Like a stain, a smear of ink on bleach-white paper, it was a concentrated black... a swirling mass of hunger and death that spread in wicked tendrils, sprawling outwards and tainting everything that it could touch. Hell was bleak and vile, made worse because of the incubi, remorseless spirits with nothing more than a thirst for blood and a lust for flesh. It was like the bottomless black pit of eternity - an abyss with no outer limit, nothing to escape from, nothing beyond pure nihility - nothingness.

Cloud would never hear it from those lips, would never remember at all being held with an embrace of kindness, words that he secretly longed for. All his existence, the only thing that he had known was a man with no soul and a world with no Sun. Auron was what kept him alive, was what made him strong, and even though he somehow felt that gratitude was in order, he couldn't find it in himself to feel grateful for being kicked and beaten and spit upon and sneered at through the years he spent growing up.

He was a rebel, was always questioning Auron about why, and how, and why, why, why he was treated so, but all that got was another kick, a growled command to stand up and take the blows. He always fought back, could not be obedient, and somehow he felt like that was exactly what Auron wanted. It was ridiculous, the concept, because Auron settled for nothing less than utmost servility to his every word. He would always be beaten up, cruelly, unmercifully, for any mutinous act.

But he could not deny that glint in those hard eyes that spoke of glee.

Sometimes, Cloud wondered... was Auron what one would call abusive? Was he sadistic? Did he personally enjoy torturing, tormenting a boy as young as Cloud? Was there some unspeakable pleasure he derived from each drop of blood that he spilled?

Cloud knew that he, he was different. He wasn't like the rest.

Like Auron.

Even if physically, more than just physically, Auron was the closest Cloud would get to 'similar'.

Cloud was the only being that actually grew in this forsaken hole. He had heard from a dead witch spirit, claiming to have suckled him as a baby, that he had been a babe; he had fallen and crawled and walked and run and then he had been a boy. And he knew it to be true because he had been a boy once, but now he was close to being a man. Years, months, weeks , hours - time was meaningless in the Underworld and so Cloud knew nothing about age or time... but he knew that somehow, time affected him.

And so, as time passed, he grew.

Within him, the hatred festered.

Cloud devoured it, was fueled by it. Auron only seemed to encourage it. With each ounce of strength that he developed, each plane of muscle that began to tone his starved body, each extra inch he grew and dodged and jumped, that hatred raged on furiously. He was entering adulthood, was becoming even stronger than he could have imagined, was able to harm Auron.

No, he had never known kindness - not from Auron, especially not from Auron, and he knew that there was no such thing as kindness when you were a 'Hellion'. He had been trained to be strong, independent, free from the shackles of 'emotion' and 'reliance'. There was no one Cloud could trust but himself, no fool that would ever truly accept him... whatever he was, because he could never accept another. Never.

He would never be a pawn, a puppet.

He would be the puppet master - the one to pull the strings and control. Control.

How he savoured that word.

On day, all of them - every single one of these snivelling cretin - AURON - would grovel at his feet, beg for forgiveness, claw at the cracked soil, fall for his favour.

And he would toy with them, play on their fear. He would control them, dominate...

Once and for all, Auron would experience exactly what Cloud's soul had been burnt with for all these years.

When Hades finally released him from the Underworld (through a meaningless contract that Cloud and a flimsy promise for a 'light' that Cloud only believed in because it was what made him feel significant and worthwhile as a child and a teenager and a person), the first thing that engulfed him was pain.

It was far more excruciating than what Auron had ever managed to inflict on him, and had he been any less tolerant of it, he was assured of certain erasure. A pang of thankfulness for being trained to be strong and hardy was there for a second, but the sensations riveting and tearing through his body was far too overwhelming. He was heaving repeatedly, feeling as though he was trying to vomit out his soul, that something was trying to force its way out of him.

In a flash, an instant, as he was swallowed by a sickly green vertex of souls, two things manifested of him, swirling in a tired embrace before fleeing apart. He saw two faces, two smiles - one grim, the other wispy - and when he closed his eyes, he felt himself fade. Maybe he hadn't been strong enough after all... maybe he was not meant to leave Hell... maybe he just belonged there, belonged with the blood and bruises and hatred that culminated there.

But it was strange.

When he had woken up, he was not, as it were, drenched in a pool of his own blood. He was covered in perspiration, and as his eyes fluttered open, something seared into his line of sight and he barely felt himself stagger onto his feet.

The ground felt so solid and supple under the heavy step of his boot, tips of the nimble grass flailing wildly against his feet as a strong breeze billowed through, totally different from the desert-like soil of the Underworld. There was wind in the Otherworld, something he had never before experienced and something that certainly didn’t exist in the fiery bowels of Hell. This soothing current of air brought along with it a fragrant smell of blossoms and earth, the scent tingling and musky and foreign that it made him feel strangely at ease though he grew alarmed at how relaxed his body was becoming.

It was so bright, Cloud paused temporarily to allow his eyes to adjust to the immense Sunlight that engulfed him. The warmth of the Sun washed over him like waves rolling calmly onto sandy white shores, receding smoothly before swelling once again. The dim and murky darkness of the Underworld that he had grown in made him unaccustomed to the brilliant light, but for some strange reason, he was able to withstand all these... things. But maybe this was why he had been released in the first place; because of his abilities, his regeneration, his emotionless hardiness after all those harsh years of blood and fire. He didn’t know what it had taken to have been granted freedom from the Underworld, and even though the shackles that tied him to that Hell still remained – symbolized by the dirty fell of his single obsidian wing – Cloud was intent to keep himself out, no matter what the price.

All his life, Cloud had been fuelled by a longing for vengeance, a hatred, betrayal beyond any normal human comprehension… not understanding why he had been made to suffer as he had, or why he had been made to commit sin after sin because of his suffering. He wanted revenge – he didn’t know upon whom, but he knew that his bloodlust would never be satisfied until he had ended the one responsible for all his torment.

But then…

Under the bright rays of the Sun, Cloud felt that dire restlessness in his soul recede; dissipate almost, being replaced with a desolate yearning for normality, for salvation, god help him. Underneath the Sun, completely embraced in light, Cloud felt an overwhelming disgust for his motivations, for what he had been, for what he was now. He felt like a monster – no, even worse than a monster – with a carnal lust that made him all the more horrific and just as bad as the one he wished to kill.

In that one moment, he felt moved. Beyond all doubt, beyond all reason, Cloud felt as though he had been freed from the burden of hatred.

And then he was empty.

Without his hate, he had no purpose. He had lost his direction. Yet...

Was it so wrong, suddenly, to just exist? To be alive?

There was a tug on his hand, and he followed blindly, walking towards a colossal structure in the distance, towards an overwhelming scent of sand and oil. The sensations excited him, but he was confused and... perhaps a little frightened.

In the eye of his mind, everything had gone white and there were two people standing before him. One was tall, ominous, vicious. He was the man with the grim, elegant face. Beside was a person shorter, beautiful, the look of exhaustion and desperation that could only describe what part of his soul felt.

Both beckoned to him.

He ignored them.

When he reached the Coliseum, he saw, for the first time, other beings like himself that were not Auron. A few peered at him, nodding at him. A boy waved at him with a bright grin. Others stared openly at the ragged clothes and the vivacious eyes. Most stares were glued to the overpowering sword in his back. Cloud's breath quickened slightly, and somehow, his eyes felt moist. His lips trembled and he was glad for the safety of his mantle. He stepped forward, not a single bit as confident or meaningfully strong as he had been when he was in the Underworld.

Thoughts and memories plagued him with each step towards the Great Entrance, towards the satyr named Philoctetes. Everything he had ever done, everything he had ever been made to do, everything he had ever thought of, all of it lead to this. He was walking in the Otherworld, walking among men and boys and people, and even though he had invisible shackles on his feet, he was there. He was underneath the Sun. He was where he felt that a person could only belong.

That was why, when he saw Auron leaning against the Gate of the Underworld with a smirk on his face, he felt a lurch in his stomach, a knot in his throat... and the fear of being left totally alone.

He couldn't help walking towards the image of spite and hatred that he had created for himself. There was his aggressor... but somehow, he felt like Auron had been foremost a protector. This was the first time he had ever felt anything of the sort, had ever even thought about the possibility, but he felt as though he was right.

It was the tight embrace, the heavy sigh that left the older man's body as those arms squeezed him tightly without wanting to let go... it stirred something in him that he was sure he had forgotten.

And then the words.

"You are a great warrior, Cloud," Auron's voice was always gruff, but this time they were whispered, slightly cracked. "Never forget that. Fight for your freedom."

He saw Auron smile at him, felt how those hard knuckles were white from the tight grip and saw how that smile wavered slightly and Cloud couldn't help himself-

"I hated you."

As Auron chuckled weakly, his arms fell to his side and he slowly walked backwards into the abyss.

"I loved you like you were my own."

Cloud returned to the world beneath the Sun.