A/N: Yes, there is a crazy person out there who decided to pair Sephiroth with The Devil! Don't ask. It was some bizarre idea that I just couldn't shake off. I wanted to show Sephiroth when he was younger, as a teen, and the conflicts I think he would have had, and how he came to deal with them. I think there was a lot more to it than just the labs and Hojo. It takes a lot to make someone a killing machine. I've never seen Sephiroth as an emotionless unfeeling person, in fact it's my guess that as a child and a teen he would have had a lot of problems overcoming his emotions. And...it would have made him cold. However, he wasn't so far gone that he was incapable of making friends (i.e. Angeal and Genesis). But it was enough to set a background for 'crazy' later, when he finally finds 'Mother', something that he thinks loves him...

This will probably be 2 chapters, perhaps three. Sort of depends. Obviously I don't own FFVII, and/or the delectable Sephiroth...unfortunately. It WOULD be nice if people reviewed...given that anonymous reviewing is enabled and all...

His hair hung in his eyes in wet, grimy strands, its silver sheen dulled somewhat by the constant downpour of harsh rain that pelted down around him. The tangled mass reached mid-back, and gave him an older look than his young, still adolescent face revealed him to truly be.

The ground had ceased to hungrily soak in the water dropping from the sky, leaving a slick mud covered in four inches of water. It sloshed around Sephiroth's ankles as he moved forward, his black boots cutting through the brown and bloody water.

Bodies. More bodies than he had ever seen in one place, strewn about, some in the throws of death while others had long been dead and were beginning to bloat from the wetness they were lying in.

He did not cry; it was not his way. What had been done was done, he had been as prepared for it as was possible. He sighed outwardly at the reflection, the memories it allowed to surface, his eyes closing momentarily as he fought off the emotions he had been trained to hate. He wouldn't think about it.

Emotion was weakness.

He continued his way through the shallow river, not even wincing as he removed his sword from his back and offhandedly stabbed it through a nearby Wutian who was still breathing raggedly. The sound of a sword through clothing and flesh, a gurgle...

Brown eyes looked up pitifully into his own, accusing yet fearful. They darkened quickly.

Sephiroth kept walking, ignoring the way the redness swirled in the brown of the water as the sword grazed the surface on its way to its sheath.

The thoughts wouldn't go away.

He stared down at the water finally, watching the way his boots sent ripples through it. His uniform was soaked; the blue material was more useless than helpful, heavy with water and smelling strongly of that familiar and intoxicating scent of coppery blood.

He focused on that smell, disturbed slightly by the way there was an instant reaction of warmth and a slight hardness in his pants. He was disgusted yet enthralled by it, wondering suddenly just how much of a monster he truly was. Was it normal to feel this way?

He would not ask Hojo; it would lead to more prodding and tests he did not want to participate in.

The way the blood arched through the air when sword severed neck from head... There was something animal about it. Something deep within seemed to awaken in the carnage, a part of himself he had only been exposed to once...

He clenched a gloved hand in anger, realizing too late where the thoughts were leading to, what path they were trying to force him to take.

Not matter what he thought about, he could not stop himself from coming back to that same point. His best, and his worst, that's what it was... Everything ended and began at that place in time.

He picked up the sound of nearby SOLDIERs, glad for the momentary distraction. A few looked his way as they trudged through the water, but none held eye contact, and averted their gazes quickly.

He watched with feigned interest as they moved around him, heading toward the temporary base that had been haphazardly made inside of one of the larger ceremonial huts in the village. They moved clumsily, with little grace, all of them SOLDIERs 3rd class, as he himself was. He would not be 3rd for long, however, not after his superiors learned of his...contribution.

Soon, their footsteps through the muck could not even be heard by Sephiroth's keen hearing. All too quickly he was left alone again, opportunity for his mind to return to those damnable thoughts. Even all of his psychological barriers were no match for the...was it...guilt?

Masamune, the man who had taught Sephiroth everything he knew.

Dead. Blank, expressionless eyes, that thick, beautiful red blood coating Sephiroth's small, black gloved hands. He couldn't help himself, something inside of him begged, urged him to take off those gloves, to taste the luscious liquid of death...

Masamune, the man who was as one with the sword as his own body. The old samurai who spent his final years passing on his skill to the child prodigy of Shinra...

Oh, and how it tasted... Thick, perfect. Like meat, yet not. As addictive as a spoonful of golden honey... Beautiful in its rich, red color and smooth, flawless texture.

His emotions were so conflicting; a body consumed by the new feelings of lust, yet a deep, brutal stabbing of guilt... Somehow guilt had made it so much better, so much stronger...

He snapped back from the memory, his senses sending an immediate warning to his clouded mind. He withdrew his sword without ceremony, spinning around to face the direction he had his back to only a second before.

The sound, it had come from behind.

His eyes moved quickly over anything and everything, that intense focus he was known for swiftly pushing all thoughts besides survival out of sight.

Someone was out there.

Sephiroth was farther out than he should have been. He had wandered to the outskirts of the village, which meant a much higher risk of being attacked. It had been foolish of him to forget his surroundings, but he had wished to be alone.

It was only more proof that emotion was weakness. He was allowing himself to be ensnared by it, drowned in it.

His head wretched to the left, his green, cat-like eyes seeing the flick of a long, black coat disappear behind a copse of young trees.

He neared the place warily, making no attempt at hiding himself as he knew he had already been seen.

There was a short, deep laugh, and the swishing of expensive, lined fabric.

Immediately Sephiroth turned, his sword making a silver line as it streamed out and hit...air.

Whoever it was had been behind him. He had heard breathing, yet there was nothing there, no movement of water that indicated what he had known he had heard.

His eyes, bright with the thought of violence, narrowed defiantly.

The downpour had slowed to a sprinkle by then, making visibility almost perfect. Sephiroth's eyes scanned his surroundings again, his hearing so magnified that he could detect the barely discernable 'tink' of tiny droplets of water hitting the hardened steel of the katana he carried.

Another laugh, the feeling of a rush of wind going past his right. Sephiroth lashed out, again too late by only milliseconds. Still, there was no sign that anyone had been near him; the water was still. Sephiroth held back a snarl, frustrated and shocked that something could move so fast that he could not see it. He quieted the anger rising in his chest, easily crushing it with the self-control and stubbornness that was becoming trademark.

He waited. His body stilled completely, and the water no longer made ripples about his booted feet.

He whirled around the second he felt fingertips snatch up a thick lock of hair. Again, steel met nothing.

The first thought that came to mind was 'magick'. Someone was toying with him. Sephiroth's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He was not one to be made a fool, under any circumstances.

Hot breath touched his ear, causing yet another unwanted emotion through the youth's body. He growled, swinging to the side just in case there was someone there (there wasn't), while simultaneously checking for any sign of movement beyond him. Nothing moved, no sign was given of someone nearby.

"Enjoying the game?" a voice said, etched with amusement and something else...something Sephiroth didn't recognize. The voice, like the laugh, was deep, and nothing like the teen had ever heard.

The first thing he noticed was that it came from no particular direction, it was simply there, as odd as it was. Not close, not far away...definitely magick.

"I am far different than that." This time it came directly from behind, the speaker's breath close enough to move Sephiroth's hair and tickle at his neck.

Sephiroth's sword spoke for him, slashing through the air as he moved to turn, but was easily deflected. The sword was ripped from Sephiroth's grip, and sent floating aimlessly in the air. There should have been a visible force-field of magic, but he could see no dim, telltale cloud, or feel the power of the telekinesis that should have radiated from the sword.

Weaponless, Sephiroth only glared hatefully at the man that stood before him, ready to attack with his body as a weapon.

"Now, now," the man said, his dark eyes alight with amusement, and his thin lips curled up slightly at the corners.

His hair was shining and black, seemingly unaffected by the rain, the plush strands reaching to just above the man's chest. His face was narrow, almost gaunt-looking, with very light skin that easily rivaled Sephiroth's own, and lips that looked unhealthily discolored and whitish. It seemed as if there was no blood beneath the surface of his face; no slight reddish coloration of health showed on the strangely white skin.

He wore a long black coat that hung just above the water. He was tall, Septhiroth noted, probably a over six feet, dwarfing the five foot eight inch 3rd class. He was also a lot bigger in build than Sephiroth, with broader shoulders, while at the same time long-limbed, almost as Sephiroth himself was.

Sephiroth was actually one of the smaller 3rds, but knew that he had yet to really hit the peak of puberty height-wise as his peers had. He was not intimidated by the size of the man before him, nor by the strength and wiseness that seemed to seep from his very being.

"You would attack me before I even have the opportunity to tell you I am friend, not foe?"

Sephiroth watched the man, focusing on the eyes, which he knew would give the first sign of bluff. It was when he noticed that the dark eyes weren't brown as he had assumed, but some sort of maroon-like color. They were...animal.

"If you are friend, then you will return me my sword," Sephiroth stated flatly, his eyes flicking to the weapon that still hung above them.

"Of course," the man answered, his strange features clouded with a look Sephiroth did not understand.

The sword flitted quickly into the hands of the dark-haired man.

Sephiroth's posture would have stiffened, but he forced himself to remain unaffected.

He watched intently as the man's long, white fingers carefully encircled it, elegantly gripping onto the metal of it rather than the handle. The sharpness of it easily cut through the thin skin of the man's bone-white hands, sending a small trail of red down the reflective metal.

Sephiroth continued to remain still, though his eyes betrayed his fascination as he watched the trail descend like a miniature river all the way down to the black hilt.

He could feel the saliva pooling in his mouth, but did not give any indication of it.

The man extended the sword to Sephiroth, the end still pointed toward himself.

Sephiroth's instinct was 'trap', however, he carefully picked over the man's stance, the set of his shoulders, the distance his feet were set apart... Nothing revealed any malicious intent, though Sephiroth waited for a few seconds. He stared unwaveringly into the man's eyes, his own turned to narrow slits of distrust.

Finally, Sephiroth snatched the sword from the man, allowing a thin smile to reach his lips. He was glad to again feel the familiar weight in his hand.

"See? I mean no harm to you. In fact, I wish only to speak to you, if you wouldn't mind humoring me."

Sephiroth only stared back blankly, his barriers back in place, and superiority running through his veins. "Fine," he said emotionlessly, deciding he really had no other alternative.

"You like that?" The man inquired, gesturing toward the sword.

Sephiroth's eyes darted to the steel. "Yes."

"It's normal, you know."

"What?" Sephiroth replied, trying to sound disinterested, though he felt a heat wash over his body for some reason.

"To want what you want. To seek death and find peace in dealing it out. To desire violence, lust for..." he ceased talking for a moment, his strange eyes focusing on the red running down the youth's sword. "–blood," he finished.

"What would you know about it," Sephiroth stated more than questioned, his intelligent eyes giving nothing away of the instant turmoil that lurched inside his stomach and chest.

"Everything," the man said enigmatically, smiling. The look would have been unnerving had Sephiroth not seen Hojo's cruel smile for his entire young life. "I am a dealer of death myself."

When Sephiroth did not reply, the man continued: "It is the way of things, death. Inevitability. Others die so that some may live. Without death, this world would be nothing, people would have nothing to fight for."

Sephiroth's head bowed slightly in acknowledgment, his eyes searching the face of the man who voiced his inner thoughts.

"Animals lust for the kill, revel in it. Predators taste the blood in their mouths for that first time then remain forever haunted by it for the rest of their lives. So why should we not take pleasure in it ourselves, become the wielders of fate?" The man was still smiling his unsettling smile, seemingly unaware of the effect his words were having on the youth standing in front of him.

"You are made for it." Sephiroth internally flinched at those words. "You are intended for this purpose. You are still an animal underneath the surface of all of this supposed, humanity," The man said the last word with emphasis, clasping his hands behind his back as he continued, much like a teacher giving a lecture. "It is an integral part of human nature, violence. As much as people claim to desire peace, it is in discord that their lives are fueled. Were it not for discontent and hatred, there would be nothing left."

"I'm sure many would doubt that claim," Sephiroth asserted, watching the man's posture suspiciously. He did not like that the man held his hands behind his back.

"I'm sure they would," he agreed. "However, you don't, do you? And that is what makes you different. If you acknowledge the faults of the world, accept them for what they are, you can go a universe beyond all others."

"What do you mean?"

"It is in this urge you have, this desire for violence, that you will be set free. Become what humans once were, what they are supposed to be."

"You mean animal," Sephiroth said, casting a look down at the bloodied sword.

The man positively grinned, his eyes catching a light that wasn't there. "Precisely."

Sephiroth finally voiced what he had been secretly thinking, deciding that being blunt was the best approach; the man seemed to speak what he thought, and would likely appreciate truth rather than cleverness. "What do you want of me?"

The man laughed, short at first, then heartily.

Sephiroth's look soured, then his eyes narrowed. The man's hand reached out, but Sephiroth flinched and moved back quickly, out of reach.

The man shook his head, his face still as colorless as ever. "I said before that I mean you no harm."

"Yes, but no one just toys with someone simply to talk," Sephiroth said flatly.

"Ah, suspicious, ever vigilant. It will serve you well in future," the man said offhandedly, again smiling. "What I want is to help you."

"I don't see what you could help me with," Sephiroth answered, his grip tightening on his katana.

"Oh, but don't you? You feel guilt for what you've done, for something. You wander through the battlefield like a ghost instead of a gloating victor high on his own doings."

"You were watching me," Sephiroth accused, his voice going to a low tone.

"You are...an interesting creature. You have so much potential. To see such a lovely thing that is not pleased with its work, that has doubts about it...I simply cannot allow it."

"Who says that I have doubts?"

"Would you deny it, then? You take joy in the kill yet do not show the same enthusiasm in its aftereffects."

Sephiroth's bright eyes darkened for a moment, but he said nothing.

"You are a predator, beautiful in every way. You are at your best when you compliment your own design in these bloody sacrifices." The man gestured to a nearby body. "It is in this that you will find yourself, nothing else. You hunger for understanding, to be the same as the others, when you are better than them."

Sephiroth was wary of how much the man appeared to know. It was eery in fact, but he brushed it aside for the time being.

"The things that complete them, love, companionship, friendship, they are nothing to you. You are beyond that, truly different from all others in that you do not need such things. To kill, that is what will make you complete, that is where solace can be found from this displeasure with yourself."

Sephiroth's gaze was again accusing. He did not like how easily the man was reading him, or he reflected, how accurately.

"I do not hate what there is after the kill..." Sephiroth said, not quite believing what he was thinking of saying to this stranger.

"No? Then what is it that you hate? What is it that prevents you from taking what is rightfully yours from this experience?"

"I...feel wrong. I take pleasure even in killing someone...close to me."

"The past then, is it? You fret over something inconsequential! There is nothing dirty or wrong in what you do. Wrong, after all, is merely a matter of perspective. Killing those that should mean something to you is the sure way to becoming free. It means you have gone beyond petty, nonexistent morality." The man stepped closer to Sephiroth, though this time Sephiroth did not back away.

"There is nothing wrong in blood. As I said, it is the way of things," the man stated, watching Sephiroth closely. "You are all that matters in this world, everyone else takes the wayside."

"I know you are right," Sephiroth whispered, surprised that he had spoken the words aloud, and how quickly he felt akin to this stranger.

"You already knew these things; I'm certain you did." The man gave a reassuring smile. "Allow that lust for blood to consume you, let it be your completion, the undying love that quenches your soul."

Sephiroth's thoughts were consuming him. He stared up at those maroon eyes, his inner darkness quelled by what he saw there. It was true, he thought, he was different. He had known, had always known...

A/N: I tried to not make this move too fast, but might have failed miserably. How do you all feel about slash?