A/N: It's been…a while. Hahaha. Now let's see how much my skills have degraded…This is slightly AU based on how I felt about DoC's Genesis. I've been also planning to write a narcissism based story for Genesis for a LONG time and had written one which I loved about 2 years ago, but my hard drive crashed and I lost all of my writings including updates for all of my stories. After that, I completely lost my motivation to write again. Here I was going to write about cold and what that means to my writing mind, but then The Dark Triad I have been reading a lot about for my degree came to mind so narcissism came back. Hahaha.
This is also not proof read as I wrote this between 12-3:30 am and don't have much of a brain to correct anything anyway.

Rating: Rated for gore which I don't think is too gory, but not exactly teen friendly. I'm a neuroscience/psych student so I've seen a few things in a sickeningly sweet smelling lab…

Pairing: Implied Seph/Gen as always.

Narcissus

It was cold here. Try as you might to strike a match and set soaked twigs aflame, only to have it choke on glacial winds. Water trickled down the rocky walls of the caves, casting the earth to shimmer like diamonds in the mako green light. The cold was gripping here. Seizing your heart in a jagged fist – long icy fingernails like knives cutting through muscle and flesh of a barely beating organ; sinking frost deep into the core of its victim. Limbs immobile, spine tingling with numbness and the brain felt suffocated, felt the skull shrink, felt the pain as it too became silenced.

Purgatory was a maddening place to be.

His angelic face rendered peaceful by only the Goddess knows what. A sad, mocking reflection of his muted mind – although silent, travelling to far off lands as it dissected its own state of being beyond the nihilistic. Thoughts of sins and sinning, of bloodstained hands and bloodstained lips as he pressed kisses to Narcissus, not realising he was in a tangle of his own body. Of smearing his toxic blood across a dirty mirror – of becoming some sick imposter of his former self. Of something disgusting and maddening, something painful and searing and something truly beautiful. To Sephiroth, hanging above him like a martyr with outspread arms and a slightly tilted head, Genesis was the most beautiful sacrifice he had seen. Strung up there, trapped in his crystal cornucopia of passion and wasted power.

"I can redeem you, my sweet," he said, stroking the smooth, glittering crystal, "I can strip you free of your sins, remove you from your prison and…perhaps hold your hand as we claim this world as our own."

His hand fell as he gave a dry laugh, "And here I am talking to a man who is neither dead nor alive…how pitiful."

If Genesis had the ability he would have offered him a smile and watch him as he took a seat before him. In his state he could not track time, but it had been a while until he felt the one trace of warmth exit the cavern which then consumed him back into its eternal winter – his mind once again becoming naught.

Years had passed, seemingly non-existent years, until the crystal shattered by some force unknown, unknown aside from that spark of heat only moments before. Life rushed into his body as he hit the ground and found his dying brother draped over a rock. He hummed, pressing red-gloved hands to his cheeks as he kissed him free of his final breath. He lifted him, cradled him as a mother would a child, as the Goddess would a sinner and sat on the rock for some time. His brother's neck bent backwards at a grotesque angle, his arm limp in its socket swinging loosely down Genesis' legs.

"Shhh…" Genesis cooed as if to comfort the departed soul, finding it hard to not rip the frozen body he held into fleshy ribbons.

The blood on his chest was Genesis' own – a clone, a sorry effort to try to replicate the monster they created in Genesis. But if it was anything the scientists had failed in one key department.

Stripping his gloves, he sat the man upright with one hand gripping his silver, matted hair. The other hand trailed up the torso, feeling strong muscles underneath taut, pale skin. His neck was thick, Genesis mused, far unlike his fragile, long neck hidden beneath his clothing lest he become far too erotic for a battlefield. Reaching the face, he traced along the strong set jawline, up a jutting chin and a straight, masculine nose to short, dark eyelashes. He smirked. He was quite handsome, certainly not the epitome of beauty as himself, but not bad by any standards he thought, circling his eye with his index finger.

Nails shot through the soft socket, impaling a gooey ball with the sharp incisors. His lid had flipped, blood burst beneath the cornea, staining the white ball a blackened red. Genesis grit his teeth, eyelashes tickling his palm as he dug deeper, feeling a strong at the base of the organ and grasped it with two fingers as the rest cut and sliced through yellow gel turning red and ripped the eye out through torn skin. A tattered organic mess hung from the bleeding socket and Genesis smirked as he wiped his hand clean on the pale chest.

Letting go of the corpse he rolled it off the safety of his lap and let it fall to the shallow waters and crack its skull on a pointed crystal shard.

Flying to the night sky above, away from the biting cold he felt, but as he flew he shivered. Shiva had her claws in his heart still – the organ pumping red ice through his being. He could not fly very far, or at least, not as far as he had hoped. So he slumped against a white tree by the lake and felt only a flicker of comfort in the Forgotten City.

How many years had passed? At that thought he crawled towards the lake and peered into the clear, silvery water. Two cerulean eyes stared back at him, unmarred porcelain skin glowed in the moonlight, vibrant auburn hair shined with health and delicate, feminine features wooed his soul – the very visage of beauty and youth seized him. He smiled, softly, sweetly, angelically and ached to stroke his pretty cheek.

He was so beautiful, so enchanting – so seductive that he longed to press his lips to the handsome man in the lake. Like he had so many years before in a bathroom riddled with dual-coloured pills caused by a shaky hand that extracted two hundred from the bottle and not two. He beat his temples with his wrists and made the most pathetic whining sound as he dragged himself across the rough tiled floor. Unsteady hands gripped the edges of the sink, his weak legs slipping as he tried to stand. Genesis laughed and grabbed another benzodiazepine, swallowing it habitually as he finally managed to pull himself upright and stand in only his boots and pants.

Looking into the mirror he saw his darling of a face grinning back at him. A face that had been laden with kisses for many nights, a face that was so beauteous it had brought the taciturn General to his feet – defeated, craving to caress and love him, to protect and lust for him. To have the most powerful man kneel before him and to become such a man's object of utmost desire – it was a satisfying feeling to say the least, let alone to know his beauty rendered him so worthy of said man's affections. Him and his beauty alone.

Slowly his smile faded and the most unbridled lust clawed its way into him. He slammed his lips to the charming reflection, moaning, licking his own tongue and grabbing his own hair. The feeling was so intense, so insane he craved so much more, to feel his own naked skin against his own naked skin. Grasping the basin, he tore it from the wall and threw it against the floor where it shattered – broken ceramic slicing and lodging into his skin like shrapnel. He pressed himself flush against the reflective glass, feeling his own hands touch his torso, pinch a nipple, caress a neck, then stroke along a shoulder. He sighed and pulled back, looking at that horrible wound before something caught his eye. A hair. A silver hair. He gaped, his hands shaking and his eyes wide.

He jumped and fell backwards, landing into a pile of broken white knives which stabbed into his thighs and hands. But he could not feel them, he could feel nothing, but the pain in his shoulder and the pain in his heart. That angry red, weeping mark – that disgusting hole in his body. Before he knew it, he felt hot tears rolled down his pretty face and looked into hurt, red eyes.

"I'm…not beautiful…" he whispered, weakly – defeated.

Genesis' body began to convulse – his pupils dilated, his body shaking furiously and his trembling hands came up to steady a head that felt it may explode. Sweat coated his body, his heart pumping so fast he was afraid he might die. A quivering sob slipped from his lips before he unleashed a sickening yell and clawed at his face. Standing back up he glared at the monster before him – the ugly wreck with messy, damp hair, tired eyes and a gaunt face. He was revolting!

He punched the silver glass – it cracked into a mosaic and he keened, rubbing his forehead against the broken mirror.

"I'm ugly," he sobbed, "I'm absolutely vile…a vile beast! A cretin! An inhuman concoction of all that is foul in this world…What am I?!"

He pulled back, to look at his shattered reflection for an answer, yet received none. With an infuriating growl, he beat his fists against the glass and shouted, "I'm a monster!"

Repeatedly he yelled, like a mantra as he tortured his mirror self, watching it descend into chunks of glass by his feet. He sank down to the floor on his hands and knees as he cried violently. Suddenly, he choked on a thought, he felt black leather gloved fingers curl around his throat. He wanted to hang his head in shame, to shy away from his lover, but the hand held him still. His warm breath spilt over his ear and a hand stroked slowly over his stomach. Genesis wanted to feel comforted, to feel words of love to calm his fears. In his moment of shame he could not help, but to feel aroused, to relish in the feel of his lover's hand gently caressing his neck and the soft kisses pressed to his temple. The hand wandered lower down his body and towards his sex. He moaned, sliding a hand up Sephiroth's chest and into his silken hair as he neared his arousal.

Instead that hand had held a knife. The serrated edge rubbed against the base of his sensitive flesh. Genesis screamed as his flesh was cut. Slowly, yet deeply, the jagged blade tore through his genitals like a saw – blood spurting upwards, hitting him in the face. He fought to move, but the hand around his neck tightened so he couldn't breathe or move.

"Shhh, my love," comforted Sephiroth, "I thought I may just finish the job as any good General would…put us both out of our misery...to make you completely devoid of anything I desire."

Genesis tried to grab Sephiroth's hand, to stop that knife, but the blood made it too slippery and he was quickly becoming delirious. His lover licked the side of his face, said tender things about love and how pretty he looked when he cried. But nothing could distract Genesis from the coarse knife ripping his tough muscles apart. He shouted still, his throat raw, his head light as oxygen escaped his system.

Angeal had invited himself into Genesis' apartment. He wanted to pop a bottle of wine open and at least help Genesis make it through whatever time he had left with them, until he heard gargled, dry screams coming from the bathroom.

"What in the world…?"

He dumped the wine on the dining table and quickly made his way through Genesis' bedroom to the en suite. Grasping the handle – locked. He swore and knocked. "Genesis!" he called and only heard him shouting and sobbing, "Stop it! Please! Sephiroth, just stop! It hurts! Stop!"

Alarmed, Angeal kicked the door down and Genesis winced as Sephiroth hit him across the face and left, stabbing the bloody knife into his thigh as the broken man sat, removed of his manhood and in his own blood.

Angeal watched with horror as Genesis rubbed broken glass over his torso, cutting him new wounds before cutting symmetrical lines from beneath his eyes, down his tear-stained face, his bruised neck from having choked himself and to his clavicle.

"Aren't I beautiful, Angeal?" he asked.

The man wretched in his throat and coughed at the nauseating sight and metallic smell of blood that he could taste in the air. He could only turn away from his friend and his forehead against the doorframe as he doubled over in repulsion. He felt thin arms circle around him and a soft kiss at the back of his neck – he felt the blood stick to him and watched as Genesis pranced away.

"Don't you think I can get any man? Even looking like this?" he said, turning on his heel and feeling up his torso, "I'm gorgeous, Angeal. Sephiroth can never leave me…he can never stop loving this beautiful body, this alluring face…I should go visit him. Spread my legs for him in this state. Oh how I love being extra pretty for my darling Sephiroth."

Angeal watched him with wide eyes and grabbed his skinny wrist, "No…Genesis. I think it's best you stay here. I'll call Sephiroth, just sit on the bed."

"Hmm…" Genesis circled his arms around his neck, "Do you want to kiss me, Angeal? I promise I won't tell Sephiroth."

The raven-haired man avoided looking into bloodshot blue eyes as he fumbled with his phone, only to have a red painted hand pull it away and shove Angeal onto the bed.

"Do you want me, Angeal?" Genesis asked, rubbing his face against his friend's chest, "I am still pretty after all, aren't I? Despite the degradation, I'm still the most beautiful…" His eyes suddenly took a dark cast and he lunged for Angeal's lips, pushing his tongue past his resistance. In a flight of strength, the dark haired man flung his friend across the room where he landed hard against the floor.

Genesis glared at him as Angeal quickly recovered his phone and called their friend. Genesis growled and began to shout loud enough for Sephiroth to hear, "I'm beautiful, Angeal! And I will stay that way! My beauty couldn't die and you can't resist me, Angeal. No one can. You want to touch me, you want to bend me over and fuck me, just like any other man would and always will. And I will be Sephiroth's grand devotion – he would die without being graced by my beauty. He could never live, breath or simply exist without my touch. Sephiroth would never leave me. He couldn't! I may rot inside out, but you can't kill beauty, Angeal, it can only kill and destroy itself!"

The phone call ended and Genesis pounced onto his friend, clawing at him and trying desperately to trigger any comments on his fine appearance, "Tell me I'm beautiful, Angeal! Tell me!"

It was then, having two hands constrict around his neck that Angeal saw the glimmer of weakness in his friend's eyes. He was already degrading – from the inside out.

Without warning the redhead became limp in Angeal's arms. Two arms wrapped around Genesis' waist and hoisted him off the large man.

"Thanks," he muttered and Sephiroth only offered a nod of acknowledgement before stripping his lover of his pants and boots and laying him to sleep.

Here, by the lake, Genesis could only be pleased. He had retained his infamous beauty and had not aged a day since prior to his degradation. He could indulge in a simple kiss…

Only, a memory prevented him. His clones, his imposters – how Sephiroth had spent many a night twisting his naked form around one. A cluster of beings intent on being like Genesis, yet not actually being Genesis. Of forcing his devoted lover to betray him for a mere imposter! Contempt boiled in his blood as he stared angrily at his reflection and in a flash strangled the replica – feeling cartilage crush beneath his grip. He leant forward, closer to squash that elegant neck even more. He laughed, feeling death encase his echo only to then feel hands compressing his own throat. Startled, he tried to pull away while suffocating his own reflection. In his struggle he lost his balance. His face impacted with the clear water, his visage vanishing from view as he sank deeper into the lake. Those hands strangled him still, his own trying to pry them from his throat as he attempted to reach the surface. But his muscles were weak as it battled against the water with breathless lungs and an oxygen starved body.

Soon, he could only manage something vague in his vision, something dark, something black. Something cold. Something which cut into his heart with icy fingernails.

A/N Headcanon: I never understood why Genesis is always portrayed as being loving or kind towards Weiss, even in DoC. Considering the fact that Genesis dislikes that he was a monster and only submitted to his fate as one, rather than enjoying it, why would he like Weiss? In my headcanon, DoC Genesis would dislike his clones for they represent a sinister side of his past and himself that he hates/would wish to forget especially considering he is now on a mission to atone for his past. Also…he didn't agree with Deepground hence didn't want to join them. More headcanon, he sealed himself away like Lucrecia, so that his cells couldn't be used to generate clones/experiments and he only awoken when it was deemed safe – no one can exploit his cells.