The Cult of Chaos Presents:

A fanfic by Berk Watkins

Lost Souls
Part 1 - The Victim

     Some people say that childhood trauma is one of the most easily
blotted out things and the hardest to truly ever root out and heal.  I
wonder about that sometimes.  I can remember my own childhood trauma
with clarity like crystal, the screams of my parents as the Gears broke
down the front wall of our home and tore into them.  I can remember with
absolute certainty, the exact sound of the steel reinforcing in the
walls giving way as the structure was compromised.  I can remember
exactly what it felt like, as a 10 year old, to have one of my eyes put
out.  I will certainly never forget the grinning, mountain of madness
who confronted me, eyes concealed behind those little round sunglasses
and his frame wrapped up in a black trenchcoat covered in dust and
blood.
     I could taste my own blood in my mouth and smell it in my nose. 
The wound that gave me the scar you can still see quite easily today was
bleeding as only a severe head injury can.  The taste was making me even
more sick to my stomach as I tried to swallow down my panic and keep
from breaking under the pressures of what I was experiencing.
     I have no idea why that man was coming for me.
     I never found out.
     Just as he was reaching down to pick me up, something stopped him.
     There was a flare of searing heat, and the man started to scream. 
His clothes had caught on fire somehow and he was flailing his arms
around in a panic.  The fires his creations had started made him fear
not in the least, but when confronted with it up close he was quailed. 
I can remember a different tone of laughter then.  Not high and shrill
like that man.. a lower, more mocking tone.  There was no madness in
that laughter, but there was hate.  The sort of hate that can make a
person rejoice in another person's pain.
     I liked the sound...
     I can remember the words that came next...
     "Don't you regret your little gift now?"
     It was in English.  I can barely remember any of my English
anymore, there are so few of them left who actually can speak it.  I
don't think I will ever be able to forget those particular words though. 
They were the words that saved my life.
     There was a blur of motion in red and the man in the long coat was
suddenly sprawled out on his back, the impact having rolled him across
the ground with such violence as to knock the flames out.  A second blur
of motion at the man in the coat's Gears, still stained red with my
parents' blood, were scattered like tenpins.
     Something grabbed me then, and there was a lurch of motion...
     Would it make me seem less a warrior if I admitted to fainting?
     I can remember feeling terribly hot when I woke up, which for some
reason didn't make a great deal of sense to me at the time.  I suppose,
on later reflection, that I was expecting to either be dead or in some
form of shock, and feeling hot wasn't going along with my expectations. 
After all, I was only ten at the time...  There was a sickeningly sweet
smell in the air that stuck in the back of my throat and soured, if I
had anything in my stomach and the energy to spare I probably would have
thrown up, but instead I just suffered in quiet silence.
     "You'll hold together, Kid..."
     That voice again.  Calmer this time, but still smouldering.
     "I ain't gonna lie.  You've lost an eye and I think you're gonna
lose an arm too."
     The voice was never one to pull any punches.
     I think I would've cried if I had the energy for that either.
     "But you're gonna live.  Get me?"
     His Japanese was terrible, like he was taught by someone who spoke
in nothing but low class slang.  The tone of his voice was earnest
though, and trying to be reassuring.  I guess at that point I was
willing to listen to just about anyone as long as they weren't trying to
kill me.  I couldn't see him, though.  He had bandaged my head in an
attempt to keep me from spilling anymore blood out of my ruined eye and
had covered up my remaining one to get some leverage.  I wasn't in much
condition to talk back to him either.
     He moved, and the feeling of heat moved with him...  I think that
was the first time that I realized that there was something strange
about my savior.  I could hear a door being opened somewhere nearby and
sounds outside became a little less muffled for a moment.
     His voice returned soon.
     "We're leaving...  I need to get you to.." his voice caught for a
moment.  "A doctor."  That word was heavy, even in a language that
wasn't his mother tongue.
     Dry, warm hands picked me up and held me carefully and we were in
motion again.  I don't know how I stayed awake this time, but I can
remember the sounds very well.  His feet were solid against the ground
and coming with considerable speed.  I had heard something about people
who had learned how to access the Source in a lesser manner than Gears
did naturally.  It was a learned knack that was becoming more and more
common every year.  At the time I thought maybe he was one of these
newly minted Adepts.
     "No time for this...." I heard him snarl as we suddenly veered off
to one side.  He actually growled after that and I heard a sound that I
don't think I have ever heard the likes of since.  I can't exactly
describe the sound other than how it felt when I heard it.  It was a
terrible sound as if, somewhere, a demon had flung it's head back and
screamed.
     Then an explosion erupted somewhere from below us.
     I wasn't sure how we had gotten airborne.
     The landing knocked me out again and I never got a chance to
really ask questions about what had happened.
     When I came to the man who had saved my life was long gone.  I had
been left at a UN refugee center and nobody had actually seen the person
who had delivered me there.  I asked around about it later, amongst the
population, but all that I ever heard about him was that he was an
unusually large man with dark skin with a smell of brimstone clinging to
his clothing.
     No one had paid him a lot of attention.  No one remembered his
face.  To this day, every time I smell sulfur, I look around a little
more carefully than usual.  I can't help but wonder if the man who
rescued me knows how thankful I really am.  My body has been ravaged by
that day, but I'm strong and I still live...  As much as I've lost, my
life is still my own.
     I owe him more than I can ever say.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The Guilty Gear series was created by Daisuke Ishiwatari of Arc System
Works and unleashed on the world at large by Sammy.  I claim no
ownership of the characters therein and have made no profit off of this
work.
                                                    - Berk
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


             .---Anime/Manga Fanfiction Mailing List----.
             | Administrators - ffml-admins@anifics.com |
             | Unsubscribing - ffml-request@anifics.com |
             |     Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject     |
             `---- http://ffml.anifics.com/faq.txt -----'