Clinging to Darkness

Part of the Turning Point collection.

Note: Really lengthy. More writing practice after being swamped with homework and basically this is a fic that was born out of a need to write as a form of break.

Aug. 8: Finished it after putting it on the backburner.

Summary: He can never escape the darkness he still clings to.

***

In the stillness of the night he leaned against the cold stone pillar, seated in a pool of clustered moonlight that pierced the greyish clouds. He looked above him, regarding the regal Geffenian architecture so carefully and expertly carved into the stronghold, down to its buttresses and cornices.

For the past four months, this bastion of unerring fortitude served as his new home. Though it was physically made of white marble, daunting and cold as visitors would often say, the people who call the fortress their home were rather different. Uncommon, some would describe it.

The people living within its walls were a far cry from being completely normal, in the man’s perspective of the word. The high born and low born, the poor and the rich, the well-educated and the streetwise, and all of them were members of the guild he was recruited into. Now, he was well aware of the social strata and the discrimination rampant in society, which was why after four months of adjusting to the guild’s routines and mingling with the folks, he was mildly surprised with the peace amongst the members, at least regarding anything about the social hierarchy that existed in the world’s society. Despite coming from different walks of life, they treated each other as simply friends or allies tied by a common goal. It was a mutual respect and trust that went beyond formalities at meetings or competitive spars.

For the man, it was refreshing despite the setbacks and the few people he had come to dislike, not that he could do anything to help it in the latter case. The seeming normality was what kept his mind and his laughter -in his opinion- a little more sound and whole than what he could have accomplished on his own, not that he would have ever admitted to that fact.

However he wasn’t inclined to seek such company tonight.

It was one of those moments when he needed to be alone. No interruptions. Nothing to sway him from the thoughts feeding the dark mood surrounding his presence. Gone was the light of humour in his emerald eyes, replaced by that stone cold gleam of a man who had seen too much harshness, experienced horrors a man normally should have not.

Silence had fallen over the stronghold, the quiet hands of sleep lulling its inhabitants into the pleasant darkness, their bodies safely tucked in bed. The wind barely rustled the leaves on the trees, neither were the crickets filling the air with their mesmerizing chirps. The few sentries that patrolled the gates and ramparts were lax on their watch. Likely they would hear from their head of security come daybreak.

The man broke his silence with a sigh, running a shaky hand through his messy, jet black hair. He hadn’t been graced with a peaceful slumber this night. He woke finding himself half sprawled on the floor, his heart beating too rapidly in the wake of a nightmare. He even guessed that it hadn’t even been past his second hour in sleep when he was harshly awakened.

He thought himself fortunate to not remember the details, except for the screams that rebounded even now in his mind.

Seeing that he wouldn’t be able to return to sleep until he had calmed down, he pulled a robe over himself and walked aimlessly around the keep. Not an hour later, he returned to the sleeping quarters but situated himself on the railings rather than simply returning to his room.

The screams and voices haunted him still. Returning to the darkness in his room would only serve to give them the grasp they needed to make him scream, lose what firm hold he had. He wanted to shut them out, will those echoes of ghostly sorrow and despair away but nothing he did could keep them away for long.

“Shut up...”

Murderer... Coward... The words echoed like a mantra underneath the wails and moans begging to be spared.

“It wasn’t my fault.” He murmured, shaking his head. But his words were ignored. They continued to taunt him, growing neither fainter nor louder. He wanted to scream, but refused to allow himself that. It wasn’t wise to wake the whole populace within the vicinity, this act also bringing down the wrath of one man he didn’t want to cross tonight.

He tried to reassure himself that he wasn’t going to fall. This isn’t real. This isn’t real... Nothing that is happening is-

When he looked at his hands, his heart nearly stopped. Fresh blood stained his hands, and he felt them dripping down his forearms in tiny rivulets slowly staining his robes the same color. Part of him urged to look away, but his eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from the disturbing image.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

This isn’t real.

He belatedly realized his breathing came in short gasps. Memories flashed through his mind, each a fleeting second of blood dripping down lifeless limbs, slackened jaws and severed necks. He closed his eyes, shutting away his mind’s eye from the horrors resurfacing. He kept muttering the same three words to himself. Shakily. Desperately. Clinging to that small hope that it would pass like all the other fits he had after a particularly strong nightmare.

He took in a shaky breath. “Breathe, Saint. Breathe.” He told himself, forcing himself to inhale and exhale as close to a rhythmic pattern as he could.

Seconds ticked passed. The wails in his head softened until they were mere whimpers, the moans ebbing away into quiet gurgles. The images flickered and faded slowly into the darkness, until it was no longer visible to him. His breathing slowly returned to normal in the process.

You coward. Was the last thing he heard before everything completely went silent. With bated breath, he opened his eyes, hoping that it was over.

But as his eyes widened and his next breath caught in his throat.

Eyes, hundreds of eyes filled his vision. Bloodied corpses littered the floor before him, staring emptily at him, devoid of that spark of life. He couldn’t recall who each was, but a part of him knew they were all his victims.

No words were spoken, yet he could feel the accusations that they were throwing at him. He couldn’t look away, nor could he push them out of his mind so easily.

Don’t look at me like that! I wouldn’t have done it if I had a choice! He mentally screamed. There wasn’t anything I could have done! I didn’t want to die... I couldn’t die!

The eyes remained fixated on his form slowly backing away from the horrors before him. Though life had fled those orbs, they seem to shine in the darkness. The pillar behind him prevented him from moving any further, and though he could have jumped from the railing, he decided with every ounce of his sense against the urge.

This isn’t real.

As if to prove his words wrong, whispers rose from the corpses’ unmoving mouths. A steady chorus began to build, their words unintelligible but it sent shivers down the man’s spine and clenched an invisible fist around his chest. It was getting harder to breathe again, but he wouldn’t give in to his weakness of mind. Over and over, he murmured those three words, the only anchor he had as he was mercilessly dragged further away from the secured shores. He covered his ears with his hands, but it did nothing as the voices seemed to come from within him.

“S-stay away from me...”

It was his guilt plaguing him. He never had a choice in the matter. He ended lives not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t allow himself to be killed. Not so long ago, he found an escape from the vicious cycle that imprisoned him. He was freed, but at the same time, his guilt became unfettered and festered in his dreams, in his thoughts, in the stillness of the night. He could barely remember any one night that he had managed to sleep through until daybreak. Only when he had driven himself on the brink of exhaustion would he fall into blissful, dreamless sleep.

The first wave of the wailing and whispering voices hit him. Surrounded by the sound of despair and accusation, his mantra lost its voice in the overwhelming chaos. He needed to get out. Not now, he will not fall to this!

“I said leave me alone!”

His eyes snapped open. He hadn’t realized he was holding his head in his hands, hunched over with his eyes squeezed shut. The wall sconces, lit by magic, flickered like fire in the night. The world surrounding him was just as he had seen it before falling to the trappings of his own mind.

There were no deadened eyes staring back at him, no corpses on the pristine floors. He pulled his hands away, expecting to see blood tainting them. Slicked with sweat, but they were otherwise clean of any crimson stains. His wide, frightened eyes regarded his hands for a moment longer, before they fell limply into his lap. The priest leaned against the pillar, letting out a sound crossed between a shuddering sigh and a grunt.

An illusion. It’s all in my head. Sitting back against the pillar, he took a deep breath to calm himself. His hands rested on his lap, quivering as he fought to control himself again. A light sheen had formed on his forehead.

His freedom did not rid him of the sins he had committed to preserve his then broken life. Even when he wanted to start anew, that dark past simply didn’t want to be left behind.

What hurt him the most about his past was that he could only remember the pain, the suffering, the blood and tears that were shed in those years of his imprisonment. All the memories before then were nothing but scattered pieces of a faded and worn puzzle, one that he wasn’t sure he had all the pieces in his hands anymore.

To where have the innocent laughter and untainted smiles fled to? Where was that hopeful, vibrant youth who longed for the adventures of the world? Where was that young man who dared to dream of a wonderful life ahead of him?

Where was Johan?

Dead. A thought escaped his mind like a breath on the wind.

“Dead... just like Jean...” The words dripped from his lips as he leaned against the pillar, closing his eyes as mental exhaustion pulled him under.

***

“So this is what you’ve reduced yourself to.”

Tainted. Scarred. Changed. If someone were to say they were fine after going through such a living nightmare, he would have thought them the biggest fool. It was impossible for anyone to not have come out of madness unscathed. Those heartless bastards took what interested them, used him like he was nothing more than a mindless tool that was dispensable once it had spent its worth. He hated them. He hated them with a passion that could kill. And it was one passion he allowed himself to keep after all this time.

“Are you listening to me?”

Belatedly, he was aware of a voice. He forced his eyes to open, shaking his head to shake off the sleep still lingering. With a yawn, he blinked at the very human form looming over him and stopped midway through rubbing his head.

“What the Hel...”

“A very usual response coming from you.”

His eyes widened a fraction before he blinked. Once then twice before suddenly pinching himself on his cheek, just so he was sure his eyes weren’t fooling him.

“Ow!” The pain was real, if hearing his voice weren’t enough of a bonus. But it’s still too surreal to be true. I am really losing it.

“Who are you?” He found himself asking. Surely it was a doppelganger he was speaking to. There was no other explanation. Unless something had happened when he fell asleep and the fort was under attack by something. It wasn’t sensible given what he knew of the guild’s goals, but it was a possibility.

“I’m sure you have an idea.” Answered the other coolly, breaking the chain of thoughts. The plain grey shirt and pants he wore couldn’t give the priest any real idea as to who it was. Each time the first man blinked, the other’s hair went from short to long and back, something that confused him. But he had his face sans the scar, an identical build and emerald eyes that clearly reflected his own.

He decided against pursuing the other’s identity, knowing that it would only be a waste. He was already exhausted from the repeated attacks on his mentality but he supposed he had to endure this last one out. Shifting his position, he asked, “What do you want from me?”

The doppelganger tilted his head. “I should be asking you that. What is it do you want from me?” He answered. He might have been aware of how uncomfortable the other was, but he made no move to change his position.

Irritation rose from the young man like smoke from a strengthening flame. “Stop playing games with me.” He poked the other man in the chest as he spoke.

“I’m not.” The phantom sighed, his eyes narrowed in reflection of the man’s own irritation. Before the first could react, his double leaned against him, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist and buried his head into the other’s partially exposed chest.

“Hey! Get off me, you bugger!” He was sorely tempted to release the plethora of curses idling on the tip of his tongue. “Doppelganger or not, this is still considered homosexual harassment!”

And yet the other did not move nor seem fazed by the exclamation, rather it seemed to spur him to nuzzle his head further against him. “Shut up. Why do you insist so much on keeping this emotion?” The question was so muffled that the other barely caught the words.

“What feeling? What the Hel are you going on about?” The first exclaimed, trying his best to push the other off him. But the other held tight, refusing to relinquish his hold.

“This drive to exact vengeance on the people who wronged you.”

Hate. Kill. Hate. Kill!

This was not only his anger, Saint wanted to say. It was also Jean’s anger. Jean’s despair. Jean’s thirst to have justice. But at the same time, he wasn’t Jean. He wasn’t as cunning, as passionate or as smart as his brother was.

The silence that fell quickly broke. “You’re not free, Johan.” The phantom muttered as he locked eyes with the man, his whole physique melding into a reflection of his own. But there were no scars and the blood red eyes looking back at him seemed to smirk. Slowly, that cruel smirk blossomed on the other’s face.

“Isn’t it about time you let Jean rest?”

“I...” What could he tell his reflection? His brother died an undeserving death. That was the basic idea. Revenge was one of the two reasons he planned to escape. If he were to let it go, who would avenge Jean? How else could he stop the nightmares from coming back?

His face set into a grim expression, he answered. “Not yet.”

“Wrong answer.” A hand shot out, pinning him to the pillar as the hand choked him. His hands shot up, trying to pry the hand off him, but it was like hitting a wall.

The other squeezed his neck painfully, cutting off his air. “You’re a lying masochist, you know?” Was that what his voice sounded like when he was being cruel? No, it can’t be. His vision swam, his mind screamed in its fast fading voice at his hands that slowly fell limp to his sides.

No, he can’t die! He can’t die at the hands of an illusion. His thoughts were jostled, fading into the darkness-

“Are you alright?”

Standing by his side was a damnably familiar woman. He didn’t know how long she had been standing there, he was however only partially aware of her presence. Taking this silence as a matter of concern, she bent down and felt his forehead. It was warm, but nothing that signified a brewing fever.

A whimper escaped his lips and she came closer, wiping the beading sweat away from his face.

“Who were you talking to, priest?” She tried again.

The familiar voice caused him to snap back into reality. For a moment, he was still lost. What had he been doing? “Didn’t you see someone here?” He asked, his brows furrowing in slight confusion. Hadn’t he been sitting on the railing alone? That was the last thing he remembered. Absentmindedly, he rubbed a hand against his neck. Somewhere in his mind, a voice was complaining that it should have hurt.

“You’re the only person I see.” She answered him candidly, raising a brow at his confusion.

He opened his mouth to retort, but thought better of it and instead replied, “Never mind.”

“Saint, is something bothering you?”

He couldn’t bring himself to completely hate the woman, despite all her annoyances. But at the same time, he couldn’t like her for the same reasons. She was a damnably confusing one, that she is.

“None of your damn business, woman.” He kept himself from saying anything else. He didn’t feel like getting into a battle of words with her tonight. Slowly, he stood and stretched. He wanted to pat himself for hiding as much of the shaking he felt in his limbs.

“You can always tell me some of your troubles.” She spoke as he began walking away. Her words made him stop and face her. Saint’s face immediately told her that he hadn’t taken it jokingly as he was wont to be in the day.

“And have you making snide remarks at every turn? That’s a very tempting offer, Blue.” He said, not at all hiding the sarcasm in his tone. “I think we’ve already established that some time back.”

“We’re not friends. And never will be.” He finished.

The girl remained silent, her hands fisting a handful of her powdery blue chemise as she kept her stoic face from falling. “Of course.” She said, matching his sarcasm with a tone chilly enough to send most men taking a wary step back. He was impossible, so very impossible to handle, but it came as a surprise that she had stuck this long. She shook the thought from her head and fixed him with another glare.

She unclenched her fists, turning to continue on towards her room. “Good night, priest.” She bade him, cold but polite. He watched her disappear around the corner, but he did not bid her in return.

END ENTRY.