Author: Sascha Morgan
Story Title: Shattered: Part One
Characters: Strife
Rating: R
Summary: Hurt-comfort. Strife finds aid from a mysterious source.

They don't belong to me and you know it.

To Abbi Cee: thank you so very much for the feedback to Worse Than Death and I'm working on part 2, I promise. ::smile::

As always, this is beta'd by the wonderful Journey. All hail!

Ehm... You know the term h/c right? Well... I tend to go a little overboard when I write stories like that... I don't write h/c stories very often so when I do... well, you'll see. Anyway, I'm not sure if I should continue with this storyline, so I'm pretty much gonna make my decision based on the feedback I get. So if you want to read more of this, you better tell me 'cause otherwise chances are that there won't be anymore parts to this story.

Send feedback to


Shattered: Part One
Sascha Morgan

"Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck!" Vases, small statues and even plates went flying through the air and crashed with the temple wall. "Fuckin' son of a bitch!" Another vase went crashing into the wall. "Rottin' in the deepest pit of Tartarus is too fuckin' good for him!" A small statue followed by a wineglass was smashed into the wall in the exact same spot as the vase had hit. "I'll pick his eyeballs out, one by one, and make him eat 'em, then I'm gonna break his fingers, one by agonizing one, before I tear his intestines out and feed 'em to him. The bloody, bleedin', fuckin', lyin' piece of shit! Tartarus!"

He hit his fist in the wall. "How couldja do this to me? How couldja fuckin' do this to me?" He sank down on the floor, not noticing that his fingers were digging in to the palm of his hands so hard that blood had started to ooze out of the small wounds. If he had noticed, he probably wouldn't have cared. The hurt inside him was so great that he was hardly aware of his surroundings at all.

He sat emotionless on the floor for a long while, frozen like a statue, then a tear rolled down his face. It was followed by another one, and another one, and soon he was crying openly. "Please..." he whispered as he started rocking back and forwards. "Please..." What he was pleading for, he didn't know. He just wanted the pain to stop.

There was a presence at the entrance to the temple, asking for entrance. He couldn't even answer the call, he noted absentmindedly. He hurt to much, he couldn't bring forth the welcome emotion. If fact he couldn't bring forth any emotions beside pain. He moaned softly. He had never known it could hurt so much. He'd been let down and hurt before, but it had never hurt as much as it did right now.

Funny how he could feel so much pain inside him and yet none of it showed on the outside. He looked up through a stream of tears and spotted a knife laying not far from him. He must have thrown it there earlier. He opened his fist and called the knife to him. The feel of the knife in his hand brought back something he was so desperately lacking right then; control. He almost smiled in surprise. He closed his eyes to savor the feeling.

He didn't open his eyes until he heard a shocked voice call his name. He jumped on his feet and whirled around, automatically moving in to attack position. His eyes were wild and open and his mouth was drawn up in a snarl.

"Relax. Please, I'm not going to hurt you," the voice soothed. He fought to place a name and a body to the voice. All he could see now was pure energy, not the physical manifestation of whoever it was. Something told him that he could trust the being. He didn't question the feeling. He was moving on instincts, and if his instincts told him to trust the voice, then that was what he would do. He relaxed slightly.

"Good, good." The Voice stepped closer, clearly being cautious not to scare him into attacking. He tried to tell it that he wouldn't harm it, but he didn't know how, couldn't remember, so he just stood still while the Voice hesitated to enter his personal space. Finally, it was standing next to him, showering him with warmth, love and a little worry. He leaned into the embrace as though it was the only thing keeping him sane.

"Who did this to you? Strife, who did this to you?" the Voice sounded choked. He shook his head violently. He didn't want to remember the hurt, he didn't want to know anything but the warmth the Voice surrounded him with. "It's okay, calm down, hush, it's okay," the Voice said. "It's going to be okay, I promise you."

Strangely, he believed the Voice. He knew that somehow the Voice would make everything all right again. He trusted the Voice to protect him, to keep the hurt away. He didn't know why, he didn't care either. That was just the way it was.

"Will you come with me?" The Voice asked gently. "I need to get a better look at you, but I can't do it here."

He stood still a while, letting the words sink into his brain, then he nodded. There was a sigh of relief from the Voice and without further ado, they teleported out of the temple.

To Be Continued?

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