Notes: I had already determined the manner in which Seph died the first time, when I realized the irony of the method.

Chapter Three

Dying is a strange experience.

Especially if one goes through it more than once.

I still remember the first time. It was at the end of a harsh battle, and I had just succeeded in killing the opposing side's leader. I had not realized that his captain, whom I had also wounded, was still alive. Not until it was too late, and the pain ripped through my body. I remember falling back, suddenly dizzy and lightheaded. At first I couldn't quite comprehend what had happened. It was a shock, and even after I looked down and saw the blade being pulled out of my stomach, I couldn't quite make sense of it. I collapsed to my knees, clutching at the wound tightly as crimson ran through my fingers.

Somehow I managed to pull myself together long enough to turn around, crashing my sword against his right before he would have delivered the final strike. I shoved him backwards and plunged the Masamune through his chest, killing him for certain that time. He had not been expecting me to be able to get up again, not to mention his own reaction had been slowed by the injuries he had previously received.

My own wounds overwhelmed me then, and I fell back into the grass. I don't know how long I lay there, my life slipping away. I could hear the sounds of battle going on above and around me---the harsh cries of attack, of anger, screams of pain. Swords clashed, guns and cannons were fired. I wondered who was winning, and I recall hoping that I'd trained my men well enough so that they would be victorious. I knew I wouldn't live long enough to discover the outcome.

I think someone found me, eventually, but it was much too late by then to change anything. Even now, I can only vaguely see the boy's face before me---no older than eighteen, with wide and frightened blue eyes and windblown black hair. That description could match several of the soldiers under my command. He called to me, as if from far away. I could not respond, nor could I even fully comprehend what was being said. Death took me then, his dark, sharp fingers reaching into my chest and stopping my heart.

One might think the second time would be less painful, because of knowing what to expect, and also because of this different body. I've been told that I can still perish in this form, but that it will take more to eliminate me. I'm guessing that means that an ordinary mortal would have met their end in that fight with the dragon long before I met mine. Maybe this time around has been more painful, not less, because of that fact.

One thing I have not been told is, what will happen to me if I do, indeed, die again---as I have now. When I realized that you were with me, and that I honestly was going to pass away, I assumed that it would fully be the end---no second chances, no carrying on, even in my current form. Not that I want to remain in this state. But I don't think I've ever wanted to actually, completely cease to exist. I would rather stay in this consequential body.

Right now, I don't seem to be anywhere. I haven't ended up at the judgement hall, as I did the first time. I'm just floating in a nothingness. It's dark all around me. I call out, but there's no one to hear. I reach out, trying to touch something, anything, but it's a vain attempt. There isn't anything to grab.

But something tries to take hold of me. It feels cold, icy, and it starts to completely encircle my body. I move back, again trying to snatch it. I only touch air. It's a mist that's forming all around me, and the more it winds, the more I see scenes of my mortal life flashing in front of my eyes.

They're largely negative, some of occurrances I remember, some of things I've forgotten, and others being events that I've never considered as very serious. Now I not only see and hear what happened, but I feel. I feel everything that the other involved parties felt, and it's overwhelming. I've felt this before, when I died the first time, but now it's different. Then, the facts were simply being presented. This time, I'm being accused, almost attacked with hatred.

No . . . it truly is an attack. The fog has formed talons, raking into my flesh. They tear through my coat and into my back, while others dig into my chest. All three of my wings are violently pulled on, as if this entity is trying to completely dislodge them from my body. It's too much all at once, especially so soon after what happened with the dragon. I scream in pain, trying desperately to get free.

No matter how I struggle, it doesn't do any good. I can't fight a mist. Not even my strongest attacks will take hold, when I try to summon them. My assailant clings tightly, ripping further into my skin. It's going for my heart. . . .

And now I'm moving without warning, plummeting downward into the abyss. The disembodied attacker has suddenly vanished, and I'm left to myself once again. Has it injured me too much to be able to do anything about this? No . . . actually, now that I'm alone, I don't feel wounded. That doesn't make sense, but this isn't the time to be trying to figure it out.

I spread my wings desperately. My fall slows and then stops, and for the moment, I seem to be in control. I take the opportunity to see whether I've been damaged by that creature. I reach up, touching my chest. There are no rips, tears, or holes in the flesh. Chances are, it's the same with the other locations that were grabbed. Now if I can orient myself correctly, I should be able to fly away, and maybe find where I am. There has to be some way out of here.

Unless . . . maybe this is truly Hell. No fires, no traditional devils, but being left alone for eternity with one's thoughts, and with unidentified attackers that try to rip apart whoever they please. That sounds appropriate. Maybe it's been decided that I haven't been doing a good enough job with you, and they've gotten tired of waiting for results.

I already know they disapprove of my approach. But I only treat you the way I wish I would have been treated when I was struggling with my own darkness. I would have wanted someone to push me to do my best, to taunt me and make me want to prove them wrong. I probably would have reacted the same way as you have been, but I like to think that eventually the message would have gotten through to me. I'm hoping it will for you, as well. Not that I'll ever know now.

Suddenly there's solid ground under my feet, halting my flight. But it's still completely dark, with no sign of anyone around. I call out again, not really expecting an answer. Maybe this is all some trick of my mind. But if that's so, what does it say about the condition of my physical body? Am I alive, but delirious?

A low chuckle starts to echo around me. Who's here? What is he laughing about? I don't find this situation amusing. I reach for the Masamune out of habit, and find that I have it. But how would it be possible for me to carry it in death? I draw it, and I can faintly see its blade, even in this nothingness. Somewhere nearby, I can hear another weapon being unsheathed.

"It's not quite what you expected, is it, Sephiroth?"

The voice is unfamiliar, yet in another way it seems like I've heard it before. But where? It's almost as if its owner is deliberately blocking the memories from my mind. I grip my sword tightly, turning in the direction I think is the location of the other party. It's hard to tell for certain. There seems to be an echo in this place.

"I must say, I wasn't expecting this, either---collecting your soul again."

Then this is Death. He doesn't sound dark or frightening, the way one might think he would. He actually has a calm, smooth tone.

"So I am dead." I finally speak.

I can sense the other is shrugging. "Possibly. You look dead to those who are with you."

That doesn't sound definite. "Where am I?" I demand.

"You're in an in-between place," Death answers. "Your fate isn't sealed yet. If you're victorious over me, you'll be allowed to live." There's a sound as if he's snapped his fingers, and suddenly we're both bathed in light, while everything around us remains dark.

I take the opportunity to study the other, though there isn't much to see. He's wearing a black cloak and a hood, the way he's typically been portrayed in the media. But he's also sporting dark gloves, and instead of the traditional scythe, he has a sword as well. I can sense that he enjoys the thought of this battle.

"So they haven't decided what to do with me?" I ask. "Or maybe they don't care either way. I was never a favorite of theirs." He abruptly lunges without warning, and I bring my sword up to block him. The clanging sound reverberates endlessly.

He leans forward, pushing hard in an attempt to throw me back. I can feel his cold breath on my cheek. "They've left your fate up to you," he answers. "I actually don't know the reason. Maybe they are tired of dealing with you, or maybe it's something else. You may never know the answer, just as Cloud may never know the truth behind why you stay around him."

I bear down on him, just as firmly, and manage to force him to stumble away. "I was told that I couldn't tell him, even if I wanted to," I answer, charging again before he can recover. Not that I do want to tell you. Why should you know all of my secrets?

He prevents the attack, quickly gathering his bearings. "This isn't an accusation," he replies smoothly. "Merely fact." Strange, that his vague behavior is making me think of how I act when fighting you.

I find that he is a more worthy opponent than I imagined. Somehow, I never pictured Death as having time to learn how to swordfight. But you are the only one I've faced who is more of a challenge.

I don't know how long this battle is lasting. Time stands still here. It could be mere minutes, or it could be hours. Our weapons clash fiercely, and we each try to force back the other. First it seems that he will win, then I, then he once more. I send him stumbling to the edge of the spotlight, but he recovers quickly and comes at me again. His blade is meeting mine before I expect it to do so.

The movement is too fast, and the Masamune flies from my hand. Now Death brings the blade back to me. I manage to dodge what would be the killing blow, instead moving around to the side of my opponent. I take up my sword again as he turns to attack, and our blades meet. I strain against his assault with all of my might.

I will not be defeated here! Not by Death! I push harder, sending the other backwards again. I come at his weapon with force before he can recover, and it soars out of his hand to plunge into the ground. I bring the Masamune against his cloaked neck.

There's silence for a moment, then another deep chuckle. "Still as skilled as always, Sephiroth," Death remarks. "It's no wonder you were able to slay that dragon, despite all the damage it did to you in the process." He reaches out, calmly pushing the tip of the blade away from him. "You're free to go back."

I step away, still holding my sword. "How?" It's easier said than done. Does he expect me to get back by myself? I don't know how to find my way out of this darkness. It would help if I could see something, anything.

"We're already here." Death sounds amused. "A different dimension, but the same space."

I give him a withering look. Am I expected to cross the dimensional bridge? In my physical body, I could possibly accomplish it. But none of my magic works when I'm in this form. I already discovered that fact during my battle with that mist.

"A spirit who has been granted access can easily pass through the borders of this in-between place and again find the mortal world," Death says calmly. "You are fated to return to life. Any way you pick will lead you to your destination." It almost sounds like he's smirking as he continues. "I'd enjoy seeing you off, but I have another appointment to keep." And with that, he vanishes.

It doesn't concern me much. His explanation makes sense, from what I remember being told upon dying the first time. So I simply start walking, as instructed. Now there are no obstructions---no strange fogs or disappearing floors, or beings wanting to do battle. I feel almost drawn towards a location in the distance, and I keep a steady pace before taking flight to travel the rest of the way.

I'm falling again, without any warning. Not only has the floor made an untimely vanishing act, but there seems to be pressure against my back and my wings, pushing me downward. My hair whips around my face as I gain momentum. Everything is still dark, but it feels as if I'm nearing the end of my journey.

Even so, I'm not expecting the crash, nor the sudden rush of pain that furiously fills every part of my body with fire. I gasp, my eyes flying open as I partially rise off of the soft substance I realize I'm laying on. I'm back in my physical form, and all of the dragon's work is screaming for me to take notice of it. It's the only thing I can notice. When I was first mauled, I was somewhat numb from the shock. But now, I can feel it all acutely.

I fall back onto the bed, gripping handfuls of the sheets. How can I even be alive? How can I possibly survive these wounds? A normal mortal would be dead. There's not any way I can stay conscious right now.

Vaguely I hear a voice speaking to me. I can't clearly make out whose it is, or what is even being said, but I feel myself relaxing. The pain slips away as I sink into the relief of unconsciousness.

The first thing I become aware of is an odd, twisting sound, accompanied by something dripping. It almost sounds like a cloth being wrung out in a pan of water. There aren't any voices now, but I can hear floorboards creaking. Then something cool and damp is laid across my forehead. I try to force open my eyes.

You're looking down at me, your own eyes narrowed and filled with ice. There are dark circles underneath them, your skin is pale, and your hair is even more wild than usual. You look completely drained, both physically and emotionally.

But you don't seem surprised to see I've regained my senses. You step back, crossing your arms."I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to wake up," you remark flatly. "You've had a bad fever and delirium for the past three days."

"Did I say anything that didn't make sense?"

My voice is more choked and rasping than I had thought it would be. But at least I can speak. My throat feels so parched and rough that I wondered if I'd even still have the ability.

You roll your eyes. "That's what usually happens when someone is in that condition," you reply. "But at least you didn't try to get out of bed. You would have only hurt yourself worse. Or maybe I would have done it for you. Though I have to say, it probably wouldn't have been possible to do worse damage to you than that dragon did." Now the sarcasm is obvious in your voice. You always fall back on it as a defense mechanism.

I glance down at myself. My chest and waist are bandaged, and my lower right wing is being supported by a splint. I remember that beast crushing it after it managed to pin me to the ground. That was when it slashed my chest, as well. I only barely was able to retaliate with the Masamune and fatally stab it before it would have clawed me again and gotten to my heart.

Now I raise my gaze to look around the room. I recognize the few pieces of furniture, the bare walls, and the window with the torn curtain---not to mention the old, brown quilt with which I've been covered, and which is hanging half off the bed. This is your room. I've observed you here many times. But why would you bring me here? Why would you want me here?

You mistake my surprise as disorientation. "You're in my house," you inform me. "I didn't know what else to do with you."

I look back to you, the questions in my eyes.

You look away, annoyed. "You've got Merlin to thank for that, not me," you say. "I would have just left you for dead. He's the one who convinced me you still had a chance." Your voice falters slightly. Is that the full truth, or are you lying again, Cloud? Are you afraid to face it, if you yourself desired, for whatever reason, to show me compassion? I know you, Cloud. You wouldn't have let that magician manipulate you into something like this. You would have put your foot down, unless some part of you wanted to see me live.

"Is that true, Cloud?"

You stiffen, gripping your arms more tightly. "It's true." You glance over your shoulder. "Merlin's kinder than I am. Whatever help you've been given, you don't deserve."

In spite of myself, I smirk weakly at you. "Oh? You have the right to judge me, Cloud?"

Your eyes widen briefly, then narrow, and you give me one of the darkest, coldest looks I've ever received from anyone. Without a word you turn and storm out of the room, leaving the door to swing shut behind you.

It's nothing I wasn't expecting.