Hey everyone! I'm back for Chapter six! Lol. Man has this been a funny week. Yesterday was the first time I actually looked at my emails and I finally opened all my reviews, noticing with a confused glance that all of them seemed to mention the end of the story. It wasn't until I actually reviewed the chapter that I realized how final I made it sound lol. Man am I sorry for that! It was all my fault...damn my lack of proper word use! Anyway, just know that this story still has A LOT more chapters, in case I ever do something stupid like that again.

PS:

Cascard: Lol. No, I don't hate latino people. How could I? I AM a latino girl. It was just a running gag I have with a friend of mine about making fun of our families. I didn't mean to insult anybody. Sorry if I did and thanks for the review.

Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to Midnyte Wolf for their disturbing and extremely hilarious reviews. Love ya!

Disclaimer: It's twelve at night and I'm tired so for the last damn time I DON'T OWN THEM!

Chapter 6: Genesis

Time stands still in the Valley of the Phoenix. The contemplation was brief, almost inconsequential but distinct none the less. It was a thought that seemed still, almost somber, an oddity from the chaotic train of thought my mentality had recently taken on.

The grass was not yet thick, tinted amber by its youth. The soles of my shoes unsettled some of the dirt leaving imprints that would take weeks to cover and seasons to regain its previous appearance. An imprint in time within a place where time didn't exist…or rather, refused to exist.

Haunted, dead, cursed…at least to me.

The sun was beginning to rise, casting the remnants of the ruins within a soft ginger red, accentuating the gold and crimson that bordered every dilapidated banister, chair, table, wall, candleholder, floorboard, canvas…everything.

The colors of the Phoenix.

The moss that grew upon the aged stone hid intricate designs that catalogued the history of the structure, from its birth to its untimely demise. I looked upward, toward the sky unhindered by the stone roof that once protected the ruins. A flock of ravens roamed the skies, gliding as if by magic upon the air currents that caressed my spines. Frequent visitors of a place no one knew of, a place I forbid myself to come to.

If only these creatures had known exactly what they were trying to worship, known that their ceremonies, prayers and hopes had been in vain…that none but the most foolish and broken came here to die instead of finding the warmth that each crimson brick promised and the eternal life that the symbols preached.

I wandered toward the back of the temple, passing parlors that deviated into several corridors, some of which quartered chairs of gold where the elders would gather to speak to the temples visitors. Most often it was the children who would come to pay respect and listen to sagely words and stories. They were not tales of fairies and princesses, of finding hope within the darkness and becoming savior of the world. No, those were ridiculous notions the elders would not dare place within the minds of the children. They were stories of war and bloodshed, of lives tarnished and love entwined in betrayal. Stories that promised no future because the inevitability was…

…there would be no future. At least, not for them.

My eyes wandered from the tightly woven chairs toward the last room of the temple. It was a sacred room where only the priests were allowed passage, where tapestries hung, many tattered beyond recognition. Before each one stood a candlestick of woven gold, used to pray for eternal light from the beasts that resided within the colored cloths. Each candlestick became a sentry toward the main altar of gold, crimson and jade where a candelabrum proudly stood, basked in the suns glow. The wic had long since extinguished, leaving ashes and soot in their place and decaying stubs of beeswax to recreate their final moments. Behind the candelabrum resided a carving, etched in gold and ruby, the one which bestowed the valley with its name.

A proud phoenix, basked in the fires of creation, creating the very sunlight that crept through every inch of our planet. Its eyes were that of pure jade, almost gold, the fact accentuated by an emerald placed within the carving. Its feathers adorned the colors of the temple, crimson and gold with vibrant strokes of emerald in each plume. Below its wings stood the meek and humble who worshiped it, finding solace and salvation in its strength. This creature was the very essense of life, the center of the universe, the ancorage to all beings, whether dead or alive.

Such naïve thinking was what fed the gods such ideas of their own immortality. Such paintings preached false hope. How I despised what it represented, what it meant for all who once saw it…

…what it meant for me.

I turned, remembering why I'd never come to this forsaken place. It was better to bury the past if one could help it. But somehow, like the phoenix it seemed to arise from the ashes, unstopable, unbreakable, unforgiving.

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts and wanting the naturally haunting silence to remain. I began to run, run through the ruins of false hopes and binding prophecies. I did not run at supersonic speed, didn't want to reach my destination sooner than I needed to. I simply ran toward the horizon, hoping that it would eventually lead me home…if home was where the sun set.

The streets were crowded by the adventurers of the night, those who sought the entertainment the soulful music and whistful murmurs promised. Streelamps basked entire blocks in fabricated light, often catching the deep flush of young lovers or the gentle ministrations of those who had played the game of love for much longer. Excited faces lit beneath its glow as they explored uncharted territory, amazed by the sights that made one feel insignificant. And to those who no longer felt the poingnant thrill of its magic there was only a sense of grandeur.

I walked the streets of a city I had once probably visited but already forgotten. I too once gazed upon illuminated structures of glass and marble in muted admiration, during a time when I was young and it didn't matter where you were because you believed in a tomorrow where you would finally find the time to discover the cities name, become aquainted with its people, learn its history…often times just remember on what side of the world it resided in. It was the feeling of uninhibited freedom, never having to look back at yesterday when tomorrow was so close and today was merely its stepping stone.

Hushed whispers surfaced around me, inquisitive eyes peered in blatant fascination. I quickened my gait, not wanting to engage in any conversation. I was tired, not physically but emotionally, mentally. I simply didn't want to be reminded of who I was at the moment. I wanted to be faceless, someone who still held the youthful optimism of times passed.

The moon took form within an ebony blanket, bringing forth the truest nature of the city where the deepest passions and majestic legends were created beneath its ivory light.

It seemed long ago since the last time I had seen the sun. For days I've scorned its touch, running from its dawning light. I've lived from the woven onyx of the night, fleeing from country to country whenever the sun threatened to rise and unsettle me. I didn't want to face the sun, prefered the solitude of the shadows. It was within that darkness that I could think, that everything seemed almost dreamlike. I feared what the sun could show me, what it could shatter.

I walked along the avenue, passing stores whose windows dispelled the darkness from outside, leaving fluorescent lights to gather like pieces of glass upon the concrete floor. I walked beneath each light, instinctively flinching when a particular beam caught my eye, drawing me from my reverie with unnecessary force.

The wind picked up, carrying the small hums of a music box from the antique store or the scent of roses from the flower shop. I tightened my grip upon my coat, hoping to ward away the chill caused by the awareness each sensation evoked, familiar and hypnotic…responsive even.

The spell was broken by the sound of static, a low pulse that seemed to never grow in volume but develop in strength. It was a hollow sound that drove deep into ones mind, seeming to splinter all rational thought and leave only a sense of primitive pain and annoyance. I drew my ears back, hoping to redirect the blunt of the noise as I approached the next store, knowing that only one thing could cause such a grating noise.

The light basked my features, not simply the counterfeit light from the inside but the magnetic radiance from the television screens. The pulsing noise seemed to waver in strength before completely dispelling into nothingness. Only electronic devices could create such a discordant noise, easily heard by even the most unresponsive furrie. My ears twitched, reawakening from their protective posture and standing upright once more. I gazed upon the colored screens within the store, seeing with disturbing clarity the scene unfolding.

A large jet plane lay in ruins among the desolate plain of a valley, a tangled fuselage of metal and wires set ablaze by ignited gas tanks. The wreckage, recorded from an overview angle, was surrounded by firefighters as well as a few of the neighboring creatures who were trying to control the blaze. The scene quickly shifted to one of a reporter who appeared to be within the small compartment of a helicopter, his voice trying to overlap the harsh wind and grating propellers.

"The scene you have just witnessed is the ruins of a private jet which, after having lost touch with the NEF's control tower as well as radar surveillance for well over an hour, crashed into this rural valley near the outskirts of Summers Vale. It has recently been confirmed that the passengers, eight in total including the captain, perished in the initial crash."

"Has there been any verification of the cause of the crash?" asked another reporter, a female whose voice barely rose above the chaos of the scene.

"No. Local police officials have yet to disclose any concluding information at this time though the brief conference they held seems to insinuate that it may have been caused by unknown interference with the navigational system."

"What about the recent rash of crashes worldwide? We've already seen this horrifying scene three times this week. Could there be a possible connection?"

"An assumption of that magnitude can't be made just yet though investigation is well under way…"

The rest of the sentence became lost among the sound of murmurs and the increasing activity in the streets. It seemed the opera house had just let out for the night and its occupants were beginning their trudge back home. I brought the jacket closer, resuming my trek through the city streets, no clear destination set. In a metropolis like this it seemed pointless to have one.

I wandered over toward a concrete bridge, a small overpass that rose over a restrained lake. I placed my elbows upon the railing, observing my reflection upon the waters murky surface, the streetlamp lying on the lakes border giving greater depth to my features. I picked up a pebble, throwing it onto the image and watching with trifling interest as my reflection became distorted among the small reverberations. My gaze turned upward, the sight of the moon bringing back a feeling of helplessness I'd wanted to forget.

Yes, those nights of lying awake along with Knuckles as we guarded the others, of observing the dancing embers from the small fire we created and allowing our thoughts to run rampant through our heads and our feelings articulated through every frustrated sigh and apprehensive look. The most prominent feeling was that of helplessness. Of not knowing what was happening, of feeling like nothing was in our control. It was a feeling we vaguely knew of. Those times with Chaos, Shadow, even Emerl all seemed to unfurl like a domino effect. One incident led to another, then another, so linear there was never any time for doubt. But we held no control, not of this situation. There was no domino effect. There was only the sense of uncertainty and this time it dealt with the survival of another's life.

It was a feeling neither Knuckles nor I expressed in front of the others. We were their anchorage. We couldn't allow ourselves to be swept by the tide of our emotions. But we both felt it…wanted to disregard it and failed miserably.

Every mission in search of the emeralds Eggman so desired led us down endless roadblocks. We found one and then another disappeared and resurfaced and then vanished, shifting from merchant to thief to collector to artisan to aristocrat…never-ending. And even if we could find that emerald there was still the issue of the last emerald and to obtain that one it would mean finding the one creature who could easily unwind everything we accomplished…

'Shadow'

Time became too scarce. Eggmans missions seemed to lose objective, instead becoming wild goose chases. I began to wonder whether it was more of a bid for time instead of an actual search for the emeralds. And that's when I knew it was now or never. We had to help Tails…and the only option we had was the counterfeit chaos emeralds.

A rogue cloud passed overhead, temporarily blocking the moons trance. I continued my trek, finding a rather small gathering outside a small theatre. An array of candles were set around an artificial stage of soil, its russet coloring tinted a golden ginger by the large flame at the center of the arena. A multitude of dancers, each bearing a gown of silk set in diverse colors danced around the flame, their lithe, almost snakelike movements allowing the material to roll in small ripples over their bodies, almost like a second skin. It was hypnotic to watch them, easy to lose oneself in the allure of their movements. They danced in freedom, no controlled or emulated movements. Their feelings controlled each graceful twirl of their hands or shake of their hips. Often they would fall to their knees before the flame, almost in a silent prayer while others arched their back toward the night sky in surrender, their features washed over in the glow of the moon and the flame.

At a time when I was set upon a road of diverging paths, where I lost my destination and the desire to travel down any trail it was a consolation and at the same time a resentful feeling that washed over me. To see such freedom, to be able to express it and to want to convey it was something I'd lost. I had no idea what I wanted at the moment. All I knew was that I had to go home…I'd promised Amy to return. It seemed like so long since I'd seen her, even longer since I made that promise.

'Sonic? Are you okay?'

How does one answer that question without some form of animosity? A sarcastic retort formed in my mind, rolling on my tongue. I bit my lip, hoping to ward it away. My personal dilemma was no reason to scorn her. I needed to be strong, for her and the others.

"I'm fine Amy. I just…I want to be alone. I need to think…"

And that was my problem. I couldn't think…not here. In these confining walls, plagued by memories, too constraining, too solid. I needed freedom, the scent of earth and sea and wind melding together into a poignant remembrance, unrestrained and unperturbed by the hindrance of the others questions or presence. And when it becomes too much I could just lose myself in the wind and forget for a while…I needed the freedom to be able to do something about this feeling…to be able to scream and laugh and run and jump and punch and shred and have no one there to tell me it was wrong or right.

"But the feelings won't form…the words won't come…"

There was no way, no earthly way to express the feeling of loss. To try and label memory and friendship and trust and pain, to try and bottle a smile or a tear or a laugh or to try and convey the feeling of derived from another's heat or scent. There was no way and it eats at your insides that nothing you say can ever do justice to what you feel. That the simple act of trying to say it labels you as an ignorant person and yet its all you have because if you don't try you feel like your betraying them…like it didn't matter.

But it did. It mattered to me…it mattered too much to me.

"Sonic…"

Her voice was scarcely registering. So lost in the chaos of my overshadowing emotions it remained as mere background noise, as meaningless as the sound of a falling nail and yet powerful enough to awaken me.

"I need to go Amy…I need to leave…somewhere, anywhere…I just have to…"

And I thought of his body upstairs, unmoving, lying strewn upon a bed of disheveled sheets that could never seem to be kept unwrinkled no matter how much we tried. His inactive body, cold and yet still faintly radiating warmth that in a few days time would part from his cheeks and hands and leave them sallow. His youth would evaporate as quickly as his blood and it wouldn't be Tails anymore. It would be a hollow corpse and I would have to decide whether to bury him or cremate him or whether he should wear a suit or simple attire, whether he would have preferred a blue tie or black…it wasn't something I wanted to think of right now. It was too soon.

"Go Sonic. Do what you have to. We won't move him until you come back."

I'm sure she believed I would simply leave for a day, to clear my muddled mind. Yet already three days have passed. I wondered if they had gone ahead and buried him for fear his body would rot…would I return and find out it was all over and done with? That I'd missed my final chance to say goodbye?

No, that wasn't what I feared. Even now I knew what it was. I wanted it to be over with. I wanted him to be buried; I wanted such thoughts and worries out of my head…to no longer have to bear such a cross. I was afraid of going back and seeing that nothing has changed, he was still upstairs in the bed, his body sallow and his warmth gone. But I couldn't run forever. Three days have given me nothing, I doubted they ever would. But I had to go back, for Amy and Cream and those who needed me.

I broke away from the crowd, from the knowing eyes of one dancer who'd motioned for my advance. I shook my head, breaking the trance of her amber eyes. I couldn't indulge myself anymore. I had to leave…there were no more excuses.

I turned toward the sky, noticing with slight amusement the rising of the sun. It seemed I would once again flee from its reality.

'One more night…it's all I need.'

With a laden footstep I ascended the last stair, resting on the porch of the former inventor's home. I arrived just as the blanket of stars erupted from their hiding places, littering the sky, unperturbed by the fabricated lights from the city.

My hand instinctively balled into a fist, my knuckles rapping upon the door and I remembered with painful clarity that no one would answer…at least, not the person I wanted. The force of the knock opened the door completely, the sound of corroded hinges reverberating throughout the dark house and I noticed with rising suspicion the effortless way in which it opened, indicating it was already ajar.

I entered, my gaze scanning the furniture, illuminated by the sliver of moonlight that entered through the windows. My eyes, bombarded by the darkness were slowly adjusting, taking in finer details I missed. And yet nothing seemed out of place.

"Amy?"

No answer. The house remained disturbingly quiet and I had to remind myself it was nearly midnight. No sane person would still be awake at such an hour.

'Then again, that's never stopped Amy before.'

I wandered toward the staircase, my footsteps padded by the soft carpet. The banister was cold, something my mind barely registered above the stillness that emanated.

"Amy?"

I reached the top of the stairs, staring down the hallway toward the only door illuminated by a shard of light. Instinctively I wandered toward it, as if pulled by some ethereal force. My gait quickened, I can't explain why. Impulse, maybe foreboding. It didn't really matter anymore. I just wanted to dispel my uncertainty.

With a forceful shove I opened the door, my eyes bombarded by light. It took my eyes seconds to readjust but it took my mind minutes to comprehend what I was seeing.

Nothing was still intact. From the computer to the desk, to the bedside drawer, it all lay as splinters of metal and wood and machinery upon the floor. The mattress was shredded, its insides in heaps, leaving the beds foundation lying naked and strewn. Mirrors were cracked and broken, pieces of plaster from the ceiling and walls were piles of dust upon the floor. Lamps were now simple glass, blankets and clothes hid some of the mess and yet somehow seemed to disturb the scene even more. My gazed scanned everything, eventually falling upon a large indentation on the wall, a hole allowing the foundation of the house to be seen, pipes and wires broken and scattered. And below a large pile of fallen debris lay a small, unmoving hand adorning a familiar lavender glove, rose colored fingers a stark contrast to the bleakness of the room.

"AMY!"

I rushed over, removing large pieces of plaster until I found her small body, covered in dust and matted blood. Her arm was badly broken, twisted at an abnormal angle that allowed bone to pierce skin.

"Amy, Amy, wake up. Say something."

I shook her body, hoping, praying she was alive. And through the chaos of feelings and thoughts came another realization that left me unable to speak, simply gaze around the room as if in a dream…to much to think about right now and yet it couldn't be avoided, not with the blood that scarred the walls and desicrated my mind.

"Where's Tails?"

That's it for Chapter 6. Five reviews if you want 7. Peace out!