[ν] εγλ – 0507
"How long?"
"When will you stay gone?" Cloud asks instead of replying, and he doesn't even care that the words are tinged with desperation. His sword is already sheathed; he's learned by now it has no place in this stage of the battle.
"When you no longer wish it," Sephiroth says hoarsely, with the self-satisfied smile of a particularly devious cat. It's almost enough to distract from the bloody, rusted metal jutting from his middle—rebar, piping, Cloud doesn't know. Doesn't much care, either. Sephiroth's impaled body is draped over the crumbling, overgrown debris of what might have been a skyscraper a few hundred years ago. It's impossible to tell at this point. Midgar isn't much more than a name, now. Cloud is huddled on the ground not far from him, knees drawn up to his chest defensively even as he fixes the Nightmare with a defiant glare. His body is aching, limbs covered in still-bleeding wounds, a long slash cutting over his chest, clothes torn: Sephiroth had been a particularly vicious opponent this time.
Neither of them are all that fond of anniversaries.
Even in the midst of his current misery (he refuses to so much as think of the more accurate word for what he feels, refuses even now to give Sephiroth that satisfaction), it will never cease to irritate him how smooth and confident Sephiroth manages to be right up to the very brink of death. Then, Cloud supposes he must be used to it by now—as used to dying as Cloud is to killing him.
Cloud doesn't want to be used to that. He just—
"I just want it to be over," Cloud says, voice nearly breaking. "What do I have to do to get rid of you?"
"Oh, Cloud," soft obscene emphasis on his name, like always, "you'll never be rid of me. Not entirely." Sephiroth's smile is gentle, but somehow mocking, his acid-green eyes full in equal measure of malice and a strange, patronizing adoration. Like he couldn't decide if Cloud was his enemy or a favoured pet. "I'm part of you…inside you. My touch is on every cell in your body, my voice wrapped around every thought which passes through your mind… I own you, Cloud, in ways even you don't understand."
"If I understood, would you be satisfied? Would you leave me alone?" Cloud rasps.
"…How dull. That you would ask such a thing shows just how little you're even capable of understanding," Sephiroth replies, and what is that in his voice, in his eyes, beneath the ever-present amusement at Cloud's expense—scorn, contempt, disappointment?
"Then tell me," Cloud insists.
He is not expecting Sephiroth to laugh. Certainly not a great, full laugh like this, the sort that must be excruciating with that metal spire piercing him and a part of Cloud thinks good, you son of a bitch, now you know how Aerith felt! Most of him is confused, overwhelmed, upset and yes, desperate. How can Sephiroth laugh, now of all times?
When Sephiroth's laughter finally subsides, there are tears in his eyes—of agony or mirth, Cloud isn't sure. Knowing Sephiroth, probably both. "Puppet," he gasps, and it could be the pain or the laughter that's made him so short of breath, "puppet, I've told you again and again for centuries! 'None so blind…'"
He won't look away from Cloud, though the insane light in his eyes grows dimmer by the second. Cloud knows what's coming next, and the realisation makes him want to scream.
"Will you…miss me?" Sephiroth manages to ask.
"No," Cloud answers. His voice cracks on the single syllable. He can only hope Sephiroth didn't hear; his eyes are still wide open and fixed on Cloud, but he recognises the dull, glassy stare of death.
"Please stay gone," he whispers hopelessly, but of course, there is no reply—only the beginnings of Sephiroth's corrupted Return. Cloud puts his head in his hands and keeps reminding himself that he's still alive until he believes it.
When he finally musters up the will to return to civilization, he can't help but look back at the ruins of his civilization, and wonder how many more years of conflict will pass before the world he knows now looks like this too. Will the next one which follows celebrate the end of its predecessor as well? Edge's Meteorfall festival promises to be spectacular this year, as befits the pentacentennial celebration of such a momentous event. Cloud would give it a miss if he could—it's more than a little jarring to his mind, attending the celebration of Sephiroth's greatest defeat mere hours after battling him for what must be nigh-on the hundredth time. But Nanaki had decided to bring his grandcubs to the festivities this year, and even Vincent might be coaxed out of the woodwork by this rare chance at a reunion…and where Vincent goes, Shelke is sure to follow.
So Cloud straightens his spine, swallows his horror (his despair), and walks on, refusing to allow his mind to dwell on anything but the knowledge that for tonight, at least, he will be among friends. Above all, he does not think about what that means for tomorrow.
A/N: So…anyone care to speculate as to the overarching theme connecting the chapters…? If it's not discernible by now, next chapter should clear it up.
