he growled, his voice sounding like that of Cire's, “It shall be you who faces torment.”

Cire looked slightly shocked, the corner of his mouth and his right eye twitching slightly as he wiped his face off. His red eyes narrowed and his arm shot forward, gripping Eric tightly by the throat. His nails dug deeply into the back of his neck, and blood trickled down.

“You have a lot of guts doing something like that,” he said with deadly calm, “Any other time, I would crush your throat; fortunately for you, I still need you.” Eric, fighting for breath, managed to glare at Cire, and the demon seemed to be speechless for a moment. “I cannot truly claim control of our power unless you seceed it to me.”

“Like…I..would,” Eric choked out, jerking his head back and forth, trying to get free of the deadly grasp.

“You will when you don't know any better. You see, even the strongest will can be broken over time, and your's will be simple. But first, we need to make my new accomadations a bit more suitable.” Eric looked at him again, still thinking on the threat he had made on Yuffie's life. Suddenly, a searing pain coursed through his body. He let out a pained cry, and Cire laughed horribly, enjoying every moment of it.

Vincent ran swiftly through the marsh, rushing back to where he had left Eric. After the young man had fallen asleep, Vincent had left him and went around the perimeter of the empty clearing they were in, securing the area against any monsters. As he walked, he thought about what he was going to do, and he felt the weight of yet another sin come crashing down on him. Looking up into the moon, he contemplated the day he had taken his first life, the first time he touched that dark, murderous side of himself. It was then that a cry had erupted from the clearing, and Vincent, fearing for Eric's life, had raced back to see what had happened. What he saw made him recoil.

Eric lay on the ground, thrashing about madly, wild, animal-like growls coming from his mouth. Vincent stepped carefully towards him, seeing this as another tranformation. Suddenly, Eric's body rose into the air, and the young man's hands gripped the sides of his head. He continued to moan and lash his arms and legs as another change took place.

Vincent could only watch as Eric's long, brown hair became a platinum color. His skin took on a pale color, and every time his eyes opened, Vincent saw that his once emerald irises had become a maddened, blood-red. His teeth grew long and sharp, and his nails became claws. Finally, and most disturbing of all, two, thin ivory lines protruded slowly from his back. At first, it didn't seem to be anything, just two, slightly curved white protusions, with red streaks of blood from where it had pierced Eric's skin, but when these two lines had stopped extending, three other ivory lines dropped off of these, Vincent quickly realized that this was a skeletal set of wings. A black miasma swirled around them, and disappeared, leaving shimmering, black-feathered wings. Eric curled into a fetal position, his wings draping themselves around him, then with one final scream, the crescendo of his suffering, a black light shone forth from the center of his body, and a fierce wind whipped around him, carrying in its gusts a flurry of black feathers. The wind and feathers swept around Vincent, and he set his feet to keep from being blown over.

When the gale finally stopped, Eric fell from the sky and onto the ground, laying motionless. Vincent cautiously approached him, and when he saw that he was not reacting to his movements, he knelt down beside him. Running his fingers lightly on the wings, he traced them along their edge, all the way to where they connected with Eric's back. The back of his shirt was in ribbons, and Vincent carefully turned the young man over. When he saw the results of the change, it made him shiver.

There, melding into the skin as if they had been grafted in, were the ends of the black-feathered wings.

Eric finally fell still again, the pain that had been surging through him finally ending. He could barely breath, and his vision was clouded, but he could hear the malicious laughter of his darker half; the sound of a horrible victory.

“So,” Cire chuckled wickedly, grabbing a handful of Eric's hair and lifting his head. He looked into Eric's eyes, all the wickedness and hate boiling within them. “Now, it's time for you to disappear.”

Eric still found himself unable to speak, no words coming to him. Finally, he was able to cough out a fragment of a sentence.

“What….have….you-?”

“Done,” the demon finished, “It doesn't matter because you won't live to see it. Now, to silence your voice forever.”

“Can't…reach…full-“

“Full power? Don't worry, I'm sure there's some way to extract it from your broken mind.” The demon raised his hand, and a sword formed in it. The blade was black, and tipped with wicked-looking barbs. Cire looked at the blade, then at Eric, the most terrifying gaze set on his face.

“Now,” he said quietly, “DIE!” He thrust the blade forward, and Eric squeezed his eyes closed, hoping it would be quick. But the blade never came. After a moment, he opened one eye, expecting to see the demon gloating some more. Instead, he saw the arms of Cire being held back by someone he never would have expected. With a burning spin and toss, Ifrit, the spirit of Burning Rage, threw the demon Cire away from Eric and into the darkness. Turning back to the captive Eric, he released to burning shots from his hands that turned the hands holding him hostage into nothing but black ash. Eric fell free, and Ifrit caught him, lowering him slowly onto the ground.

“How?” was all Eric managed to get out.

“When you fused wiith my materia,” the spirit explained, “I was given a link into your mind. We became junctioned, so now, I may enter your mind and vica versa.” Ifrit voice was deep and strong, kind but powerful, and Eric felt completely safe with him standing next to him. “Now, to take care of your wounds,” he said thoughtfully. Putting his palms towards Eric, he said something quietly under his breath. A steam went forth from his hands and surrounded Eric. Feeling the warmth pass through him, all his pain and injuries melted away, and he found himself able to stand again. Rising to his feet, he looked at his savior. He looked much different then when he summoned, though he still had a head of bright orange hair and orange eyes. His skin was a dark tan, and a tall, strong build made Eric feel almost intimidated.

“Thank you,” Eric said, “I don't know what would have happened if-“

“Now is not the time,” Ifrit interrupted, “Cire shall return soon. I only banished him from this area for a time, but my powers are limited. You must face and defeat him if you are to regain control of this body.”

“What! You can't expect me to fight him!”

“Indeed,” the spirit nodded stoically.

“But I can't! Can't you do it?”

“No,” was the answer, “Because this is not my body. I would never be able to permanantly defeat him. Only you can do that.”

“But…but I can't.”

“You must,” Ifrit replied, “But you shall not be alone.”

Eric smiled slightly. At least he had Ifrit on his side. How could he be expected to destroy such a powerful being on his own? There was no way.

“I shall lend you my power,” Ifrit explained. Before Eric could ask what he meant, Ifrit formed a ball of white fire in his hand. Without any warning, he shoved the flame into Eric's chest. It melted in, and Eric felt power surging through him, a burning energy that seemed to spread through him. A flash of light surrounded him, and when it dulled, he founf himself standing before the fire spirit, completely clad in a dark red armor. It was not heavy, and as he moved his arms, he found that he could move as easily as if he were wearing street clothes. On his back was a set of wings composed entirely of flames, and buckled on his waist was a sword and sheath, and as he drew the weapon, the blade burst into flames. He looked from the weapon to Ifrit in amazement.

“As I said, I have granted you my power for a short while. Use it to defeat your enemy.”

“Defeat my enemy? You mean I actually have to kill him?”

“I believe I've already said that.”

“I know, but I don't want to kill anything.”

“It's either you or him.”

“But I can't fight! I cn't use a sword!”

“Then you better learn,” the spirit shrugged, “For here comes your enemy.”

Eric whirled around and saw Cire shooting straight at him, his wings fully extended. Eric lept to the side and rolled across the ground, leaping to his feet when he stopped. “When did I learn to do that?” he asked himself, but didn't really have time to think it through. Cire swooped around and brought his blade to bear, swinging down at Eric's head. Without even thinking about it, Eric raised his blade to block, and the black sword bounced harmlessly off of the burning fire brand. His arms moving almost by themselves, Eric thrust the sword forward, towards the heart of his opponent, but Cire flew upwards. Eric spread his own wings with a simple thought and gave chase. Following close behind, he pointed his sword up and a blast of flame erupted upwards. It encircled Cire, and he growled in pain as the flames burned him. Spreading his wings, he dispersed the flames, and shot a ball of absolute darkness from his palm. Eric moved gracefully to the side, but the ball clipped his foot. A numbing feeling spread throughout his left leg as the ball clung to his foot.

“Burn away the poison,” he heard Ifrit say in his mind. The blade flashed as a beam of flame seared across his foot. It did not injure him, but instead burned away the foul orb and brought the feeling back to his limb. Cire looked at what his enemy had done, and, becoming enraged at the unsucessful attack, hurled his sword at Eric. It spun around, straight at Eric's head, but missed as he ducked, and continued on its flight, curving back around to the left and stopping as it reached its master's hand. Eric, seeing this as his chance to strike, flew forward, an upward swing smashing against the dark blade. Cire countered with a downward swing, which Eric managed to block. Pressing his own blade against Eric's, the two clinched their swords masterfully, neither one giving quarter.

“Very nice,” Cire grunted as he tried to force Eric down, “I didn't expect this from you.”

“We don't have to do this,” Eric replied, “I don't want to hurt you.”

“I do,” Cire retorted. Grinning wickedly, jerked his head upwards and pushed off from Eric's blade. Eric prepared to follow, but instead found himself bound. Another black hand, this one much larger then the last two, had wrapped its bony fingers around him, pinning his arms fiercly against his torso. It squeezed tightly, and Eric let out a grunt of pain. The grasp grew even more painful, and struggled as much as he could against the deadly constriction. Suddenly, a thought came to him.

Cire watched as his prey struggled against the dead hand.

“Now, how to kill you. I could let the life be choked out of you, but then, you did put up such a good fight. Hmm, decisions, decisions.” He looked on as Eric's struggling began to slow once more, then snapped his fingers. “I've got it. I'll wait until your almost dead, then kill you. That way, I get enjoyment from both choices.” Eric looked at his enemy, no words ccoming from his gasping mouth, then his head fell limp.

“I suppose that's long enough,” Cire said to himself. Moving in close, he brought his sword next to Eric's neck. “Pleasant dreams,” he murmured, then brought his sword back for a swing.

The hand suddenly burst into flame, and Eric shot forward, sword leading. Cire had no time to respond, however, and before he could bring his blade up to block, he felt Eric's own, fiery sword slip easily into his stomach.

Eyes open wide with horrified surprise, Cire dropped his own blade, which disappeared in a cloud of smoke before it hit the ground. A black cloud swirling around him, Cire reached his hand forward and grasped the collar of Eric's armor.

“I..hate..” was all he was able to mutter before he exploded in a flash of smoke and flame.

Eric lowered himself slowly to the ground, his entire body shaking. He had just killed someone. He had just taken a life. What had he done?

“I killed him,” Eric murmured as he sat on his knees, looking at the blade in his hands.

“No,” Ifrit said, appearing behind him, “You have not killed anyone.”

“But didn't you see him? Didn't you watch him die?”

“No,” Ifrit answered simply, “I saw you face a personal demon and win.”

“A personal demon?”

“Yes,” the spirit nodded. He sat down in the air, legs crossed, and hovered lightly in the air. “You see, when you undergo an extreme event in your life that effects you negatively, you may develop a personal demon, some form of the negativity that you can't face or don't want to think about. However, we must all face these demons, especially you. You see, your mind breaks these emotions and gives them separate entities and existences of their own, it's simply the way you are. Because of this, these demons will vie for control, and unfortunately for you, your first one has done a bit of damage; doing much more then it should have been allowed to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“You shall see when you awaken. For now, you must get some rest. Things are no longer going to be easy for you, but you must stand firm, and face troubles that come your way.”

“Why are you saying all of this? Is something bad going to happen?”

“You're too young to have faced pure hardship, but you will in the future. Your innocence is something very rare, but, like what happened earlier this evening, it will slowly be broken. For this, I am truly sorry. Simply know that myself, as well as any other spirit that you junction to yourself when you use your powers, will always be connected to you, and as long as you have our materia, you can speak with us any time.”

“But how-?”

“Get some sleep,” was all that Ifrit said, before fading away into the darkness. Eric sighed heavily as he watched his armor fade away. Perhaps Ifrit's right, Eric thought to himself as he laid back. He suddenly felt exhausted, and the moment he laid his head down, sleep overcame him completely.

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