Chapter VI
Frustrated he threw the Masamune aside, dropped to his knees and screamed.
The sound echoed in the wild.
Then nothing but silence.
His shoulders heaved, silver hair falling in front of bright green eyes.
There were light bruises around her ribs and large finger markings around her inner thighs, obvious proof of how rough he had been with her. There was no apology from him either. She never approached him after that – never asked him of that night again. There was no control when she incensed him. The regret would roll in waves later on.
Since the Nibelheim revelation and the torturous days that followed before he killed his father, he'd entertained the thought of suicide. He was the abomination of science, a super soldier produced by the most powerful corporation in the world, a General the people adored and feared and now here he was – a broken man with a shattered mentality trying to stay afloat, trying to keep alive because though he hated himself, hated his past, he had one thing to live for. One person.
And so he forced life into his veins because he could not imagine a world where Aerith did not exist.
However, that didn't stop him from having deluded fantasies of dying. It didn't stop the temptation to jump off the cliff and plummet to a bloody death of crushed and broken bones. The world would be better off without another monster - better to be rid of him.
The wind picked up as he neared the edge of a snowy cliff. He found the sight of it very attractive as he picked up pace nearing the seemingly bottomless view below.
He was mad at the world, at everyone. But what he hated the most was the alien blood that flowed inside him, pumping into his heart. The rage was unending, the injustice of it all – of everything – drove him even further to the recesses of his mind.
"My mother's name is Jenova." He did not realize his offhand admission, continuing, not noticing the shocked expression of a certain lower class SOLDIER. "She died shortly after I was born. My father…"
He realized his error and shook his head. "Why am I talking about this?"
The cliff was before him before he even realized it. In the dark of night there was nothing but a black abyss beneath. It would be a long fall for whoever deemed to go over.
He barely heard it in the wind, but there it was.
Avenge me.
He flinched and whirled around, his boot an inch away from the edge -
- and gasped.
She stood there, the silver winged woman, so close to him, so real. The same woman from his dream. His nightmare. He wasn't sure which was which anymore. Her arms were crossed and those dark violet eyes looked into his with deadly calm.
Suddenly, her deep ruby red lips tilted in a ghost of a smile.
He blinked.
"Not real," he whispered.
He closed his eyes.
"You aren't real."
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Not real not real notreanorealnorealnoreal...
And when he opened his eyes she was gone.
The firelight played over his face.
Aerith gazed into those exotic orbs, fascinated.
The beautiful eyes blinked and narrowed down at her. The wide mouth curled at the edge. She swallowed thickly, staring at those lips. It reminded her of a pirate's grin. Wicked man.
Aerith's brain stopped thinking when she felt his hand on her breast. She bit her lip when he squeezed rather hard.
He had her lying on a blanket in front of the fireplace…and she was completely naked. Aerith thought it was a shame that he wasn't naked too. But, of course, she was far too shy to ask him to shed his clothes. She was probably blushing everywhere. He was gazing openly at her nude form from head to toe.
The large hand moved to squeeze her other breast. Her breath hitched and caught in her throat. The wicked grin turned into a hard line. His eyes darkened, hand still on her breast. Aerith looked up into his face longingly.
She wanted to ask him if he loved her, how much he cared about her and did she mean anything to him at all? She was wanted to know desperately. But she was afraid of him. She found it very conflicting to feel safe with someone and terrified of them in the next instant.
His leaned down, pressed his lips to hers and kissed her softly. They were butterfly kisses, gentle and barely there. Aerith shivered. He loomed over her. His hand drifted down her torso…down her belly...and further down. He lifted his mouth from hers for a moment and looked into her eyes. She licked her lips. Her brows drew together at his expression.
What was that? What is that?
All of a sudden the gentleness left him and his eyes hardened.
"General?"
"Get on your knees for me, flower girl."
"What?"
His eyes narrowed.
"You heard me."
"But…"
A silver brow rose expectantly.
"Now, wife."
He got off the floor and sat on the couch, leaned back and continued observe her through calculating eyes.
Aerith looked at the ceiling for a second and contemplated. What does he want? What does he need?
"Aerith."
She got up and came to him. She had butterflies in her belly, fluttering and coiling with heat. She loved the way he looked at her – like a man dying for thirst. She dropped to her knees before him, tossing long hair over her shoulder.
"Come here."
"I'm here, General."
"Get closer."
"Alright."
She placed tentative hands on either side of his thighs. He leaned his head against the couch, his hard gaze shuttering as she sat on the floor before him.
The bathroom was covered in fine mist. The mirrors were fogged, the air sweet with the smell of chamomile soap.
Aerith knelt by the bathtub, sponge in hand, running it over the length of pale skin over hard muscle that belonged to her husband who - over-sized as he was - sat in the tub with his knees bent. Sephiroth stared with vacant eyes at the tiled wall, barely registering to her gentle scrubbing. His hair was covered in soapy suds, silver strands sticking out in different directions.
"When we met, I believed that whatever happened before no longer applied to our present. We were and are...just. I wanted us to be. I think…I wanted to believe that." Aerith listened to his low baritone, moved and shocked by his sudden honesty.
"You wanted to put behind…what exactly?" Aerith asked gently, wiping the pattern of wetness trailing down his pale neck.
His eyes shifted and she shook at the magnitude of what she saw in them.
"The past. If you only knew. You would run from me as you should have the day we met. You should have screamed for help or left me to die. You knew I wanted to die...I deserve death."
"No! Everybody d-deserves a chance to live." Aerith stood, shocked and angry, offended. "Everybody deserves life."
Sephiroth did not look up at her. "You've lived nothing but a sheltered life, girl. You've been protected in that filth you once called a home, walking naively in and out of the mouth of hell every single day. Don't be so quick to defend life. Not everyone is entitled to it."
Her wet hands clenched. "That's horrible of you to say."
A silver brow rose, ever the pessimist and skeptic. "What would you have me say then? That people who have committed savage crimes don't deserve to die? You would have them burn the entire planet in righteous belief that they deserve a second chance when, in fact, they deserve nothing but death. They should never have been born." He chuckled and Aerith shivered at his dark tone. "If I could, believe me, if I had that ability, I would make it so. I would change this world."
She looked at him, riveted by his sudden rapturous expression, some akin to determination. Something that resembled the brief glimpses of utter and complete madness that threatened to consume him whole at times.
Water sloshed around the tub as he rose, naked, towering in front of her. "Wouldn't that be beautiful? To live in such an ideal world where there is no crime, no death, no hate. A perfect utopia."
"B-but that's…that's not possible!" She stammered, wide eyed. "None of us are perfect, we're all flawed."
"Correct. But could we be perfect? If one was determined enough, strong enough to fulfill a goal, couldn't they achieve it?" He asked sardonically. "You, for example, who chooses to believe in the goodness of others. Such goodness only requires faith, is that not so? According to your logic, if I believed I could be perfect and if I tried my hardest then I would be."
He was throwing her beliefs back at her, again. He was making fun of her, humiliating what he firmly believed was far too naive for his own pessimistic views.
He stepped out of the tub, long body gleaming wet in the misty air, leaving her alone in the bathroom.
What would it feel like to wrap his hands around that slender throat? What would it feel like to press his fingers around it and squeeze until life's breath left her? Would it be glorious? To see the emerald fade into nothing in her eyes, to see her choke and wheeze as he pressed harder and harder still, until she finally left this world and into another realm of eternity…
In their bedroom, Sephiroth sat on a high backed chair next to the dresser, staring so hard at his sleeping wife he thought she might erupt into flames before him with his burning gaze. He'd spent hours wreaking havoc upon the different northern beasts outside. For all the blood he had shed, it was not enough to calm the tidal wave of emotions with him. He returned home near midnight wary of his own temper. And now here he was, conflicted and confused.
"Perhaps…I should have killed you…" he whispered in the dark as he listened to her steady breathing. "Perhaps I should have killed myself long ago…perhaps…I should just kill us both…"
An image of his wife coated in blood with the Masamune protruding from her back played over and over in his mind.
Aerith sighed in her sleep and shifted. The sheets tangled around her hips, pale slender legs exposed to the cool air. Mako eyes trailed across the line of flesh.
His hands clenched on his knees. He could feel the world around him spin in a haze, the blood in his veins racing faster.
Monster.
In his chest, his heart squeezed and he almost choked on his own breath.
Monster...
What would he do now that she knew about the horrors riddled in the dark? He was being haunted by his own insanity. He could feel a terrifying presence in the back of his mind, whispering and whispering until he wanted to crack his own skull. He was loosing his mind, day by day, the walls of sanity breaking and turning into dust. And soon, he was sure, it would be too late to change, to save him from this slow mental cancer.
He considered the thought of leaving her.
His chest tightened again and suddenly he felt nauseous. The very thought of leaving her made him physically sick. How would he be able to do it? Even after all the horrors he had done to her, every day his wife would still smile at him. Her brave face. That alone was almost enough to undo him.
Would it be merciful if he killed her himself? Is this how a madman consoles himself? He wondered.
Was this love?
He didn't know what love was. If this was love, then yes he loved her. But to say he loved her was insulting. Love was only a shade of what he felt for her. He watched her breathe, his eyes following the rise and fall of her chest knowing her heart was encased beneath all that glorious flesh and blood, beating and pumping life inside her. What bound them together went beyond love and hate, beyond obsession, beyond terror.
He could not leave her no matter how much he wanted to. Panic set in his bones at the realization. What was this? What is this? What?
Sephiroth wanted to kill her, maim, her, have her blood on his hands. He wanted to tear apart her vulnerability. He wanted to break her love that shone in those emerald eyes. He wanted her to absolve him of his sins.
He wanted to see her shy smile no matter how much of a bastard he was to her. To see her gasp and moan Oh General even if there was fear in her eyes, even if she fought and kicked and clawed at him, even if one day she were to ever realize she should hate him instead of childishly loving him the way she was now. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to spread her and take her, to be with her until the universe exploded around them and there was no more life or death.
The hallway was dark.
The sound of heavy booted steps echoed in the hallway cast in exquisite marble architecture. The ceiling was incredibly high, towering and seemingly endless with intricate artistic designs he had never seen before. They were carved beautifully and expertly, mesmerizing his vision. Torches were lit dimly and he could make out large life size portraits that hung in rows along the either side of the walls.
The portraits depicted regal figures, some in fine armor and some in flowing robes.
Who were they?
The heavy footsteps echoed louder and he turned around trying to make sense of which direction it was coming from.
It was then that he came face to face with another life sized portrait, the only one at this end of the hallway. The portrait by itself looked as if it had been excluded on purpose, away from the others. The frame was gilded with gold and was actually larger than the others.
He leaned forward...
...and his eyes widened in recognition.
What the hell was this?
The silver winged woman.
She wielded a broad sword in her left hand, lifted high above her head. Long silver hair billowed behind her, thick strands caught in the wind. Her features were battle hungry; deep violet eyes narrowed, ruby red lips open in a soundless war cry. And behind her, large magnificent wings were spread out in full glory against a sky painted in red - the color of blood.
But the bodies.
Beneath her, in dark depiction, were mutilated corpses.
Thousands of them. Maybe more. The brushstrokes were endless.
When he tore his gaze from the massive death beneath her feet and looked back to the face stroked boldly by paint, he froze.
She was smiling, full lips set in a haunting tilt.
And she was looking right at him.
Betrayed.
He felt breath stir the back of his hair, along his neck. His skin crawled.
Revenge.
He heard the heavy footsteps again, but this time, it was right behind him.
Sephiroth awoke, in a cold sweat, heart beating frantically in his chest and ran to the bathroom where his breaths came out in great heaves and his body began to shake violently. He gripped the edge of the counter and caught a flash of his pale reflection in the mirror. And then all of a sudden he convulsed and gagged until he finally threw up, emptying his stomach completely.
He wiped his mouth, body still trembling and brought his unsteady hands to clutch his head.