GCB Fanfics: The Fanfiction Project

The Puppetmasters



Night had long-since fallen over the compound where a dozen fighters now were the only remnant of the exclusive group of invitees to the great tournament. The deep darkness of a starless night had swallowed the field southeast of the mansion, where at daybreak nearly three months ago the sixty-four were assembled for the first time. The mansion and its environs lay as silent as they were dark, their inhabitants having passed from surprise, sadness, or elation at the day’s events into sleep.

Most of them.

Were there onlookers, the sharp-eyed among them would have seen a black-clad figure making its way cautiously along the southern face of the east wing. The figure leapt from balcony to balcony with a catlike agility that could not have come easily to one so muscularly heavy. The figure was plainly taking pains not to make its presence known, though the vast majority of the rooms it passed were unoccupied.

Ryu was a prisoner in his own body.

Ever since his first victory, there had come an alien presence into Ryu’s thoughts. At first, the smooth voice had been barely noticeable, calming in its seeming reason. Gradually the voice had become more assertive, as if testing its power incrementally. Then Ryu had encountered Cloud in the elevator. The dark power that Ryu had known he harbored, that he had labored so cautiously to cordon within him behind a bastion whose bricks were regimen, honor, and morality, had surged forth as never before. The hatred he had felt, an emotion that was not his own, had fueled it, allowed it to give itself form within him and assail that wall.

Where previously it had sought to erode his defenses, now it struck out with vengeful force. Tirelessly the force that called itself Akuma, in honor of the one from the memory of whom it took its shape, battered at Ryu’s wall. The smooth voice had encouraged it, letting a hatred Ryu could never feel give it fearsome strength. Dante’s irksome spite had been merely the final straw. The bulwark it had taken years to build had fallen, the triumphant foreign laughter ringing in his head as the force which was Akuma took control of him. The harsh greedy roar and the sibilant silky whisper bent his body to their mutual will. Ryu could only watch in pain and horror as the demon-fighter met a painful end at his hands.

At my hands!

“And yet his blood is on yours.”


He could not help but feel at fault for the changes that had come over him. Were his spirit purer, he was sure, even the combined assault of raging force and deceitful guidance would not have bested him. But for his failings, however few, he was consigned now to watch himself become a monster.

Ryu felt himself land soundlessly on another balcony, ever closer to the center of the cross-shaped lodge. He could feel, rather than see, the sleepless gaze of another on him, the watcher’s pale face lost in the shadows behind one of the many blank windows across the field. His heart sank with a sickening feeling as his suspicions of the purpose of this errand showed every sign of proving true.

Another dizzying leap, another silent landing. Ryu’s head turned to peer through an open window into a darkened room. Though the adornments within were as Spartan as the vacated quarters the martial artist had passed before, this chamber was still occupied. A figure lay prone on the bed, asleep and oblivious. The scar on Ryu’s back burned again.

”Now prove to me that you are as powerful as you brag of being,” goaded the seditious voice, and Ryu knew his fears were justified.

Dante was not proof enough?

“The demon fighter was a mere gnat, and you struggled. This one… is a better test. Show me that you can subdue him as easily.”


Akuma, empowered as much by the other’s hate as its words, took the bait.

Fool! You still think I am just another pompous weakling? I am the perfect spirit; this is the perfect body. I will show you what that means. No one can stand against me!

Ryu was powerless to stop himself. He watched his hand reach out, tearing a hole in the flimsy screen that blocked the window. He drew the screen back slowly, the whistle of a faint breeze muffling the ripping sound. The scar on the martial artist’s back flamed stronger yet as he slipped inside, the malevolent gaze of the intruders in his mind focusing his eyes on their hapless victim--or is he my hapless victim?--Cloud Strife.

The spiky-haired warrior’s sleep had evidently been a fitful one. The knotted bedsheet lay strewn across the floor, affording the possessed Ryu a silent approach. As the demon guided his feet with unnatural precision in the darkness, Ryu strove to yell out a warning to the sleeping swordsman. His effort barely managed to part his own lips before the vehement resistance of the two invaders in his mind crushed any hope he had of alerting Cloud.

”Have you not yet learned your place?” sneered one.

Ryu jumped onto the bed, landing on Cloud and pinning him bodily to the mattress with a snarl.

Cloud awoke with a surprised grunt as his assailant fell on top of him, knocking the wind out of him. Ryu’s knee drove into his back, his hands holding the mercenary’s arms at his sides. The wiry warrior fought back as best he was able, surprising the possessed attacker, but was unable to throw him from his back. Cloud tried in vain to gulp down enough air to let out a yell.

The martial artist’s body was simply too strong, and slowly Cloud was being overpowered. One of Ryu’s arms crushed down across Cloud’s shoulders, the knee still jabbing into the small of his back. He was immobilized. Ryu’s free hand shoved its way between his face and the pillow. The powerful grip tightened, crushing Cloud’s nose and mouth shut as he still struggled to breathe.

No!

Silence!


Ryu’s grip allowed Cloud to turn his head, and in the mirror he could just barely make out the identity of his attacker. In desperation, the swordsman stretched his arm out to jab an elbow back at the street fighter. Ryu twisted away from the blow with ease. As Cloud’s vision began to blur, he threw his weight to the side as best he could, straining to throw Ryu from his back. Again, he was met with failure. On the back of his hand, he saw the symbol of the triforce, cold and unresponsive in his hour of need. Despair overcame him. Cloud’s last desperate struggles had ceased. For a few seconds the sparkle in his eyes still remained, but it soon faded like stars into fog, his eyes rolling back in his head as he drifted into unconsciousness.

The body went limp in Ryu’s hold, but the vengeful fury still flowed through him and the wound on his back still burned. His hands let go as he watched himself change his grip on Cloud. The left hand stretched over the crown of the swordsman’s head, fingers against the temple. The right palm cupped his chin. A single quick jerk was all it would take to snap Cloud’s neck effortlessly.

”Finish him!” hissed the voice in Ryu’s head. His muscles tensed in preparation to obey--

NO! he practically screamed in his mind, and to his utter amazement the demon’s thoughts joined his in unison.

Trickster! Akuma roared in address to the other voice, its fury for the first time not focused on Ryu. Killing him here would deprive me of my inevitable victory!

Death outside of the arena is punishable by permanent expulsion,
quoted Akuma. You have seen I can kill him, what more do you want?! When I face him in battle, I will laugh with pleasure as he begs in vain for his life. You would have me sacrifice myself—us—to have rid of him now? Winning this tournament is child’s play to one such as me, he will be no threat!

“Simpleton!”
The calm façade of the sinister voice was gone; it was plainly unprepared to be thwarted by one of its own kind. ”How little you understand. Us? We? I will see to it personally that you never see him in the arena! I don’t care about you! You are a servant! You will KILL HIM!”

With this final command the voice revealed itself in Ryu’s mind’s eye for the first time. Its appearance seemed to flow back and forth between the shadowy black-cloaked outline of a man and a repulsive bulbous creature with curling tentacles. The hideous thing dove down into the core of Ryu’s being, looking to wrest control of him once and for all. The bronze-skinned image of Akuma rose up from its seat of power to meet the other headfirst, its hair a roaring bonfire.

The things joined in a scene torn from a madman’s fevered nightmare. Silent shrieks rang in Ryu’s head. A wing beat, a sword flashed the reflection of blinding cruel eyes. Tentacles thrashed wildly, ripped by the handful from the body of the thing without form. And in the midst of it all fought a giant of metal and flame, bleeding molten steel and roaring with masochistic delight and rekindled vigor with every new wound.

The part of Ryu that was still Ryu was not distracted by the battle of impossibilities that he saw in his head.

The forces that sought control of him were now too busy wrestling with each other for that control to pay attention to the one they had superceded. Ryu concentrated on the reality of his arms, his legs, and seized the opportunity. He was on his feet as Cloud’s limp body hit the bed once more, dropped haphazardly in the tormented martial artist’s haste. He dashed for the door.

He was in the hall, the door slamming shut with a splintering crash, as the voices in his head returned their focus to him.

You… leave… your body… is mine! bellowed the exhausted spirit of Akuma triumphantly.

”Turn… Kill… You know you want—“

Silence!


Ryu fell to his knees in the hall, clutching his head in anguish. I will not be your puppet, he repeated over and over to himself, striving to make it true for one more minute, just one moment more.… Ryu’s hands clenched his scarlet headband with white knuckles, fists to his temples as if to physically squeeze the invasive presences out. His muscles strained under the command of three different minds claiming control.

The bruised face and distinctive blond hair of Ryu’s former victim emerged cautiously from the door which Ryu had slammed before. He watched the scene through blurred vision, still short of breath, with growing comprehension.

There was a rip of fabric as Ryu’s arms were wrenched from his head as if by an unseen hand, his legs unsteady under him as he rose. The red headband, now held together only by a thread, had fallen across one eye. The other stared back over his shoulder at the mercenary briefly with three different expressions.

Ryu ran down the stairs at the end of the hall, the doors crashing behind him as he sped off into the night in a last desperate exertion of his will before Akuma regained control. Cloud stared after him, mumbling a single word with chilling finality: “Sephiroth.”

--------

Sephiroth’s fist clenched in impotent rage, the fingernails drawing blood from his palm. No trace of the typical supercilious smirk was to be found on his face.

The son of Jenova stood in darkness at the window of his room in the South wing from which he had guided Ryu in his attack on Cloud. Twice now he had sent his minions out to slay his failed clone, and twice they had failed.

Bowser was incompetent. I was a fool not to see that immediately. But this one… I had not expected the demonic power to be so perceptive. There is always the possibility that another will rid us of Cloud once again…

Sephiroth turned his back to the window in disgust. There was little use in hoping another of these ants would get lucky.

Why do I concern myself with this? He never could defeat me without the ancient’s help, and he never will. He is, after all, inferior. The other, however…

He shrugged off his brief apprehension.

…All things in their time.

The corners of his mouth hinted at turning upward once more.

The martial artist was not intended for this purpose. That a demon now controls him is of no consequence. He is a mere tool, made for a single purpose which he will yet fulfill. He is no more than a hammer, suitable for the destruction of a dangerous piece of machinery.

~Fin~

Today's Author: Sir Bormun
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