Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Incubi, Succubi ❯ 00 Homecoming ( Prologue )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Bombay 
A year after the end of the series, spirits stir and evil finds an oppurtinity.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Psychological / Drama | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 07.20.2002 | Pages: 2 | Words: 782 | Visits: 550 | Status: Work In Progress
A year after the end of the series, spirits stir and evil finds an oppurtinity.
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Psychological / Drama | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 07.20.2002 | Pages: 2 | Words: 782 | Visits: 550 | Status: Work In Progress
/.../ = thought-like, non-verbal-ish stuff
--
~ 0 ~ Homecoming
"This bloody road remains a mystery,
This sudden darkness fills the air..."
- Pat Benatar, Invincible
--
/We've been waiting here for so long./
/Remember who we were. We can forget our names, but we must remember... /
/We still have an objective to fulfill./
/We still have power./
*
Ridden with sleep, the angel curled up against an intangible source of warmth. Bright eyes were lidded closed and flecks of paled blue were guarded by fluttering lashes. Nearly translucent locks lay wildly around the slightly flushed face, several strands blown about by the creature's own breaths and shudders. Dry lips were parted for the way of shallow gasps.
He suffered from a fever, a consequence of the flu virus that took his body not two nights before, and it did not let up. He was no longer the exuberant youth of many weapons; fever had transformed him into a pale, helpless iota of energy. The ailment left him weak, incapacitated, and vulnerable. Most importantly, vulnerable. He sensed neither the chills that wracked his body, nor the fever that ate at his mind.--
The blinds that shielded his room from the outside world thrashed, and wind pushed through the open window gratefully, as if bearing the most precious of gifts. Shadows grew and teetered with the shifts of light, incurred by the glow of the silver sickle hanging in the evening sky and the city below it. The computer flickered with life, then slept once more.
And he stirred, shivering fiercely in discomfort. It was not the cold that caused his muscles to tremor, but rather, the shadows. He did not know the icy fingers of the disembodied Malice as they ran over his chest, gripped his wrists and neck. His cotton-socked feet could not identify the numbness that set in.
With a whimper, he rolled over, pulling the covers closer and causing the glitter of Tokyo to shimmer against his white sheets. After a minute of curling into himself, his limbs eased back into sleep. He buried his face into the warm pillow and let out a large sigh.
The water in the bedside bowl was instantly set with ripples. A lone history book on his desk flipped open.
--He sensed neither the friends that came to care for him, nor the enemies that came to take him.
For there, in the darkness of his room, were three eager souls. Neither demons nor murderers, they were Devils to be feared. Trapped in the after-death, waiting.
Just waiting.
Too long.
*
/Here, the angel sleeps. He is weak, he will be useful./
/He gave me pain./
/Let's take him first. Then exact our revenge./
/Neither white nor black shall feel the victory of life./
/He took my life./
/He's only a child. They all are. Idiots./
/You're going first?/
/He killed me./
/Give them hell./
/For us./
/You'll get your chance./
/It would only be too soon./
*
The walls of the room began to rumble, as well as the floor, and had anyone been watching, the objects would have seemed stuck in an eerie state of animation.
The disturbance wasn't obvious to the outside world; the entities were careful with their excitement.
The desk and shelf seemed to rock in their places, the computer squeaking in response to the movement. CDs shook in their racks, and a lamp shuddered in fright. The flowers of the room immediately began to wither.
And finally, when everything was askew, when all of the frames on the wall were tilted, and the calendar had somehow torn to the month of October, the shadows and shimmers of Tokyo danced to the bed covers. The room throbbed with potential energy.
It was time.
In one rough tug, the blankets parted with their occupant and bed, casting the boy in heart-stopping frigidity. Before more than his shocked gasp was expelled from his lungs, the icy hands manifested again - one on his throat, the other on his heart. He lay in near-suffocation for a moment, but it was not enough.
The once blank eyes raged back to life in a sudden rush of urgency and adrenaline. Even with his lungs burning, and heart freezing to death, he jerked his body forward, arms flailing wildly. He was successful, having an actual body versus the lack of one, and stumbled out of the bed, calling for his friends. But when his knees hit the floorboards, so did his equilibrium; his fever worked in favor of his aggressors.
The biting temperature caused him to withdraw both physically and mentally, and his vision blurred. Then he felt himself being tugged away.
Strong, he thought, as his fingers skittered desperately beneath his fallen pillow. Too strong...
--
~ 0 ~ Homecoming
"This bloody road remains a mystery,
This sudden darkness fills the air..."
- Pat Benatar, Invincible
--
/We've been waiting here for so long./
/Remember who we were. We can forget our names, but we must remember... /
/We still have an objective to fulfill./
/We still have power./
*
Ridden with sleep, the angel curled up against an intangible source of warmth. Bright eyes were lidded closed and flecks of paled blue were guarded by fluttering lashes. Nearly translucent locks lay wildly around the slightly flushed face, several strands blown about by the creature's own breaths and shudders. Dry lips were parted for the way of shallow gasps.
He suffered from a fever, a consequence of the flu virus that took his body not two nights before, and it did not let up. He was no longer the exuberant youth of many weapons; fever had transformed him into a pale, helpless iota of energy. The ailment left him weak, incapacitated, and vulnerable. Most importantly, vulnerable. He sensed neither the chills that wracked his body, nor the fever that ate at his mind.--
The blinds that shielded his room from the outside world thrashed, and wind pushed through the open window gratefully, as if bearing the most precious of gifts. Shadows grew and teetered with the shifts of light, incurred by the glow of the silver sickle hanging in the evening sky and the city below it. The computer flickered with life, then slept once more.
And he stirred, shivering fiercely in discomfort. It was not the cold that caused his muscles to tremor, but rather, the shadows. He did not know the icy fingers of the disembodied Malice as they ran over his chest, gripped his wrists and neck. His cotton-socked feet could not identify the numbness that set in.
With a whimper, he rolled over, pulling the covers closer and causing the glitter of Tokyo to shimmer against his white sheets. After a minute of curling into himself, his limbs eased back into sleep. He buried his face into the warm pillow and let out a large sigh.
The water in the bedside bowl was instantly set with ripples. A lone history book on his desk flipped open.
--He sensed neither the friends that came to care for him, nor the enemies that came to take him.
For there, in the darkness of his room, were three eager souls. Neither demons nor murderers, they were Devils to be feared. Trapped in the after-death, waiting.
Just waiting.
Too long.
*
/Here, the angel sleeps. He is weak, he will be useful./
/He gave me pain./
/Let's take him first. Then exact our revenge./
/Neither white nor black shall feel the victory of life./
/He took my life./
/He's only a child. They all are. Idiots./
/You're going first?/
/He killed me./
/Give them hell./
/For us./
/You'll get your chance./
/It would only be too soon./
*
The walls of the room began to rumble, as well as the floor, and had anyone been watching, the objects would have seemed stuck in an eerie state of animation.
The disturbance wasn't obvious to the outside world; the entities were careful with their excitement.
The desk and shelf seemed to rock in their places, the computer squeaking in response to the movement. CDs shook in their racks, and a lamp shuddered in fright. The flowers of the room immediately began to wither.
And finally, when everything was askew, when all of the frames on the wall were tilted, and the calendar had somehow torn to the month of October, the shadows and shimmers of Tokyo danced to the bed covers. The room throbbed with potential energy.
It was time.
In one rough tug, the blankets parted with their occupant and bed, casting the boy in heart-stopping frigidity. Before more than his shocked gasp was expelled from his lungs, the icy hands manifested again - one on his throat, the other on his heart. He lay in near-suffocation for a moment, but it was not enough.
The once blank eyes raged back to life in a sudden rush of urgency and adrenaline. Even with his lungs burning, and heart freezing to death, he jerked his body forward, arms flailing wildly. He was successful, having an actual body versus the lack of one, and stumbled out of the bed, calling for his friends. But when his knees hit the floorboards, so did his equilibrium; his fever worked in favor of his aggressors.
The biting temperature caused him to withdraw both physically and mentally, and his vision blurred. Then he felt himself being tugged away.
Strong, he thought, as his fingers skittered desperately beneath his fallen pillow. Too strong...