Vestibule of the Wayward Fayth - Prologue

Summary: There are many hidden doors and each leads to one place: Jikanare.

Welcome to another story, part one of a small series. For those that will inevitably ask about the final fantasy characters, please note that this takes place only a few hundred years after Sin first appears. I'm mainly borrowing their world and hope you'll stick around anyways.

The splinters pushing into the palm of his hand slowly became numb as a heavy presence filled the room. The already cold air felt like ice against his skin, any drop of sweat the air touched became solid. The idea that it was suppose to be close to summer slipped from his mind as it hardly seemed accurate with the current breeze coming in from a high window.

Though he could have sworn it felt warm seconds before. Uncomfortably so with all the unneeded layers piled on top of him. These clothes might as well have been blankets with how large they were. It's what had made him break out into a sweat after being restrained to this chair that had creaked beneath his weight before.

There were no groans from it now. No sounds except for the heavy breathing of the other occupant of the room that he refused to look at, keeping his eyes closed instead of yelling at the thing like he wanted.

They were too stupid to take threats seriously. Orders worked fine, but shouting his Lord's name hadn't stopped it from entering the room. Either it had forgotten or was a new addition to the Ministry's arsenal at the prison and didn't know of fear, yet.

If he had his wand...

His lip curled, tongue lashing at the corner of his mouth. If he had his wand he would teach the damned thing what the emotion was. If it had a soul of it's own he would kill it.

As things were, he only felt hot breath on his face and the chill that ran down his spine wasn't the cold this time. When a minute passed with the thing breathing in his face he snapped, "Get it over with already."

Dark brown eyes were now open, staring at empty sockets behind a thin black fabric. Eyes that became glazed as the cold took a hold of his body, gripping it so hard it burned.

His whole body was on fire and when he tried to scream no sound came out. Though his mouth was open not even the soft patterns of air issued from it. Just empty, sitting there with hands still curled over the dark wood.

Yet, he was still burning. The fire racing through his veins. His heart beating too fast to keep the heat at bay. Then the flames were wrapping around the muscle and if he could he would have screamed.

Just continue to scream at the creature regardless if it could hear him or not. If anyone heard him in this place. Some plane of existence that shouldn't be real as there were claws now at his skin, tearing through muscle and bone that he knew he didn't have because he had left his body some time ago.

How long ago he was unsure. He only knew that the pain was constant. It could have just been a second, an hour, a day. He hoped it hadn't been any longer than that as his 'legs' froze over only to catch fire soon after.

Though, really, it might as well have been a week. It's not like there was a wall here, a clock. Everything was dark. Everything hurt.

At some point he had started calling for his mother, shouting her name over and over again. As if she would raise from the grave itself to come and take him from this new hell. To just... stay and leave his father's corpse in his place. That would have worked just fine. If, only if he even knew where he was.

It certainly wasn't hell. That didn't exist. It was just something the muggles said to make themselves feel better when men like him came around. Because, really, when you died he couldn't imagine it was like this. It had to be peaceful, and not feel like someone was jabbing a million knives into one inch of 'skin.'

Demen

He snarled, wishing whatever it was that had just whispered would go away. If he had somehow stumbled upon another soul he didn't care to see it, if that was even possible. He wanted to be left alone. For the pain to go away for even a fucking second. Was that too much to ask?

Tari

Dementor. That's what the voice meant to say. He was sure of it. Though how one could forget what had put them here was beyond him. He would never forget. That was something he swore even as his neck burned, a coil wrapped around it.

Ieyui

He grinded his teeth as the humming sound filled his ears. Who the hell would be singing in a place like this?

Nobomeno

Surely they would be screaming instead. What with the way the rope would soon be tightening around his neck...

Renmiri

It was loose. The coil was falling from his neck.

Yojuyogo

He parted his lips, tasting the cold air.

Hasatekanae

His throat only tightened though. This was a trick, it had to be.

Without even opening his mouth a word came out in the same tone that echoed in his head now, over and over. "Kutamae."