Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Retribution Nor Redemption ❯ Chapter 6

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

"Retribution Nor Redemption" and the general overall concept of "Retribution Nor Redemption" is completely copyright Orin Drake 2002-2003, as are the characters Kyrie Leonhart and Rodger Kinneas. The characters Seifer Almasy, Squall Leonhart, Quistis Trepe, Ellone (Leonhart?), Laguna Loire and Rinoa "The Great Big Bitch" Heartily (biased? me?) are copyright Squaresoft, as are the terms SeeD, gunblade, Trabia Garden, Griever, and probably a lot of other stuff I forgot to mention. Hell, if you played the game, you know. Enough said.
Background: Well. Here is the "anticipated" sequel to The Sins of Two Fathers. This won't be as much action as it will be psychological warfare, I think. Don't know what else to tell you. Beware bad language, sexuality and social outcasts having fun regardless of their status at the expense of others.

The three gentleman looked at one another. There didn't seem much to do in this circumstance, painful and sickening though that realization was. Vincent caught Rodger's eyes and indicated he go over to his girlfriend with a nod. He then turned to Cloud and tried his best at a casual, low tone of voice. "Go see if you can catch Kiros. Just tell him the mirror needs replaced."
Rodger's jaw clenched. It was honestly the only part of him that tensed--besides his entire consciousness. How... fucking wrong all of this was, and was going to continue to be. He turned at Vincent's silent suggestion and understood that cold; The Leonhart Freeze, he'd come to know it as. Hell, he wasn't the only one that understood that term, but no one would really... speak it. He sure as hell had seen it enough in the past few hours to fill a lifetime.
The coldness was that barrier of thought, emotion--demons; almost physical in strength, in form. He could feel it coming up like it sprouted from the earth itself into a long wall of ice, something akin to the stories he'd heard of the Guardian Force, Shiva. Kyrie's shield differed from Squall's by one important variable: it was more for keeping things in than locking things out. And dammit, Rodger appreciated that to a point. He knew she didn't want him to have to suffer through this with her for any reason, at any cost. But he wanted her to know that he didn't need her protection. She needed to look after herself, and he would be okay on his own, too. He knew Vincent would understand these things, but he couldn't fashion the words. He wasn't sure he could speak them with the intensity they carried, anyway. He elected instead to sit down next to her and wrap his arms around her. Just a hug, short and sweet without drama.
Damn that boy. Her mind tried to persuade itself to keep good humor. Damn pride, damn the delusions of strength, and damn The Leonhart Freeze; she closed her eyes and held him back. It was a very short gesture--not showy or one of those romance novel types--but spoke volumes within itself.
Vincent waited, calculating, until they pulled apart. He didn't want to be the type to interrupt, but... things needed to be said. He was here, he would say them. "Kyrie..." he started gently, but saw her flinch like a child that had been found doing something terribly inappropriate. His gaze was apologetic, but unwavering. "This can't be ignored."
"I know." She promised very quietly. "I'm not trying to... ignore it." That was a partial lie, and they all knew it. "Just... to bring a bit of normalcy to it until... well, until it can't be any more."
Vincent nodded, understanding. "Then tell me what happened."
It made her sick to remember. In truth, the events were fading in and out. But she remembered enough, startlingly clearly, to answer. "I'm... sure it's Jenova. I don't quite know how, but..." she had to pause to collect herself. "Images. Illusion. She was... she was Squall for a while. And it was all so real..." She turned her eyes away, not wanting him to see the pleading in them. She did not want to speak of anything else that had happened. It was enough to remember. To speak of it... it'd be too real, then.
He got enough from the whole of her response to understand. She was still coherent, that was a good enough sign. "Jenova is probably very weak after that. She'll need time to regenerate."
"And then?" she barely dared to ask.
He waited until the mirror of crimson eyes lifted to reflect his own. He needed her to know that he was neither lying nor trying to keep information from her. She would need to retain her trust in all of them, or disaster was eminent. "And then you try to figure out what she wants from you." She was not a weak girl, and he would not treat her as such. There is a line between compassion and sympathy; for all of their sakes, he would be sure not to cross it.
She nodded, taking his words--and their meaning--to heart. It was nice that they had faith in her ability. She just hoped it wasn't misplaced. The difference between reality and illusion was probably going to get a lot harder to define. Hyne only knew what else that bitch had in store for her.
"But for now," Vincent casually interrupted her thought process, "Let's get something to eat and I might let you win another race."

The four friends sat on the leather sofa and watched the big screen television while they ate. It was too hard to eat and grasp a game controller with both hands, so they'd turned back and forth between world news and ridiculous sitcoms. Sure they could have technically all sat down at the actual table to eat, but Kyrie had reasoned that since you don't need silverware to eat pizza, you don't need a table, either. Hey, it made sense at the time.
Regardless of the welcome amusement shouting at the characters and one another offered, Kyrie noticed that there were some pretty damn fancy cots being placed off to the side of the common room. Her brilliant powers of deduction told her it seemed Vincent nor Cloud would be getting their own rooms to sleep in tonight. Then another thought struck her from behind--there were three cots. Well, of course. After that incident, she certainly couldn't be trusted with Rodger. Especially not in his sleep, and everyone else's... but it still struck her like a lead pipe. She was in absolutely desperate need not to have to focus on that. "Anyone for racing?"
"Hell yes." Rodger voiced triumphantly, having had a secret whispered in his ear from Vincent while she was focussed on a commercial. It was a dirty trick and a complete glitch in the game's design, but he was going to use it anyway.
"Okay." Cloud agreed, less than completely enthusiastic. While he had discovered how to pick up speed, he'd also crashed so often that he was edging toward bankruptcy.
When eyes fell upon him, Vincent grinned vaguely. "I've some work to do, first. But then I'm sure I'll be able to take all of your winnings."

He left the three of them alone with those words, completely confident in Cloud's ability to handle any situation that may develop. Besides, it would take Jenova time to regenerate enough for another attack of any sort, so things would probably be safe into the next day. He got the sudden urge to knock on wood at that thought, but pushed it away as completely understandable superstition.
He did have things to accomplish, but they were hardly for work. He'd already placed several competent people that normally served under him directly in charge for an undetermined amount of time. He'd worked with them long enough to know they could handle things, and he wasn't worried.
Sitting at his desk, he pulled up a Trabia Garden contact page and looked for a specific address. He knew how much Quistis and Kyrie meant to one another. Hell, Instructor Trepe was more or less the female mother figure. A girl gets attached. And he'd met her several times, and liked her. Kyrie had most certainly gotten some of her personality from the woman.
He sighed quietly, trying to think of exactly what to type. There was absolutely no way he could just call her; that'd have been too difficult for all parties concerned. He was certain Quistis would like to know what was going on, however, and suspected Laguna was in no condition to pass things along.
And what of the president? He'd heard nothing since that phone call. Probably not the best sign to have hoped for. Perhaps it was for the best at this point, though. Laguna was not the sort that ought to be prodded while under stress.
With a deep breath, he started typing. He'd leave his number, just in case, but suspected there wouldn't be any calls.

President Loire stepped slowly, quietly into the corridor. His feet dragged, making a peculiar shifting sound that somehow reminded him of bad times, bad memories. That wasn't good; but he couldn't shake it from his mind.
Kiros had convinced him to go see his granddaughter. Just for a minute, just to make sure she was okay. Of course, he suspected it was a suggestion more for himself than for her. That was alright, though. Kiros knew how to react in emergencies. Usually.
That didn't change the fact that he did not want to face Kyrie, though. It wasn't that he was trying to avoid her like a plague, or was even the least bit nervous of her reaction. He wanted to see her, but... It was just... those bad memories welling up again. All of this was supposed to be over, dammit. His family had already paid enough of a price to all of these ungodly wrong things... He only knew so much. He only wanted to know so much.
He barely acknowledged the guards as he shuffled past. Just another few yards and he'd be at the door. And then what? Should he knock? Or ring? Or just wait until maybe someone opened the door and just "happened upon him"?
He scoffed at his own thought process. Regardless, he still found himself unable to announce his presence. Instead, he leaned against the door and listened. To his astounding surprise, there was loud music and a bit of shouting; not the kind that seemed accusatory or violent, but the joyful sort. How very odd. He could make out only so much of the conversation... Something about "pay up", "broke and it's your fault", "didn't cheat", "did so", and some playful expletives.
He pulled back with a blank look. How... odd. It's not really what he expected. Now he rather hated to interrupt whatever they were doing with his presence.
But perhaps Kiros had made a good point. Just by his visiting, he could offer support. Maybe it wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, but... he knew Kyrie. She'd appreciate it. It'd be hard, but... he could do it. With a shaky finger, he pressed the ringer button.
At first, the sound of the door bell was quite puzzling. It wasn't like the annoying buzzes and beeps of the office. It was... a real door bell. Fancy and pretty in tone, even.
"This is one hell of a suite." Kyrie commented, muting the television and pausing the game.
Cloud, taking full advantage of the momentary overlooking of his debt, got up to answer. His face was somber as he gazed upon the visitor, however. He immediately stepped back and ushered the president in. Turning to Rodger, he indicated gently, "I think I'm going to go get some air on the balcony."
"Me, too." The boy agreed. He placed a soft, reassuring hand on his girlfriend's shoulder for just a moment before following.
Well that felt awkward. Not in the worst of ways; not the sort that must be broken before it drove one of them over the edge. It was just... weird. As so many things were of late. Obviously being the one visited, Kyrie rose (with mild difficulty, as the game playing position on the floor had once again caused her legs to fall half asleep) and sat on the couch, patting the seat next to her.
Laguna's breath caught for a moment. Hold it together... he chastised himself quickly. He was here for comfort and support, not a big group cry or anything. With a swallow, he walked over and sat down beside her.
Noticing his difficulty at starting the conversation, she prodded ever so slightly. "Hey."
"Hey." He returned, trying his best to smile. "How are you, Kyrie?"
Oh how it killed her to hear his voice. It was the same slightly gruff, reserved, unsteady tone he'd had when she had to tell him in detail about Seifer and Squall. It hurt just a little bit to hear that, to be the cause of it again. He didn't mean it, she knew that--she doubted he knew he was doing it at all. The fact remained, however. "A little tired." She responded honestly.
He forced another slight smile. "I hope that's a good sign."
Oh Hyne, Laguna, please stop worrying about me... She did something completely uncharacteristic--grasped his hand between hers. She loved the man, but words alone failed to drive the point home. She desperately needed to assure him of something before he had a breakdown. "Don't worry so much. It'll be okay." She wasn't quite sure which of the two of them she was lying to, but she'd really have liked it to be neither.
"Can't help it." He admitted softly, placing his other hand over hers so they were equally holding on.
"I know what you mean." She sighed. "I just... I don't want you to stress over this. You have enough to do, y'know?"
On some level, he was letting himself be convinced. He knew that, and chose to ignore it for now. "Yeah." He instantly knew that he needed to get out of there before he broke down. "I, uh... I should go. Just wanted to make sure you were being treated alright." He tried in desperation to crack a joke.
She noticed, but let it slip by. "I'll see you later, okay?"
"Okay." He breathed, his voice not entirely up to the task. One more attempt at the most sincere smile he could muster, and he was out of there.

The two enjoying the view from the balcony did their best to pretend not to be watching. All pretense was shot to hell when they saw Laguna leave, however.
"That was quick." Rodger commented quietly. It fucking hurt to see Kyrie sitting there all alone. She made no move either to look at them, nor the door.
"Must be hard." Cloud countered in the same tone. Laguna was a... sensitive man. But beyond that, he'd already suffered so much loss. He could imagine; the thought of one more being taken away before his eyes must be pretty awful. It was no picnic for him, either.
Rodger bit his bottom lip softly, looking out over the city. The very uncertainty of the whole thing was really starting to drive blunt shards into his stomach. If they only knew... it might be bad, but at least they'd know what was happening, would know what to expect.

Vincent stood at his office window, looking out through the small crack in the blinds. Not much to see out there, that was for sure. But he didn't quite feel like leaving just yet. He knew the only other place he'd go was back to that room... "golden prison" was perhaps the proper term here. It was... concerning.
The computer behind him made a loud blip, causing him to turn and stare at it. He recognized the sound as being a request to connect one on one for file share or chat sessions. How odd. Walking over, he saw it was a request from Trabia Garden. More specifically, from Instructor Trepe.
A cold weight fell on his chest. He'd only sent the message moments ago. Checking the clock, however, he noted it was more or less lunch time in Trabia. Reprimanding himself for not having checked that particular detail earlier (what an awful surprise during lunch), he accepted the request and sat down. Several security screens flashed up before the actual text box. It only gave him a moment to prepare himself for her first message: Just tell me one thing, Vincent.
Well that was a little stunning as a first sentence. It might well prove easier than he imagined. Yes?
Only a couple of seconds' wait. She was a fast typist. Is she O.K.? I mean, I don't know. Is she handling it alright?
Now that was an interesting question. As well as can be expected. He paused before sending that on; it sounded a bit... heartless. He amended, I think she's doing remarkably well.
Good. Quistis responded halfheartedly. I want to visit, but I really don't think that'd be very helpful for her.
He understood that, alright. Would you like me to tell her you wish her well?
That almost sounds cheap, doesn't it. Not a question, just a comment aimed at herself. Yes, though. If you would. Tell her I'm thinking of her. And Rodger, too. And Laguna, and Cloud, and you.
He let the corner of his lips raise just slightly at that. I'll be sure to spread the love, Quistis.

When she was good and ready, Kyrie had joined her two "protectors" on the balcony to stare at the nonexistent happenings of the city. Everything seemed a lot more... quiet. Could be a freak thing. Could be the day. Could merely be their perception.
She had the suspicion it was a little of each. Laguna was in neither mood or condition to be having meetings for a while. When he was feeling bad, it seemed the whole city felt it with him. They might as well, maybe.
Kyrie bit back that thought as she peered over the edge. It really wasn't that far. Just far enough to keep anyone rational from jumping. She'd begun to wonder just how rational she was, let alone what it might become. It'd be so easy, though... but she forced that thought, too, to bludgeon itself to death. Sure she was concerned for the future, but they still didn't know what the hell was going on. In the end, maybe it was only her grotesque curiosity that was keeping her holding on.
Ah well. At least they'd catch the sunset. That was always kind of nice. Just as orange touched the sky, she announced in a very calm tone, "You still owe us money, Cloud."
He stared at her blankly for a few seconds. "That's all you can think about?"
"Well it's true." She dared a mild grin. Turning to Rodger, she continued, "And you're a dirty cheat, just like Vincent."
"I am not a cheat." They heard the raven haired man in question behind them. "Simply because I know a few tricks."
"Yeah." Rodger agreed, glad for a bit of humor loosening up the situation. He couldn't help a devious little expression that only his girlfriend picked up on, though.
"Fine." Kyrie pretended to agree. "But cheating, or 'knowing tricks', now comes with a fee."
Cloud grinned, just happy to know he wasn't the only one owing money. Of course, he was still the only one in debt...
"Oh... go to bed." Vincent dismissed creatively.
"The sun just went down, old man!" she quipped.
"Ooooohh!" the onlookers added their sound effect simultaneously.
Those involved in the "fray" gave their audience mock disgusted glances. Over dramatically, Vincent threw his flesh hand toward the suite. "Why don't you two go find a movie or something, then?"
"Yes, Sir." Rodger grinned like a lunatic, bolting inside before he could get an icy glare. Cloud followed suit with a solute and a quick retreat.
"Smart-assed bastards." She joked before the other had a chance to speak.
He offered a short chuckle at that comment. The fact remained, however... he paused before the first word left his mouth. A split second ago, she'd been her usual self. Now... it looked as though she were preparing herself for a physical blow. He was starting to get a little sick of delivering the mental ones, himself. With another breath, he continued. "Quistis just wanted you to know she's thinking of you."
She nodded slowly. "You told her everything?"
"The basics." More or less the summed-up version of all he knew himself; it wasn't much, but it was... enough.
"She's staying put?" she had to make sure.
"Unless you want her to come." He assured, carefully taking everything about her reaction in.
"Laguna was in here earlier..." she averted her eyes for a moment, feeling slightly nauseous. "It wasn't pretty."
"I can imagine." He crossed his arms unconsciously, going over that statement. Maybe he couldn't really imagine that from either side. He didn't really want to. He had enough to think about.
"It's... probably best if no one else makes an attempt to visit." That kind of hurt to say, she realized. She'd have loved her aunt at her side, but... this was bad enough. No one knew what was going to happen, and Rodger had almost... she shook the thoughts off with a shiver.
"It's getting cold." Vincent lied like an expert. It was a warm night, and yet her chills were coming back. He hadn't had a full-on stomach ache in quite a long time, but he could feel one coming on quickly.
She saw through it. There was no way she couldn't have. But it was comforting nonetheless. "They better have an action film waiting."

Two action films, to be precise. Rodger had thought it a good idea to run a little late so they might all actually get some sleep due only to exhaustion. He knew he sure as hell wouldn't be able to sleep unless he was utterly ready to drop.
Both movies were pretty damn bad. A bunch of tough guys with guns (and sometimes ninjas with all kinds of neat stuff) killing each other. At least there were lots of pyrotechnics, fake blood and completely impossible situations. Hey, it was on a big screen with good sound. Everything is good on a big screen.
When the last scene of the last movie played out, the four of them sat there in silence. Any one of them could have answered for the rest; they just weren't tired enough to go to bed. So it was Kyrie's turn to pick something out. Considering the horror genre was a favorite...
"Oh no." Cloud protested loudly. "No Killer Puppets from Under the Sewers."
"Oh come on." She insisted, the disk already in the player and spinning. "It's part three! It's the best!"
"You'll have nightmares." The blonde insisted, far more quiet than he had been. "There must be another way to get tired."
"Scotch." Vincent suggested, not terribly helpfully.
"Rum." Rodger added.
"Part four." Kyrie put her two Gil in, reaching into the movie tower by the couch for another disk. "We've got up to part seven here..."
"And someone should stay up for a little while, anyway." Vincent continued in his less than supportive manner.
"Fine." Cloud mumbled. "Just... warn me when the eyes start crawling out of the drain pipes."
"Sure. I'm nothing if not a caring individual." The ever so friendly Leonhart sarcasm shone through.

After the movie was over, Cloud wasn't the only one left staring blankly at the black and red credits. It had been so utterly stupid, so shoddy, so obviously impossible... but damn it'd been freaky. The special effects weren't so special, but that added to the appeal.
Even on their second time through, Kyrie and Rodger sat very close together. It was just one of those odd, in the moment things that would look so stupid in the morning... but not while the room was almost completely dark while one of the balcony doors swung noisily in the wind.
Vincent wished to Hyne he had a ketchup packet. He had some pretty marvelous ideas of what to do during the next horror movie screening. "Alright." He broke the momentary silence. "Let's at least get in bed before the sun comes back up."
"That's another movie entirely." Kyrie teased a suddenly far too relieved Cloud, having gone to turn the lights back on. He refused to answer in anything but a glare.
"So..." Rodger gently prodded. "I guess I sleep out here."
"I believe that was the plan." Vincent confirmed softly. "The bedroom is for the self-proclaimed 'racing champion'."
"De-spite your cheating." She remarked.
"You'd use it to your advantage if you knew about it." He countered quietly.
"Not the point." She shot back, stretching. "Alright, then. Can we, uh, have a good night moment?" she indicated the yawning mass beside her.
"But it's getting cold outsi--" Cloud started before the other pair of red eyes shut him up with a look. "Oh, yeah."
Waiting until they were more or less alone for the moment, balcony door shut, Rodger quietly commented, "We haven't slept in different beds in four years."
"Because we're sinners." She tried to lighten the mood.
She got the shadow of his smile, at least. "I hope we can both sleep."
"Without getting cold." She countered.
"Oh, Vincent can visit." He grinned viciously.
Ah, the glory of absolute shock value. She started laughing uncontrollably, only partially hoping that no one but the two of them had heard that. "You lovely bastard." She joked, hugging him tightly.
"I thought that's what you'd be calling him..." he continued, if only to fragment the loss he was feeling just then. It's not like she'd be far. Just the other room, just a few paces away. It still felt like a cold, solid distance. That didn't settle well, and he squeezed harder as the thought overtook him.
"It'll be alright." She lied blatantly to both of them. She didn't know for sure. The next time Jenova took her mind... what then? There were a million questions she wasn't certain she wanted answers to. Can't I have a normal life like everyone else?
"You're not like everyone else." He mouthed against her neck, instinctually knowing that thought. It was so strong he could hear it somehow. Maybe a blessing, maybe a curse--maybe just dumb fucking luck. It was true. And he didn't mind. He just hated to see... this. Hated to live this, feeling so helpless and far away.
She forced herself to squeeze once more, then pull away. If not then, then perhaps never. "You see to it they treat you well." She joked.
"I'll see to it." He grinned. "But you... just get some rest. Maybe we'll get some more games tomorrow and you can kick more ass."
"I'd like that." That kiss was perhaps a little more... desperate than any of the others had been. She didn't want to let go. She didn't want to be in that room alone, to be in that bed completely, all, alone. But it was safer that way. Perhaps easier in a sense. It hurt to see the pain he tried to hide when she pulled back. "I love you. Despite anything that happens, you've got to remember that."
"I'll be holding on." He made a fragile attempt to grin. "I love you, too. And if there's anything I can do, ever, at all..."
"You'll know." She promised. "For now, just... be defensive."
That did not seem like something to chuckle at. Not on the outside. But they did have a pretty fucked up sense of humor. Another brief hug, and she walked to the balcony doors to let the exiles back inside. "Good night, guys."
"Sleep well, Kyrie." Vincent answered.
"In your warm bed." Cloud mumbled.

She wouldn't have expected sleep to come as easily as it did. Even as she changed into sleeping clothes, she felt every single hour she'd been up. It was always great to go to bed when you were dead tired, with no predetermined time to wake. No alarms, nothing to do but sleep as long as you damn well pleased. Though she suspected Cloud probably wouldn't have allowed that, if only to get back at her.
Pretty much as soon as her head hit the pillow, she felt lulled into the deepest parts of sleep. Pleasant, warm darkness.... and then a flitter. A dream... she halfway realized for an instant, before that consciousness failed her entirely.
The warmth and comfort of the bed had become a dark, cool room she'd never been in before. Then she felt that chill... were she conscious enough to have any control at all, she'd have shaken or screamed herself awake. She felt it coming, felt something surrounding her mind like a vice. It was like something thieved her body and shoved her brain aside--but it wasn't her body. It didn't... feel like her body at all. And then, her eyes focusing in the dream, she began to grasp the scope of this. It wasn't entirely Jenova's control. This... this was a memory.

She watched the scene utterly helplessly--from Sephiroth's eyes. There was Squall at the beginnings of adolescence, standing defiantly in the dark corner of the room. He was dressed only in a t-shirt and a slightly ripped pair of shorts, small patches of mud and scuffed hands making it obvious that he had been training. His eyes were just as bright and stormy, deceptively cold as she remembered; but it all changed as Sephiroth approached. Young Squall seemed to wince a little as the elder man's shadow fell across him, a searing look of fear and hatred playing across his eyes, instead.
To no avail, Kyrie tried to stop the nightmare images that were threatening to pass in front of her. She simply could not stop it from coming. She couldn't wake, she couldn't move, she could barely even think her own thoughts. She was Sephiroth for this moment in time. She felt his body, could feel his muscles tensing and his lips winding into a threatening smile.
Black gloved hands thrust out and struck Squall's shoulders, squeezing until an unmistakable look of pain finally appeared on his face. A quiet, sneering chuckle made the boy wince even more, caught between trying to escape and staying completely still so the torture would be over sooner.
One hand released the boy while the other found it's way snugly around his neck. The free hand dipped its fingers into the front of Squall's shorts and yanked them down. Not a sound escaped the boy, but Sephiroth breathed a satisfied, sexual sigh. With another powerful yank, Squall's briefs landed right atop the shorts at his ankles, exposing his soft skin to the chill of the room and the heat of the man in front of him.
Sephiroth didn't so much as wait for him to step out of them; he shoved the boy down onto the floor and tore the remnants of clothing completely from the small body. Squall whimpered lightly, but it did nothing to make the insane man stop. It only fed the anger as he was backhanded, an extra bit of snap coming from the leather glove.
"If he'd just kept his mouth shut, you both would have gotten off easier." The bastard hissed, forcing the boy's legs wide apart. "All you made was a mistake. But he had to argue. Then you had to fight for him." He looked over his shoulder to where the slightly older child lay, unconscious in a pile of clothes marked with dry blood and a large red cross.
Squall closed his eyes and waited. He seemed to know exactly what was coming. And, taking a deep breath, he seemed to believe he deserved it. He clenched his jaw, determined not to make a sound. It was a useless struggle; he screamed the moment Sephiroth thrust into him.
Music. The agonized scream was music to him. He thrust again, hearing the young boy's voice shatter and fall into forced silence. When he thrust a third time, seating himself completely into the small body, he heard no scream at all. It could have been the volume of his own moan as he felt the blood oozing over his thighs. Or it could have been that those screams were intense enough to have made the boy lose his voice. It didn't matter. He came almost instantly as he felt the blood dripping down his legs.

She woke with a jarring start, for a moment still feeling warm blood running down her legs. It was an illusion, just the fading memory of a dream, but... but Hyne, how... how fucking awful...
She turned away from the delicate light of predawn, curling up into a fetal position. There was no other warm body to rest hers against, to find comfort in. There was... nothing but cotton sheets and the clear thumping of her own heartbeat. This was sincerely a little bit of hell.