Silver Unicorn

Silverunicorn87@hotmail.com

Crimson haze… Is it the light above my head? Or is it the blood I can feel running through my eyes… The lightest of touches… Yet so much pain… The lights are hurting my eyes… Let me go…

Hojo’s hunched form bent over the trembling form of Vincent, blood on his fingertips and a manic expression across his pointed features. He took in his hand the razor from his desk, sliding it down the center of Vincent’s broad chest, a thin, red line appearing in its wake. He laughed, a high pitched noise that made Vincent’s ears ring. He flinched as Hojo stroked the line of blood with a long finger, smearing the blood across his flesh, painting unknown symbols and random numbers with the crimson liquid.

"How strong you must be to still be conscious, my precious specimen," Hojo murmured thickly, his lips barely moving as he formed the words.

Stop it, don’t say that, it hurts…

Vincent continued to tremble beneath the insane scientist’s eyes, his deep brown oculars glazed with fear and agony.

Let me die, let me fall into the peaceful depths of unconsciousness, anything, just take me away from the pain.

Hojo’s hand strayed to the desk once more to withdraw another tool of torture, a needle with a green fluid frothing within. What dreadful poisons he intended to inject within Vincent’s veins was beyond the poor vampire that lay there. He felt a prick somewhere along his arm and the needle slid effortlessly through his flesh. It withdrew and left a horrible soreness but at least it was gone.

Stop it, leave me alone.

"Now for the arm…" he heard Hojo hiss, drawing a knife from within his lab coat’s pocket, knuckles white as paper as he held it just below Vincent’s left shoulder.

What are you doing? Stop, please…

The pain came before he could finish his own thought, the words slipping through his fingers like water as the knife bit into his flesh. A searing pain shot up his entire body, rendering him helpless as an infant. Not that he already wasn’t before, the chains that bound him were held tightly enough to the metal table he lay upon to cut off the circulation in his hands and feet. He restrained the scream that longed to bubble forth and wrench through the air like the drip, drip of blood on the linoleum. The knife dug deeper and sunk its way to the very bone but did not stop. He felt the once strong muscle sinews of his arm snap and the bones splinter under its pressure. He couldn’t fight it anymore, a scream to wake the dead echoed through out the room and night beyond as Hojo proceeded to sever the last strings of flesh that held his arm to his shoulder. With a malevolent smirk of satisfaction Hojo threw the lifeless arm aside, his glasses gleaming in the red lights that poured down upon them.

Oh God, what do you want with me?

The knife dropped to the floor with a clinking noise mixed with the splash of blood, probably his own. The white-hot pain did not cease, and Vincent could only beg for mercy. It was all in vain, Hojo’s laughter drowned out the futile attempt at a plead for life.

What are you doing to me?

High pitched laughter followed his drowning thoughts, the greasy black hair barely visible under the dim, red lights falling thickly over the scientist’s shoulders.

Vincent dared steal a glance at his ruined shoulder. The skin was red and raw, the flesh and bone, cut through the marrow, died crimson with his own blood. The cut was sloppy, painful to look at. It continued to drip blood upon the floor. The redundant drip, drip began to make the blood pulse through his ears.

Then his eyes caught a glimpse of something gold and metallic, glittering under the lamp light upon a metal table not unlike the one he lay upon now.

Hojo slunk to the table Vincent now squinted at to see properly the thing that sat upon its shiny, metal surface. Hojo wrapped long fingers around what looked like a golden wrist and lifted it up for him to see. By shape and length it was obvious what he intended to do. The metal arm made no clinking noises as Vincent had suspected it would. In fact, it was eerily silent as Hojo placed it beside Vincent’s bleeding stub.

With the last ounce of strength the vampire possessed within him he managed to move his lips and tongue in a way enough to speak clearly, though muffled with the clotting of blood in his mouth.

"What are you going to do…?"

Hojo hesitated and glanced at the vampire, pitiful and weakened upon his laboratory table. He paused a moment more, mouth open as if searching for the right words, "let’s just say I’m a collector… But a different kind of collector… I collect life forms, I collect blood samples, flesh and bone alike. Your arm contains a small portion of your formidable power… The power I want and need to create the ultimate being… Lie at rest, with this small loss you will gain much. I have crafted an arm indestructible but able to cause a great deal of destruction within itself. I think you will be quite pleased with the results even after enduring the pain you are now… I regret telling you that it can only get worse."

Vincent stiffened with each word, wishing helplessly afterward that he’d never posed the foolish question to the insane psychopath who planned to destroy him in every way possible.

His frightened gaze strayed to the desk where Hojo moved towards, taking in his long fingers what looked like a fire extinguisher except black instead of the fire engine red… A flame-thrower, he thought bitterly.

Hojo steadied his shaking hands that Vincent was sure was caused by insanity and not old age. His fingers wrapped around the lever that reminded Vincent grimly of fingers poised to pull the trigger on a gun held to his head.

The flames engulfing his arm caused less pain than he imagined, but eventually the smell of his own burning flesh and the insane laughter mixed with the agony let the darkness take him in its clutches and his eyes closed peacefully when he lost consciousness. Blissful solace in the wake of disaster… Bitter relief in the heart of agony… Sleep of one thousand angels blessing him.

The beautiful part of his subconscious that let him escape from the pains of yesterday soon melted away into the pains of wakefulness. Every muscle twitched with the lack of strength, the lack of power. His eyelids were heavy but somehow he knew the pain and cold cement below him would not let him sleep. He tried moving his left arm to push himself up off the floor into a sitting position but the white-hot pain that ran like electricity through his limbs starting from his shoulder rendered him helpless and the floor came up to meet him once more. His brow creased in confusion, the strands of ebony hair falling lifelessly over his face, all spirit drained from each strand as it was from his soul.

Why does my whole body hurt… Except for my left arm… I can’t even feel my left arm…

He opened an eye, the red haze lingering before clearing and allowing him a glimpse of gold at his side. The horrors of what he thought may have been a nightmare, hoped had been a nightmare, came to reality once more. He lifted himself up, this time with his right arm. The pain was dull in comparison to the bolts of lightning that struck him when he tried using his left. He swayed then leaned back against the cold brick wall behind and looked up. The iron bars he thought would be there appeared. He was caged and left with nothing… With a heavy heart he lifted his left arm gently with his right, examining the metal contraption with growing dread. The claws that extended from each knuckle on the hand were deadly sharp, and if that was what Hojo had thought to be useful he was dead wrong.

I’ll never be able to hold Lucrecia again, not that she’d want me to…

He turned his face to the ceiling, finding that the simple movements he made caused him a great deal of pain and work, his breathing growing laborious after only moments of holding his face up to the window above.

The night sky sung beautifully to him, the twinkling of white and gold stars growing blurry with the tears that fogged his vision. The sliver of the moon left from the shadow of the earth only caused him greater pain… What an odd metaphor it was, he was exactly like the moon, shining brightly one day then overshadowed by something grim and larger than he for a moment before he could shine again. Except this time it was permanent, and the moonlight of his soul would never dare return.

He let his head slump forward upon his chest, trying to breathe normally without a great deal of effort but found it near impossible.

It was cold. His leather pants seemed to do no good in keeping him warm, and Hojo had removed his shirt to write in Vincent’s blood undistinguishable words and symbols. The only letter he could clearly make out was the V above his collarbone, which he assumed stood for his name.

What a cursed name I bear… What a cursed life I live… From infant to adult all I’ve known is pain and may God someday have mercy. What sin did I commit to deserve such a punishment?

The answers remained unfound and probably always would. Normally he would have enjoyed the solitary confinement, the cold, and the full moon above. But now all it did was provide a choking blanket of darkness that slowly suffocated him. And so he hid from it, curling up in a quivering ball on the cold cement with a thousand curses on the tip of his tongue. A curse to Hojo for turning him into this, a curse to Lucrecia for abandoning him and a curse to Jenova for her blasted cells that gave him the pitiful life he had…

Sleep didn’t find him that night, and only the pain could keep him company. Each time he looked at where his flesh ended and the metal began his heart dropped another thousand feet, heavily burdened by all his life was to bear. The flesh on his shoulder was covered in third degree burns, which welded metal with flesh. Somehow, he didn’t believe the flames he’d fallen unconscious to were the only things that had helped to hold his fake arm to his bleeding shoulder.

He sat up as the sound of footsteps echoed across the floor and reverberated through his skull as they came to meet him. For a fleeting moment he hoped that someone had come to save him, some angel of mercy sent to help him out of this prison. But the pale white lab coat and greasy, black haired man that greeted his hopeful gaze was not the angel of mercy he had been wishing for.

Hojo swaggered up to the bars and grabbed one to support him. If Vincent hadn’t known any better he would have thought the man was drunk. But no, he didn’t think the insane scientist had enough man left in him to get drunk or even die for that matter…

"So you’re awake, my precious specimen? Good, you need to be conscious for my next experiment to hurt…"

Vincent’s heart picked up its pace at the thought of taking more torture. The memories of that cold metal table and the red lights blinding his tired eyes along with the constant drip of blood on the linoleum would forever haunt him but to endure the previous events to another degree would be more than torture, it would kill him.

"You needn’t fear, my next experiment involves nothing of what I did before so the pain you endured will not return unless you retaliate…" Hojo’s eyes flashed momentarily with a dangerous glint Vincent hadn’t seen before. "Come, we have much to do."

Vincent stood and swayed, trying to steady himself as the room spun swiftly upside down and gravity toyed with his weary body momentarily before he regained his footing and followed Hojo’s hunched form.

Their footsteps echoed simultaneously through out the prison as Vincent followed, the sound reverberating painfully through his sore skull. He spared glances to other unfortunate ‘specimen’s’ of sympathy and understanding although none of their pains could ever have compared to his. Though the future looked bleak it was often nice to think of a thing such as hope.

Hojo turned sharply right and inserted an old fashioned, silver key in a rusted lock, turning with a small jerking motion before pushing the door open. He stepped aside, motioning with a small gesture for Vincent to go first. Vincent obeyed though not without a bitter exchange of hating expressions. Vincent’s eyes were colder.

Vincent looked about the room, his eyes straying to the bottles of frothing, multicolored fluids on the oak, wood tables. He saw the chains and shackles on the far wall still swinging gently after holding some other pitiful being steady. Syringes stood in their holders on another table close to the one where Hojo’s concoctions stood. He swallowed hard with a great deal of effort for his throat was dry and sore as if sandpaper had been rubbed furiously up and down it to scrape it raw.

"What do you plan to do to me this time?" Vincent asked though his voice shook in a way he’d never heard before.

Hojo didn’t answer, and it was probably for the best. He merely stepped forward and took Vincent by his metal arm, guiding him to the shackles that hung on the wall. Hojo slipped each around Vincent’s wrists, tightening them painfully before stretching his arms out to the side and hooking the chains that bound him to the wall, keeping his arms from writhing and perhaps hitting him. Next he bound his ankles to the wall and lastly his neck, holding his head back at an uncomfortable position.

Vincent choked with the effort to breathe but soon grew accustomed to it and his breathing gained normality once more. Hojo, meanwhile, stood at the wooden table with all the potions set aside but one. A blue fluid swished noisily about the test tube that he held up to the light. His lips pulled into a twisted smile, that of someone who was mentally ill.

Vincent could merely watch as Hojo retrieved an empty syringe from its holder on the table opposite to the potions one, carefully extracting the blue liquid from the test tube and approaching Vincent with it.

What the scientist had in mind would have puzzled the most genius of people, his thoughts were not that of a sane person though so it was understandable. Vincent watched as he injected the fluid into his arm that was still made of flesh, blood and bone.

The changes that occurred could not be seen by human eyes other than the sudden shift in color of Vincent’s eyes. Once liquid brown, now fiery red with the raw hatred of every mans’ soul who endured the torment of Hojo. Besides that his changes were not evident. A smile crept across Hojo’s features as he saw what no normal, human eyes could see, the changes in Vincent’s body that he could only feel and not see.

If Vincent had a mirror before him and not Hojo he probably would have screamed, except it would be a roar. Scales now covered his body and he was bent, hunched over much like Hojo himself with a red, fur crest upon his vicious head. Eyes of steely crimson stared back at his creator, purple jaws sending forth a war cry. Horns shot out of Vincent’s skull. Once a human, now a reptilian monster, tail lashing furiously behind him…

The shackles that bound him snapped as his wrists and ankles grew along with his now thick neck. He flexed his ebony talons and snapped his jaws as if testing them, losing the tension his binding had caused. Hojo could only laugh with great pleasure at seeing what he worked so hard for come to life. His dreams now reality because of this vampire.

But the laughter caused more than just a flinch from Vincent this time… This time his eyes darted to the white cloaked figure before him, claws flexing angrily as the memories invaded his mind. He could remember that same hollow laughter, as he was about to pass out while Hojo welded the metal arm to his shoulder. So vivid a memory it was that all the hatred and anger and pain came washing back with it. Something inside him snapped, perhaps it was his sanity, perhaps it was just the hold on his fury, but whatever it was it caused him to lurch forward, claws extended to dig deeply through the scientist’s white lab coat. Crimson stains enlarged around each talon point, the rage manifesting itself into a vicious snarl. With a primordial growl, the monster Vincent had become leapt onto the table where all the potions stood. A demonic grimace upon his reptilian features as he swept a claw through the glass vials and bottles, burning fluids scorching his scaly skin and burning holes in the already weak tab

The scientist’s futile screams of protest echoed through the night as Vincent’s monstrous form clambered up the stone walls, leaving deep gouge marks in the rock as his talons scraped and clung to it. He made his way to the small, barred window in the ceiling not unlike the one in his lonely, prison cell. The thirst for freedom drove him forward, his powerful arms tearing away the metal to make large enough an opening to admit him. His roars grew distant as he roamed far from the lab.

Hojo cursed his name mentally, slamming a fist on the unbroken table top and stalking from the room, probably to find another unfortunate specimen who would undergo the rest of Vincent’s unfinished torture.

Meanwhile, Vincent traveled far, his body slowly shifting back to normality once more as his rage dulled and fell to a mere bubbling anger.

He soon had to force himself to keep walking, each thought, each ounce of hatred hindering him further the more distance he covered.

What drove him on was only the feeble hope that Lucrecia would not think him a monster and that she would simply see the old Vincent and not the new one, tainted by torture and bloodshed. She wouldn’t see him as an imperfection, a failure but the hero she saw before he was captured by Hojo’s henchmen.

He didn’t know what way to go, but he trusted his feet to take him there. All monsters shrunk back into the shadows when they saw him, the stains of blood on his bare chest smelling strongly of the evils at work on Earth.

The days dragged on with no sleep. It was inevitable that his only door of escape was blocked. His eyelids were heavy with the drug of sleep but his heart would not let him rest until he saw Lucrecia again.

His sanity slowly ebbed away, the silence gnawing at his mind and soul, tearing him slowly apart. The echoing sounds of his hoarse breath were his only company. No monsters threatened him, which would have been all for the better if his mind didn’t need something to distract it from the visions of his mind and the pain he inflicted upon another man.

It felt as though he had already spent years walking the earth as he climbed the mountains that overlooked Nibelheim his final destination. Callused fingers groped for hand holds as he climbed. His body was numb, the pain that would have caused him to cry out was reduced to a dull throb.

As the city of Nibelheim came into his view, his hopes only died. The burnt ash of Lucrecia’s supposed whereabouts settled like grim shadows over the burnt city. It wasn’t as shocking as on would have thought. Even though all else was reduced to dust, the Shinra mansion still stood, dark except for a dim light in the basement window, like a single ray of hope amongst the death that greedily devoured the once peaceful town.

He broke into a run at the thought, nearly screaming her name before wondering whether he remembered how to speak. He ran around the house, bursting through the huge doors.

"LUCRECIA!" He was surprised, his voice was strong, yet the part of him Hojo had stolen was sorely missed.

And no reply came…

"LUCRECIA!" he screamed again and ran up the stairs, turning sharply right and then right again. He moved swiftly to the stone wall that opened obediently to his touch.

He began his descent down the creaky, wooden stairs, on nearly giving way beneath him.

He clattered noisily through the bones and rocks, throwing the old door open so forcefully it quite nearly broke from its hinges.

"Lucrecia…" he repeated, but the sight was not what he’d expected.

Where Lucrecia should have stood was a tall, silver haired man. His black cloak hid his face from view.

He turned, though face showing no signs of shock. Vincent was taken aback by the brilliant shock of green in his eyes.

Mako infusion…

The man spoke not a word, nor did he move.

Vincent licked his cracked and bleeding lips nervously, crimson hued eyes shifting apprehensively.

"I apologize, I thought you were,"-

"I know perfectly well who you thought I was," the man interrupted. "Lucrecia…"

Vincent froze, his eyes narrowing.

"How do you know her?" Vincent asked.

The man paused before answering, he silence drawing thin between them. "She’s my mother," he stated firmly and turned his back from Vincent.

Vincent stood, stunned into disbelief as his hopes melted away.

"NO! You’re lying!" Vincent yelled, cursing himself for the tears welling in his eyes.

"I do not lie. Believe me, I don’t bear the information proudly. What a pitiful mortal she was…"

"LIAR!" Vincent cried. "Lucrecia would NEVER leave me for someone else!"

"I do beg to differ for she chose over you, your own tormentor…"

Vincent was, by then, to delirious to register the words properly.

"Who?"

"TORMENTOR! The HEART of your torture, the destroyer of your very SANITY! I know who you are, Vincent, for we are like brothers. A kin to Hojo… For Hojo is my creator and yours as well! I have no sympathy for your pain, you stole the planet from the ultimate being and my TRUE mother, Jenova!"

"Well I will take it back for her, claim it in the name of the Cetra for I am her Chosen! YOU will perish with the rest of the mortal race when meteor strikes! And in the heart of the earth’s wound I will take in the power used to heal it!"

"You’re a mad man!" Vincent stammered.

"Am I? I still have the ability to SPEAK, fool! And you, gibbering like an idiot who can’t control his own tongue or emotions! You cry to my words, well I have no use for your tears nor will I waste my time on them!"

Vincent couldn’t see through the tears, which Sephiroth spoke of. He hastily wiped them away with the back of his wrist, in time to see Sephiroth pull the Masamune from its sheath. The grinding sound of clashing swords echoed off the dusty bookshelves. Sephiroth raised it above his head, his eyes taking on a luminous glow. The Masamune, glowing with hungry anticipation, came whistling down upon him. He only had a moment to react but, none the less, his arm shot up to meet the Masamune. The blade, stuck between two gold claws attached to Vincent’s metal arm, had saved him. It was the only moment he’d ever felt gratitude to Hojo.

Sephiroth did not withdraw to attack once more. Instead, he sheathed the Masamune, which continued to glow red with anger and longing. The color of it’s ravenous hunger for blood.

"You want to fight me?" growled Sephiroth. "I have no need for I have defeated you in a way that no other man could."

Vincent flinched for he knew it was true.

He was defeated. Hojo, his nightmare, his tormentor, had stolen his last reason to live. Lucrecia was no longer his. Never again would he hear her voice, touch her skin, smell her perfume, or see her face. And the most horrifying part of all was that he wasn’t angry, sad or disappointed.

He turned his back on Sephiroth and stepped towards the door, just as the Masamune bit greedily into his back and plunged through his chest to meet the stone floor below. A crimson splatter of blood and familiar drip of red liquid were his last perceived thoughts before he slipped into the darkness.

Sephiroth drew back the Masamune and wiped the red stains from it with his cloak. He picked up another book and read as though the man he’d just killed wasn’t even there, or even checking whether he was alive or not.

And slumped on the floor, Vincent cried. And within those tears he silently cursed Hojo’s name. For now he knew what the blue fluid Hojo had given him was. Immortality…

Though through the haze of impending death, he heard the footsteps and cries of a woman. A familiar voice, calling his name. Too familiar, painfully familiar…

He felt a hand touch his face. It felt as though ice water had been poured into his veins.

If he had the strength to move he would have pushed Lucrecia away.

"Please Vincent, Love, wake up."

He shivered and managed to form words enough to express himself.

"Get away… Traitor…"

Lucrecia recoiled, gripped with tears.

"Traitor?" she whimpered, and Vincent was glad to hear the fear in her voice.

And that was all the determination he needed to heave himself off the floor. He cringed as the blood, caked to his chest and the floor, made revolting wet sounds.

He was surprised at the vast amount of gore on the ground. His lips were dry and cracked. His face was paler than usual. And what did he gain from all this bloodshed? Nothing…

"Yes, traitor. You left me for my murderer and bore him a child destined to kill me. Now you act as though you care!? Save your pitiful nothings for your last dying words but do not mock me! My dying wish would be to have peace. But because of you I will never have a dying wish, will I?"

Lucrecia could only stand, stunned as he dragged himself from the room. She heard the door slam and could only slump to the floor. He had walked out of her life as she knew he would and now she felt the bitter loss.

Sephiroth stepped silently into the room like a shadow looming menacingly over Lucrecia.

"Mother no more," were the last words Lucrecia knew before the Masamune tasted her blood and pinned itself in the crimson, wood floor beneath. Her breath caught, then evaporated and her life vanished like a dream.