Author's Note: One week left 'til Christmas! I hope everyone's enjoying the story so far. Please review regardless- it really means a lot to me to get some feedback (even one or two words makes me all warm and happy inside). Spread the love for Cloud's sake—I may just kill him off if I'm in a depressed mood (mwah hah hah… just kidding)
And I'm so sorry for the delay. I promised this chapter would be up on Thursday (major fail there x.x) Finals got in the way, so I wasn't able to write at all this week. But now exams are done and I'm home, so the final chapter will be on time!
Slight foul language in this chapter. It's pretty sad too. You've been warned.
~Stave Four:The Last of the Spirits~
Cloud didn't bother going to sleep. No matter how much he wanted to be left alone it was obvious he was going to receive another visitor before the night was out.
Wait a minute… night? Surely it would be midday now, since they left Seventh Heaven in the early afternoon hours. Hadn't Christmas come and gone?
He felt horrible in spite of himself. All of his friends, the individuals he had gone through hell and back with, celebrated without him. Had the others managed to keep a drunken Cid from going out caroling? Had Yuffie been able to corner Vincent and give him a kiss under mistletoe like she had been deviously planning? Had Reeve shown up or did he send Cait Sith in his stead? Had Denzel enjoyed himself, despite it being the first Christmas without his parents? He could just picture them all, the group of his closest friends jammed in the snug little living room. The noise of laughter and conversation seemed to echo in his ears, and he could almost feel the warm, cheerful atmosphere.
With difficulty he managed to shake off the image, and the church seemed more desolate for it. He sat down on the front pew, his mind quiet for the moment as physical fatigue took its toll. Then a thought drifted to the surface. It was something the second ghost had said when it departed. 'For your sake, and the world, I hope you get your act together.'
"And the world…?" he whispered. What, was he expected to save the entire world from geostigma? The notion made the invisible weight on his shoulders even heavier. He couldn't even save the life of a small boy; how was he supposed to stop this unstoppable plague from erasing all of humanity?
The temperature dropped well below the freezing mark. The cold and gloom seemed to seep into Cloud's bones until he was shivering. Each breath crystallized in the air before him. He brought his legs up on the pew and wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to conserve him core body heat.
"S-sorry Zack," he said through chattering teeth. He slowly lowered his head until his forehead rested atop his knees. "I d-don't think I'm good en-nough to be your living l-legacy."
Throughout his long vigil the shadows seemed to creep ever closer. Feeling increasingly paranoid his eyes kept darting side to side, expecting fiends to jump out of the darkness.
This feeling intensified until Cloud was positive there was someone else in the church. He didn't need the bell, which had suddenly begun to ring from the tower, to announce the presence of the final ghost.
A shrouded shape blacker than the darkest corner of the building drifted down the center aisle like mist. A deep hood obscured its entire face, concealing the identity of the individual. Long sleeves fell well past its hands, one of which grasped a long and deadly-looking scythe. The blade gave off the barest amount of light, like a waning crescent moon.
"Are you the Ghost of Christmas Future?" asked Cloud, his voice wavering slightly. This being was more imposing than the others, only more so in its anonymity.
The Spirit dipped its head in a solemn nod.
"So… you're going to show me things that are going to happen?" pressed the swordsman.
Again the figure bowed, though it didn't speak. After a moment of silence it raised its free hand and beckoned to him. Cloud walked cautiously forward and stopped a short distance away. What sort of spectral eyes were watching him under that black cloak? Cloud stared into where he thought the Ghost's eyes would be, refusing to be intimidated.
"Are we going or not?"
The Ghost raised its scythe and Cloud took a step back, expecting to be attacked. But it merely tapped on the floor with the butt of the shaft.
The change this time was neither instantaneous nor undetectable. Time began to literally eat away at the surroundings. Cloud witnessed the ceiling crumble in large chunks, wooden pews being smashed and dislodged, and windows shattered by both the elements and living creatures. The smell of decay was evident, and from the various droppings scattered along the floor a sizeable pack of fiends had occupied the church for a while. The flower bed was nothing more than a patch of dirt; any growth had withered and crumbled away. And it wasn't just monsters that had defiled the sanctuary; graffiti covered a large amount of the bare walls, crude words written in harsh red lettering. The paint had dripped as it dried, making horrific imagery of blood weeping down the walls.
Seeing the church in this condition was horrible and Cloud couldn't bear standing there. "Can we go? Please," he added when the Spirit remained motionless.
Another tap of the scythe against the ground brought them outside on the cliff overlooking Midgar. How was it possible that the world could look so bleak? The city ruins seemed to stretch farther along the horizon than he recalled. The swordsman squinted into the distance at the shattered suburban outline and realized it was true: the like a limb with gangrene, Edge was slowly falling into disrepair, dying as it became more and more like its neighbor. The world was falling apart nearer in the future than he could have ever believed and the failing Lifestream, still recovering from its counterattack against Meteor, couldn't help defend it.
Death reigned on the Planet.
Cloud took a step forward and landed awkwardly upon an object buried in the dirt. He nudged at the protuberance with the tow of his boot but it was too heavy to move. Intrigued, he bent down and dug out the object with his fingers. First the long handle, grit embedded in the intricate leather crossings, and then the whole thing came loose with a few yanks. Well, not really the whole thing.
"How…?" Cloud rand a hand along the thick flat blade, which ended abruptly in a jagged crack two feet from the cross guard. Every inch of the metal was solid rust.
With an almost manic focus he searched the surrounding area and at long last he managed to find another section of blade. It too was so crusted over it was hardly sharp. Yet it still wasn't large enough to compensate for the sword's entire mass. There was at least one other piece. He had to find it.
The Ghost watched on as he circled the area. It was foolish, he knew. There was no way he could repair it even if he had all the pieces. But even so, he couldn't just abandon the buster sword. Cloud felt personally responsible for its condition.
A firm calloused hand gripped his shoulder, the pressure bringing him back to reality. He was on his knees, staring down at his hands buried in the dirt. And as he watched, tiny round spots bloomed beneath him as the ground inexplicably darkened. More specks appeared seconds after.
Tears? Cloud raised a dirty hand to his face. It came away wet, mixing into mud that slid between his fingers. When had he begun to cry?
"I'm… I'm dead, aren't I," Cloud spoke in a low voice, unable to look at his companion. He knew the answer.
An odd sensation stirred in the pit of his stomach. How long into the future were they? How many months, weeks, days did he have left to live? But no matter the time frame, he knew how it would end. Mucky sludge bubbling from his pores as the disease coursed through his weakened body. Crippling, blinding pain. And utterly alone.
The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come had not uttered a single word so far. Honestly, he was wishing the first ghost was back; even though it had harbored Vincent's outward apathy at least it had spoken to him.
He stood up and rubbed his eyes, not bothering to dust the dirt from his pants. Get a grip, Strife, he goaded himself. The buster sword's worn handle lay at his feet. He bent down to pick it up, but as soon as he touched the leather the scene shifted and the handle disappeared through his fingers.
Enraged, Cloud rounded on the Ghost. "How dare you." He'd had enough of this. Supernatural being or not, he wouldn't be made a fool.
Smoke seemed to rise from beneath the Spirit's hood, as if the swordsman's insolence had angered it. It banged its scythe against the ground with the sound of a thunderclap.
Once again Cloud had been brought to Seventh Heaven, though there was certainly none of the previous holiday excitement. The bar was as dingy as he had ever seen it, and only a few solitary patrons inhabited the room. The state of the bar made him concerned—Tifa had never let it get this bad. He was worried for the woman's safety, but found her in her usual place behind the bar. She was cleaning some glasses, but one glance showed that she had no interest in the task. Worry and stress were evident in her frail appearance.
A tinkle of a bell announced a new customer. Cloud turned in time to see Reeve Tuesti walk through the door. The man looked as immaculately dressed as usual, but he too had the air of hitting rough times.
He walked straight to the bar with a weary smile for the barmaid. "Tifa, how are you today?"
With a strained smile she briskly replied, "Same as usual. Can I get you the regular?" Reeve nodded and Tifa left to make his drink.
"The regular," Cloud repeated to himself. He could count on one hand the number of times Reeve had visited Seventh Heaven. From their tone it sounded like he'd been stopping by a lot more.
"So how's the organization coming along?" Tifa asked when she returned, placing the dark beverage on the counter.
Reeve brushed his fingers through his hair in a tired manner before reaching for the glass. After taking a sip he answered, "We're crawling. Volunteers keep pouring in, but the WRO will never get off the round without money to back our operations. But enough about that. How are you faring?" he asked with his father-like concern kicking in. He watched with worried eyes as Tifa sighed.
"As well as I can be. It's… tough sometimes," she admitted, her gaze dropping to the counter. Tears glistened in her eyes but she refused to shed them. "Reeve, you don't have to keep coming to check up on me. The trip is out of your way and you're busy as it is."
Reeve reached out a hand and placed it atop one of hers in a sympathetic gesture. "I suppose it was naive of me to assume we would all stick together. But with everything that'd happened recently…" he trailed off, not wanting to continue and upset the woman further. "You should get out of here, Tifa. Edge can't be the best place for you."
"Where else can I go?" She shook her head at Reeve's suggestion of Nibelheim. "That isn't my home anymore. There's no reason to go back."
"But there's no reason to stay here." Of course he was saying this for her well being, but Tifa seemed exasperated by his intrusion.
"It's just how things are." She gently pulled free and squeezed her friend's hand a moment. "Thank you," she whispered.
The ex-Shinra employee nodded as Tifa went to give refills for her other customers. The two didn't talk again until Reeve drained his glass and they exchanged farewells.
"What happened here?" Cloud asked as the man left the bar. "Where is everybody?" He was scared of the answer, but he needed to find out.
The scythe banged against the floor and time changed within Seventh Heaven. Tifa and Barret were standing around the bar. There was an uncomfortable feeling in the room, as well as an undercurrent of grieving melancholy. A small suitcase was sitting near the front door.
"Marlene!" Barret boomed. "We gotta go!"
Soft footsteps lighted down the stairs and the little girl entered. In her arms was a worn moogle doll, which she clenched tightly to her chest. Sad brown eyes flickered to her father and then travelled to Tifa. Her lips trembled and she rushed over to the woman, clinging to her legs.
"Tifa," she sobbed, burying her face into the woman's skirt.
"It's okay Marlene," Tifa said, trying to remain positive. "We'll see each other soon."
"But I don't want to leave. You'll be all alone!"
Alone. Cloud watched as the adults exchanged a quick glance. So he had passed on as he predicted… but it seems he hadn't been the only one.
He turned to the dark figure next to him. "Spirit, is Denzel gone too?"
Silence.
He turned back to study his friends, his own emotions in sync with those of the room now. Denzel was gone, and Barret was taking Marlene away. He felt angry at the man, though he was probably only thinking of his adopted daughter's welfare. The city was a breeding ground for geostigma. But what about Tifa? The two had developed such a close relationship, almost as if they were sisters. It was cruel of Barret to separate Marlene from her.
Finally snapping, Cloud rounded on the Ghost. He stomped forward and grabbed the front of its cloak. "Tell me what's going on. Did the team really disband like it sounds like? Talk!"
The Spirit inhaled a rattling breath and then hacking cough. Smoke drifted from beneath the black folds. Seized with an idea and not pausing to reconsider, he reached up and yanked the Ghost's hood off.
"Cid?!" Cloud felt deliriously relieved. The silence of the unknown being had affected him more than he would have thought, and his imagination was getting to the better of him. What would he have done if it had been Sephiroth under the cloak?
The Spirit looked at him with an indignant expression. There was a cigarette dangling from its mouth, which explained the inexplicable smoke. A spare cigarette was tucked under the goggles on its head in the exact fashion of the pilot, though the goggles were the only article of clothing that was similar.
"Nah, I ain't called by any human name like that," said the Ghost.
"Why didn't you talk to me?" asked Cloud in annoyance.
"Cause I wanted to mess with ya. Heard ya were given the other spirits a hell of a hard time," replied the Ghost. It took a puff, not the least bit phased by the man's rage. It actually had a roughish smirk on its face as it blew out a long stream of smoke. "How's it feel, havin' yer fire back?"
Cloud blinked caught off guard. Actually, he hadn't been this riled up in a long time. "What's with that outfit?" he retaliated, not wanting to admit what the Spirit had done to him.
"Oh that's peachy, coming from a guy who wears only one sleeve. Ya'll look f*#^in' lopsided. And I happen ta think I look rather intimidatin', thank ya very much."
The swordsman wanted to roll his eyes. Even though the Ghost was certainly less scary now that it's face had been revealed, it posed a bigger problem now. After all this, and knowing how in character the other spirits were, he probably won't be able to get it to shut up.
"So, now what?" he asked. The bar was empty now; in the commotion he had missed Barret and Marlene's departure.
"Quit yer bellyachin', we're gettin' there." The Ghost swirled its long scythe around. "Here we go. Time ta see what'll happen if you give up." The wooden pole hit the ground with a definitive thump.
Cloud watched a nightmarish cycle unfold before him, and from it he finally learned everything he had been searching for and more. It was the Lifestream that was the origin of the disease. When it had rose up to protect the Planet from Meteor it became contaminated with Jenova cells. People with weak immune systems had a predisposition for the disease and made perfect hosts, but the disease was highly transmittable and soon anyone could become carriers. As time went on more and more people got the stigma, and fatalities began to tally up—geostigma was nothing more than a painful death sentence. The disease even started to mutate until it sought new hosts in fiends. The infected souls returned to the Lifestream, further polluting it and empowering the geostigma.
"Ya'll think that's bad, just ya f*#^in' wait. I saved the worst for last," spoke the Ghost.
There was a flash of murky light and Sephiroth himself appeared, standing atop the ruined shell of the old Shinra Building. His mouth was tilted up into a smirk as he called down the polluted Lifestream.
"Sephiroth!" Cloud shouted. He was back?! How?! The swordsman started forward without a plan or a weapon, but the Ghost held him back.
"Ya'll can't stop him. Yer dead, remember?" said the Spirit.
Dark tendrils streaked down from the sky at the silver-haired villain's command. These travelled in a raging current through Midgar and into the populated streets of Edge. The screams of the poor city folk carried for miles. The sky was an evil murky fog as far as the eye could see.
"Sephiroth's gonna destroy the world fer his d^% mom," narrated the Spirit as they observed the destruction. "It'll take only two days before every d^% thing's wiped off the Planet."
"That's enough!" cried Cloud. "I don't want to see anymore."
The ominous landscape dissolved into the Church in the Slums. The lack of damage within the building indicated that they were back in the present.
Cloud closed his eyes, but the visions still flickered past. So the Planet was destined to be destroyed by Sephiroth after all. To think all their effort, all the sacrifices, had only served to delay the inevitable.
"S#!% It's time ta get yer a$$ back in gear, buddy. Unless ya'll want the world to end up like this."
"Okay, I get it. It's all up to me," Cloud finally acknowledged. He thought of the polluted Lifestream Sephiroth used to attack the world. "Just how am I supposed to stop this from happening? How do you even know I'll make any difference?"
"Even fer me all the paths the future can take are unclear. But everything will happen like I've shown if ya'll don't try at all."
That was true. The world desperately needed help and there weren't that many people with the capability to do something about it. And since his team stepped in last year, the burden fell on his lap once more. But hadn't he given up on this world? Why should he care, since he was going to die soon anyway.
"I think it's time ya'll got yer priorities straight."
xxxxx
Cloud stayed awake all through the remainder of the night, long after the final ghost had left. Thoughts jumbled through his mind as he tried to decide what to do. Stopping Sephiroth again was a task bigger and more formidable than scaling Mt. Nibel. And even if he managed that, would geostigma be stopped as well? It was simply too big of a job for one man.
The sky gradually became lighter as dawn approached, bringing a bit more color to the gray world. Cloud looked up through the holey ceiling in mild awe—the night had been so long he was under the impression that it would last for eternity.
With the extra light he was able to notice something he hadn't in the dark. Amid the withering lilies in the garden a single red flower had bloomed, towering over its fellows with bright, full petals. He walked slowly over to the garden and squatted next to the flower, touching it gently to make sure it was real.
"Okay, I guess I will," he whispered. Standing up, he grabbed his gloves and goggles and walked resolutely out the door.
Okay the contest is over, but you can still post what characters you'd pick for the main roles (I'd love to read them!) Thanks to Soldier de Veritas, pyrotechnix and Skykhanhunter for playing! Unfortunately none of you guess completely correct, but in the spirit of the holidays you each get a little reward. I'll contact you all with the details. Thanks again!