Disclaimer: I don't own FF VII or any of it's counterpart games, however, I do own the characters and other objects presented in this short story that have not been already claimed in any way shape or form by the creator of FF VII and the FF series. Any duplication of characters or recreation should be first carried out with me.
Enjoy the fic! It's a little short and wishy-washy but should suit some likes! :D
THE LAST CETRA
dATA file #1092
Testing...
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Oh my this is on... well, ho-hum, ahh...
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This is Jr. Professor Hojo, assistant of Professor Hollander and Vice President of the Shinra Science Department, this is Voice Journal Entry #23.
Recently my sights have been set on a certain being who I have, after extensive watch, declared to be a remnant of the ancient Cetra tribe, people who could speak to the Lifestream, to the planet.
From the data I have gathered, I've managed to call forth a partial ruckus, hehe, in the Science Department, surely pushing me towards a promotion, and so my resolve to catch said Ancient has grown ever stronger.
I have managed to muster some sort of energy from the Turks, and from the side-order of Tseng, one Turk, the new Turk, son of Grimoire Valentine, Vincent Valentine who is quite the thorn in my side as he has taken a liking into a certain subject--... unaudible grumble
... In any case...
I have pardoned Tseng to send this new recruit, with the Wutai Conflict in mind, to the Northern Continent in order to find the hiding place of this... 'thing', and bring him back dead, or preferably alive...
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Hojo, out...
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To take one back...
30 Years...
Before the forest...
Slumbered...
The forest stretched for what seemed miles from the edge of the uneven time beaten cliff. On it's edge stood a lone Shinra associate, looking over what was placed out before him; towers of spiral sea-shells, babbling brooks, as well as remains of greater monuments in the cliff-sides and what appeared to be streets.
V-I-N-C-E-N-T V-A-L-E-N-T-I-N-E
Son of Grimoire Valentine, the well known scientist of Shinra and trusted employee. Vincent was drafted into the Turks as soon as signs of vulnerability as a tough mercenary were shown. From the time of his humble beginnings his influence spread throughout the group and he became known and rarely spoken to. He had and still has an infatuation with his father's assistant, Lucrecia Crescent, but of course ever since Professor Hojo came into the Shinra Science Depot. full force, things were taken differently, and secrets were made...
Off in the chamber of prayer, kneeling with closed eyes. His mind an enigma and muscle perfectly lax, still, not a single twitch of the nerve or loss of feeling in any limb, the dim light shining through an opening at the very top of the crystalline, clear blue staccato stairs, spiraling upwards to the exterior of the Earth.
N-I-K-O-L-A-S K-U-Z-M-A
Son of the noble guardian family of the North, the guardian of the Forbidden City and the young mystic said to be the last Ancient Cetra of the tribe, though his is but the second. Little to be said and known next to his kind, caring heart, iron will, and powerful unbeatable skill in the art of the magic of the Ancients. He is known only to few, and those who have been deemed as lucky to have crossed his path are blessed, except for those who come to him with farce or bad intentions.
Two Historical figures meet for the first time, one known by many and the other by little, but exactly how, did their paths cross, and how did one's existence affect the other?
That shall be revealed soon...
Vincent began his descent, slowly avoiding as many small puny rocks as he could, in order to avoid whatever noise would be made by his feet if he stepped on him. Hojo had instructed, and Tseng shortly after that, if Vincent truly desired to capture this target, the element of surprise would be his greatest ally. A wrong move could trigger a volley of whatever the opponent had in store if he, Vincent, was noticed. The only problem was that Vincent had no clue as to what he was looking for, after all, the land before him still seeming so vast, and the greater tree even further, covering the land in what seemed to be white corral. It was an odd sight, but a worthy one.
"If I were a Cetra I'd probably be in the forest..." he felt stupid for thinking something he should have known, and even stupider for saying it like a clueless fool. Hojo would poke fun, but Vincent knew that Hojo was nothing compared to himself.
Why, if Vincent could, he would kill him with his own hands... but there was the matter of boy versus world, and how at the first sign of treachery, Vincent would be rooted out and killed. Hopefully this catch would give him a diplomatic immunity others did not have...
But where was he – or it – hiding?
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Spoken to as if in a dream, Guardian of the Forbidden City and master of Ancient knowledge, Nikolas Kuzma, opened his eyes for the first time in days, as his cycle of prayer had been disturbed for the first time in decades by none other than a human. His eyes cast in front of him, he raised his head to look at the stairs and their transparent blue begin to part, becoming steeper and more deformed, as if the Earth itself shivered because it began to feel in danger. His eyes returned to the alter where he heard the voices of Cetra past and the Earth itself, telling him things he couldn't quite make out, but what seemed to be deep interest and curiosity.
Nikolas replied, "And so I see..."
He stood from where he just shortly kneeled and looked back up to the entrance of the mystical room he was now in. The wide exit seemed to have shrunk, a sort of defense, reacting to the intruder as the Life Stream conducted it's enigmal thoughts into a physical form, causing the original ambient to be tainted with distrust.
"You'll be fine," Nikolas spoke softly, gently, hushing the Earth under his feet with his hand, gently pushing the voices back into their chambers.
He took his leave...
Vincent stood at the mouth of the snow-white forest, it's branches trying to desperately reach over him and swallow him into the choking blackness which, from further in, didn't look bad in the slightest. It seemed, warm... welcoming... beckoning his company as past few sharp, fossilized branches stood a shell on the side of what looked like a large pond, the water a dark night blue.
He approached the pond, with distance between them, and watched the water not ripple or shake. He looked upwards to an opening in the corral where light shone through in sheets, making the water glisten and his pupils retract. He dared get closer and bent down, his pant cuffs touching the dirt, though he didn't fully mind it. He reached down to the water, sticking his finger, then another, and then his hand into it, feeling it's soft texture, letting it run between the fine lines in his palm and then pulling his hand back out, surprising himself as his hand dried quickly.
What was this new world?
What was this feeling?
He felt clean, he felt free, whatever burden off of his shoulders were lifted, as he thought momentarily but in turn seemed an eternity. He could feel the water course in his veins, running quickly, a cool, soothing feeling, but soon, with the release of a sigh, the burdens fell upon him again and he literally almost fell from the weight of it all, adapting too quickly.
"What is this...?" he spoke, of course, to himself, but got an answer from another...
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- they meet -
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"It is the water of my cuz," Nikolas said, exiting the shell, his hand slipping against the railing of a small fence-like attachment to the home in order to prevent a four foot fall into the water below, "something your kind is not to touch, however, here we are."
Vincent stared him down, immediately standing, "Ancient?"
"Be formal. Cetra," Nikolas replied immediately.
"Sorry, I suppose," Vincent smiled, feeling quicker than the sliest of fox, "I don't think it matters... anyway, I'll ask you once, come with me."
"For what?"
"Nothing for now, but it's required you do."
Nikolas stood, already at the end of the railing on the solid ground, and his spectacled eyes could not leave the earth under his feet as he slowly turned his white clothed body more towards Vincent, curiosity spread cleanly across his face.
The moment was indescribable; tense, seriousness, worry?
"Your name and reason for being here, at the least."
"Vincent, member of the Turks, here to take you to a better pla--,"
"Better place?" Nikolas hacked. "You've come here to drive me out Mr. Vincent?"
"If necessary," Vincent stared at him through a different light. Now, was he to go quietly or to go down in a fight?
"Valentine..."
Vincent's eyes opened wider and his head snapped up, "... my surname...?"
"Yes, my ancestors have told me. They have told me many more things as well, but I must know why you have defiled our Holy Ground, and why you have been the first to defile the Holy Spring," Nikolas would take no more foolishness. He was done, through, another answer that lacked detail from his mouth and no mercy would be shown.
"Sorry," Vincent wasn't in the mood either, pulling out the taser-stick given to him by the other Turks as a joining present, "I'm already wasting time, and I'm tired of talking. You're through right?" he pointed it at Nikolas mercilessly, his smile cocky.
"Oh, no, you princox! You dare now defile this holy ground more... how could you possibly sleep at night?" with an arm extended, from the forest of corral, shot forth a trident of the same color, made from the same material. It was simple and white, designed especially to match Nikolas in his current attire. It was his chosen tool of combat.
"Come at me."
+ /Rest Thine Soul\ +
A crash.
A shake.
Nikolas felt the sting of rubble at his back as he was pressed against the already crushed earth of his loved city. He would soon have to utilize the magic of his people, however, the ancestors told him to be careful with this one, for his story was just beginning.
"That's all you have?" Vincent hissed tauntingly as he tossed his taser aside, as it broke once it hit the water. Something didn't seem quite right with his opponent as he seemed to be holding back what he could truly do... but what was there to hold back as this fellow could probably do more than him? Or was Vincent truly winning? As much as he didn't want the big head, his own was starting to inflate against his will.
"You understand so little," Nikolas looked up, wiping dirt off of his cheek, "don't you see the greater picture? Does your life not somehow unravel before you? Is you ignorance gaining control? Is ignorance truly this bliss in these times?"
Vincent had no reply, just another lunge at him, his fist hitting, instead of the face, where it was originally planned, Nikolas' shoulder took the true brunt of the hit, shoving him aside like a door. At the same time Nikolas swung his body to follow, trident close behind Vincent and managing to give a hard and direct blow to the spine, the side of the trident giving Vincent an extra push to the floor.
Vincent felt the gravel between his teeth.
"You're trying to hard," Nikolas taunted, "and telling you to leave won't work anymore."
"It never did," Vincent coughed.
A kick to the gut sent Nikolas almost to the ground, but he supported himself back with the use of the trident, pushing himself to his feet once more, pulling it out to give it a swing across Vincent's face, which dodge just barely, only brushing the skin with the wind it made.
"When will you give up?" Vincent looked at Nikolas through an aching eye, his jaw in equal pain, if not greater, and limbs carrying enough strenuous activity to last him weeks.
They were at the outskirts of the forest now, were their spiny fingers did not poke every which way. There was an open space, a clear view of the shell which Nikolas came from and the still, blue pond glimmering in the sunlight in the background. Nikolas stood in front of that view, something that looked to sacred. Vincent wanted to grace the water once more.
It was hide-and-go-seek.
"I am Nikolas Kuzma, Guardian of the Cetra's Forbidden City, keeper of Wisdom and Magic, teller of fortunes and reader of the stars," Nikolas told Vincent, out of no special reason through the very girth of his soul, his appearance to be considered formidable in the eyes of his current enemy. His eyes spark a forest green, and his hair a crimson black. It was a surprise that now such a clear image could be seen.
"Well," Vincent perfected his posture, mocking, pulling out a gun from his coat pocket, polishing it with a ragged old cloth, "I'm Vincent Valentine, and you should know that by now."
They stared at one another, for the last time, hopefully the final, though the Goddess of Faith had different plans for the two.
There was silence.
They both were drenched in sweat, spattered with dirt, and sick to their stomachs.
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In a flash one was in the spot of the other, a stance of attack taken and frozen in time.
They fell...
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