PROLOGUE
The final blow struck him. Sephiroth's expression did not change. He did not suddenly throw his arms up in agony. His wings did not change from the slow, rhythmical, almost hypnotizing pattern in which they flapped. No, he simply started to fall apart. Literally. As he continued to stare them down like a dummy without a ventriloquist, his wings began to break apart. The disease that comes to all, death, was creeping all over his very being. And yet he still refused to acknowledge it, acknowledge that the Jenova in him could indeed be beaten by a group of ragtag nothings. His wings were completely gone now, sucked into the small hole behind him. And still he stared straight ahead, as if he still had a world of pain to inflict. And at last, the last pieces of his immovable head broke apart and were sucked into the void. Then it closed.
The eight of them awoke on the uneven ledge above the center of the planet. They looked around. He was nowhere to be seen. However, no one jumped for joy or laughed. They merely nodded.
"Come on. There's nothing more we can do here." And one by one, in a silent procession, they left. Left without a word. There was nothing to be said. Tifa and Cloud were the last two. She figured they would leave the two of them alone. She noticed he wasn't coming. She walked toward him...
...and then he collapsed, his hands to his head in the all-too-familiar gesture she had learned to hate. No! No no no! This couldn't be happening! He was dead, and that meant Holy was on its way! It couldn't...
"He's..... still here!"
"Wh-what?!"
"He's..... laughing!"
Cloud's essence was once again ripped from him. However, as opposed to the other two times when Cloud was ejected from his own body and...... IT took over, his body still lay motionless on the ground. No, this was the part of him that was Cloud that was suddenly being pulled back down into the mythical center of the planet, the giver and taker of all life. He was rushing through a tube of mako.... no, not mako, lifestream. And he was deposited suddenly into an area of dots. Thousands upon millions of souls, souls that were the very fabric of the world, of the planet itself. There was a larger, brighter dot all of a sudden. But then he was torn away from it, one last secret of the planet the world would never know. Almost there. He fell the last distance ready to be received by Holy...
...and then suddenly wore a look of surprise. No, it was not Holy. HE looked up at him, and smiled. This was something he had to finish now. He readied his Ultima Weapon, the strongest sword, and one that had come from a creation of the planet itself. Now that it was back at its origin, it felt stronger, more ready to take down the foreigner inside. And then he struck at him, blow after blow after blow. He didn't stop, put all his rage out against him. And then even when he wanted to stop, he didn't. The planet kept driving him, forcing him mercilessly to become just another part of the lifestream, another person, his soul no different from the next. No individuality. And then he did stop. The planet allowed it. The Ultima Weapon fell from his hands. He barely noticed. He was looking at HIM. He entire body was bloodied, and this time he did throw his hands up in agony as the white light burst from his body. And then he was pulled back up and was instantly solid, part of his own body again. "That's it," he thought. "We've won."
If he had known what lay in store for him even two weeks into the future from that moment, he'd have realized just how foolish he'd been.
You like? No? I thought so. In any case, the real thing won't be starting until I beat FF8 (and at the rate I'm playing it, that will be QUITE a while). In the meantime, be sure to review and flourish me with praise, criticism, and/or, most importantly, IDEAS. This has been a Pezman production, and we hope you've enjoyed your flight... errr, read. Yes, I know the formatting sux. I'll change it later.
The final blow struck him. Sephiroth's expression did not change. He did not suddenly throw his arms up in agony. His wings did not change from the slow, rhythmical, almost hypnotizing pattern in which they flapped. No, he simply started to fall apart. Literally. As he continued to stare them down like a dummy without a ventriloquist, his wings began to break apart. The disease that comes to all, death, was creeping all over his very being. And yet he still refused to acknowledge it, acknowledge that the Jenova in him could indeed be beaten by a group of ragtag nothings. His wings were completely gone now, sucked into the small hole behind him. And still he stared straight ahead, as if he still had a world of pain to inflict. And at last, the last pieces of his immovable head broke apart and were sucked into the void. Then it closed.
The eight of them awoke on the uneven ledge above the center of the planet. They looked around. He was nowhere to be seen. However, no one jumped for joy or laughed. They merely nodded.
"Come on. There's nothing more we can do here." And one by one, in a silent procession, they left. Left without a word. There was nothing to be said. Tifa and Cloud were the last two. She figured they would leave the two of them alone. She noticed he wasn't coming. She walked toward him...
...and then he collapsed, his hands to his head in the all-too-familiar gesture she had learned to hate. No! No no no! This couldn't be happening! He was dead, and that meant Holy was on its way! It couldn't...
"He's..... still here!"
"Wh-what?!"
"He's..... laughing!"
Cloud's essence was once again ripped from him. However, as opposed to the other two times when Cloud was ejected from his own body and...... IT took over, his body still lay motionless on the ground. No, this was the part of him that was Cloud that was suddenly being pulled back down into the mythical center of the planet, the giver and taker of all life. He was rushing through a tube of mako.... no, not mako, lifestream. And he was deposited suddenly into an area of dots. Thousands upon millions of souls, souls that were the very fabric of the world, of the planet itself. There was a larger, brighter dot all of a sudden. But then he was torn away from it, one last secret of the planet the world would never know. Almost there. He fell the last distance ready to be received by Holy...
...and then suddenly wore a look of surprise. No, it was not Holy. HE looked up at him, and smiled. This was something he had to finish now. He readied his Ultima Weapon, the strongest sword, and one that had come from a creation of the planet itself. Now that it was back at its origin, it felt stronger, more ready to take down the foreigner inside. And then he struck at him, blow after blow after blow. He didn't stop, put all his rage out against him. And then even when he wanted to stop, he didn't. The planet kept driving him, forcing him mercilessly to become just another part of the lifestream, another person, his soul no different from the next. No individuality. And then he did stop. The planet allowed it. The Ultima Weapon fell from his hands. He barely noticed. He was looking at HIM. He entire body was bloodied, and this time he did throw his hands up in agony as the white light burst from his body. And then he was pulled back up and was instantly solid, part of his own body again. "That's it," he thought. "We've won."
If he had known what lay in store for him even two weeks into the future from that moment, he'd have realized just how foolish he'd been.
You like? No? I thought so. In any case, the real thing won't be starting until I beat FF8 (and at the rate I'm playing it, that will be QUITE a while). In the meantime, be sure to review and flourish me with praise, criticism, and/or, most importantly, IDEAS. This has been a Pezman production, and we hope you've enjoyed your flight... errr, read. Yes, I know the formatting sux. I'll change it later.