Chapter Seven: Painting the Town Red


Tracking enemies throughout the city, Vincent had finally found the warehouse. He was crouched on the roof of the building next door, about level with the top of the warehouse. There was nothing visibly amiss. None of those storage units, no sentries, all that was missing was the tumbleweed.

Focusing every sense, Vincent heard through the sound of rainfall the sounds of footsteps in puddles, the slow exhale of breath through a filter. Zeroing in on the source, Vincent spied two snipers on a roof on the other side of the warehouse from his position. Not a very strong garrison, which led Vincent to think that this was another trap. But still, he couldn't afford to not check. Putting the Cerberus away, Vincent removed the Death Penalty from it's harness. Vincent removed a view scope from his side pouch, and attached it to the gun.

The first guard fell without a fuss, it was the bullet hitting the wall behind him that got the other one's attention. He raised a hand to his ear to activate his comlink, just in time for another bullet to sever his finger on it's way through his cerebellum.

With a carefully calculated leap, Vincent jumped down to the ground. He rushed to a service door next to the cargo bay doors of the warehouse. He took out the keycard he had been given and slid it through the scanner. The green light blinked on and he went inside.

Nothing. There was no one inside. Vincent walked deeper into the warehouse. No citizens and no WRO. But there was Deepground. A huge man dropped down from the upper level. He was so big, at first Vincent thought it was Azul the Cerulean again. Brutish though he was, it was not. This one wore a more heavily armored version of the standard uniform. On his back was a rocket launcher and a sword so big he could have stolen it from Cloud. He walked into the wide open circular space in the middle of the warehouse that seemed to have been cleared for just for them, and Vincent now noticed the streaks of red all across the area. Lights suddenly turned on, illuminating everything within the clear space, which Vincent had unwittingly walked right into.

"Hail Weiss!" the Brute roared. A cry went up from the catwalks that lined the perimeter of the building. above them. They were lined with snipers, all zeroing in on him.

The Brute leveled his rocket launcher and fired. Vincent dodged. The Brute fired again. Vincent dodged again. The Brute fired again. Vincent shot the rocket out of the air. The blast knocked the Brute off his feet. Vincent rolled into the cloud of smoke and dust from the detonated shells. In the cloud, by staying low Vincent could see the the beams of red light from the snipers' laser scopes crisscrossing above his head. They were arrows pointing straight at is enemies, Vincent couldn't have planned it better. Taking aim, Vincent fired several rounds. Yells accompanied most of the shots, followed by the sound of bodies falling from their perches.

But suddenly, the Brute came charging through the dust and rammed Vincent with his shoulder. Vincent was thrown into one of the building's steel beams with enough force to leave a dent. Looking up, Vincent saw that the had Brute discarded the rocket launcher and unsheathed his sword. He charged straight at Vincent again, the smoke starting to dissipate. Vincent took a potshot at him, with little effect. The brute didn't slow. Vincent dodged the first swing, and rolled under the second. But with surprising agility, the brute swung the sword back around mid-swing and caught Vincent with the blunt side just as he stood up from the roll. Vincent was sent flying across the room again. He crashed through some crates. Vincent tried to rise, but a bullet dug into the shoulder of his gun arm, knocking him down again. He scrambled behind the splintered wood, to put something between him and the gunmen.

The brute charged across the room, sword held high to finish off his target. He could see Vincent's shadowy form behind the crate. The Brute crushed the crate to slivers with a swing. Kicking the remains aside, he swung down towards Vincent's head. A claw caught the sword. The brute let go of the sword in shock and jumped back several feet.

The Galian Beast stepped out of the shadows, held up the sword and snapped it in half with a roar.

The Brute un-holstered two sub-machine guns and aimed them at the Beast.

Before a shot could be fired, the Beast pounced on the Brute, slammed a claw full of fire into the Brute's chest and sent him flying across the warehouse floor and into the concrete wall. The Brute slid down to the ground, leaving huge cracks, and a big bloody stain, in the wall.

Without wasting a moment, the Beast jumped high into the air. Fireballs flew from it's claws, homing in on the remaining snipers wherever they were. The blasts hit each one, immolating them instantly.

The Galian Beast landed on all fours and was consumed in a dark aura. Vincent emerged in a moment, his injuries healed, but exhausted.

Vincent cursed himself for allowing himself to be pushed so far. Transformations took their toll quickly. Gathering himself, Vincent headed for the exit. If there had been anything worth saving in this warehouse, there wasn't anymore.


North Corel had just about settled down for the night. Maybe a dozen people were still up and about for whatever reason. Barret had, in fact, been up at the inn, 'having a drink' with Jack, an old friend from the days of Old Corel. They were reminiscing, chatting about their current lives, just shooting the breeze. Barret had been working hard at his oil-fields and had decided to reward himself with a long vacation. First, a day in North Corel, then to Edge for the remainder of the month. How long had it been since Barret had seen Marlene? It had to have been a couple weeks, but it felt like months and he could not wait to get back there to see his darling daughter. . .

Then they came; Like locusts on a tree, they descended from the blackness.

Within the walls of the inn, Barret did not notice anything amiss, his senses somewhat dulled by one pint too many, until he heard the sound of the first gun firing.

Barret had lurched off of his stool and dashed to the door, Jack hot on his heels. Outside, they beheld a sight straight from the nightmares of their past: A town on fire.

Immediately Barret felt as though he was transported seven years into the past, watching his beloved home burn at the hands of the treacherous Scarlett of Shinra.

"FREEZE!" shouted voice from their right.

Barret turned his head to see three soldiers pointing machine guns at himself and Jack. A house was on fire behind them, hiding much of their appearances. There were a few differences, but Barret couldn't see them. All he could see were the silhouettes of three Shinra Soldiers. . .

"Hands up!" the shape ordered, it's voice muffled.

Barret did not hear the command, he only stared at them. His heartbeat quickened, his blood raged. His breaths came out heavier and heavier and his face twisted into a snarl.

Normally, Barret kept his false hand wrapped in a loose cloth binding, to hide it's true nature from casual passerby. The hand twitched within it's covering, then suddenly it expanded. The wrapping tore away to reveal an unbelievable wonder of technology unfolding from Barret's forearm. As the last bit of cloth fell off, the transformation finished. Veins bulged in his shoulder as Barret raised the weapon faster than it should have been possible for such a large hunk of metal.

Barret's vision clouded over, seeing nothing but red. The infantrymen were too late to react.

"SHIIIIINRAAAAAAAAaaaaaa!" roared Barret, unleashing a volley of gunfire. The soldiers fell to the ground perforated, but Barret did not stop. He unloaded his rage on the corpses until they were no more than steaming chunks of meat.

Three miniature gatling guns whirred to a stop. Barret glared at the remains of his enemies, huffing like an enraged bull. Soon enough, the haze subsided. He felt a sharp pain in the shoulder of his good arm. One of them had gotten a shot off and nicked him. Blood started to ooze onto Barret's white vest.

Distantly, Barret could hear his name being called. He forced himself back to the present to find that a group of four North Corelites had emerged from the shadows, all armed to the teeth.

"Barret!" the leader called. It was Sean, another former miner and the man who had been the first to blame Barret for the original Corel's destruction; but that was behind them.

"Sean!" called Barret, running to him, "What the hell is goin' on!"

"I don't know! I was jus' puttin' the boy to bed an' the neighber's house jus' blew up outta nowhere!"

"Is it Shinra?"

"Don' think so. Uniform's dif'rent."

"How many are there?"

"Couldn't say, we've chased off a-" Sean was cut off by the sound of screaming in the distance, accompanied by more gunfire.

Barret and Sean exchanged looks, and bolted off in the direction of the battle.

North Corel's population had swelled in the recent years, those who were new to the area were running around in a panic. But some were not so easily scared. These were the one's who had struggled for years to rebuild what was once taken from them. They still remembered that crucible, and shared Barret's wrath. They were no soldiers, but still strong and stubborn and more than eager for a chance to settle the score.

The ranks of soldiers filled the streets, easy pickings for someone who worked with dynamite for a living. Explosions tore dozens of them to shreds.

Still, the flow of enemies seemed to be unceasing. Barret ordered his friends to make a run for the mine.

The panicking villagers crowded into the entrance, covered by those who could fight. Barret jumped onto a small outcropping above the path and let fly another storm of bullets at the encroaching enemy. In the distance, helicopters towing massive supply crates took off towards the east.

Only about half the village seemed to have made it in, but Barret couldn't wait a moment longer. Turning at the entrance, Barret held up his gun-arm. An attachment extended from the center of his weaon. It crackled with energy for a moment, then Barret aimed for the ceiling and unleashed a blast of green energy. With a sound like thunder, the roof caved in.

The last thing Barret saw of the village, before the rocks blocked off the view completely was the sight of a helicopter flying away while towing a very large shipping crate.

Then they were sealed in.

Utter darkness. They were in utter darkness. The air was thick with dust. There was no sound but that of their own heavy breathing.

Then a small light lit up the small space. A flashlight mounted on Barret's gun-arm, once more in the shape of a hand, was the source. The sudden glow hurt their eyes, but it was a welcome thing.

In a corner of the (former) entrance was a small storage shed. For the most part it had avoided burial in the cave-in and now, as Barret held his light steady on it, the men came forward to dig it out. Inside was a cash of supplies necessary for venturing into the old coal mine. Ropes, hooks, hammers, lanterns, oil, they were the bare essentials.

No one said a word, they all knew what now lay in store. They had no food, nor water, not even a map. When a sufficient number of lamps were lit, enough to illuminate the path ahead by a good twenty feet, they began walking.

Not one word.


Denzel woke up to the sound of a thunderous crash. He jerked up into a sitting position, holding his hands tightly over his ears. The noise was absolutely deafening, and it only seemed to get louder. When the sound finally died away, he remembered that he wasn't in Sector Five. . .

He got up and slipped his sneakers on, but he didn't recognize his room. Denzel shook his head to get his bearings; he was in Kalm, Tifa had taken him and Marlene there, and now they were on the second story of, ironically enough, an empty bar. Tifa had found the spare room and told them to try to sleep, but not before strictly instructing them not to go into the last room on the left . . .

Denzel had no idea what that was about, all he knew was that he had seen Tifa walk out of there looking a little sick to her stomach.

Denzel heard Marlene stir slightly, how had she slept through that racket? Then it struck Denzel that Marlene, having lived most of her live in the Sector Seven slums, was probably used to far worse bumps in the night than just loud noises. . .

Wandering downstairs, he found Tifa sitting behind the bar, bottle of whiskey in front her, alternating between irritably rubbing her temples and drumming on the counter top impatiently.

"Tifa?" he asked tentatively, he recognized her mood from the times his own mother had been upset about something. Generally about something his father had done. . .

Tifa jumped in surprise, suddenly the bottle of whiskey and her glass were nowhere to be seen, and any sign of her previously obvious anxiety was gone from her face and manner (although there was no hiding the shadows under her eyes). She walked over to him, leaning over as she usually did to better talk to him, "Did that last one wake you up?"

Denzel nodded, "What was that?"

"One of Reeve's guys came by a moment ago to tell me about that," She said evenly, "One of the nearby buildings had. . . a problem, and they needed to knock it down."

"What kind of problem?"

Tifa sucked in some air through her teeth, "Pest control. . . in a matter of speaking." she said, hardly missing a beat.

Denzel knew he wasn't being told everything, but he let it drop as he could tell that Tifa really didn't want to talk about this, "'Reeve. . .', he's the guy with the talking cat, or something, isn't he?"

A small sigh of relief escaped Tifa, "Yeah, Cait Sith."

"Why a robot cat?" asked Denzel, walking over to sit at the bar.

"You know, that's a really good question." said Tifa, running with it as she sat down next to him, "I thought it was pretty strange until Reeve showed us Cait's transformations."

"It can transform?"

"Oh yeah! After he came clean about his identity, he displayed Cait's more, erm. . . stealth orientated abilities."

Denzel thought about this for a moment, "Sounds like classified info." he mused.

Tifa scratched her head a little nervously, "Guess I got a little carried away. . ." she chuckled.

"It's okay, I won't tell anyone." said Denzel. "So why are you up?"

"Well someone has to let Cloud in, y'know?"

Denzel looked at the counter, "So, back to waiting for Cloud huh?" he thought out loud, then mentally kicked himself. He glanced sidelong at Tifa. Something in her eyes seemed to have become slightly jaded, and he realized that she had probably thought this to herself many, many times in the past.

"Yeah. . ." she said.

"um... sorry." he asked hesitantly.

She snapped back to reality, the moment gone and forgotten,"Well, you know Cloud. He likes to make his entrances as dramatic as possible."

"By being late?" An interesting way to spin it.

Tifa laughed, "Well, you know what they say. The hero always arrives last, with as big an entrance as he can manage."

Denzel didn't know what they said. "Isn't that a little. . . melodramatic? We should try to change his habits."

Tifa giggled a bit, "Sometimes I wonder how he manages to keep the Delivery Service running; he can't be late for all his clients, can he?"

"Tifa, what's going on?" Denzel asked abruptly.

She turned the lightest shade of pink, "Nothing." she said, almost resolutely.

"You wake up me and Marlene in the middle of the night, get chased by a bunch a creepy lookin' guys, drag us out to Kalm-"

Tifa interrupted him,"Okay, point taken."

"Well, what's happening? Why are we here? What happened to Cloud?"

"Well, Denzel. . ." began Tifa, She stopped, thinking hard.

"I don't understand what's happening!" Denzel said, his voice beginning to rise with each word.

Tifa put a hand on his shoulder to calm him, "Honestly, Neither do I."

"But I-"

"Seriously, I don't know! I was just trying to figure it out when you came down. All I know is that it started when Cloud burst into the bar telling us to run for it."

"Why did he stay in Edge if it was so dangerous?"

"Well, you know what else they say?"

"What?"

"The hero always leaves the fight last."

"But won't he get hurt?"

"Of course," Tifa said, but with a growing smile she added, "But if I know anything about Cloud: If he says you'll see him again, you will; sooner or later.

"Like last year?" asked Denzel, hopefully.

"Yeah," said Tifa, a far away look in her eyes again, then she looked back at him, "Try to get some sleep Denzel, I'll let you know as soon as he gets here."


Having left the warehouse, Vincent found the road back into the city blocked by a woman in a red cape, stopping him in his tracks.

He hesitated, something about her, something about her presence, unnerved him. She was dangerous, without question.

The woman seemed not to have noticed him yet, her back was too him and she was gazing up into the sky. Vincent was just about to start to slowly back away when she spoke:

"You know, this is the first time I've felt the rain on my skin." She said with a somewhat robotic accent.

He froze, a hand hovering over Cerberus. "But then again, I hadn't seen the sky until a few days ago." She turned around, her red eyes glinted with mako energy; "So you are Vincent Valentine, Keeper of the Protomateria."

There was that phrase again: 'Protomateria.' That girl in Kalm had said that word to him as well. What was this thing that they wanted from him? He wanted to figure this out, but there were more pressing matters to attend to; as the woman threw back her cloak to reveal a unique, but unmistakable, Deepground uniform.

"Give it to me now and I'll kill you quickly." she ordered.

Vincent drew the Cerberus, and held it at the ready.

"Not one to bargain are we?" She chuckled, her smirk becoming even more predatory, "Then I will ensure that you suffer." As the last word was spoken she vanished.

"Time to die." came her voice, dripping with bloodlust, from behind him!

Vincent ducked just in time to avoid one end of her strange double bladed weapon. He spun around to attack with his claw, but she vanished again. Aiming blindly over his shoulder, he fired, and heard her deflect it. She backed off for a moment, long enough for Vincent to turn once again to aim for a disabling shot. Instead he found himself dodging a shotgun blast from the handle of her weapon. He evaded another round of fire. The woman laughed savagely. He couldn't keep up with her! Vincent took a running jump and practically flew over a tall stack of crates to the front of the warehouse, hoping to put something between them and give him a moment to strategize.

But she was hot on his heels. With one punch Vincent was sent through the loading bay of the warehouse. The top of the door was ripped off of the building and they were enveloped in a cloud of dust from collapsing concrete and sheet-rock. The woman aimed her weapon at the cloud, waiting for Vincent to emerge.

But the dust was suddenly blown back and Vincent came into view as his energy started to build again. The woman in red raised her weapon, aiming the gun end for a kill shot.

Vincent was down on one knee; he looked up at her, but his eyes had changed from their normal crimson to a venomous glowing yellow. The woman paused, the piercing eyes held her so transfixed that she barely registered that the rest of Vincent's body had also changed. He got up. Dark energies crackled around him, and a red aura lit the area with an ethereal glow.

Suddenly the aura was drawn inwards, illuminating the change that had taken hold of Vincent. It wasn't the Galian Beast though, a new entity now stood where Vincent had been. Blackened skin, clothed in what seemed to be frozen scarlet flame. A white light shined brightly from his chest. Wings unfurled, as it's mouth opened and let out a deafening roar. A mere portion of the power at it's command was unleashed in the form of a red shock wave of energy that lit up the surrounding buildings with it's radiance.

The woman was blasted away, she hit the wall of the nearest building and kept going, leaving such a hole that half the structure collapsed in on itself.

Shortly, Vincent was himself again. As he stood there, he hardly glanced at the collateral damage. He could not even think. His entire body burned with weariness, and that was not even to mention his other wounds. He could tell that he had several cracked, if not broken ribs, and several other fractures. Usually he regenerated from small wounds like this easily, but his healing factor failed when he abused his transformations too much because of the heavy strain the change inflicted on him. Vincent hobbled forward a couple of feet towards his discarded gun. He was suddenly aware that he was soaking wet, and very cold. He felt so heavy. . .

Vincent fell to the ground with a wet splat. He managed to roll over on to his back in one last effort not to pass out, but it was futile. His head lolled back, making the world appear upside down. As darkness encroached on his vision, he thought he saw a woman in white walking towards him. . .

"Lucrecia..." Vincent croaked deliriously, voice barely above a whisper; "No. . . "

The woman seemed to say something, but Vincent did not hear her.

As she got closer he could just barely make out the long brown hair, the lab coat; and a little bit of magenta. . .

Then Vincent saw and thought no more.