Chapter Text
Travis was gone and Alessa was lonely. They weren't friends in the strictest sense of the word, he hadn't helped her assemble the Flauros by choice, but his involvement gave her the power to strike back against her mother and the members of the Order. Without him their evil, Satanic goals would have been reached, and she had to thank him for his help and being on her side.
Now, neither alive nor dead, Alessa's projected manifestation wandered through the light and dark sides of Silent Hill. She could do almost anything now, but felt no pleasure or satisfaction in her power. The half of her that could feel pleasure was laying in a tiny infant body by the side of the road waiting for someone to pick her up.
Alessa wandered to the burned out house of her ancestors where her family had lived for generations. Her mother, Dahlia, had sacrificed the place in an attempt to control her daughter's psychic powers. It had been a failure, and Alessa's charred body now lay mummified in bandages in the basement of Alchemilla Hospital still holding the infant fetus of a demon god inside her. Alessa felt so used, so misguided and unloved. She wished Travis could have stayed with her instead of returning to his life.
She wandered along the streets of the Silent Hill, sorrow falling on her like the soot and snow from the sky. The place was a ruin set to smolder by her own violent power the night before. It lay quiet, now, like a dead man washed up on the side of the lake. In the street, charred carcasses of monsters vanished in tatters back to Hell, born of the dark visions within Travis's mind and now useless without him present to torment. She now held the power to create monsters as well, but it did not make her happy. She considered that she'd never be happy again, and she wished her other half a better fate.
Alessa's anger churned a slow boil. She wanted to punish those who had made her this way. From conception she was a tool for their wicked power-mongering. She never had the opportunity to be a normal girl.
Half-minded in her wanderings, she soon found herself in butchery.
The kitchen was small, draped in the blood of dead monsters dissected by its chief tenant and splattered with the gore of battle. The Butcher, a monster himself, lay on the floor, his face half masked by an irregular metal plate and his own cleaver stuck ironically into his back by Travis as a lesson learned the hard way. She considered his shape as he lay in a pool of his own blood, feeling strangely drawn to it.
The monster had taken the form of a serial-killer Travis remembered from news articles and books. It was muscled and strong with a bloody butcher's apron and over-sized knife. In direct order from its inspiration, the monster had taken other monsters apart without concern, splitting them down the middle and loosing their guts all over the floor. She saw in its dead body the shadow of something promising.
A monster disguised as a man, familiar enough to victims that they might plead to it for mercy, able to deceive them into thinking their cries could be heard before delivering death in one heartless blow. A knife so large and heavy it could run them through in one swing. A mask to hide its face. Blind justice. The very incarnation of her desire to see the wicked punished for their sins.
The Butcher began to dissipate; he wasn't real after all, he had no soul, his body was being summoned back to Hell without complaint. She watched with a sinking heart. She wanted to stare at his ruined back longer and feel like there was something else as empty in this world as she was. Perhaps she could call him back.
She reached out her hand to the vanishing body, focusing her dark powers on the place where it lay. The ground around it flaked and peeled back as blood dripped from the walls and red fire burned from deep below. The darkness heard her, reached in and replied with what her half-heart most desired.
Blind Justice it was to be. The shreds of the body rose with dust and sinew from the dark realm below the town, constructing the shape of a nine-foot man. Like the Butcher, it wore a smock stained with blood, its chest and arms were bare and muscular, skin glistening like a dead man's stretched across blue veins and burst capillaries. It held a knife that was longer and heavier than the cleaver of its predecessor, and in place of a half-mask, a ruddy metal pyramid caged its head.
The monster stood facing her. It was a gift from beyond, an interpreted answer to her request. She released her hold on the space and stared up at the massive figure as it drew in the first breath of life. The kitchen around them became pale and light once more.
The monster did not move, holding its massive knife in its left hand, the right curled into a fist. Alessa couldn't see eyes on its massive head, but felt it looking at her. She was small before it, but not afraid. This was a hell-beast meant only for the deserving.
“Come.” She said. “You're mine.”
The girl reached up and took the Monster's clenched hand. Its fist loosened at her touch and allowed her childlike hand to take hold. Alessa tugged. With great effort it stepped stiffly toward her, knife grating the ground behind. She walked the creature out of the building and through the fog, staring up at it and never straying. Before long they'd arrived at her desired destination.
The altar, the sight where her burned body had been laid the night before, chalk markings, blood and wax left as evidence of the evil conducted the night before. In her mind she replayed every awful moment, and thanks to her part in his creation, the Monster knew too.
“I want you to help me get them.” She said to him.
The Monster twisted his grip on the handle of the knife, his breathing hoarser like a ferocious dog on the end of its chain. His limited ego did not entertain feelings of injustice or need for revenge. He was seething with carnal anticipation and asking simply 'who first'?
Alessa squeezed the fingers of his empty hand with satisfaction. “My mother.”