The Kill Bill universe, with a heavy ffvii twist. The rating is T, for later chapters and language.
A/N:
A few years ago, an author named Niquie began a story titled 'Kill Strife' on here, but never finished. Since I'm in love with both the Kill Bill saga and Tifa, I've decided to try my hand at this plot as well. However, in an effort not to copy the original, I'm sliding Zack in as Bill - but! Don't worry, I plan to add bits of Cloti as well. If you get an chance, search for the original, because what was posted was tastefully written.
A/N: 11/2/2011, this isn't an update I went back and fixed the errors that I could find and added very small bits and pieces. Thank you Ava Chanel, Ayannaaki and Compa16. I will try to do my best.
FAIR GAME
My new life lays scattered in the shapes of lifeless bodies lying in their own blood, we're in a wedding chapel that's been redecorated by death and gunfire.
Your wedding day is supposed to be happy, right?
Damn right, and I was happy until about thirty five minutes ago.
Nibelheim was nice in the summer, I now wish I would had the galls to of gone back and visited, despite the temperature never peaking past sixty degrees. Every year, when it finally defrosted, the towns-kids would take a dip in the water up north - staying careful not to drink any of it, since it really wasn't more than a murky pond.
As a child, my mother warned me to be careful of getting any of it in my ears, and scolded me whenever I did. 'Everything sounds cloudy, right dear?'
I guess, blood is like water, 'cause right now, I can't hear anything.
For a moment as a pair of Wutanian hands close around my wind pipe, I find myself briefly wondering why this is happening, but it doesn't take long to remember my shitty luck. With a mental 'oh yeah,' I recall that it was my mistake to try to run, and now I'm paying for it twice fold.
My eyes trace the outline of the young face hovering over mine, and something akin to betrayal mixed with unending hatred burns in my stomach. 'Bitch,' if she's the one who's gonna do me in, I wish I would have given her a better haircut.
At this point, my injuries are so severe that I can do little more that will myself to stay conscious. Thinking of anything that comes to mind, besides toned and tanned muscles to jet black spikes and whispered words that I forced myself to believe meant absolutely nothing.
When the hands release my throat, and the body they're attached to lifts off of me, I get my first glance at exactly who's still standing - breathing - in the room with me, and commit their faces to memory once again.
Gunnr, flat chested bitch.
Göndul, wand wielding cunt.
Skögul, no one likes gingers.
Together with me, Skuld, we were Odin's Valkyrie's - each special in our own way, but all trapped and all good as dead, in one way or another. But, there's people missing from this party. Two very important people, and as the guest of honor, I'm feelin' a bit... Should I say 'disrespected'?
I laugh, but it comes out as more of a chocked gargle and forces my head to lop sideways. The dusty wooden floor does nothing to cool my warm cheek as it makes contact with a smack, but I have hardly enough time to adjust my senses to this new pain as my attention is drawn to the reflection of my eyes in shiny black. Boy, I look like shit. Everything in my line of sight is drowned out by a pair of shoes, just inches from my face.
But oh, there's one of them.
Fenrir, cheap bastard.
Despite their military-esq shine, I still want to giggle at the fact that he's wearing penny loafers, which knowing him were undoubtedly purchased at a second hand store. It's always amazed me how even though this blonde is the highest paid of our... no, their group - his cut them down and never ask questions approach is well sought after - he's got all the qualities of a shifty old crab.
Hmm, I hadn't even realized that I've lost the ability to blink, as I continue to stare at the shoes that fidget next to me. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was nervous, but I do.
Apprehensive, and a smidgen of guilty perhaps, but he hasn't been nervous around me since we made that promise some odd years ago under the milky sky of my hometown.
'You might as well put that anger to use, and with us you can travel the world, become something better than an angry Pta mom... And, we'll all take real good care of you, promise.'
"Do you find me sadistic?"
And there's the host, Odin, himself. Aww, so everyone did come.
"In another age men who shook the world for their own purposes were called conquerors. In our age, the men who shake the planet for their own power and greed are called corrupters."
And of the world's corrupters this one stands alone. For while he corrupts the world, inside himself he is pure. Aka, He's the boss of all ass holes. Masochistic, conniving, he'd sooner be reincarnated into a snake than a God.
But, Jesus, how I once loved him.
"Gaia, Teef." His voice isn't magic, and just like everything else, his words are muted, but I can feel the vibrations his steps cast on the floorboards under my back. I always know when he's around.
And he always knows how to find me.
He's close enough to stand over me now, and from that frantic look in my eyes, I'm sure he can tell that I can't hear him - but I don't need to. I can read lips, he taught me how, himself.
Ever the gentleman, he bends down and enunciates, "I bet I could fry an egg on your head about now, if I wanted to." Crouched in front of me, like he's about ready to do a few squats, his left knee blocks my view of half his face, but I can still see that damn trademark grin of his is plastered across it.
That same grin has given me butterflies in the past, but right about now all it's doing is conjuring up the rising the bile in my throat. I wish I would have eaten something before coming to the church, then I'd have something to spit at him - just to piss him off - too bad my mouth's dry, regular spit would have worked just as nicely.
I don't want to think about why the damn flood gates rush open when he reaches into his pocket for a handkerchief. Maybe, it's cause I recall him always complaining about if he was to get sick, disposable tissues were much more sanitary, but this particular cloth holds sentimental value for the both of us and my stomach shrinks with disgust. The hanky, that was oh so tenderly wiping away the blood from my face, had the name "ZACK" sewn in the corner.
I've has always been a terrible gift giver, but all the professionals that had ever had the unfortunate opportunity to find themselves in the backwater town of Nibelheim, had pocket squares with their names sown onto them and since he was a business man of sorts, getting him one too only made sense.
He's taking real good care of me, alright, but what can't be wiped away, is the white hot hate that shines in both my corel red wine eyes.
He probably pictured this exact moment in his head.
Gaia, what I wouldn't give right now to take care of him real well, with a nicely aimed kick to his groin.
"Babe, don't look at me like that." He says it with an air of jest, but even in my current state, I recognize it as a warning and do my best to drop the scowl of my lips into a neutral line. The strokes he's painting across my face are calming in a way that scares me, and under any other circumstances, I might have been drifting off to sleep. I shouldn't have let my guard down before, and even though I'm tired now, I refuse to close my eyes. "That's better, Teef. Yanno, I'd like to believe, even now, you're aware enough to know there isn't a trace of sadism in my actions..."
He's finished, and now that my pretty face is wiped clean, Zack stands to survey his accomplishment. I stare up at him, helpless, and his mako violet stares back... lovingly? No, if I had the energy to shake my head, I would of. Instead, I do it mentally to rid myself that assumption.
I must be seeing things, I have to be, because people who love you don't want to kill you.
"No, at this moment, this is me at my most masochistic." He turns away from me for a split second to hand gun from a woman I once considered my sister, wait, who am I kidding? She's never been anything more than competition.
It looks small in his hand, maybe if I live through this I'll tell him to stick to that gaudy sword of his. Live through this? Again, who am I kidding? The click of him pulling down the hammer, all unnecessary thought processes stop and I'm filled with terror.
Looking into the barrel of the handgun, I wish I would have just stayed with him. Ha, how many wishes is that now? I guess, none of them will ever come true.
"Z-Zack," The urgency in my voice startles no one, but from my peripherals, I can see that they all wish I wouldn't speak, but boy, do I have a fucking surprise for them. A bigger surprise that this spur of the moment reunion they shot me with. "It's your bab-"
Please read and review, but no flames please, cause they're rude. I'm new to this, so I acknowledge the fact that I have room to grow. I tried to keep it purposely confusing by mentioning only Tifa and Zack by name. But, I think I gave enough clues as to who might be who?
