This is a mixture of all of the Silent Hills (0-4) and Final Fantasy VII. (Crisis Core-Dirge of Cerberus). Please note that this is Fan Fiction and that some things in both cases had to be altered for this to work.

Disclaimer: I do not own Silent Hill or Final Fantasy VII. This will be a Disclaimer to serve this chapter and all future chapters.

Song Listened to While Writing: Already Over by Red

Chapter 1:

After being thwarted once more by Her renegade puppet, Cloud Strife, JENOVA relinquished Her dwindling hold upon the Planet. Despite years of subjecting Herself to the prodding and research of humans, She found all her struggles to be in vain. However, Her story did not end there.

The Ancients said to the human race, "There is only one Planet, one moon, and one sun." Foolishly, the humans believed the tales of those long dead. Servants of the Life Stream, mindless slaves…

But JENOVA was far older than the Ancients. For years that outweighed the creation of the measurement of time JENOVA had sailed the galaxy. The Ancients were wrong…

There are many worlds, each with their own set of races, and their own story. There is a world of lost princesses, thief children, and the adventure of a group of misfits struggling to set right the wrongs of war. There is a world where a creature so vast exists that it was titled after an endless evil, and there the youths of that planet sacrifice their happiness for the safety of others. There is a world where all the others are merely games and there is a world where the masses have been infected by a disease created by a pharmaceutical company. One where a young boy searches through many other existences for his childhood friends and one where two brothers—twins—fight under the shadow of a Father none shall ever forget.

The Life Stream connects them all, but that is where their commonalities end. They know nothing of each other, and besides a few cases here and there, none have ever interconnected.

Defeated, JENOVA glided with the currents of millions of souls and waited for the perfect opportunity to arise. It was then that a voice—alone, dying, and desperate—called to Her:

"Mom…Mom…" he called for Her, an empty smile gracing his cracked and bloody lips. He raised his benumbed hands up to the light as he spoke and when his heart could support his voice no longer, he allowed himself to crumble into lifelessness.

JENOVA paused, willed Herself to hover in the Life Stream that circled this particular Planet, and pondered. If this human child was so desperate for a Mother…then She could play the part quite well.

She lowered Herself closer to this world, to this human, and learned the wonders of the world it inhabited. Slowly She began to understand the ways of the world that had caught Her eye. In this particular world there was no Summons, MAKO, SOLDIERs, Materia, or any other sort of magnificent thing. Well, that was except for one thing.

The town wasn't normal, that much was evident. In some realms it held human life, and in others it was the host of creatures that put the MAKO deformed inventions to shame. Here, in this messed up town, lay a cult.

A cult that worshipped a God.

A God that they called Mother.

A Mother that was steadily dying as Her last resort faded away. JENOVA smiled and watched the pathetic life form, too weak to maintain its hold upon the town any longer, struggle to exist. Slowly JENOVA allowed the black tendrils of Her will to surround it and waited as Her legacy strangled it, throttled it, corroded it…into nothingness.

When the creature was gone with nothing to leave behind but a whisper She immediately took its place. She took things one-step at a time from there. The cult—they called themselves the Order—was used to a God whom slowly presented itself. Although She'd rather infest the planet and plague the lot of them then and there, She knew She had to wait…

…She had to do things their way if She was to get what She wanted.

Oh no, it wasn't simply world destruction that She was seeking here. Oh no, She was no longer satisfied with the simply desecration of a world. She wanted more, much more.

She wanted power; power over this world of many realms, power over the other worlds, and power over Gaia. Here She would restore Her power. Here She would gain their trust. Here She would gain a tangible body and along the way, She would restore all that was lost in Her war against the life forms of Gaia. She would regain Her Son and Her tangible body…

…And She would use all who had ever defied Her to get it.

Several days after the blonde man's failure She presented Herself to The Order in the form of a whisper, nothing more, and said, "I am your God, your love. Follow Me, and I shall bestow Salvation upon you."

When the man She chose to spoke to returned Her call with awe filled pleas, She listened. When he asked Her what She wanted of him, of them all, She merely said one thing.

"Listen closely."

Five Years Later: 1

"Finally, we have a foundation with which to build the Gates of Paradise upon, my Brothers and Sisters. Here, upon this sacred ground, we bring forth the Flower Girl, one of the Chosen Children of God!" called a man, and his smooth voice easily spread out across the chamber. To them, his presence was like a balm. He was the Mediator, the Ears who Mother had chosen to whisper to. Where they could simply gawk in awe as he strode forward proudly with Her whispered word proud upon the shell of his ear.

He wore robes of black, just like the rest of the Order. The only difference between him and them was his confidence and the gold trim upon his ceremonial garb. His hood barred his face away in shadow, as tradition dictated, and his sleeves piled at his elbows as he threw his hands high to the light of the moon.

He was man, he was Brother, and he was respected—feared. Because of him their number had reached a high like none other. He reached out his hands and the attention of all sorts seemed to follow. Mother had chosen him because of his undying loyalty. Mother gave him power because of his potential.

Mother was always right.

So now their number (they're original number—new members were not permitted upon the sacred grounds of God) stood in a circle around an altar made of the purest ivory stone. Intricately Mother crafted it, just as She had crafted this whole chamber. So was her will, and so it was done. Another blessing upon their land, another act of Her love, and they remained unworthy.

The walls seemed to suck away all the light despite the numerous candles that were placed within the underground chamber. Except for the tunnel of light that shone down from a hole in the ceiling upon the altar, all was darkness.

"Brothers and Sisters, the time has finally come! The first step, the beginning of the Rebirth of God!" he cried out, "And it was said, bring forth the Child of the oldest blood. I have marked her soul within the cosmos with a halo of flowers and stars. Bring forth the Marked Maiden, the Mother Betrayed, fore only she can open the currents of the Life Stream for Me. Do this in devotion of Me and I shall open the Gates of Salvation."

Slowly a procession of six white robed men began to enter the chamber from one of the three entryways. In rows of two they shuffled silently forward. Upon their shoulders was a slab of wood large enough to bare the size of a man. Carved of the palest tree, it appeared to glow in the darkness. There were no trees pale enough to emit such an inner glow in Silent Hill, but when Mother spoke of the Flower Girl days ago, she brought forth the bark of a tree for the occasion.

When they reached the altar they kneeled before the Listener of God. The action brought the plank down to waist level and it was then that revealed that which lay upon it. Wrapped in cloth woven of the purest silver silk was a sword so elegantly crafted, it appeared to be made for one hand and one hand alone.

"Take the blade of My most beloved Son and thrust His blade deep within the altar of alabaster stone. Pour forth the Blood of the Willing, and the Blood of the Damned. Masamune shall return to life that very soul it reaped and welcome with open arms your Sister, the Mother Betrayed."

Gently, with hands that did not tremble, he grasped the silken coverlet. Delicately he revealed the glimmering blade of Masamune and grasped the leather hilt that did not belong to the grip of a simple human. With slight difficulty the man lifted the seven-foot blade and pressed the deadly seal upon the surface of the Altar. As if it were made of butter and not stone, the blade cleaved deep into the ivory plane.

"Bring forth the Blood of the Willing, the Blood of the Damned," the man said, more softly this time, and extended his wrist parallel with the top of the altar. On the other side, slowly, three men struggled to drag forth a being that was robed in red. She hollered, spat, cursed, and dragged her feet into the dust of the chamber the whole way to the altar. However, one woman was no match against three men.

Roughly they brought her to face the black robed man, and forced her wrist out to match his own. At the same time their wrists were slit upon the exposed edge of Masamune, but where the woman screamed, the man did not. She thrust her body around wildly in pain, tried to escape, but they held her prone. They forced her wrist to remain in place and waited as the Blood of the Willing mingled with the Blood of the Damned upon the ivory altar.

After a long moment the man's wrist began to heal. As though a force had brought the wound to mouth and kissed the threat of death away, the wound sealed up tight.

…The woman's did not.

"Take her away," the man muttered absentmindedly, but did not bother to watch the dying woman be dragged away. His eyes never left the table and for a long moment…nothing happened.

But then, as if the pause in the chamber had shifted from pause to play and then to fast-forward, action sprung forth upon the table. It began with a simple tremor in the blood pooling beneath the blade of Masamune. But where one tremble stopped another began until finally the tide of red was rising. Rising, molding, shifting, and forming into the shape of a being…a human…

…A woman.

The blood slowly solidified around the silver, red stained blade of Her Son. The body that came forth from the life force of the two sacrifices shuddered upon the table, writhing as sensation came to it. Nerves exploded beneath her skin and into life. Her senses returned to her full force, and the blade did nothing to hush the pain corroding her from within.

Bloodied and naked she arched from the table, craned her neck back, and screamed. Her skin was coated in liquid red, and her hair was stained as well. But when she opened her eyes the glow of the Life Stream seemed to explode forth from them. Green, the purest of emerald green.

She was beauty, she was the Gate Keeper, she was the Mother Betrayed, and she was here.

She would lead them through the remaining sacraments…

…And they would be saved.

"Welcome to Silent Hill," the man said and roughly yanked out the blade that originally destroyed her. Aeris' scream pierced the silence as the mangled skin began to heal within an instant, but no one came to aide her.

Red eyes shot open in the darkness, but their owner moved no further than that. His chest was caught on its previous breath and it appeared that Vincent Valentine had forgotten how to breathe. Slowly he inhaled until the span of his ribs could contain no more, then slowly he exhaled.

"Aeris…" he whispered to the darkness, but no one whispered back.

It had been sometime after the Deep Ground attack now—about a year—and five since Sephiroth's second reappearance. Hojo was gone, Lucrecia was at peace, Sephiroth was nowhere to be seen, and JENOVA's influence was gone without a trace. Things had been peaceful for the last year or so…and somehow that put the red clad gunman ill at ease.

Subconsciously he ran his flesh hand across the bare skin of his chest to graze over the smooth skin that hid the Protomateria. With a huff of a sigh he pressed his head further back into his pillow and tried to erase his memory of the nightmare, but every time he closed his eyes all he could see was her image writhing upon that table, as though it were seared into the backs of his eye lids.

The dream felt real, far too real for his liking, and he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that the dreams would not end there. While he hoped that this one would be the last, it was certainly not the first. But the others had never been this long, this detailed, this tangible, or this real.

He had seen many things over the past month or so: nightmarish creatures, a hellish town, and snippets of innocents struggling to survive the madness of this hellhole called Silent Hill.

Slowly his lashes parted to expose the crimson of his gaze and he grimaced. He would have to go there, to the Forgotten City, if he was to ever find solace from his dream. If what he found there confirmed the dream's solidity, he would alert AVALANCHE immediately but until then there was no reason to worry them. It could, after all, be the dreams of a tortured man. Certainly wouldn't be the first time his past haunted his subconscious and his dreams.

He rose from his motel bed and began to prepare for his travels. It was going to be a long night.

The City was unchanged, not that he expected much else. The trees still glowed with their eerie, beautiful radiance, and continued to line the city protectively. The Ancient architecture remained unharmed and the memory of seeing her die beneath Sephiroth's blade still played beneath the currents of his mind as he waded through the City. But he was not here to spy upon three clones, nor was he here to stop Aeris' inevitable death. He was here for the lake, for her grave, and to be in the place where her soul was at its strongest. For Cloud that was at the Church but for him, it was here in the Forgotten City. It was different for each member of AVALANCHE. Vincent could faintly recall that when it was raining was when Tifa felt the Flower Girl best.

His gold tipped boots brushed against the tide of the lake and tore him from his thoughts. The water was also unchanged despite what Kadaj had once done to it. Its depths held no secrets; it was clear through and through.

He closed his eyes and waited.

…Nothing. She wasn't here. Vincent sighed and allowed himself to look to the lake's currents once more. Her presence was absent, her voice wasn't there, and he couldn't even find a whisper of her no matter how hard he concentrated on her.

Aeris was gone…

"Vincent," a familiar voice broke him from his reverie.

He didn't bother to look, didn't bother to turn to face the man he should've known would come. If he had the dream, no doubt the man that had mourned her death for years would have had it too.

"Cloud."

Cloud did not come any further, and opted to hold his ground a little ways away from the gunman.

"You left Tifa and the Children?" Vincent said softly, it was more of a statement than a question.

"Why are you here?" the blonde man asked, and ignored the question asked of him a moment before. Vincent could tell Cloud's eyes were not upon his back, but upon the clear water that held no sign of their dear friend.

"…"

"Did you have the dream too, Vincent?"

Vincent tipped his chin a bit closer to his shoulder and spoke, "Yes."

There was a small silence when all that could be heard was muted breathing, and the undulation of the lake. Cloud came closer and only stopped when he was side by side with the ex-Turk.

"She isn't here, is she?"

"…No."

Cloud sighed, "She wasn't at the Church either…I though…never mind. What does it mean, Vincent?"

Vincent tipped his head free from the cowl of his cloak and muttered softly, "I couldn't say."

The spiky haired man's blue eyes drifted from the lake to his partner. Still the same Cloud Strife, still the same haunted MAKO kissed eyes, SOLDIER through and through. You didn't have to make SOLDIER first class to be scarred by the program.

"What do we do?"

Vincent shook his head, "What can we do?" he countered and turned to gaze at the swordsman. "We tell the others."

Cloud stiffened for a moment, nothing more, and nodded, "Can you make it to the bar alright?"

"…"

Cloud turned to leave and as he walked away he merely called back to the black haired man from over his shoulder, "I suppose you got here alright. Meet you there."

"Hmph."

Vincent waited for the taillights of Fenrir to recede before he allowed his cloak to become something more than just a garment. In tattered swirl of red cloth Vincent bounced from tree to tree, nothing but a haunted specter, and followed the ex-SOLDIER to the Seventh Heaven Bar.

"You've done well, Beloved." She whispered into his ear as though She were behind him and doing nothing more than kissing the shell of it. He smiled, his body warmed by Her presence and Her praise.

"Anything for You, Mother."

"You've held you guise well for Me, and have yet to fail. You will not fail Me, will you, My Love?" She whispered.

"No, never!" he hastily responded.

"Good, good, I have something to ask of you, My Loyal Child."

"Anything."

"Begin with the next step, My Love, he will need much more time and care than the others. You will need the Doctor for this one, too."

"You want me to begin to ceremony and summon the Guardian, Mother?" he asked, his tone truly confused.

"The Guardian will not accept this at first, My Child. He will rebel against you, and try to save the others. We must try to convince him of the importance of his role, of Who he serves, and he needs much work. His training must begin immediately and he must be monitored closely, do you understand?"

The man nodded.

"He is no doubt trying to riddle out the disappearance of the Flower Girl already and alerting the other sacraments as I speak. I need him here where he can be watched, and where I can help him understand his role. He is to be My Guardian. I need him here."

The man nodded again. He did not flinch when he felt a presence that had no tangible form brush away the hood of his robe. He did not startle when he felt the cool touch of a hand, Her hand, touch his cheek when She was not truly there. He smiled, leaned into Her touch, and listened as She spoke, all the while combing Her fingers through his thick dark brown locks.

"Bring to Me My Guardian and you shall be one step closer to bringing about the Rebirth of God."

He closed his glazed eyes and smiled, "Of course, Mother, of course."

"Listen Closely."

Yes, this is short, and yes, I'm sure any readers of my previous works want to spear me in the head for not updating my other stories, but this is something I promised a lot of other readers a long time ago. Sorry for its shortness but this is more of a preview, and a test to see if it's worth writing. I'll see how many read it and how many like it and build from there. As always, reviews are loved. If I make any mistakes with the facts of Silent Hill's cult please inform me, I'll tell you if it was an honest mistake or a part needed for the story.

-Blindfolded Angel