Prologue.

His chest was pounding, his breathing erratic, muscles aching as he ran through the streets, leaping over burning debris from the crumbling houses in his frantic search for survivors. He had seen many things on his travels, but never such dark hearted butchery of innocent civilians. Dozens of good people lay dead in his path, cut down by either the inferno or the lethal blade of the madman that now stalked these streets. Many still burned in their doorways, the smell of scorched flesh filling his head, a smell he would never forget and hoped with every fibre of his being was never inflicted on anyone else. This was more than death. This was the stench of treachery.

Stumbling into the main square, he was filled with hope at the sight that awaited him. A small group of survivors had escaped the blaze, running for the safety of the outskirts, carrying the wounded with them. A young man knelt down beside a dying young woman, his fingertips aglow as his healing magic pulsed through her body, creating energy barriers to stop the internal bleeding threatening her life. Her breathing slowed and she smiled at her benefactor as he moved on to another, an old man with huge gashes across his chest, led in a pool of blood as he struggled to hang on to his life. The young man cursed as he found his spell to be too little too late, his strength waning leaving him unable to continue.

A scream pierced the nightmare and everyone whirled to face the source, instantly regretting it. The silver haired madman's impossibly long blade impaled another innocent man through the chest, dark crimson seeping along the viciously sharp edge as the victim choked and struggled in his last few moments, cast aside with a deft flick of the madman's wrist as his body became nought but an empty shell.

The silver haired murderer turned to face them, raising his arm to send out powerful magical orbs that sought out the terrified survivors as they ran for the town's exit. The glowing ice blue orbs thudded into the innocents as they dove for cover, vaporising flesh and bone as the few survivors fell to the floor, survivors no more. One last orb hurtled towards the kneeling healer as he screamed his rage into the sky, leaping to his feet and deflecting the deadly magic with his vast blade. The sword barely withstood the onslaught, the steel left scorched but its wielder unharmed, his breath ragged as his efforts to save the town began to take their toll, now found to be mostly in vain.

He turned to look upon them and his lips curled into a twisted smile. He knew he could finish them at any moment, but what would be the sport in that? Besides, he had more important matters to attend to. He turned into the flames and strode through with no fear, as if he knew the flames themselves feared him.

***

Chapter One - Reprisal

Deep within the twisted paths of Mount Nibel, a lone Shinra grunt charged recklessly along ancient paths he knew from painful experience to be dangerous. But only one danger was on his mind, the danger she must be in at that very moment. He clutched his standard issue assault rifle, now low on ammo thanks to the many monsters that pursued him, knowing that his chances of making a difference were slim at best given who his opponent would be, but he would face him nonetheless. He had promised, so long ago.

***

She had been foolish to challenge him. Brave beyond measure, but foolish. Only fortune had prevented her from meeting her doom, and had not been enough to save her from serious injury. His healing magic had been enough to keep her alive, for now at least. She still had the spirit to insult him. Whatever kept her in this world, it was stronger than the thoughtless rage of her attacker. Drawing his Buster Sword, the dark haired warrior stepped through the doors, preparing to face his old friend. One way or another, this would end here and now.

***

The core of the mako reactor shook with the sounds of the battle of champions blazing within. As he ran to the aid of his friend, the cacophony reached its climax and the dark haired warrior was sent flying through the steel doors leading to the core, his blade spinning into the room and burying itself in one of the thick cables stemming from the mako infusion chambers. Shielding himself from the blast, the guard ran to the side of his badly wounded friend, grabbing bandages from the pouch at his hip.

"Zack, are you alright? What can I do to help?" the young guard stuttered, his nerves close to breaking point. The young man brushed the dark hair from his friend's eyes, hair now matted with blood from multiple wounds. Zack nodded slowly, struggling to sit up as he took the bandages from his friend. He pointed towards his sword with a bloodied finger, knowing his friend would understand.

"What about Tifa? Is she alright?"

"I see there's no distracting you, Cloud. Maybe if we get out of this alive, you can tell me the whole story. She's wounded, but stable. Take care of Sephiroth for me. I'll keep her safe for you."

With that Cloud wrenched his friend's treasured Buster Sword from the power cables, struggling to carry the immensely heavy blade. With hatred and vengeance burning bright in his eyes, he stepped through the broken doors, most likely to his own death, staring up at the man who had been his hero.

***

With an almost deafening crash, the metallic statue was hurled to the floor, revealing the true purpose of the reactor's core. Encased in faintly glowing liquid, the creature contained within the tube was unlike anything that had ever been seen, a twisting, warped wall of exposed flesh and veins, cruel eyes completing a cold, emotionless face, wrapped in strangely delicate white hair. Hair just like that of his target.

Sephiroth. The legendary Soldier First Class said to be impossible to defeat. His long sword by his side, the means by which much of the town had been brutally murdered, the silver blade dripping with blood, probably that of Tifa and Zack. The blood of his closest friends, apparantly so worthless to Sephiroth that it didn't even necessitate cleaning the blade. Much like the blood of his mother, who had been found among the dead back in Nibelhiem.

Sephiroth had not even noticed him, stood there talking to whatever the creature within the tank was. Perhaps the opportunity Cloud needed. He let his rage fill his every thought. He thought of Zack, brave defender of the innocent who lay dying in the next room. His mother, his only family, everyone he had ever known from childhood, torn apart before his very eyes. Tifa, the girl who never left his thoughts, gravely injured and in need of the heroic rescue he had promised her under the stars that night.

His anger overflowed and unlocked powers within him he never knew existed. Lifting the sword almost effortlessly, he thrust it deep into his enemy, piercing straight through Sephiroth's entire body and into the glass of the containment tank. He felt the blade tear through vital organs, blood gushing forth from both sides of the wound, trickling down the side of the glass. As Sephiroth gasped in shock, Cloud forced the blade even further into his back, twisting it to increase the pain.

"This is for my family. My friends. My town. I looked up to you. You were my hero as a child. Now you'll die as nothing more than a murderer."

As Cloud retracted the bloodied tip of the Buster Sword, his fallen hero turned to face him, reaching for his sword to strike back. Before he could enact his vengeance, Cloud swung his blade down from high in one final powerful strike, watching the shock spark in Sephiroth's eyes as the sharp edge of the sword dealt the finishing blow, slicing cleanly through flesh and bone from shoulder to hip. The glow in his enemy's eyes slowly dimmed as he grasped at the air, falling to his knees as his heartbeat began to fail, his last few moments spent staring into the face of his killer.

***

Sirens wailed through the highest levels of Shinra Tower as men in white coats scrambled to confirm what they prayed was just rumour. Red alarm lights flashed through the entire medical facility, the tension so immense even the senior staff seemed moments away from screaming. Dozens of computer banks whirred and hummed as satellites were repositioned to survey the scene. As one lowly technician rerouted the images to the vast main display along the north wall, tension gave way to despair, the whole room suddenly silent.

The internal cameras mounted high on the walls of the mako reactor had recorded every moment. From the fight with Zack to his last agonising breaths, these were the final moments of the most powerful warrior to have ever lived. The composite of thousands of hours of research in biotechnology, Cetran history, martial arts, every aspect that had made him a legend. But now there was no doubt. Though his closest rival had failed, one lowly grunt had suceeded.

Sephiroth was dead.

***