This is my entry to Amaranthos competition. I'd like to thank her for the incentive to write, I've been slacking for waaaay too long.

As always, thanks also to SeveredWing, you keep me going. You know which part here is for you.

This fic is still un-beta'ed. (Also, is not saving all the formatting correctly. Grr.)

In the darkness with you

Of all the things that had happened to her since this journey had begun, this had to be the worst. The cave in had occurred in the third or fourth hour that they had spent walking around in the massive labyrinth that was the Northern Crater. They'd been walking deeper and deeper, when suddenly the roof had caved in, leaving her on one side and the rest of the group on the other. Having no other choice, they had all agreed it would be best if she doubled back and tried another passage instead. There had to be more ways then one to the center of the crater.

An hour and many fights later had her wishing for her friends more than ever. They had spoken over the PHS, and she knew they were somewhere close by. That knowledge was however not helping with her feelings of isolation. She simply did not like being on her own, it gave her mind too much time to think and analyze things.

More than that, she wanted her comrades at her side for the fight she was in for next. It wasn't that she thought of herself as a bad fighter, she knew her skills were great, but for this fight they would not be enough. This fight would take all of them, and it wasn't supposed to happen yet.

Strange as it was she found herself wishing for another pair of gloves the most. The ones she was currently using were coming apart at the seams, one monster after the other eating away at the cloth. Her hands ached, as did most of the muscles in her body. The weariness in her limbs had put her where she was now as well, with scrapes and bruises all over. It was making her sloppy, and she needed all her focus if she was to even have the slightest chance to survive.

Changing her stance to a more meditative one, she concentrated on regaining her focus, without loosing sight of the predator stalking her for even a second.

Focusing, she could feel the icy cold wind burning in her lungs with every breath she took. Absentmindedly she noted the mist that formed as she exhaled. She didn't like the cold, it made her ache inside, made her numb to the world, made her think of things long since past.

The predator jumped down from the ledge above, where she'd been fighting not a few moments ago before she herself had jumped down. Taking it's time, it stood quite far from her, just studying her.

She knew he could see how she was favoring her right leg, the appendage no longer taking all of her weight from a previous battle wound. She could still fight however, and that was all that mattered. She would not simply lay down and die here.

She tightened the cloth around her left upper arm, trying in vain to slow the flow of blood, irritating as it was sliding down her arm, the wound stinging from the cold and sweat.

She changed her stance a bit, head following the slow, calculating movements of her opponent. She took a second to wipe away the sweat from her brow, she could ill afford the distraction it would cause if it reached her eyes.

One of them would have to make the first move soon.

One of them would not walk away from this fight.

When it began she was unsure who had made the first move, but suddenly they were in a lethal dance of blows and dodges. The air filling with the sound of her panting breath, the sound of boots hitting the ground as they moved, grunts and groans as attacks were made and blocked, the metal of his sword hitting against the metal of her vambraces as well as the sound of the blade singing as it sliced through the air.

It was taking more than she feared she had in her to keep up with him. Never had she seen anyone move so fast, so smooth and graceful. She would not be able to continue for long.

Yet she kept pushing herself and they fought on, testing each others strength and defense, pausing again to circle and study, then viciously dance again. On and on, back and forth; an unending circle.

"Why do you fight?"

The question threw her off for a second. She had not expected there to be any sound beyond that of battle. It was a trick of course; another strategy, she knew this. The devil with a silver tongue and all.

"What has this world ever given you but pain? What debt are you trying to repay?"

There was some part of her that wanted to listen, that wasn't sure of her path. Doubt somehow finding root in her pain, in her uncertainty. She wished for her comrades, wished they would arrive soon to help her back onto her path. Wished for conviction.

All she received was further torment.

"Are you happy? Content? Are you anything but a ghost moving through life, simply existing one day after another?"

A pause.

"Have you ever truly felt alive?"

Had she? Her mind, her sense of duty was trying to fight the doubt that was slowly building in her. Yet the fact remained that she did not remember truly feeling alive outside of her encounters with this extraordinary man, in her youth as well as now.

"Do you have any reasons of your own to fight? Or is it just for someone else's cause? Some other souls pain?"

Angered, she shouted back at him. "You destroyed my home! Killed my father!"

Jab, dodge, block.

"Ah, but that is not the man you fight for. It is another kind of love you try to defend."

Jump, circle, thrust, block, kick.

"He does not love you. He can't. There is but room for one in the heart and soul of a man."

The look on his face spoke of pity, that it was not her fault, that she was not lacking something. She felt doubt seep more strength inside, she would never be perfect. Not like her anyway.

"Join me, and all the pain and doubt you feel will fade away. All that will be left is strength: the strength to do as you wish. To make the world your own."

It was enticing. The offer made in that mesmerizing voice, the promise of power in those cat like eyes. She knew it could come true, and suddenly the line between light and dark; right and wrong wasn't so clear after all.

In another time and place, with the world not in the balance... if she didn't care, then what? What if she could choose the easier way? She wondered if all the pain will be worth it in the end. What will there be after the dust has settled? Her home wiped out, family gone, business destroyed, and most of all, her love rejected. The world would be scarred, the wounds would run deep, taking years to heal. If they ever truly would heal.

Her own wounds she was even more uncertain of. The one thing she had ever really wanted, longed for, would be ripped from her. Always alone, even in a crowd, she had finally belonged. Or at least felt as if she had belonged, but when this was all over she would be then one left standing in the shadows.

Could it hurt so much if she just gave in? Not even that. Giving in was the wrong word, she would simply take the fight to another level. If she were to gain this power, would it not give her (and through her give the world) a better chance to survive? If she were to join this enemy of the world, who in fact was called its savior not too long ago, could she not use that power against him? Fight from the inside?

She had heard, and seen, what had been done to this once mighty general. Was she really one to judge his anger? Did he not also deserve justice for what had been done to him? In some ways he was still as innocent as the child he had once been, one that had suffered at the hands of madmen. Her pain was a part of his. If his promise could give her everything (which she knew he could), could she give him everything in return? Could he be brought back to the light? If she had the time, the knowledge, the sheer power, could she help him find that innocence again? Make him whole as he made her whole in return?

Like the lethal dance they were in, so circled her thoughts between yes and no.

In the end she understood that blood could be washed away from your hands, but never from your soul. Only forgiveness can clean the spirit, and his was drowning in blood. Only problem was, how can the dead forgive?

Could she forgive the end of her childhood? Her father. Her village. How could their blood be washed away without losing all that they had stood for, had died for? Could she look away from that? Be blind to it?

Another shadow to grow and envelop her, leaving her in the dark. Somehow she felt that dark had already enveloped all of him, and there was no way back.

So they were at another stand still, circling each other, reading their opponent, trying to find a weak spot. She knew she would lose if he was given enough time to fight, so she decided on another tactic. She would use her own fear and doubt against him. She may be hurting inside, but at least that made her feel alive.

"Who are you to tell me about what I'm feeling? I'd rather be betrayed by my emotions than be an empty shell like you."

She dodged and blocked a few swipes, then went back on the attack; both physical and verbal.

"You say you hate the world, but I bet you don't even know what hate feels like." The words rang out clear across the cavernous space, echoing of the wall, taunting him now.

Punch, swipe, a kick finally hitting home. "I pity you." Another strike finding its mark.

There was a beeping sound and finally it looked as if she had a chance, her PHS sending out an GPS search answer. They were coming, soon. Very close now.

Alas, the distraction cost her more than she gained.

She felt the blade cut through her middle, her flesh yielding to the cold steel. There was pain unlike any she had felt before: like fire burning straight through her. It stole her breath, her speech.

Head hanging in defeat she could only watch in shock as her blood ran down the sword, a single red rivulet turning into many. She took a breath, it hurt so she decided breath was no longer necessary. It was over. She had lost.

She lifted her hand to rest it upon the blade piercing her, and it made the blade move slightly, sink deeper into her tissue. A pained moan escaped her lips. She forced herself to look at the one wielding the blade, the one that had killed her. His silver hair was flowing in the breeze, partly covering his face, but she could still see into his eyes and there was no anger there. No ill will, hate or sense of victory. The only thing she could see, hidden deep inside, was sadness. The same sadness she had always been able to see there. The sadness that had survived in the shadows of his soul. She tried to lift her hand to touch his face, to convey to him not to be sad anymore as speech had failed her with her breath, but her efforts fell short, hand landing on his shoulder.

Somewhere far away she could hear screaming, voices calling her name in desperation, but they didn't matter now. Nothing but the last regrets of making the wrong choices mattered as her life slowly flowed from her wounds.

She made another effort to reach him, tangling her fingers in the hair on his shoulder, her blood coloring it red. It somehow felt wrong seeing it colored that way.

His right hand then reached for her, gently cupping her chin to hold her head up, making eye contact. She remembered another time then, a time when those same hands had held her and kept her safe from certain death. Strange now that they would be the one to end her life. For the longest moment she saw that subtle but exceptional spirit that lived in him, and could not help but stare. This was the man he should be, the man he could be. Perhaps even the man he had been for awhile. She found herself wanting that. In the end, she found herself wanting that life to be true.

Then as she was lost in the 'what if's he suddenly moved closer, keeping her perfectly still with his remarkable strength. There was a fleeting look of longing in his eyes, almost to quick to notice, before he bent slightly and pressed his lips against hers. It was over before she had the chance to react, and then there was only sadness in him again.

"Life. Death. Rebirth. The circle is endless. The choice is yours."

The blade was then quickly withdrawn, fire again following in its trail. Without the steel to hold her up, she crumpled to the ground, a heap of unmoving limbs.

The voices coming ever closer, she still focused on the blurring figure of sadness walking away. She would die here, by his hand in a pool of her own blood, and then the choice would be hers to make.

The end.

So, what did you think? I live of comments, and desperately want to hear your opinion. Needy, I know.

Also, I know Tifa doesn't have any armor in the game, but the girl needs something to block with and I felt that this choice did not alter her fighting style.

Happy Holidays!

ps. Please review. ;)