"Mistress Edea, the assigned target has yet again escaped the trap I had set for him. It seems he is stronger than all the others we have slain, yet we are unable to determine his exact age, so it is impossible to discern if he is a progenitor," the man's voice wavered as the fear crept into it. He knew that his mistress wasn't a forgiving creature, and would just as soon have him killed for his failures.

"Progenitor or not, Caea , you are more than equipped to deal with that sort of threat. You have been trained by the best to eradicate the blight that faces our world, so I demand a better excuse than the one you have given me," her voice was seductive, yet icy. It had the body of a succubus, but the heart of the purest, coldest horrors.

"There was....," Caea gulped. "A design flaw in the plans. I didn't think it would be a major concern, but the darts were launched at the wrong angle, completely missing the target."

"How amusing!" She laughed then: a laugh filled with pure, unadulterated evil that undulated as it varied its pitch. "A slayer who cannot even pursue his target simply because his traps failed to operate properly!"

"Mistress Edea, I beg you! The design flaws had very minimal variables, so I thought that it wouldn't affect the outcome!" Caea's eyes filled with desperate tears; he struggled to restrain the sobbing that crept up from the depths of his throat.

"Nevertheless, they were variables! The fact that you have neglected your duties as a Slayer disappoints and infuriates me, Caea. I will make an example out of your myopic nature from the life I take from you now.

"Mistress Edea, please give me another chance!!"

"If I allow fools within this circle, we damn the world to perpetual infestation by them." Her yellow, serpentine eyes glittered as an aura of power surrounded them, illuminating her pale face as she stood. Holding her hands out, she concentrated and a small orb of glittering violet energy appeared before she hurled it at Caea's quivering form. The bubble was shot directly into his chest cavity, where it proceeded to expand rapidly, flooding every artery, every vein, every capillary with its malevolent force. "Try not to make a mess....when you die," her voice sounded distant to the hapless man, who was screaming in agony, hands tearing out his own hair.

"Argggg!!" In one loud tearing sound, Caea's entire skin had been torn from his frame, leaving a muscled, dripping mass hovering two feet above the marble floor. In another scream, his muscles were ripped from his bones, baring their ruby-tinged surfaces for all to see. The remains of his shredded body were pulled backwards and down, vanishing beneath the floor. All of the puddles of blood were also sucked beneath, as if coursing down a drain.

"Such is the fate of any of you, should you fail to capture your appointed targets," said Edea, stroking her left cheek where an abundance of veins covered it's surface. Her only physical flaw was inflicted upon the witch when she donned the crown of power. Seating herself upon her throne, Edea crossed her legs beneath her midnight blue robes and glared into the distance. "Where is my Seifer?" She commanded. "I have an assignment for him."

"Here, Mistress Edea!" A powerfully built blond-haired man strode into the throne room, silver-white trench coat flowing behind him. As he passed through the ranks of the men that bowed before him, Seifer heard them gasp and subtly point in astonishment at the symbol emblazoned upon his coat. Such an emblem was only worn by a select few who had won Edea's favor through their success rates.

"He's a member of the Shakti, isn't he?" Whispered a small voice.

"Yes," came the reply. "It's rumored that the mistress has anointed him with her own power!"

"Seifer Almasy, how long has it been?" She asked, standing to greet him. "My beautiful Galbadian slayer!" Edea's robed arms slid around his waist and embraced him tightly before applying her lips to his own, sliding her tongue deep into his throat.

"Ages, mistress. The GARDEN bores me, but I realize you have my best intentions in your heart," he replied. Seifer's voice was overbearingly dominating as well as fiercely passionate, thus ensnaring his prey in it's many tendrils.

"But of course, my love. All of the Shakti are trained at the Balamb GARDEN; it's a requirement before one receives my power. Anyway, I have summoned you because I became aware of a target who will be arriving at your school tomorrow."

"A new student?"

"No, my dearest, a new instructor who is one of Professor Highwind's friends from the past. My information is scarce, as the new threat is capable of psychically cloaking himself from my probes, but I am aware that he will be instructing your class in firearm usage."

"What will you have me do then, mistress?"

"I think you should know that by now, Seifer. Since this assignment revolves around your studies, I am going to allow you to take four days to study the creature, then eliminate it accordingly. Go now, my love. For I do not wish our plans to be disrupted should you be missed at the evening check-in."

The room shifted uncomfortably; lines blurring into parabolas. Fixtures, colors, smells, moods swirled about him as Edea willed him back to his dorm room. He saw only her face, its pallor coupled with the bioluminescence of her irises; violet-black lips whispering to him:

"Do not fail me, Seifer. "

The next day, Squall hauled his naked form out of bed and yawned loudly. It wasn't his fault that Zell and Rinoa wanted him to stay out all night, much less get hung over from the exotic drinks they ordered. He walked into the adjacent bathroom and turned the shower's dial to the hottest setting, allowing the steam to fill the room and fog up the mirror. Groaning, he waited another few moments before slipping into the shower's spray, allowing it to cover him completely.

"Why do they always do this to us?" Squall thought miserably as he bent over to pick up the small bar of soap. "Dammit, Kramer! Surprise training sessions are never appreciated, not this early in the morning!" His long fingers guided the milk-colored bar across his chest, coating the musculature with a thick film of the moisturizer. Outside, the digital clock buzzed annoyingly, indicating he only had fifteen minutes to arrive on the fields.

Squall ducked underneath the shower head and allowed the water's tentacles to caress his scalp; the steaming liquid was like a lover's fingers in his hair, silently enjoying every strand as it ran through his mane. Reaching over to grasp the bottle of shampoo, he emptied the remaining portion onto his hair and massaged it in, causing a thick lather to form across his fingertips. Suddenly, a thick, steady dollop of the perfumed soap slid into his left eye, stinging the sensitive cornea, the dark-chocolate iris, and the observant pupil .

"Shit!!" He swore, rubbing his eye furiously in a futile attempt to remove the lather from the sensitive organ. "I don't have the time for this!" Splashing his face to rid his eye from any further traces of the irritant, he stepped out of the shower and hauled on his clothes, not bothering to dry off.

"Squall." Quistis Trepe's gentle, shy voice called him from the intercom. "You're going to be late."

"Sorry, Quistis! I overslept..."

"It's okay, but please hurry. The new professor has arrived today."

"New professor?"

"Yes, he'll be instructing the class on the techniques used for firearm combat. Of course, half of the SeeD candidates don't use guns, but nevertheless, Kramer is requiring everyone to be ready to use a different weapon should the need arise. You'll find out more when you get out to the fields."

"They woke me up at four a.m. to meet some guy whose gonna teach me how to use my gunblade?!" Squall muttered under his breath as he pulled on his bomber jacket and zipped up the front.

"Even the best of us can use some improvement, Mr. Leonhart," Quistis' voice clicked on again.

Chagrined beyond repair, Squall felt his face turn a bright red. "Sorry, Professor Trepe, I mean...I'll be right out."

Moments later, he was outside in the freezing rain with the other candidates for SeeD, all who looked extremely resentful at being forced to stand in the cold at such an early hour. Zell strode up behind him and jabbed him in the ribs, causing him to double over, laughing hysterically.

"Gotcha, Squall!" He grinned from ear to ear, despite the fact that his hair was matted to his head. The raindrops glistened atop his ornate black tattoo, making it appear as if it were drawn on by some three-year-old with a set of greasepaints. "What took you so long getting here?"

"Shower."

"Squall! I thought you had given that up!"

"Zell!" The shock became more apparent on his face as all of the SeeD candidates seemed to draw closer, as if to hear the truth about Squall's lengthy showers. "Not so loud, dammit!"

"And here I thought you liked that sort of activity, my friend," he whispered. Selphie drew close with Irvine firmly in tow, and promptly smacked him upon hearing Zell expose more of his best friend's personal life.

"I told you! Pay up, cowpoke!" Selphie giggled. "That'll be twenty gil!"

"Aww....damnation, Selphie! I'm flat broke!" His western accent was slurred, as he had been roused earlier by Professor Trepe's call. "I'll buy you a cup of coffee as soon as this is over."

"Kay!"

Quistis Trepe slowly approached, her whip encircled her slender waist, functioning as a makeshift belt. Her expression was one of exasperation; her normally kind and gentle eyes were drawn into little slits behind her gold-rimmed glasses. Instantly, her students looked up and gave a collective sigh at Quistis' expression.

" Not coming," she mouthed.

"What?!" Shrieked Rinoa, running over to her Professor. "What do you mean ' he's not coming'?!"

"Calm down, Rinoa, there's a perfectly logical explanation for this," said Zell, restraining his friend from doing grievous bodily harm. "Isn't there, Squall?" He asked his best friend, who was still seething over the masturbation exposé.

Squall said nothing. In addition to being woken up at an ungodly hour, missing his 'morning session', the embarrassment having that spread around to the SeeD candidates, and the fact that the new professor had skipped out was too much for him to bear. He felt his body temperature begin to rise steadily, and an overwhelming dizziness soon overtook his light frame.

"I...don't feel...good....Zell...," he whispered, swaying precariously. "Quistis...can I go to the nurse?"

"By all means, go ahead, Squall." He staggered off towards the infirmary, ignoring the taller, more brutal form of Seifer as he bumped into him.

"Watch yer ass!"

"Sorry!"

"Hey, Squall? Why the hell is everyone going back inside?!"

"New...professor...not here..."

"Fucking hell!!!"

"Didn't think he cared much for education," he thought, trudging off, gunblade dragging through the fresh mud behind him.

Meanwhile, in the professors' complex lurked proof that Quistis' explanation of "He's not here yet" was, in fact, a lie..."

"Cid, he's gone into his dormant state. There's nothing more I can do for him until he decides to feed again tonight," said Shera, her voice wavering. She always grew nervous when her husband's best friend and first true love sank into a coma-like state; lying on the couch so still, so pale, so deathly.

"Vince.....," whispered the pilot, bending down to lovingly caress the alabaster cheek of Vincent Valentine. "You should've fed earlier." Gently kissing his best friend's perspiring forehead, he pulled the quilt around the thin man's shoulders before embracing him tightly. He remembered the previous night, in which Vincent had arrived, paler than usual and soaking wet, the puddles of water steadily congregating around his feet.

"Hello, Cid," he had said, right before collapsing into his former compatriot's arms. He quivered slightly, before looking into two pairs of concerned eyes, eyes that pleaded him for psychic nourishment to prevent the dormancy that would ensure a terrifying night for any person in the nearby vicinity. Together, Cid and Shera had managed to nurse him through the twilight hours, but to no avail. Vincent Valentine's exhausted scarlet irises simply had rolled back into his head, his breathing became inaudible, and his heartbeat grew dangerously slow.

"Shera," he said simply, his voice lacking the fierce composure his wife had become so accustomed to. "He hasn't been like this since Cloud and the others have found him; Vincent is ravenous, and I would expect that he would feed on more than one person tonight."

"Should we alert the staff?

"No, that would only alarm them, as well as create an unnecessary panic among the students."

"You're really worried about him this time, aren't you?" Shera chewed her lower lip nervously as she regarded her distraught husband. She knew of their past, and despite the fact that she had married the pilot, Vincent and Cid would always share an extremely intimate bond together. To lose his best friend would certainly break the old pilot's heart, and not even a helpful, intuitive wife could hope to repair it.

"Goddammit, Shera! I love the man to death, just as much as I love you! And I'm scared shitless this time; his condition has never gotten the better of him, he would not permit such an ailment to debilitate him," said the pilot flatly. Turning his lips towards his teammate's ear, he whispered fiercely to the sleeping man: "Fight, dammit! Don't die on me!"

In response, the vampire's face contorted in another flash of pain as his back arched high off the soft, velvet couch. His parted lips let loose a moan of pure agony which reverberated around the silent room. It was very core of Vincent's existence which was being unsexed; his very soul rocked upon its axis and was wrought asunder during his fever dream. Then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over: his frame collapsed atop the couch and he lay motionless, covered in a fresh film of sweat.

Cid's cobalt eyes regarded Vincent's still body cautiously before drifting across the room to the grandfather clock. The eleven metallic gongs within the varnished wood signaled that all the students at the Balamb GARDEN were to return to their quarters for check-in.

"And so, it begins," whispered the professor as he squeezed his best friend's hand reassuringly. "Please, old friend, be gentle."

"There you go, guy. All tucked in and ready for bed," said Zell, pulling the sheet up to Squall's neck. "Next time, don't drink so much, okay?"

In spite of himself, the young soldier managed a laugh. Reaching up, he hugged his best friend in gratitude, for it was Zell who escorted him to his room from the infirmary and pledged to remain throughout the night in case his condition required immediate attention.

"Thanks, bro.," said Squall appreciatively. For the past few hours, he relied heavily on his friend to perform certain tasks for him. He sat patiently as the tattooed young man fed him a weak broth, remained cooperative when Zell undressed him, and smiled when a cool cloth was placed to his forehead. "You really don't have to spend the night. I'll be fine, honest!"

"Well, it's my fault you got so hung over. Though you're to blame for not telling me you couldn't hold hard liquor!" He grinned. "Besides, where else are you gonna find a friend who's gonna clean up your puke?"

Squall leaned over and jabbed at his friend, while in the process, nearly fell out of the bed. He found his light frame in his best friend's waiting arms, which quickly slid him back into the sheets. "Be careful, dammit. You should conserve what little energy you have and sleep it off," said Zell, reaching up to shut of the lamp on the bedside table before taking his place at the side of Squall's bed.

"Goodnight, Zell," he said, settling back into the pillows and closing his eyes, expecting a long, restful sleep. Moments later, a steady breathing pattern became audible to the blond's ears, reassuring him that his best friend was in deep repose. Then, he too permitted slumber to overtake his own body.

The ornate, rosewood timepiece in the Highwind's residence ticked off yet another hour, chiming softly as the small hand touched the stylized "2". A door in the interior opened, and Shera padded in, wearing a filmy white nightgown and slippers; an expression of sheer fatigue and concern etched in her young features. Wrapped in her hands was a large ceramic mug of steaming coffee: black, sugarless, and potent. Shera eased herself down onto the arm of Cid's chair, and handed her husband the beverage, watching him drain half of it in one swallow.

"Any change?" She asked nervously, lacing her fingers together.

"None," he replied. His voice was hoarse, and the expression on his face showed defeat. "Vincent's never been this sick before. If he dies....," he sobbed. "I lose another piece of my heart."

"He won't die, my dear. From what I've read from Professor Hojo's lab journals, such side effects are quite normal."

"Where did you get Hojo's notes from?"

"Vincent gave them to me, saying he wanted me to modify his claw's structure so that the materia he placed in it wouldn't affect his alternate forms."

"Did you?"

"Of course, Cid. I know you love him very much," said Shera. "Besides, he's a sweet guy. To say 'no' to him would just be wrong."

"You realize I love you too, right?" Asked her husband, pulling her five foot, four inch frame into his lap, securing her waist with his strong arms. "Without you, I wouldn't be where I am today." Kissing her gently on the cheek and mussing her hair, he held her tightly. "Why are you so good to me, Shera? Why, after everything I had said and done, do you stick by me?"

"You dummy! You know why!"

"Was it my foul mouth? Did I ask for some goddamn TEA enough to get you all hot and bothered?"

"Okay, rocket man," she snickered. "How about I take you to bed and give you some goddamn SEX....you can even show me your goddamn 'SPEAR'!"

"Shera!" Exclaimed Highwind, steel eyes widening at her lewd suggestion. "When did you get to be such a horny little thing?"

"Follow me, and I'll show you!" Shera stood up and beckoned for her husband to follow. Hauling his frame out of the plush armchair, he grasped her hand and pursued her into their large bedchamber before crawling into the soft, king-sized bed. Their cries of pleasure, pledges of love and moans of fulfillment fell on Vincent's deaf ears. When their noises finally subsided, the clocked ticked loudly, the smaller hand falling onto the third hour.

At the precise moment the hour hand reached the three and the appropriate chime sounded, Vincent Valentine's scarlet eyes shot open and stared at the ceiling. His mind was conscious of what was about to take place, but his body's need for sustenance overpowered his resistance, as a slight cry of hunger escaped his pliant lips.

He tried pleading for it to cease, but the transformation had already begun with the imperceptible contraction of his pupils, as if they had disappeared entirely. His garnet irises faded into colorless orbs before being replaced by a frightening, luminescent amethyst that pierced the parlor's darkness like lasers. The vampire's already flawless skin ignited with a white fury when the moonlight violated the cells. In the blue-black-blue of the night's hour, Vincent's body stood out like a supernova.

His mind drifted, scanning for its source of nourishment before selecting its newest victim. A male student, aged seventeen years, with auburn hair and a shallow scar across otherwise flawless features. Ending the impromptu perversion of cat-and-mouse, the focus of Vincent's hunger was soon to be assuaged.

Squall was peacefully dreaming of a placid sea before his vision was violently interrupted by an unknown force. His exhausted, brown eyes opened to the sight of the darkened ceiling while his inebriated mind could find no explanation of the intrusion of his slumber.

The young soldier could've sworn his eyes were open, and that his dream had in fact, been terminated. Yet he could not move his mouth to scream when a cold, shapeless shadow manifested a few inches atop his body, nor could he explain the two, amethyst orbs which glared at him with a ferocity he had never seen before. It seemed to leer at him with its faceless mask, striking an immeasurable core of fear and anticipation deep within his heart. Again, Squall tried to summon Zell, but his arm remained immobile at his side, as if it were tied by unbreakable bonds.

"Speak not, or all shall be known!" The alien voice whispered. "You have something I require."

"What?" Squall thought. "What the hell are you?"

In response, the shadow drew closer, forcing down the soldier's chest until breathing became an impossibility. Then, he felt it. A crushing mass upon his breastplate which caused his bones to painfully compress upon each other. Paralysis quickly took over his frame, spreading rapidly up to his face. The shadow pressed him deeply into the mattress, causing the springs to quietly creak.

Squall felt as if his head was encased within a block of impenetrable ice. His eyes were frozen open in shock, in terror, in ecstasy as he felt something being drawn carefully from his body. The delicious pain caused him to writhe, to shed tears that would not come, to scream out a silent wail. Or was it a moan? The young soldier was uncertain as the pressure on his frame began to decrease, and the drain began to subside. The shadow rose from his musculature; slowly, cautiously, the two spheres of violet flame peered at him.

"Speak nothing of our secret union," it cautioned, before vanishing into the remaining hours of the night's cloak.

Squall blinked, then shot upwards into a seated position, grasping his knees and crying uncontrollably. His best friend stirred, then opened his eyes to find his companion shaken to his very core. "Squall?" He asked, seating himself on the edge of the bed and lacing his arms around his friend's shoulders.

"It wouldn't let go of me, Zell....it wouldn't let go..." His speech was slurred, and his skin felt clammy and unresponsive, despite his classmate's warm embrace.

"You probably had a really bad nightmare or something, guy," reassured Zell. "Don't worry, it's over now and it won't happen again. I promise."

"Won't happen again?"

"No. Just lie down and try to get some rest. I'll be here if you need me," he yawned.

"Speak not of our secret union." The phrase reverberated within Squall's mind, preventing his weary mind from the ease of sleep.

With a shudder and sigh, Vincent's ethereal form slammed back into reality. He blinked and shivered, realizing that his clothes were no longer on his person, a side effect of the momentarily intangibility he'd experienced. Rising to his feet despite his nudity, he expertly picked his way through the darkness until his milky-colored hands reached the door of his old friend's bedchamber. Steadying himself, Vincent turned the knob and cracked the portal open before stepping in.

A small throwing blade came whizzing past his left ear and embedded itself deeply within the thick door. In rapid succession, three more followed tracing his obscured profile.

"Damn, missed!" Cid hissed, sliding out of the bed and rushing at the intruder. Two very strong, but very thin arms stopped him from smashing both their frames through the doorway.

"Vince, your eyes! You scared the shit outta me!"

"It has begun...," said his raven-hair friend in a small voice, electric-violet eyes flashing brilliantly. Trembling, he collapsed into the pilot's waiting arms, sobbing silently. "And this time, I don't think I can stop it."

"It's okay," responded Cid, stroking his friend's long, dark tendrils of silken hair. "Just lie down and try to get some rest." Guiding Vincent back towards the couch, he pulled the quilt over his friend's shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze. Cid stood up and began to tiptoe back towards the bedroom when he felt a strong hand upon his arm.

"Don't leave me...," the vampire whispered. "It hasn't worn off yet."

"Very well." Returning to his position on the bed, the pilot slid under the sheets and wound his arms around his dear friend and drew him close. After awhile, Cid could feel his companion's tense musculature begin to relax, ligaments and tendons slowly returning the body back to it's usual delicate nature. "Goodnight, Vince."

"Goodnight, Cid," he yawned, allowing his heavy eyelids to shut him into a dreamless void where his actions remained questionable, his protests futile, and his penance eternal.