A Secret Conflict Part V

And Delirium Sets In

By Hyper Angel

Vincent was left alone with his thoughts again, a position he found he didn't want to be in judging from the episode with the voices. He stood behind the door for a while it seemed, his hand still pressed tightly to the brass knob. His head leaned against the thin wooden frame. He could hear Cloud and Tifa exchange a few quick and uneasy words to one another. Which was followed shortly after by the sound of footsteps going down the stairs. Again, the silence was his only companion, and he now had little concern for it either.

Almost without thinking, he reached into the small bag he had brought along on the trip and pulled out a sleeveless shirt and a pair of pants. He paused for a moment, studying the fabric in his hands with a hallow interest. They were black of course, as all of his clothes were. He had never cared for colors since he had been awoken by Cloud and his companions that night several months ago, they just didn't seem necessary.

Black was dark, and cold, devoid of any emotion or reason. It was the night, and the darkness, two things he knew all too well. Why did it matter anyway, bright colors were cheerful, and stood out as if with some bold voice. They defined things in ways Vincent was more content to hide than anything else.

"What the--?" He muttered, surprised at where his thoughts were leading him. He shook his head quickly and put on the clothes. As he pulled the shirt on over his he wonder what compelled him to ponder such a concept of colors. Black? He asked himself again, as if to receive some explanation why it had arisen. A cold sweat broke out across his face as he stood in the darkness. The thick, black darkness that seemed to brush against his skin, and whisper in his ears.

He grinned slightly, his eyes losing focus of any particular thing. "Ah yes, Now I remember." He whispered aloud, his eyes flickering for a moment with a grim look. "Black is the color of it…of it's skin, and it's wings….and it's claws. And red is of….the blood….dripping from those claws as it tore into the flesh….of so many." His grin widened, his eyes now tracing listlessly along the walls of the room still with little focus upon any one thing.

Vincent took a few faltering steps forward and lay back against the bed. The soft sheets seemed to pillow up around him as he weight fell against them. He stared up the ceiling, his back flat against the bed. He laughed softly, not knowing exactly why. "Heh, heh… yes." He whispered, agreeing with his own words. "That's what it is. That's what it means..."

A ringing slowly filled his ears once again no sooner had his finished. Soft at first, then quick growing in frequency within a split second. The sudden change in pitch caused him to jerk bolt upright from where he had lain.

The noise was much louder than it had been the time before. It screamed within his head this time, as if his head would explode from the sheer intensity.

He clutched his hands to his head again. He was nearly compelled to start clawing into it madly. Though that would be a foolish and futile attempt to stop the unbearable noise. He cried out, how loud, he could not tell. The ringing drowned out all noise save the constant screeching. He staggered up to his feet, his hands still pressed firmly against his own ears. His damp raven hair, still wet from earlier hung limply around his fingers as he did.

He opened his eyes meekly, praying that in doing so he could see it was all in his mind, that every thing was alright.

Yet the walls, they were slowly dripping with a thick red liquid. They were dripping with blood, flowing outward as if from a fresh-torn gash. Slowly the streams of crimson began to overcome the drab walls. Staining them, splashing onto the floor as if pouring from some faucet left running. He nearly cried out, but the words were stuck in his throat as though held there by and unseen force.

And still the streams of blood that ran down the walls endlessly continued to multiply, spilling out onto the floor and ever growing closer to where he stood.

"W-what is this?!" Vincent shrieked, sweat dripping in beads down his face. "What's happening?" No answer came, and the blood continued to pour down in greater and greater amounts. The trail was nearing him now, though he didn't know what he could do to stop it.

Vincent fell down to his knees, the cold floor below seemed like ice through the thin fabric of the pants he wore. He looked upwards at the rives of blood, as they fell like some waterfall of gore, twisted faces seemed to form in the red tides. The grinned at him with distorted mouths, and hollow eyes, like skulls that beckoned his demise. "What does this mean?! What do you want of me?!" He cried from within his mind, his tongue still held by the uncertain fear the gripped him. Vincent Nearly expected an answer to his hysterical questions as the insane phenomenon of the blood continued to spread.

His only reply, as he almost saw coming; was a small voice, barely even a whisper. Don't you see…? It laughed, amused by his suffering. Can't you see? This is the blood. The blood that you've shed. The blood that you have brought forth through all your carnage.

That is all you are really. Another added solemnly. So it's only natural right? Don't you know what you are, Vincent? Don't you know why you never tire of the bloodshed?

"What?!" Vincent cried, enraged by the sing-song tone of the voices that taunted him from everywhere and nowhere at once. "What am I then?!"

Ha, ha, ha. Don't you know? Don't you know? Another chanted.

A demon within a human shell. It seems you've managed to hide it well. Yet another more joined in, speaking in a coarse rhyme.

The experiments were not a curse, but an enlightenment. Another announced in a matter-of-fact tone.

The blood began to flow faster as the accusations continued to mount once more. It spread closer and closer, trickled towards him as if reaching out with greedy hands to catch him. Vincent backed away, the sweat dripping down his face in torrents. He pushed himself up against the bed to avoid in, pressing self close in a futile attempt to escape from it.

That's all you were. All along! The voices continued to cry out. Some in unison, others shouting loudest. They all pressed together, slowly blurring into a mindless chorus of taunts and blames. The loud ones still crying out in an effort to grab his attention above the rest.

Cold and Stoic, to all those that met their death at your hands.

And sea the blood that you've created continues to grow.

"No," Vincent objected softly, his mind swimming in from the confusing onslaught of accusations. And his dreary eyes still fixed on the flow of blood that loomed ever closer. "That's….That's not it…"


The voices seemed to ignore him, continuing on undauntedly. All four walls were covered in the downpour of thick plasma now, slowly invading every corner of the room. He was surrounded by blood, everywhere he looked. The space he lie frozen in slowly being taken over by it. And the voices continued to shriek….

Did you care?! No!

Ha, ha. You were just a soulless demon all along!

Why bother with hiding it?!

You know that you are! You know!!!

"I'm a…..a…?" Vincent gasped, to weakened to finish.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Yes! Yes! That's it!

"Yes……." Vincent agreed weakly. "I am….."

Say it!! Say iiitt!!!!!

He couldn't finish his sentence. Instead, the horrid delirium that gripped him was overwhelming. His eyes fluttered open and shut in a slow pattern, his consciousness slipping away in an equal rhythm.

He fell forward to the cold floor blow him. As he lay there in a heap, unable to move, or to call out to anyone. The ocean of blood suddenly faded away, revealing the room he sat in was untouched and surprisingly… normal.

A thin smile crossed Vincent's pale lips, and he closed his eyes once more. They did not reopen…..


To Be Continued….


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