A/N: This is my first ever upload to any sort of site. I've always been a bit of a perfectionist, so I rarely let others see my work until I'm completely satisfied.
I'm never completely satisfied.
Still, I decided to share this one. It's the prologue chapter to a Final Fantasy VII/Bullet Witch crossover; basically, if the events of the Bullet Witch game happened to the FFVII world, with my own delightful spin on things. Since FFVII was the far more popular game it was going to be the primary setting, and I was going to introduce BW elements with enough detail so that anyone who hadn't played it would still be able to understand what was going on. It never progressed past this prologue, so you really get nothing more than the introduction to some BW enemies and no real explanation as to where they came from, but after it sat stagnant in the depths of my hard drive for several years, I decided to dust it off and stick it on the shelf for display (so to speak).
I would like to reiterate: this is the prologue to a story that will not be continued. Still, I hope you enjoy what's here.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Final Fantasy VII, Nibelheim, Shinra, Geists, Bullet Witch, or any of the other stuff in this story. I wrote it solely for entertainment purposes.
Without further ado!
Nibelheim was an unfortunate city.
Once, it had prospered, its economy fueled and driven by the appearance of the Shinra Electric Power Company and the massive mako reactor it had constructed in the mountains the town was named for. Jobs were provided, Nibelheim grew, and the townspeople were happy and satisfied. Even as the Shinra company continued to move in, taking over more and more of the town's businesses and processes, the people turned a blind eye. Shinra provided for them, and it made them happy. Because of Shinra, the town was truly alive.
And then Shinra killed it.
No one knew that the majestic manor that Shinra had constructed at the edge of town was just a front for a series of subterranean laboratories, filled with affronts to nature that even the hardiest of souls would be horrified to see. Nor did they realize that the deepest sections of the reactor, locked away and accessible only to the highest-ranked Shinra officers, acted as an incubator to these twisted bastardizations of evolution.
All they knew was that - when the city was in trouble, scarlet flames engulfing everything in sight - the ever-present Shinra, their protectors, were nowhere to be seen.
The town was rebuilt quickly, quietly, without alerting anyone in the neighboring villages of the tragedy. In a matter of weeks, the Shinra's frightening efficiency had erased all evidence of the terrible catastrophe that had resulted from the company's own experimentations. To the outside world, the only difference in the small village of Nibelheim was that it seemed a few people had moved in and a few had moved out. Life moved on, and the sacrifices of the town's original populace was quickly forgotten, filed away only in the most secure and encrypted partitions of the Shinra's databanks.
And then the town died again.
The dull chink of metal on stone echoed hollowly through the abandoned streets of Nibelheim, the slow and repetitive rhythm carried along unburdened through the empty village. There was frighteningly little sound otherwise; the houses that lined the streets were eerily dark, the occasional window cracked or shattered and several doors left ajar. There was no sound of children playing, or the mechanical growling of an engine as a car drove past; even the dogs had fled the town, taking the comforting drone of their playful barking with them.
There was nothing. Nothing but the wind, and the metallic clunking of armored footsteps.
The dusk sunlight bathed Vincent Valentine's back as he walked slowly down Nibelheim's main street, his shadow stretched long and thin before him as it mimicked his every move like some sort of dark caricature. Crimson eyes paused on the twisted outline of his shadow's claw, a brief hitch interrupting his steps as he lifted his arm and flexed the armored fingers, causing the effigy's reflection to contort under the sun's steep angle more harshly than before. A single utterance of belied amusement escaped his throat, the voice gravelly and deep from neglect over the many years of his life.
That same gaze shifted lazily along the barren streets as he walked along, his focus on the seemingly-dead surroundings helping him ignore the pesky wind as it tugged and played with the tattered hem of his blood-red cloak, whipping it sluggishly about him. A gloved right hand, free of the golden armor of the gauntlet that adorned its twin, reached forward and let his fingers curl around the edge of the cloth, drawing it back and out of his way.
In the many years since the day he had been awakened from his self-imposed suspended animation in the darkest corner of the Shinra Manor's basement, his attire had changed very little. He'd never been one for accessorizing after all, and the thick black cloth that adorned his body, held together with leather belts and golden buckles, had served their purpose admirably enough that he never felt the need to change them. Remarkably, the armor that encased his boots and left forearm remained surprisingly untarnished, their shimmering surfaces hinting at the care he obviously put into their upkeep.
Vincent paused once more. He'd reached an intersection, and interestingly enough, one that still had a functioning traffic light. He peered up at it for several moments, seemingly enraptured by the thick round lenses as they changed from red to amber to green. Moments passed, and he blinked, breaking the spell that was cast upon him. Shifting his gaze forward, he could just barely make out the beginnings of the thick iron fence that encircled the Shinra Manor compound, creating an almost exhibit-like appearance that the townsfolk had once gazed upon in awe. In the years since Shinra had crumbled, the manor had fallen into disrepair; trees were overgrown, grass was uncut, and weeds and bushes ran rampant and unchecked.
To his right, Vincent found his gaze attracted to a pair of neighboring houses. A faint memory emerged in the back of his mind, something mentioned in passing and unknowingly filed away, only to spring up again without warning. Two of his old companions had once called those buildings their homes, long before the events of the village's first downfall, and coincidentally during a number of the years that Vincent himself slept not a half-mile away. A rueful smile crossed his thin lips as that one freed memory opened the gateway to innumerable more, and for a moment he almost allowed himself to indulge, before he finally closed his eyes and regained his composure, sealing the distracting thoughts away.
The street to his left boasted the town's once-impressive shopping district, both sides lines with cafes and restaurants and all the little stores that made small town folk happy. It wasn't until a gunshot further down that road cracked the fragile silence that Vincent's interest was drawn more towards the end of the street, and before the echoes of the offending noise had even subsided he was sprinting down the concrete, once more filling the streets with the clanking echo of his armored boots. Vincent's gloved hand moved down to his right thigh, long fingers curling around the varnished mahogony handle of the firearm holstered there, fingertips brushing away the mithril chain that connected the stock to the stylized medallion that dangled freely there.
A well-practiced flick of his wrist drew the weapon, the waning sun glinting off its flawless finish. This was the Cerberus, meticulously crafted by Vincent himself many years before, the culmination of an expertise with firearms gained from years of experience in wielding them. The weapon's basic design was that of an old-fashioned six-shooter revolver, the barrel fed by a rotating cylindrical magazine; though this might be considered cumbersome and slow when compared to a more contemporarily-fed handgun, the potential for power that such a design offered was far too great for one like Vincent to ignore. However, its sheer strength was not this weapon's defining feature; it was the fact that the Cerberus consisted of not one, but three separate barrels, each fed by their own magazine. Spiraling along the length of each barrel was an almost wispy etched effect, the silvery hue paler than the dark gray finish that coated the rest of the weapon, and a carved canine head-further associating the weapon with its namesake-rested adjacent to each of the barrels' openings.
Through habit, Vincent's crimson eyes shifted down to the three magazines mounted at the base of the Cerberus' barrels, ensuring that the weapon was properly loaded. The golden sheen of the bullets reassured him, and his gaze raised once more, darting about the street at he sprinted between the rows of buildings, constantly searching for the source of the offending gunshot. It wasn't until he'd nearly reached the end of the street, passing the final building and taking his first steps into the small weed-overgrown park, that he heard raspy laughter.
Geists.
No one knew where the foul creatures had come from. They had appeared seemingly out of nowhere just a few short years before, but in that time, their mark had left the entire planet in chaos. They killed indiscriminately, taking sadistic pleasure in the suffering and deaths of others, and skinning their victims to fashion their own macabre shawls from the flesh of their kills. The Geists themselves were skinless, their flesh consisting of exposed muscle and sinew; though however humanoid their appearance may have been, even the most cruel of humans didn't take quite the joy in mindless slaughter that these beings reveled in.
Vincent's eyes narrowed as he ducked into the thick growth of trees, immediately slowing to a walk as he moved further into the park. He could hear the Geists clearly now, their loud guffaws and cackling laughter easily pinpointing their location amidst the overgrowth. It was obvious they weren't aware of his presence; or, if they were, that they simply did not care.
Something began to gnaw at the back of Vincent's mind.
tEAr tHeM apART vALentInE! KiLL THem! deSTrOY theM NoW!
Vincent's eyes narrowed as he forced away the violent imagery, ridding himself of the distracting train of thought. For how foolish the Geists could be, he would never deny their power and constitution; it took more bullets than he cared to admit to take one of them down, and they never traveled alone, or unarmed.
There. In a small clearing, between a merry-go-round and a swingset, were four Geists. Each one carried a large automatic rifle, probably stolen from one of the numerous militaries that had eventually fallen prey to the inhuman tenacity of the creatures. Amidst their disgustingly good-natured laughter, one stepped forward and kicked at something they were gathered around. An uncomfortable feeling weighed Vincent down as he moved slightly closer, ignoring the sudden sense of haste that had washed over him. Moving amongst the trees, he finally got to where he could see the Geists clearly, as well as the object they had gathered around.
No.
Oh, no.
Without conscious thought, Vincent's right arm raised, the motion sleek and fluid as the three deadly barrels of the Cerberus aligned themselves with the skull of the Geist that Vincent had seen kick at the object that laid motionless in the dirt. A sudden shockwave rocked the park, scattering the few birds and small creatures that still dwelled there. A trio of bullets punched through the Geist's forehead, tearing the back half of the creature's skull away as they passed through and imbedded themselves in a large tree several dozen feet behind the group.
They gaped in awe for only the briefest of moments, before turning towards the direction of Vincent's gunshot and raising their own rifles. Before the body of the first Geist had even hit the ground they opened fire, peppering the trees that Vincent had ducked behind for cover. He narrowed his eyes as leaves and branches were torn away by their errant shooting, feeling the trunk of the tree that he leaned against vibrate as it was repeatedly hit with gunfire. After several moments, the barrage died down, and the raspy voice of one of the Geists could be heard.
"He ain't dead yet! I can smell 'im! Move around and flush 'im out!"
The raven-haired gunslinger tsked quietly, listening intently as the Geists, showcasing their complete disregard for stealth, shuffled around in the clearing. They were moving in a predictable pattern; slowly, one moved directly towards him, while the other two were taking larger, roundabout routes in an attempt to surround his position. Despite the simplicity of the tactic, it irked Vincent that these creatures were capable of that sort of intelligence in the first place, while still showcasing their inhuman degree of bloodlust. His eyes narrowed, and his mind began to cloud over again.
LEt mE at tHEm vALeNTIne! I waNt tO SLaugHteR thEm!
A gunshot rang out, and Vincent's instincts took over as he ducked, narrowly avoiding the wooden shrapnel resulting from a bullet imbedding itself in the side of the trunk not three inches from his face. The Geist's laughter carried through the clearing as they continued to close in, and Vincent scowled. Damn these distractions!
Knelt as he was, Vincent tilted his head up and peered into the lower branches of the tree. A particular branch caught his eye, fairly low and with a thick base, and using the strength of his coiled legs he leaped upward, his right arm snapping out and firing off another shot in the direction of the Geist that had fired at him moments before. He didn't watch to see if he had hit his mark, letting the creature's sudden expletive inform him that it had connected but not fatally, as his armored heels came to rest atop the branch he'd spied. He didn't linger, using the inertia of his landing to coil the strength into his legs once more and send him skyward again, breaking through the treetop easily.
In midair, he turned, taking in the scene below him in a fraction of a second. The Geist he'd fired at was clutching its shoulder and cursing angrily, while the Geist in the center pointed and laughed, commenting on the first creature's intelligence and mother. The third Geist had reached Vincent's previous hiding spot and was poking the barrel of its weapon through the bushes, obviously searching for where their prey had gone.
Before gravity could claim him, Vincent's right arm moved, bringing the Cerberus around and letting the trio of barrels point at the laughing Geist, almost directly below Vincent. A shot rang out and three bullets punched their way through the top of the Geist's helmet, violently tearing their way through the creature's throat and abdomen, until their sheer velocity tore them through the Geist's groin and imbedded them into the ground between its feet. It stopped laughing, looking down with a confused expression and gingerly touching the new hole that had appeared between its legs, before its strength gave away and it fell to the ground dead.
The Geist that had moved into the trees whipped its head around at the gunshot, roaring angrily as the black-and-crimson form of Vincent landed in a crouch before the fallen body of yet another of its morbid comrades. It began to turn its torso quickly, attempting to bring its assault rifle to bear against the gunslinger, but Vincent's Cerberus was just a fraction of a second quicker, the first pull of the trigger tearing through the Geist's left shoulder and causing it to drop the barrel of its gun, and the second shredding its throat. The rifle clattered to the ground at the Geist's still-functioning arm raised, clawing futily at its torn trachea as it tried to draw breath.
Movement caught the corner of Vincent's eye and he turned suddenly, the sole remaining Geist catching him by surprise as it suddenly found the strength to wield its weapon once more. Gunshots rang out and Vincent took a frantic roll to the side, feeling the tug of his cloak as a pair of bullets passed through it. The Geist roared as it emptied its magazine, not relenting on the trigger even as Vincent found solace by ducking behind the thick metal of the merry-go-round.
The mechanical ticking of the spent clip was Vincent's cue to lift himself from the ashes, crimson eyes seeming to glow dangerously as he quickly approached the Geist. The creature fumbled with its weapon almost frantically, the loss of one of its arms causing the normally simple act of reloading to become remarkably more complicated. Vincent's gun arm began to raise, but he hesitated, lips twisting into a snarl as he instead leaped forward and let the sharpened points of his claw tear into the doomed creature, piercing its eyes and tearing away the flesh of its face. The Geist howled in agony until the talons tore a long, horizontal slit in its throat, leaving it incapable of anything but a pained gurgle as life slowly left it.
Yes! tHAt's HOw to MAkE them DiE vALEntINe!
Vincent gazed at the fallen creature and his eyes narrowed, his mind forcing away the violent thoughts that continued to invade his consciousness. Something in the back of his mind seemed to laugh with a sort of maniacal glee, until he forced his emotions to subside, the psychotic mindset falling dormant once more. Vincent cast a final glance around the clearing, and once he was satisfied that the four Geists were dead, he slid the Cerberus back into the thick, black holster strapped to the outside of his right thigh.
Then, he remembered. Turning towards the patch of dirt in the center of the park equipment, he jogged over and knelt beside the object that the Geists had been toying with. Closing his eyes for a moment to regain his composure, he wiped the gore from his claw and gathered it up in his arms.
It was a body. A child. A little girl, no more than seven years old. She had no bullet wounds, no gashes...the Geists had beaten her, leaving her face and body battered and bruised and broken. Vincent quelled the feelings of hatred that had begun to rise in him once more, not wanting to risk losing himself to his emotions again. This little girl hadn't done anything to deserve the pain that these creatures had wrought on her. But she didn't have to...the Geists killed for the pleasure of killing, and someone who was unable to fight back was little more than a toy.