A/N: In the past year an a half I've graduated college, learned to drive, quit my first terrible job, got my first ever full time job in my professional industry (graphic design) and paid off my student loans. Now I'm celebrating a year at said full time job. I've been busy.
Think of this story as the weird lovechild of Fourth Time's the Charm, Ghost of Wutai and Delivery.
Chapter Warning: Violence and mild gore
Revenant
Chapter 1: No Such Thing as Ghosts
Smoke choked the stars above from sight as it did the painted hues of dusk. The village burned, a terrible beacon of light that would devour until everything turned to ash. People scattered like ants from a hill, screaming, desperate the escape the fire that ravaged their homes, but most were halted by a pepper of pops and bangs. Men, women and even children fell to the ground, their burned bodies and lifeless eyes a twisted reminder that whether they stayed in their homes or tried to escape the fire, their fate remained the same. Helmeted soldiers watched on—masked, uniformed and guns raised. They had their orders. This was war. These people were the enemy. Theymade themselves the enemy. None of this would have had to happen if one of them confessed harboring the traitor.
Foolish Wutainese pride and their supposed honor. Even to save their own lives they would not break a vow. They would rather die.
Standing behind a squad of gunmen was one of the leaders on the front lines. First Class Soldier, Sephiroth. To the ShinRa military, he was an elite warrior of rare standing—ruthless, powerful and cunning. To the people of Wutai, he was a demon. A living weapon. His unnatural feline eyes that glowed with mako energy and shock silver hair belonged on no mortal. Much less a child that appeared to be no more than sixteen. One could argue who was more barbaric. The Wutainese who would rather have their loved ones slaughtered than to compromise their precious honor; or the Continentals, who called fifteen year olds adults and dropped them onto a battlefield after three months of training.
Children led by children.
Casualties were high on both sides, because advanced weaponry only did you so well if you could barely hit a target. The men—boys—in Sephiroth's charge were the lucky souls that survived long enough to shoot properly...in exchange for what youthful innocence remained after their first kill. Like statues, they maintained their aim on the village, blue attire long since stained grey by filth and smoke to match their stony obedience. Sephiroth looked almost angelic as he watched the wooden buildings crack and crumble, with shoulder-length locks and a natural pallor that were near white despite the snow of ash. Eerily perfect, one might say, almost alien.
Feline eyes narrowed imperceptibly as the night wore on and silence prevailed. The fire crept closer to his men, grass and other greenery finally catching alight. It was time to pull back. No more they could do here. As were their orders from the General, the traitor harboring village was exterminated. But Sephiroth could not quite shake off a feeling of unease. As if turning his back now would end with a sword betwixt his shoulders blades. He lifted a leather encased hand, ready to signal the troops to fall into a marching formation so they could return to camp. Before he could bark a command, one of his soldiers let out a yowl of surprise.
Sephiroth jerked his head to the side, adrenaline mixing with the mako in his blood. No trace of emotion graced his features. Only the faint brightening of his irises betrayed his instinctive readiness to fight.
It took a moment to spot the affected solider. He was part of a line watching the northern entrance to the village. In his hands he held the remaining scraps of his weapon, the rest laid shattered on the ground. The solider broke form and spun around like a frantic chocobo looking for a direwolf. His fellows shifted. Some even trembled. What could have possibly cleaved that gun apart and startled his troops? Sephiroth drew his sword, Masamune, seemingly from thin air. The seven foot blade glinted in the firelight, as if delighted to be free of its magical sheath.
Another solider cried out. This time, it was from the line he stood behind. Was this enemy taunting him?
"Solider!" he growled.
The boy dropped the pieces of his gun and reached for the knife on his belt. "Sir!" he replied, voice deepened by the helmet. "My rifle...exploded...Sir." But they both knew that could not be the full truth. His weapon looked cleaved apart, the shrapnel created by its destruction minimal. Three more cries of surprise sounded from the ranks.
Sephiroth brandished his sword, his order little more than a whisper, "Show yourself."
"Gladly."
The First pivoted on his heel and slashed the empty air. The reply he heard sounded as if the person spoke directly into his left ear. His men started to turn towards him, as if to aid their commander against his unseen opponent. He waved them back, "Maintain formation." They reluctantly obeyed. What else could they do? Sephiroth was known as the most powerful fighter at ShinRa, having climbed the ranks rapidly since first appearing at age thirteen, already a Third Class Solider upon introduction. The man had just two peers that came anywhere near him skill and might. Boys a couple years his senior that were the first ever members of the slowly growing Super Soldier program. First Class Soliders Angeal Hewley and Genesis Rhapsodos. If the best among the best could not handle this threat, then they were doomed.
"Ooh, too slow."
Sephiroth whirled again at the tease but his eyes saw nothing but the ashen hellscape. Was this some kind of invisibility spell? Another of the soldiers' guns exploded.
"Cease with these infantile games."
The air, inexplicably, grew colder. As if the heat from the flames was drained from the scene. "Perhaps you're right. Sparing their lives is rather childish. They will only go on to kill more innocents should I leave a single one of them alive." Any playfulness was gone from their voice. It was hollow. Like that of a man who knew too well of the horrors that war hailed. There was a whistle of metal cutting through air and the clatter of a dozen rifles hitting the ground. Sephiroth's mouth thinned in disbelief. One line of troops dropped to the dirt, dead before they could muster a gurgle of agony. A half-dozen young men gone in a blink. Only a single figure remained upright amidst the fallen.
Their killer.
Short statured for a male but broad chested, he had the frame and stance of a veteran warrior. He was clad in all black attire reminiscent of a standard First Class uniform. The major discrepancy being the single long sleeve hanging loosely around his left arm and the dire wolf embellishment on his pauldron. Was this man some kind of defector? Because those blue eyes of his were bright. Far too bright for anything but the mako enhanced. Unruly blond hair and oversized broadsword separated him further from the Wutainese people with which he seemingly aligned himself.
The pair regarded each other from a distance.
Waiting.
Watching.
"Shoot him," Sephiroth said to the soldiers he was nearest. They pointed their rifles and...nothing. "Do not make me repeat myself."
A beat of silence, then, "S-sir. There is no one over there?"
"Soldiers..."
Heeding the warning in his tone, five young men shot at the empty air where their fellows once stood. Sephiroth tensed as the warrior batted away the stray bullets that were actually on target with his sword. He looked bored. "Not even going to avenge your men, Demon?"
Masamune sang as her master launched his assault on the strange man.
Under orders from President ShinRa himself, Sephiroth only entered combat personally for two reasons. His men were overwhelmed by the enemy and close to loss, or there was an impression to be made. Clearly this was not a fight his men could win given how easily this man cut them down. But it was not honor or vengeance that spurred him to use his super human agility to leap an impossible height and distance. No. It was cold, calculated curiosity. This man with mako eyes—he might last longer than a second against him in a fight before he died. A rare feat.
His blade was quicksilver in the firelight, striking down at his foe's vitals like a flash of lightning. The blond did not dodge. He did not move an inch. But in an equally impressive display of speed caught Masamune with his broadsword, deflecting the blow with startling ease. A normal man would have a broken arm at the very least after parrying an attack like that. However, Sephiroth knew the moment he saw those eyes that this man was far from normal.
What followed next was a flurry of blades and acrobatics so fast that the human eye could barely keep track.
Sephiroth was relentless, assailing his opponent with slices and slashes potent enough to create razor blades out of the air itself, that ripped jagged gasped across whatever they impacted. He was an army of one. A master swordsman. He could cut down a hundred men without rest or losing a drop of blood! And this stranger caught every one of his blows, his breathing growing minutely heavier as their battle progressed. The blond possessed almost no finesse, yet he kept pace, countering artful strikes as if they were a dance familiar to only he. When he did attack back, it was with force in mind, his blows causing Sephiroth to stagger back once or twice. Stagger!
Eventually, one of them had to slip.
Fortunately for Sephiroth, it was his foe.
As the man jumped back, having just bombarding Sephiroth with a series of slices that he could barely parry in time to save his innards from assault, he left his torso woefully vulnerable. Just as the tips of the blond's boots touch the dirt, Sephiroth closed in, using Masamune's incredible reach to its fullest advantage. His opponent's eye's went wide as he tried to move the broadsword's hilt low enough to deflect the blow, but it was too late. He was too slow. Victory was Sephiroth's! He almost grinned as Masamune impaled the blond warrior through his gut, three feet of metal emerging through his back. Just a little twist and and yank and he could slice this nuisance in half, severing his spine and several organs from their blood supply. A gruesome display of killing perfection.
Except, before he could do just that, the man dropped his broadsword and gripped the katana in his gut with both hands. There was a smile on his face, blood creeping from the corner of his mouth and oozing from his belly.
"Why does this always happen?" Before Sephiroth could question the man's apparent proclivity of getting skewered or how he came to have enhancements in the first place, the blond began to laugh. The First set his stance and twisted Masamune, the gesture freeing her from the stranger's grip. There was no resistance or fight when Sephiroth decided to end things. One good yank ripped the sword clean through the blond's side. Bone, flesh and sinew gave way to the kiss of sharpened steel. It was a blow fatal to even their kind.
But instead of collapsing in a gory heap after, the man continued to stand.
"Hm. That is inconvenient."
"How!"
The warrior flashed a wicked smile, "Now what would the fun be in telling you?" His expression sobered as he stepped backwards, his steps far heavier than when their battle began. "This is not over, Sephiroth. Far, far from it."
Without further words, he faded from sight, as if swallowed by the smoke. Even his sword dissipated as well. With narrowed eyes Sephiroth returned to his living soldiers, who were motionless again, watching his approach with an overt wariness despite their expressions being hidden by their clunky headgear.
As they returned to camp, he swore he heard one of them murmur to another, "Has he finally lost it? Attacking nothing like that..."
Had he lost his mind?
The lack of blood on Masamune made him wonder that himself.
.x.
"By what you've described, I'd say you encountered a Revenant."
Sephiroth arched a brow at Genesis. Unlike both Sephiroth and Angeal—who sat nearby, sharpening the Buster Sword he never used—Genesis wore a bright red trench coat over his First Class uniform. It made taking anything he said seriously quite difficult some days. Especially when he acted as if one of the more bizarre things Sephiroth saw in his life, was a normal conversation topic. Feline eyes fluttered shut briefly as he pinched his brow. They were all gathered in his tent at basecamp, informing one another about the status of their latest missions. When Sephiroth finished describing his fight with the strange warrior, Genesis' expression brightened and he began to pace, as if unable to contain his excited energy. Lamplight cast long shadows against the dark fabric of the walls, emphasizing every gesture in the already cramped space. All the overdone emoting and gesticulating was making him nauseated.
"You mean a ghost?" Angeal asked. The burly, raven-haired male looked just as disbelieving as Sephiroth felt.
Genesis sniffed, "No mere ghost! A Revenant. The people of Wutai have a whole series of myths and legends surrounding this phenomena. During times of civil unrest or tragedy, heroes would return from the Lifestream to walk among the living again. Some to avenge the fallen and topple warlords. Others to slay mighty beasts. Of course, there are no recent records of such occurring..."
"Because they're stories," Angeal said.
His auburn friend huffed, hands on his hips, "Let me finish, 'Geal. As I was saying, while there are no recent records of this occurring, one can attribute that to the 200 years of peace Wutai experienced before this war. The legends assure the people that the heroes will return in their hour of need, nothing less, nothing more."
"So we are dealing with some ghost."
"If you must put it that way, then yes, Angeal, Sephiroth fought the ghost of a fallen hero. It is why he did not die or otherwise react to the final strike. Though, I've never read an account of the warrior only being visible to one person. Normally the tales describe how much in awe some village or family is when the hero appears before their eyes in a dramatic display of light!"
Sephiroth rose from his seat, "How does one slay this creature?"
Genesis twisted a lock of hair and wrinkled his nose, "If you were not so uncultured and bothered to read the varied literature I procured for us over the past six months, you would know that one cannot kill a Revenant. Only dispel him." He sighed, "They are single-minded apparitions with a semi physical form. Birthed by the lifestream itself. To return to his afterlife, he must fulfill his obsession. Or should I say, his Quest."
"He claimed that 'it' was not over after our encounter."
"Congratulations. Your death is quite likely his Quest."
"Genesis!" Angeal scolded, earning a brow waggle from the target of the reprimand.
Both quieted and fixed their gazes on Sephiroth as he made for the entrance of his tent, "Enough nonsense. If it is physical enough to cut down the living, it can be killed." Revenant. What nonsense.
There were no such things as ghosts.
.tbc.
A/N: (Thanks for reading~ Reviews are love. This will not be a super long fic, but hopefully it will be fun for my readers. Also, expect time skips during the next couple chapters as I get all the pieces of the plot in place.)