Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII: Dirge of Cerberus © Square Enix.
[8/21/11] Massive grammar/tense edit. I am much happier with this story than ever before, despite having posted it a few years ago and then randomly deciding to revisit it... Anywho, this story is better than it used to be grammatically and I'm quite pleased!
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Vitabimus
Consciousness comes and goes…like a fleeting memory from childhood days, lingering on the fringes of my mind, just beyond my grasp. I can hardly tell when I am awake and when I am lost in a dream, so surreal I sometimes mistake it for reality. Images come in quick flashes or slow, drawn-out scenes; the tempo varies greatly, but each has one thing in common: pain. Physical or emotional, metaphorical or literal, it doesn't matter; they all include some form of pain. And the rare happy images are always the fleetest, the ones that last the least; this only furthers the agony of the other scenes.
The stage varies: sometimes it is stark and familiar, other times it is blurry and alien. But the characters are almost always the same. The same ghostly pale, silver-haired man with the icy blue eyes that only melt when looking at me; he is broad-shouldered and muscular and has an apparent aversion to shirts. He is cunning and bold and a strong leader, and he is Death itself when wielding those katana-style gunblades. He is my brother, though there is no similarity between us, and his name is Weiss. Weiss the Immaculate.
Weiss is real; I know this for certain. He is a constant in my dreaming, my remembering; whether he is conscious or not, he is always there. Sometimes, it is just his body, but not really him inside his head. Nevertheless, his physical presence is always there.
With Weiss, there is Rosso the Crimson, tall and slender and as scantily dressed as always. She often hovers by Weiss's shoulder, sneering and examining her fingernails condescendingly; she is a prick. Always there, standing with her weight on one foot so that her hip juts out to one side and with her arms akimbo on her tiny, curvy waist. Her fiery hair tumbles over her pale shoulders in curling waves, highlighting how translucent her skin is and proving just how little of the outside world she's seen. Rosso longs to see the surface, to escape the confines of underground; she is tired of nonstop training and exercising and worrying about staying fit and battle-ready and being the perfect killing machine. She wants, more than anything, to just lay on a beach in some remote location and turn to gold. And Weiss promises her that will happen one day and she listens and she follows him unfailingly.
I'm fairly certain Rosso is real, too. Though her motives may not be as loyal as my dreaming insists. Sometimes, I see memories of Rosso snarling at my brother, brandishing her bladed bow and hurling massive orbs of heat and fire at him in nothing less than sheer hatred.
But I can be mistaken. The things I take for dreams can very well be memories and vice versa. I have no way of knowing.
And then there are Azul the Cerulean and Shelke the Transparent, always together. Azul hulking and canine in quality, he is ferocious and unforgiving and wields a monstrosity that can only be described as a handheld cannon. Unlike Rosso—and Shelke, as well—Azul seems content to stow away beneath the Planet's crust and make his already unbelievable power much greater. Azul obeys no one, he will not listen to Rosso nor will he pay slightest heed to Shelke's soft-spoken words. He obeys no one, except Weiss and me because we are the only ones who possess more power than he.
His sheer strength is the reason he is often paired with Shelke. Shelke, though technically nineteen, is forever trapped in the body of a nine-year-old due to being the victim of extensive Mako testing. She is now dependant and needs to absorb Mako every day or else suffer a terrible death. But Shelke is intelligent, or else no one would go through such trouble to keep her alive, and she is the best spy we have, what with her ability to turn invisible.
I'm sure that Azul is real, but my grasp on Shelke is hazy. Azul dwarfs her and I often can't see her, so it's hard to tell if she is ever really there at all. And she's so quiet, she rarely speaks; when she does, it's nearly a whisper. I've never heard her speak up. And next to Rosso, who's snobbish and loud, Shelke just fades into the background—never mind the pun, it is unintended.
There are others, but I'm unsure of whether or not they are real people. I cannot ascertain the existence of Vincent Valentine, or Cid Highwind, or Shalua Rui, Yuffie Kisaragi, Reeve Tuesti… They all visit my dreams, but I have no way of knowing if their lives are true or just figments of my madness.
Everything…is just so muddled and…I can't think properly… I'm so weary, so tired…
.
"My brother…" The soft murmur slides into my mind, causing me to raise my bowed head. I want to reach out to him—to Weiss—but I am bound by chains, a straightjacket confines my torso and my face encased in some form of muzzle. I whimper. "Why must you be tormented so?"
Weiss kneels before my huddled form, a hand reaches out to me, but he does not touch me as I expect. His hand glides past my shoulder and his fingers trace the harsh contours of the steel wings surgically constructed into my back, connected to my spine. I am able to use them as if they are normal arms, so they have been bound as well.
Then Weiss presses his palm to my cheek and smiles at me. There is bitterness in his eyes, but he tries not to show it.
"Never fear, my brother," he assures, "you will be free, I promise. A soul as innocent as yours is undeserving of such cruel punishment, sweet Nero."
His words strike me in a peculiar way. Is he unaware of the reason I've been chained in the first place? Does he truly not know? How strange… If he knew, he would not call me such things as "innocent" or "sweet" for neither applies to me.
"When the Restrictor is gone," he continues, his bitterness more prominent now, "we can be free at last. It won't be long now, brother, before the time to strike presents itself. I can feel it."
But…once free, what will we do? Where will we go? We can't very well just return to the surface, not while Weiss looks like an apparition possessing inhuman power and I have these horrible wings. Only danger, and chaos, would ensue. Not to mention that sudden sunlight after so many long years of darkness would blind us near instantly.
What is freedom when it just doesn't seem possible for us to ever leave?
I can only bow my head and return my vermillion gaze to the floor, the only way I can communicate the words I am unable to say aloud. I hope that Weiss understands, I hope he sees what I have realized; I hope he can fix it, make it better. Ever since I can remember, Weiss has always been there to makes things better.
But Weiss is too caught up in his approaching revenge and, for the first time in our lives, he misinterprets my silent pleas.
He clasps my shoulder and a smile, slightly strained, touches his bitter mouth. "Do not tremble, my brother, contain your excitement lest our plans be given away."
I can only nod, numb and horrified, and allow Weiss to think he's guessed correctly. Weiss squeezes my shoulder in silent farewell and departs the saturnine chamber in haste. And I am left with doubled misery.
.
My feet do not touch the ground. I am hung on chains by my wings and straightjacket, strung up with my back pressed against a cold pillar. I do not know how far I am from the ground or how close I am to the ceiling, or if I'm even inside at all. I merely assume I am indoors because there is no noise, no movement, no smell; there is nothing. I am surrounded by stale air and pressing darkness.
The darkness has never harmed me; it is my friend—my only honest companion aside from my brother. The darkness within me and the darkness around me are not very different at all. This room is filled with churning mists of blackness not unlike my oblivion, it has no end, nor does it have a top or bottom. It is the kind that infects the mind and howls in the ears, from this nothing comes everything. Everything terrible and evil; all the monsters that crave your blood and all the villains who long for you corpse. All your fears are brought to life in this darkness—this same darkness that is inside me.
And in the cruelest irony, it is driving me to insanity, my own darkness—my oblivion—stealing away my mind and warping it, tormenting it.
I do not fear the darkness; it has been apart of me since my tainted birth. I have nothing to fear from darkness, it is my friend… Please, darkness, still be my friend…I have no one else in this torturous place…
.
A terrible burning awakens me; a harsh sting in my arms and the press of darkness surrounds me. My room is black as pitch and I cannot see the hand before my face, this is unnatural. Not even the faint glow of my digital clock or the thin line of hall light on the other side of my door shines now; this can only mean one thing: my darkness has escaped.
My pain is mingled with panic as I try to regain control of the oblivion. That's when I feel it, a crawling sensation beneath the skin of my forearms. It is like a million searing needles are being jabbed repeatedly into my arms and it will not go away.
"Weiss!"
The scream is muffled, as if the voice is sore from disuse and it takes me a moment to realize that the scream is my own.
Desperate and scared, I sit up and begin to claw at my arms, trying to scrape away the needles. It isn't working and my panic grows, causing the darkness to deepen and my pain to increase. I become for frenzied, more panicked.
Another screams rips free of my throat and the silence and blackness shatter.
"WEISS!"
In the slight lessening of oblivion's pitch, I see the horror clutching my arms and my stomach churns sickeningly. Tendrils of dark matter are worming their way under my flesh, their normally orb-like forms resolving into deadly points and jabbing into my skin relentlessly. Seeing the terror increases the pain, but now I am frozen. I cannot believe it. My own darkness has turned on me… How is this possible?
There is a resounding bang as if a door has been thrown open in haste, but no light enters the room.
"Nero?"
The urgent call jolts me from my frozen terror and the darkness lessens very slightly. Weiss.
But when a particularly sharp piece of matter drives into my wrist, I cry out and the blackness returns two-fold.
"Nero!"
Arms envelope me, and security falls over me like a thick, warm blanket. The darkness withers away almost immediately and I find myself cradled in the arms of my brother, his chin resting atop my head as he gently rocks me back and forth. I am not crying, but I'm shaking hard enough to be sobbing.
The light, now able to enter, is blinding, so I keep my eyes pressed shut and allow Weiss to soothe me. Eventually, he pulls back to inspect my arms and I hear him withdraw a sharp breath. I peer between narrowed lids, the light stinging my eyes, to quell my morbid curiosity. I am repulsed.
The skin of my arms are blackened and streaked with crimson; deep grooves waver from elbow to wrist, carved by my own bloodied fingernails, and sticky liquid pulses freely. The pungent smell of blood stifles my head, making me feel somewhat nauseous, and I cringe, wrinkling my nose in attempt to prevent further income of the acrid stench. But that is not the only thing… Beneath the oozing blood are thick, black lines—waves, tendrils, very much similar to that of my oblivion, forever tattooed unwillingly onto my flesh. I shudder.
I glance at Weiss; his mouth his a hard, thin-pressed line as he inspects the damage I have inflicted upon myself and he sighs—a heavy breath through flared nostrils, but he says nothing. Mutely, he eases me to me feet and guides me from my room, leading me swiftly past Rosso who leans luxuriously against the threshold, smirking. I hear the steady click of her heels as she tails us, arms folded smugly across her chest and her crimson eyes haughty slits. I resent her. So full of herself, so snide, so mocking while I snivel and I gasp and I bleed from wounds I've caused myself. How pathetic I must appear to her, screaming in the middle of the night and having to be rescued from my own powers by my elder brother. She must think I'm a child, still naïve and unknowing of how to care for myself—still in need of another's assistance.
But I cannot help it…I've only ever known Weiss, I have no parents that I am aware of, only a brother and he's always been the only family I need. In truth…I do not think I actually do know how to take care of myself… Perhaps Rosso is right… I am…pathetic…
So pathetic…
.
The scars never went away. Even to this day I bear the gruesome casualty of that fateful night. The inky tattoos curl around pasty upraised lines, jagged and crude; the tattoos throw the scars into harsh relief, making them all the more visible. I am, in one sense, grateful for the need to keep my arms bound and therefore hidden; this way, no one will see those awful scars and think me as foolish and pathetic as Rosso did…
Rosso who sneered and jibed to her very end—but at least she saw her dream fulfilled, though I'm not sure how deserving she was of it. Rosso got to see the sun, she got to stand in the open air and feel the daystar's warmth on her face—she got to fight beneath it's beating down heat and leap into the never-ending sky. She got to experience freedom, no matter how fleeting it was—a luxury I am unlikely to ever possess.
I suppose…I am jealous of her…or at least of what I remember her as…the way I may or may not have been tricked into thinking of her. The Rosso in my dreams and memories was snarky but a dreamer. She longed to see the sky, to go to the surface, and that is precisely what she got—despite it being the final leg of her life's journey. She died up there, but at least it was by her own wishes—with her own dream seen to and she herself deciding when to lay down her weapons and cease the beating of her heart.
I myself have seen small portions of the Planet above, but only glimpses. I walked a street once at the barest hour of midnight and it was the short distance of a narrow alleyway between close buildings—it wasn't much different from the halls at Deepground. I once rode aboard an airship, but at the time I was there on business, though I hardly remember what—it was something for Weiss, that much I am sure of… Although, this could be a dream, because Shelke had attacked me and she is still secure and loyal within Deepground base… She has made some visits above and has performed numerous SNDs for Weiss, but she's never left. She's still loyal… So yes, this was a dream…very vivid and not unwelcome, the motion of the ship lolling over airborne waves had been thrilling.
I wish I to go back there someday…but I have this feeling that I will never be going anywhere ever again… It is a horrid feeling, like acid pooling in my heart and spilling into my veins throughout my entire body until I am numb…
.
"Restrain him. He is too dangerous to be kept loose," the Restrictor orders coldly, his masked eyes boring into me as I struggle to stay on my feet. I have lost control again, I became frustrated and angry and my oblivion broke free. I swallowed ten soldiers and would've taken more had the Restrictor not ordered Azul to hit me over the head with one massive fist. And now I am dizzy…my sight doubling and hazing in and out of focus. I can vaguely make out the cloaked form of the Restrictor, the impassive look on Azul's wide face, and the narrow-eyed glare Rosso is giving me. And Weiss… Weiss just looks incredibly sad and I feel like I have failed him…
Before I can react, large hands clamp over my arms, pinning them to my sides and I am lifted off the ground. Azul…I did not see him move…
"No!" Weiss lurches forward, his face stormy now; it is better than his previous disappointment, but for one horrible moment I am convinced his anger is directed at me. But it is Azul who is caught by his sharp right hook, Azul who stumbles back and releases my arms, and Azul who howls in pain and fingers his now crooked jaw.
"You will not touch my brother," Weiss hisses venomously, taking me under his arm.
"You will do as I say, you have no choice," states the Restrictor, eerily calm, and Weiss bows his head under the weight of truth.
"Then allow me to confine him myself," Weiss asks in a whisper, icy eyes never leaving the Restrictor's hidden face. The Restrictor is motionless for a long while, and then he gives a curt nod and sweeps out of the room without a word.
I expect Weiss to shut off his heart and lead me away like he would any other captive, but he does no such thing—he does nothing at all. Azul scowls at him, still rubbing his jaw, and lumbers away; Rosso gives a slightly impressed frown and trails after the Cerulean. She will most likely taunt him for days to come on how he was beaten by a man half his size, though it is no shocking news because no one is stronger than Weiss. Not even me; though he insists we are equals, I do not believe this.
We stand there in the training room; the walls are stained black and blue from the escaped oblivion and the lifeless bodies of the soldiers are slumped about the wide space after having dropped them when Azul hit me. The bodies are in less than perfect condition and the sight is sickening.
We stand there, Weiss with a strong arm around my shoulders and me deathly pale…and we do not move for the longest time. Shelke enters eventually, she looks at us with her always-sorrowful blue eyes and a timid smile touches her small pink lips.
"Weiss the Immaculate," she greets coolly, her voice soft and monotonous, she bows her head respectfully. Shelke is supposed to be seventeen now, but she is so tiny, so child-like in appearance, but she harbors a maturity level so vast I dare to say she is more of an adult than the Crimson.
"Shelke the Transparent," says Weiss, returning the cool greeting, but he has a light smile on his face. He and Shelke are friends; it humors him to have her call him by his title despite constantly telling her there is no need. She insists that it is necessary or else someone may become suspicious of our plans; this is a good point and Weiss commends her for it, she is a valuable ally.
"Nero the Sable is to be taken to Basement Level Five and placed in holding cell B," she reports mournfully, carefully avoiding my eyes. It drives me insane, why won't she look at me? Why must she speak as if I am not here? "The appropriate restraints await you there and the Restrictor demands that you be quick."
Weiss nods curtly and tightens his grasp on my shoulders. "Thank you for passing on the message, Shelke," he says stiffly and I can tell that he has now shut off his heart from me.
Shelke offers a slight bow at her waist and strides quickly away, pausing in the doorway very briefly to peer over her shoulder and let her sorrowful eyes pass regretfully over mine. And then she disappears.
Weiss murmurs to me, but his words are lost to my unhearing ears. Nothing but horrid silence fills me, I am too horrified—too scared—to do much else than stumble along at my brother's gentle pushing. He guides me as directed to the lower levels of Deepground; the lower one goes, the more terrible it gets—the Basement levels are infamous for their vileness and absolute torment just by being what they are. A basement. They are dark and dim and so saturnine they drive one to insanity. The darkness taunts you, grips your heart with icy fingers and steals away your mind; it is what they are designed for and they do their job well.
Weiss steers me into the elevator and we descend to the fifth level of Deepground's personal hell—Deepground in itself is a torturous underworld, but its basements are even more so. My brother tightens his fingers around my shoulders, directing me forward and muttering to me that I keep my eyes down and do not meet the gaze of anyone we pass. I sullenly do as told; I am feeling lifeless and hollow, something about the fleeting glance Shelke gave me feels so final. It is as if she was saying goodbye, but not because she is leaving…but because I am.
Holding cell B seems much larger, more foreboding, than all others and—as promised—the "necessary restraints" await us in the middle of the room. Weiss releases me, knowing that I will not flee, and moves to inspect the chosen restraints and I can tell that he is disgusted. He lifts a dark straightjacket between finger and thumb as if holding something particularly foul and frowns deeply. He looks at me and his eyes fill with sadness and he approaches me regretfully.
"If there was any other option, I would take it, dear brother," he says in all sincerity and I feel myself begin to crumble. "But…I see none… The Restrictor's orders must be obeyed, you are as aware of that as I am, and until he is defeated, his word controls us. It must be done… I am truly sorry."
I say nothing—even if there is anything for me to say, I cannot seem to find my voice. So I remain silent. Mutely, I resign myself to my fate and hold out my tattooed arms for Weiss to pull the sleeves over and lock them across my chest. I feel him frowning as he tightens the straps of the restraints, buckling down the extra length of sleeve at my shoulder blades to further bind me and I can hear his teeth grinding angrily.
Still, I do not speak. I have nothing to say.
Weiss leaves my side briefly to collect the second form of restraint, an elaborate muzzle of sorts, and returns to stand before me. He gazes at me sadly, fingers pinching and twisting the hard material, and he seems to be searching for the right words to address the situation.
"Nero…" he speaks at last and I haven't the energy to raise my eyes, and so I continue to stare dully at the floor. "Nero, my brother, please forgive me; this was not my choice, you know that, and truly I am so sorry. The Restrictor will pay for all that he has done to us and the moment he falls, I will free you. I will free you and together we will arise to surface once again and we will live freely forever. I promise you."
Why not release me before taking down the Restrictor? I long to ask him this, but my voice fails me and all that happens is my pale lips parting for a moment and a small, pained noise slipping from my throat.
"Yes, my brother, please speak," he urges, eyes wide with earnest.
But I cannot, I only shake my head and whimper quietly. I am so weak…so broken… I close my eyes and nearly fall to my knees, unable to withstand the intense weight of all that is happening. Weiss catches me, my name slipping from his lips as his arms lock around my seemingly frail body, and he doesn't let me go.
"Things will get better," he insists, "I assure you, they will." He holds me at arms length, the muzzle still dangling from his left hand as he grasps my shoulders. I am only able to keep his gaze for a few moments before I hang my head and I sense that he is frowning. He thinks he has done something to upset me…but it is not him…it is everything else—everything and everyone. We used to be so happy, so carefree, but look at us now: a man forced to bind his younger brother and leave him at the mercy of a black prison cell. What happened to those old days of innocence? What happened to the Eden of our childhood? Has it really been so irrevocably lost, will we never find it again? All seems so hopeless; even Weiss's determination seems futile for the Restrictor has absolute control, what is there for us to do? There is no hope…none that I can see.
"Forgive me, Nero," he whispers and the muzzle is pulled over my head. Then he is gone…the cell door falling shut with an echoing thud and the automatic lock slides into place with a terrible grating sound. And I am left alone…numb, hollow, and unable to staunch the sluggish flow of embittered tears from my eyes. The fury that seeps into me is unfounded, but not wholly unwelcome…
.
And here I lay…in holding cell B, I realize this now…though it seems that many years have now passed since that last memory took place. I remember being removed from the cell for several agonizing hours to play subject to a cruel experiment that Shelke's body would not have withstood. Thus came to being the mechanical wings embedded into my spine. After that, I never wanted to leave the cell and so was grateful when no one returned to take me away.
But…something had changed while I was locked away by my own accord… I was free to move about as I pleased after the horrible surgery, I just never wanted to. I chose to keep my restraints, because I knew I was too dangerous. If I couldn't control my own darkness—if it was able to hurt me on its own accord—then I had no hopes of being my free self again…
That something happened while I was in here, just as I have been for the past years…but…it is something I still have trouble comprehending…
.
Weiss has taken over. He's been ruling Deepground in place of the Restrictor for roughly five years now and he has recently deciding to take action, but…something is not right with him…he's been acting very strange. It is one of the rare days that I venture from my holding cell and I decide to seek out my brother—this will be the first time I see him in many long months and I am anxious. But…when I reach the base of Mako Reactor 0…I am appalled by what I find. Weiss sits upon the throne that the Restrictor once dominated and he is speaking quietly to Azul, something he avoids doing because he has never been on good terms with the Cerulean—although they do not see each other as adversaries, they barely tolerate one another. Azul is furious that Weiss can so easily be stronger than he and Weiss is irked by Azul's disinclination to follow a man smaller than him. Azul obeys Weiss for the same reason he obeyed the Restrictor, Weiss's word has become law and he has the power to enforce those laws—disobedience is met with a swift and painfully just punishment.
Weiss kept the promise he made when forced to bind me; he ordered my freedom the moment he took over…but I didn't leave my cell. I feel safer in there, more controlled, less like the monster I appear to be—because monsters deserve to be in cages and that's exactly where I am. At first Weiss was accepting, he was every part the understanding brother I'll always perceive him as…but then he changed so abruptly. He began to demand that I leave my cell and do as he decreed…
That's when the missions above the surface began. Rosso was elated when he first sent her above to wipe out a force known as the "WRO." He sent a gruesome transmission to the surface dwellers and continued to send his own soldiers to combat theirs. He ordered that I go with Rosso and the rest of the Tsviets to a city called Kalm and swallow as many WRO agents into my darkness as I could—I was directed to swallow only those labeled as "tainted." I had my suspicions, but I will always do anything Weiss asks of me.
Once finished with my duty, I retreated to my cell but did not stay for long. Now I have emerged and, as previously stated, I sought out Weiss and I am perturbed by what I find.
"Her services are no longer required," Weiss says, as eerily calm as the Restrictor once was and he has a slight note of hysteria to his voice—one that I do not remember ever hearing. "She has fulfilled her duty and usefulness has come to an end." I worry about whomever they speak of and a subconscious part of knows it is not Rosso, so I am not as surprised by his next words as I should be. "Terminate Shelke the Transparent."
Not as surprised for I unconsciously expected this, but I am still deeply disturbed. Shelke? It cannot be. Weiss and Shelke are friends; he is nearly as close to her as he is to me! But—I shiver—I am unsure of the validity of that statement; Weiss has not been himself lately. He's been so cold and detached, it's as if we've become nothing for than pawns to him, mere pieces on a chessboard for him to throw about as he pleases.
"No!" I find myself crying out despite the muzzle strapped across my face. Weiss and Azul look up in shock, both staring at me in incredulity—though Weiss has a trace of anger in his iceberg eyes. I realize that this is the first time I have spoken since my initial binding so many years ago; I did not think it possible for me to speak…
"Why terminate Shelke?" I press on, despite my surprise with myself and my fear of the fury growing within my brother. "Surely you can still find use for her, brother, her abilities—"
"Include nothing more than mindless SNDs," interrupts Weiss bitterly and I flinch. "We have no further use for her." He turns back to Azul, eyes hard and commanding. "Terminate her."
"But Weiss—" I begin to speak in Shelke's defense.
"But nothing," barks Weiss, waving a dismissive hand at Azul and the hulking man retreats obediently. "Shelke is currently residing in the presence of our enemies and she holds valuable information—information that we have made good use of, but now no longer require. She must be terminated before she can leak this information to our foes.
"Now, go back to your cell," he orders, "and do not come out until I summon you when your services are needed. Understood?"
I bow my head. "Yes, my brother."
.
I do not know exactly what happened to Shelke after that day…I only know that things only became more horrible after that… I was sent to swallow the crew of an airship called The Shera, where I met Shelke briefly when she came to investigate the sudden disappearance of the engine room workers… I did a terrible thing then, and I swallowed her as well. She was bitter and angry and I'd become so warped by the darkness of my cell and influenced by the madness of my brother that all I could do was laugh and taunt her…
I remember attacking the old city of Midgar, the very place where everything had started—how fitting that it be the very place were we end it all… However, the end was not as we expected—it was our own end that came about in Midgar, not that of our enemy…
Midgar is where I fought Vincent Valentine, not for the first time, but in a more finalized battle—somehow, I'd known that that battle would spell the death of one of us and…Vincent had Chaos living within him so Death wouldn't dream of claiming him… My last thoughts had been for Weiss… After the battle, after a million gunshots, a thousands emptied magazines, and a hundred healing spells hastily made…I fell and I could not get up…and I thought of my brother. I remember…stumbling from darkness, his name burning from my throat as I ran to him, and the slow, metallic footsteps of Vincent Valentine as he followed me warily into Mako Reactor 0.
And I remember Weiss standing slowly as I limped to his side, the sleeves of my restraints fallen loose and my wings emitting a horrid static sound as loose wires crackled and slithered about in their casing. But Weiss did not greet me like I expected…he didn't smile at me like I'd hoped…he barely bothered to look at me… Instead, he fixed me with his iceberg eyes and told my that my services were no long required…
After that…I could only feel pain and a terrible burning in my chest…
.
The darkness eases just long enough for me to look upon the gruesome scene that has just taken place. I see myself sprawled out on the floor, face down and blanketed by those hollow wings of mine in some sort of cruel irony. I see Vincent Valentine clutching his chest as if in pain, his form hunched and his bloody eyes narrowed in an indescribable emotion. Vincent has his gun drawn, gripped in his right hand and pointed determinedly at his adversary, but I can see the slight tremor in his hand.
And I see Weiss. He stands before Vincent, apparently in the middle of an on-going spiel on his own genius plans—how very unlike Weiss. But…with Weiss, I see another figure; this one translucent and static, flickering as if not really there from one spot to another. The motions of this holographic figure mirror Weiss's—or perhaps it's the other way around—and his horrible, shrieking voice speaks over Weiss's deeper baritone, sometimes muting out my brother's voice completely.
I recognize this figure and I shiver at his presence. Hadn't he died years ago? I thought we were finally rid of him…the one who had taken such pride in the agonizing experiments that made Deepground the hell it was—the very experiments that created the first Tsviet.
Hojo.
It all makes sense now. Weiss has been under the control of Hojo all this time; no wonder he has not been behaving so strange, he has never really been there at all… It makes me sick to realize that I have been calling this horrible man my brother for so long and not know the truth of his identity.
I am furious. For the first time in years a real emotion builds up inside me and it is fury. Fury at this imposter for masquerading as my dearest brother and getting away with it. Fury at myself for not seeing the deception sooner. And fury at the rest of the world—at the Planet herself—for all the cruelties that have been imposed upon my life, all the horrors that were dished out to me against my will.
And it seems to me—even in my moment of blind fury, I realize this—that nothing will ever go the way I'd like it to; not one small thing will happen in such a way that will make me feel even the tiniest spark of happiness. It seems that I am fated to live a life of suffering and…it seems that fate has come to be, I realize as I return my gaze to lifeless corpse that once was mine.
My fury doubles. If I am to never receive anything to my liking, then I will take something; I will make something mine and I will hold onto it for as long as I can. I do not know how long I will remain in this curious state, but I imagine I do not have much time. So actions must be made, how awful that it has taken me so many torturous years to finally realize that to get what I desire, I must work for it. Such things should have been obvious from the start.
I decide that if I will have anything—anything at all—then I will have a conversation with my brother, my real brother. And so, I stride forth to take it…
.
I…cannot remember exactly how that conversation ended…I remember joining my spirit with Weiss's body…and the two of just moving towards the pool of pure Lifestream… But after that…everything goes blank. I recall a loud hissing as the pure Lifestream rejected my tainted soul…and Weiss shouting to me…but then there is nothing else.
I have been here ever since. Trapped within the safety of my holding cell; wrapped up in my restraints with my wings secure on my back and chained to the very pillar that has often been my friend in this abysmal place. I feel oddly safe, oddly at home, as if this has been where I belong all along. Despite its lack of Weiss or any other company, I find this darkness to my liking. Here I can stay forever and have no fear or worry in the world; I have nothing here, and so I have nothing to fret over and nothing to lose. It is…perfect. Though it seems crazy, I feel that I have found my Eden once again, after thinking it lost since the day Deepground stole my brother and me from our home.
I wish to never leave, because…at last…I am happy… And for the first time in a long time, a pleasant dream comes to me… A dream of innocent childhood days beneath the warm midday sun and rolling green fields and ferns and trees and clear blue skies…and Weiss's smiling face. I dream of gentle breezes and shady spots by lakesides on blistering summer days and a cold scoop of ice cream melting in a paper cup as I hasten to eat it before it's turned completely to liquid. And I dream of Weiss poking me and teasing me, after having finished his own treat much quicker.
"Eat it quick, Nero, unless you'd rather have ice cream soup!"
The darkness slowly dissolves into something brighter; a strong beam of light streams across the floor, burning my eyes and making the oblivion impossibly darker before the brightness sluggishly creeps into place. In my mind's eye, I am seeing the sunrise from the roof of my house; the first beams of golden light streaking across the valley and illuminating the still-sleeping Planet. I am seeing the shadows of night flee, some lingering to hide behind trees and rocks and homes and in the tiny nooks and crannies of nature. I am seeing the leaves rustle and dance in an early-morning breeze and the grass shimmer with dewdrops and twinkle like stars on earth.
I am back home… I am free… I am alive…
"Nero…"
The breeze whispers my name, acknowledging that yes, truly I am home. I close my eyes and turn my face to the spreading warmth of the daystar and wait for the breeze to return and ruffle my hair; to touch my face and grace my skin with its velveteen touch. I wait…and I listen…
"Nero…awaken…"
I find this a funny thing for wind to say…yet, not strange at all…the rest of the world is waking up, so why not me? But…I am already awake…
"Awaken…my brother, please…"
The wind takes on a very familiar voice and familiar hands press to my cheeks…and I am jolted into reality. I now feel the worn straps of the muzzle across my face, the cramped muscles in my arms from being trapped within my straitjacket, and the ache of my spine where my wings are attached and strained by the chains that keep me airborne.
"Nero…"
I open my eyes to a shadowed face, barely recognizable in the sting of light after what seems like an eternity of darkness. But there is enough light for me to make out the defined jaw and aristocratic nose of the face that hovers over me—and I vaguely note that perhaps I was never to close to the ceiling as I'd once thought. There is enough light for me to see the icy eyes that only melt when I meet them with my own vermillion orbs. There is enough light for me to see how it glistens against the array of silver spikes that form a haphazard halo around this pale face… There is enough light for me to recognize the anxious face of my brother; mytrue brother, not the imposter from my nightmares.
"Welcome back, my brother," he whispers and I slump into his arms as my chains are released. I allow him to hold me as he used to do in days long gone and I rest my chin upon his shoulder and breathe easily in his presence. Beyond Weiss, standing nearly silhouetted in the doorway of my chamber, there is another tall figure. This one I do not recognize right away for I have not seen him in so long, but Genesis is just as my hazy memories recall him to be. Dressed in a long crimson leather coat with tattered ends, he stands with arms folded over his chest and his red hair lank in his face. He smirks at me, but in an oddly fond way and ruffles the beetle black feathers of the single wing that curls at his left side. He appears to almost be bored, but there is a light in his Mako eyes that suggest a far greater excitement—anticipation, perhaps, for something that has yet to come, but will soon. Same old Genesis; I will never fully understand the workings of his mind or the entirety of his intentions.
I sigh and let my eyes slide shut; suddenly, I am exhausted and sleep fingers the edges of my mind. But I do not want to sleep, I wish to remain awake, I wish to be with my brothers again, there is so much to be discussed…so much to catch up on…so much…
"Rest, dear brother," murmurs Weiss, shifting his arms so that he can scoop me up and cradle me to his chest. I feel his rhythmic steps as he carries me like a child to Genesis. He is mindful of my wings, but not hindered by them in the slightest. "Sleep now, sweet Nero, we will still be here when you wake up. I promise."
I know from experience that Weiss will always keep his promises and I am able to rest easy in the safety of his arms; I allow unconsciousness to grasp me and I feel no fear as it comes. Instead, I feel assured and I feel hope, something I have not felt in countless years, since Deepground claimed me for a soldier. I decide that hope is a nice thing to feel again, a welcome emotion, because it gives me the courage to move forward once again. It gives me the bravery to tell myself that I will be free, I will see the surface once again, and I will finally be happy again. It gives me the strength to live, despite being considered dead to the rest of the world.
All three of us—me, Weiss, and Genesis—we are brothers and we have been defeated time and time again, but… I know for a fact, that we will live.