The Final Jerusalem
By Kaj-Nrig
Shera stared at the back of her hands and found herself wondering whose hands they were. Sitting across from her, Vincent was his same, nonchalant self, though she detected a certain sadness, a layer of grief unlike the ones she'd become accustomed to seeing in him. Next to him, with his paws on the table, was Nanaki, that strange little wolf-like creature that she had always found so endearingly cuddly as a young woman. They both looked the same as they did five decades ago, and perhaps that was it. She half-expected her own brittle hands to be as full and vibrant, almost like she had taken a trip back in time.
So preoccupied was she with turning her hands around and finding new grooves and wrinkles that had probably been there for a long time that she didn't hear Vincent's question at first.
"Shera," he replied calmly again, and she was roused out of her reverie.
"Oh, dear. I am sorry, Vincent... I just... I almost didn't recognize myself..." Caressing her hands together, she frowned slightly and brought them to rest on her lap under the table. "What did you say, Vincent?"
"How is Cid?"
"Cid? ...oh, my son. He died a long time ago, Vincent." Tears suddenly threatened to burst, but she held them in check and smiled sadly at him. "Oh, don't pity me, Vincent." She swiped at the tears that pooled in her eyes. "Cid was always happy. Always living life to the fullest." She smiled and pointed a finger at the ageless, timeless man in front of her. "He was just like his father... you remember, don't you, Vincent? When he was little, he would run around-"
"-with his hands spread like wings," Vincent finished for her, and she was touched by his words.
"He called himself the Tiny Bronco," Nanaki added. She nodded, and though her lip quivered at the memory, she kept her poise. She was strong now. She was as strong as she was then, and she felt that maybe their youthful appearances had helped rejuvenate her somehow.
"Yes, exactly. He grew up looking at the stars. He never wanted to take his eyes off them – once, when he was seven years old, he asked me why the stars disappeared during the daytime. He said, 'Momma, don't they like me?'" And she laughed at that pristine, childish, nostalgic moment. "When Yuffie died-"
Nanaki coughed and Vincent turned away. With an apologetic gasp, she made to hold his hands, even his clawed one, because she wanted him to know. "Oh, I-I'm sorry, Vincent. I should never have-"
He shied away from her, and she suddenly felt as old as her shriveled and impoverished fingers looked. They looked like the tendrils of some decrepit gnome now. But Vincent eventually turned back and shook his head solemnly.
"No, it's fine. There's no reason you can't talk about-"
"Gramps, Vincent, the truck is here," Ruana announced from across the diner, and Vincent nodded before rising.
"It was... nice... to see you again, Shera," he muttered before heading for the door, and his words made her feel funny, like the feeling a grandmother received when her grandson greeted her. You're getting along in life, old gal.
"Thank you for coming all this way to see us off, Shera," Nanaki replied as he too made for the door.
She paused a second, then asked, "Oh, Vincent?" He turned around, looking at her with those unintentionally piercing gaze. "You will come to see me again, won't you?" Spoken like a true grandma.
He considered it for a second, and then nodded. "We'll see."
Spoken like a true grandson.
The Final Jerusalem
Chapter Eleven: Hubris
Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest,
Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ
So many times among "The Band" – to wit,
The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed
Their steps – that just to fail as they, seemed best.
And all the doubt was now – should I be fit?
- Robert Browning, "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came" Stanza VII
Coming back, for the first time being able to view the town without a half-separated shoulder, Vincent was surprised to see that it seemed to be one of the few unchanged landscapes in this new world. As the road led into Nibelheim, he could make out the familiar circular throng of houses that surrounded the town well; a few additions had been made since he went to sleep, a few more houses dotted around the perimeter, but it was still the same Nibelheim that haunted him every night.
The cold, moist air wafting down from the Nibel Mountains continued to give the rural town its morbid, somber atmosphere. The truck stopped just outside the town's main entrance, and the motley crew jumbled out and made their way into the local inn.
The Shinra Mansion was gone. Atop that hill, where the imposing and leering eyes of the mansion used to keep watch over Nibelheim – watch? Perhaps "loom" was a better description – only evening sun glow breached the valley town, the misty light dispersed by various pieces of machinery and construction equipment. They looked like they had been abandoned for a short while, and he supposed that it was either due to the constant rain that peppered this town or his timely intervention a few months before.
Either way, the construction workers were no longer present.
Even the inn was the same. Fifty years, it seemed, was not enough to change everything. He found disturbing comfort in that, as well as a bit of irony. The thing most unchanged is the thing I most despise. The sole room upstairs contained a trio of beds, and the view out the window was that of the Nibel countryside.
Everything here was the same. Just like fifty years ago. Just like six years before that. Just like the five before that. And thirty before that.
Perhaps this town, like him, was the ultimate monument to all mankind's sins.
The winding path still stood. In the minimal light of evening, it seemed to lead straight into the bowels of Hell. A pulley had been rigged above it, no doubt to extract any secrets the deep might have held. And, like all things in Hell, the secret they uncovered turned out to be dangerous. The planks that had once lined the inside walls of the tunnel were now little more than soggy mush, replaced by hastily-created plastic boards that had been driven into the walls with stakes.
"So..." Nanaki began, gazing deep into the abysmal core of the tunnel. "I'd never imagined I'd be here again."
"I'd never imagined I'd leave here again. Yet here we are."
"Hm."
He took a step onto the first platform, and the plastic, though damp and shaky, held fast. He went further, and his gold-rimmed boots easily found purchase on the dew-slicked surface. The two proceeded down, and all the while he felt that tickling in the back of his spine intensify, like some sort of dark and ominous spider had crawled into his cape collar and was threatening to bite, to inject him with all its noxious poisons.
When they reached the bottom, what little light had penetrated from above reflected off the cavern's mineral-rich walls. Like the eyes of monsters. With a quick snap, Vincent pulled the dangling rope off its pulley; collecting as much of it as he could, he rested one end on the ground near the entrance.
The moss that grew in the Nibel area was renowned for the oil that it produced. When he'd first been assigned to the mansion, he'd observed the builders of the mansion using torches of moss and dung to light the darkened hallway while they worked.
Placing his index finger on the saturated tip of the rope, Vincent cast a small spark onto it and watched as the fire slowly spread the length of the rope. Throwing down a patch of rope as they went along, he continued to look around him. So much like a home, yet so much like a prison...
"Wouldn't the workers have cleared out the laboratory by now, Vincent?"
"No."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I can't." He continued on in silence for a moment. "I sealed the entrance before I went to North Corel."
Nanaki didn't say anything else, and they continued down the dimly-lit cavern. As they passed his tomb, he couldn't help but feel a small impulse to return and sleep again. Who cared about what happened now, after all? The world has moved on. I should leave it alone. But that thought quickly came and went, and they found themselves standing in front of a dead end. Without a word or second thought, he reached forward with his clawed hand and sunk its digits into the keyhole, twisted once clockwise, and pulled back.
With the groans of a dying elder, the large slab of stone slowly followed his grip, its massive width grinding into the earth and ceiling, drawing dust and maggots onto his shoulders. He strained against the pressure of the monolith, pressing his other hand onto its opposite side to gain more leverage. Finally, after a draining exercise in patience, he removed his claw from the lock and observed the unopened, unblemished, and wholly plain door. Looking at it now, it hardly seemed to be the birthplace of the end of the world.
He grasped the doorknob and turned.
The Childe proceeds to Revelations...
Read, read Childe did, and saw!
Saw as well? saw the world –
The Childe's world, contained in his word
And in my word.
Listened! Childe did to the music
Of the dark, both my dark and his dark,
And the taint, night that we birthed
in the Childe.
In thy name, Science! All for
Science, immaculate progenitor of
the Fallen Angel, of the world's shame,
The world's glory.
Onward, onward the Childe marched,
To the start of all things. Approaching
the Apocalypse the Childe seeks – What
shall the Childe ask?
What shall I answer?
Interlude: Komm, susser Tod, komm sel'ge Ruh
Dead. All dead. All except him. Again.
Why? Why me? Why, why, why?
His hands shook. He looked at the grave marker. It was plain, just a flat stake in the ground. Her name was painted on it.
Why?
He asked himself why. He didn't answer his question. It was too much to ask, and too much to answer.
He had been unable to save Lucrecia. She had been tested on. She had lived thirty years longer than she had to. She had been... Stupid enough to offer herself. You reap what you sow.
It was a bad thought. A nasty thought. He felt much better.
He had been unable to save Sephiroth. He had grown up knowing war. He had been deluded and misled and controlled. He had lived thirty years longer than he had to. He had been... Too weak to save himself. Too weak to be anything worthy. Just like his father.
They were friendly company. He enjoyed their presence.
It had been Cloud, Tifa, Rude, Tseng, Elena, Cid, Reno, Barret, and Yuffie, in that order. He had handed them his curse in that order. His new Turks weren't spared, either.
Dead. All dead. All except him. Again.
She had died, too. He had been there. His love's son had killed her when he was there. Jenova had killed Cloud when he was there. It had killed Tifa when he was there. It had killed everybody... when he was there.
Yuffie had died... when he was there.
Always because he was there. Always because of him. Always.
...but never him.
He had to go. His half-dead body didn't belong here. Not in the world of the living.
He had to go.
He belonged with the dead.
He walked away from the grave. Kisaragi-dono was to the west. Mina was behind him. Wutai was to the back of him.
He would go back to sleep.
The First Revelations
The door opened with a muffled growl, and stale air rushed past them as they made their way into the ancient, cobwebbed laboratory. Everything was still in its place – twin Mako chambers sat in the far corner behind an operating table strewn with books and glassware, various shelves were scattered along the circular room, some holding jars full of preservatives and preservations, and others holding airtight canisters of chemicals, and still others acting as hanging racks for various scientific utensils. To his left and extending down a long hallway were rows of innumerable volumes of text; before sealing the room, he had taken the time to meticulously rearrange and restack all the manuscripts.
Something caught his eye, though, and he stared at it warily. A lone hardcover, unadorned in any way, lay in front of him on the floor, a volume that he knew couldn't possibly belong to any scientific series on the shelves.
And it had most definitely hadn't been there when he had left.
"What is it, Vincent?" Nanaki asked, tracing the line of his gaze to the small bound text.
Something put this here, he answered. Something wanted... knew we would be here. The room suddenly lost the very little interest it had had. He wanted to be gone, and he wanted to do it NOW. Run, murderer, run. Run away. You killed her. You killed all of them. The shadows in the room seemed to snicker at him, and from above he could tell that the cracked painting that had been painted there all those years ago depicted a ravaging war between Hades and the Round Table Knights, and the carnage seemed about ready to pour down on them; a drip drip of rainwater seeped down through the stone, and when it struck his shoulder he could have sworn he saw red cruor soaking into the crimson cape.
He should have been used to it; it was no different from before, no more menacing, and he had been living here for well over half a century, but he couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere, above or below or in the corners of the room, but SOMEWHERE, something was watching him. The eyes of the new evolution look upon you... sinner.
Shut up, Chaos! he commanded, but it sounded futile and meek, even to him.
His hand shook as it unclasped the Death Penalty. It was calming, but even the trapped souls inside it were a bit uneasy.
Cautiously, Vincent trod to the book and inspected it. The pages were yellowing with age, and the binding was stiff and cracked loudly as he flipped the cover open.
"This was not here before," he finally answered, carefully scooping it from off the floor and balancing it in his left hand.
The sticky pages clung together and turned in bunches, but they weren't so molded together that he couldn't separate individual sheets. As he inspected the writing, he noted that while age had dimmed the ink, the writing was still clear and legible.
Or at least moderately so. Hojo's handwriting had never been particularly decipherable to anyone but himself. Perhaps it had been intentional.
The first few pages were myriad ramblings on the Jenova Project, and it was nothing he didn't already know about. He scanned a few pages forward. Near the center of the book, though, the pages suddenly went blank, only to continue again a few pages later. He perused them curiously.
This is...
"What is it, Vincent?" Next to him, Nanaki was visibly unnerved by the Mansion's ominous laboratory. Perhaps his companion had sensed much of the same fear as he had.
"'22 Day, 12 Month, 6966 Year. December. Acquired new specimen. Prime candidate for Jenova infusion. Codename: Turk 01,'" he recited, and as he did he fixed Nanaki with a humorless stare. "This is the record of Hojo's experiments. On me." He began to feel a faint queasiness settle into his gut. Jenova infusion... Sephiroth had been injected with Jenova; he tried to destroy the world. Hojo had been injected with Jenova; he mutated into a hideous caricature of himself. Cloud had been injected with Jenova; he died because of it.
...Lucrecia had been injected with Jenova.
The Jenova inside me wouldn't let me die...
Nor will I let you. The voice... he knew now. The voice wasn't Chaos... This one was almost feminine, almost nurturing, almost soothing. It was almost convincing. Now do you SEE!?
Something speared into his head and he clenched his teeth against the instant agony, twisting his neck as something shot out from inside his head, something dark and chaotic and... comforting. Chaos bellowed and its roar echoed through his skull, threatening to shatter his head.
BE STILL, VERMIN!
Was that Chaos or Jenova!? He couldn't tell, he couldn't tell, but then both voices suddenly disappeared, and the pain vanished along with them.
He could see that Nanaki had also realized the truth, and the dog looked at him, concern for both of their lives conflicting in his single orange iris. He recovered quickly and turned to him. "I haven't changed for eighty years. I won't start now," he said, hoping to soothe Nanaki's worried look, and he only partially succeeded as the canine's claws slowly retracted. There was still a strong stiffness in his spine.
For a moment, he thought about returning to the book, but the laboratory suddenly seemed to grow even darker, even more like the depths of hell, like the sort of place that no man ever wished to see. "...I think we should go," he surmised, and, hearing Nanaki agree, he slowly backed out of the lab, the closed book clutched in his grip. As the door closed, he felt some foreboding presence leer out at him from inside the room, some dark and menacing presence that horrified him because he knew he couldn't fight it. The ghosts of Shinra Mansion whispered to him, whispered to him of the black and secret things they had seen, and that he was to join them.
Ruana couldn't sleep that night. She had visited Nibelheim a handful of times in the past, and each time the town had seemed blanketed in an invisible layer of despair. The colors seemed faded and mute, the air felt stagnant like a mausoleum, and the never-ending humidity acted as ghostly tendrils that made her skin crawl. At least tonight that mansion was no longer there on the hill overlooking town. To her, and to countless others, she was sure, it had always looked alive, somehow, with its heavily-tinted windows, gaping front door, and tongue-like cobblestone walkway.
Gramps and Vincent had left almost immediately after they had checked in at the inn that evening, but she was still awake when they came back that night. Unconsciously, Ruana cringed and feigned sleep when she heard Vincent's booted feet enter the single room and stride to his bed, the furthest from the entrance. He sat down softly on his bed, and there was a rustling as he removed his three firearms and placed them within easy reach. He probably had one under his pillow; from what little she knew about him, it seemed like something he would've done.
He simply sat there for a while, and she couldn't tell just what he was doing. There was a distinct feeling of his eyes on her, and the sensation made her feel a little uncomfortable, but she was surprised to find that she almost welcomed his attention. Nevertheless, she found it even harder to fall asleep, and with him just sitting there, OGLING her, she struggled to keep her breathing calm and deep.
"Go to sleep, Ms. Strife," he said finally, and there was something different about his voice when he said it; it was still monotonous, still very formal and nonchalant, but... something had changed, and it caused her to turn around in bed and face him.
"Did you know this whole time?" she asked, to which he nodded. His gaze went out of focus, as if his thoughts were elsewhere, as if he were thinking of something far off in the distance. Or maybe it's in the past, she told herself. She felt foolish for having thought that he'd been looking at her.
The silence dragged on, but it was a calm, almost meditative silence. It reminded her a lot of her talk with him on Nuboko's ship. She liked looking at him. She hadn't paid much attention before, but he really was... handsome. His face was hauntingly beautiful, and the way his hair framed his face only seemed to highlight him that much more. His body was equally good-looking, even garbed as he was in that tattered jumpsuit of his. His right arm, uncovered by his sleeve from the elbow down, was well-defined and muscular, the hand equally well-formed. Judging by his face, one would've thought that he was a tender, frail man, but she could see how well he filled out his attire.
...he's sexy.
No sooner had that thought escaped her gutter than she quickly shut her eyes to allow herself some sort of reprieve. God, you need to slap yourself. It was probably her hormones.
"Where did you and Gramps go?" she said, breaking the silence and giving her an excuse to focus on something other than his blue-lit figure.
Vincent pulled out a hardcover book and passed it from hand to hand, still lost deep in thought. The urge to ask again was intense, but she knew that he would say whatever he wanted to say in time.
"The ruins of the mansion. We found this there."
"What's that?"
"A record book. Of... experiments."
"On you?"
"...yes. Now go to sleep, Ms. Strife."
"Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to-"
"It's fine. You need rest, that's all."
"Thanks, but there are still things to be talked about." Vincent grumbled lowly, a pleasant sound that passed as his version of a chuckle. "What?"
He put the book down on the bed and answered, "Cloud said almost the exact same thing once."
Cloud... my grandfather... She pushed up onto her hands and hips, and her curiosity about this mysterious man was piqued even more. "Can... can you tell me about him? About..." In spite of herself, she nearly choked on his name. "...Cloud?"
But again, just like on the boat, Vincent shook his head. "In order for you to accept one truth, you must first doubt another. I will tell you the truth about Cloud when you are willing to accept it."
"I AM willing to accept the truth, Vincent!" she proclaimed quietly in the darkness.
"You're not. Not yet, Ms. Strife. Now get some sleep," he replied calmly and rose to his feet.
Ruana sighed in frustration and promptly fell back to bed. But, as he passed by her, she couldn't help but secretly stare at his attractive body. I can still look. Even if he IS a bit of a jackass...
She followed him with her eyes, up to the room's doorway, where he was silhouetted in a field of blue haze. Suddenly, he said, "Stop staring at me, Ms. Strife." And unlike his first statement to her, which had just hinted at a warmth in the ageless gunslinger, his tone now was deathly cold. Like he would hurt her if she didn't comply.
Once again, he horrified her.
She woke up again later, in the darkest hour of the night. Try as she might, she couldn't will herself back asleep, and, when in her rearranging of body parts noticed that the bed next to hers – Vincent's – was empty, lost all desire to fall back to sleep.
Cirrus was asleep, as he usually was at night (and during much of the day, if he had his way), and she quietly slipped past him and out of the room, shivering lightly as the cool mountain air wafted through her nightclothes.
Wait a second. Someone else was missing, too. Someone else had been in the room with them, but who had it...
"Where do you think you're going?"
Gramps! She nearly yelped at the inquiring voice before realizing that it had come from downstairs, by the reception desk. Curious, she tiptoed her way to the edge of the stairs, taking pains to be as silent as the grave as she sat down on the top step.
There were the footfalls of an angry, furious person. "I asked you where you were going." Gramps's voice.
"I can't waste any more time, Nanaki. Move." Was that... Vincent?
"We'll go in the morning. All of us."
"I don't have time for that anymore. I have to find the answers NOW."
"And then what, Vincent? You know you can't face Jenova alone."
"I won't become another one of its puppets."
"And how do you know that?"
Silence. Silence, then...
"What if Jenova takes over tomorrow?" Vincent. Take over?
"What if Jenova takes over tonight?" Gramps.
More silence.
"Jenova clearly wants you, Vincent. If we go tomorrow, at least we can..." The rest was left unsaid, as if there was already an understanding of what "at least we can," but she didn't understand it at all. At least we can what? And why the hell were they talking about Jenova so much?
"...if it happens, don't hesitate. I did." The voice was somber, melancholy, but with a thick overtone of commanding.
"Vincent, none of us could have known that Cloud-" Cloud?
"Do NOT hesitate, Nanaki."
"I never said I would."
Confused, sleepy, and overwhelmed, Ruana quickly and quietly made her way back to her room. The conversation continued on downstairs, but she had heard more than enough to thoroughly muddle her brains.
She didn't sleep much that night.
The trek up the mountainside took only a few hours, and by midday they had made it to the waterfall. The circular lake was just like Nibelheim, mostly unchanged. Its crystalline water still ran unblemished straight to the sea floor, a few hundred feet down below.
Rounding the crest of the mountain, he felt a mixed anxiety and joyous reunion upon seeing the distinctive pool of water and the waterfall that ran above it. When he had left, he had thought that it made for a fitting burial place, beautiful and pristine, for a woman of Lucrecia's caliber. Now, though, as he felt the weight of the book slapping against his back shoulder in a makeshift sack (which he also decided to fill with extra ammunition and his gun-cleaning kit), he wondered if she, like him, had truly died in that cavern.
Looking back, he caught the eyes of Ruana Strife as she came over the mountaintop. With a shocked blush, the young woman averted her eyes and grew shy and timid, seeming to sink even deeper inside herself. He wondered briefly if he had done something to upset her before turning back to his own path. She doesn't deserve to be pitied. She was a walking mess of delusions. Wutai, Cloud, and now... this. The girl had constantly stared at him last night. It had aggravated him beyond nothing else. The stupid girl was becoming unhealthily obsessed with him. It was not good for her.
Yuffie... you would've jumped on her if she had so much as blinked at me. The thought was a comforting one, and it was not far from the truth. He touched the crest on his forehead and smiled faintly to himself.
The action was not lost on her. Vincent, that horrifying and malevolent enigma, raised his hand to touch the green band on his head, the band that had the royal crest of Wutai pressed onto it. She found the action made her feel both hatred and envy. She hated that this man, who was obviously suffering from his past, couldn't see it in himself to move on. She would've been willing to help him. She would have, had he not spat on her with those intensely hateful words last night.
She envied the young girl that had succeeded once in changing him. It wasn't hard to see that he had once been a different man. A much different man. Perhaps even a good man. Somehow, someway, this Yuffie Kisaragi had brought him from the edge of destruction. She felt like she had to do the same.
The glowing altar presented itself to him upon their entrance, and the cavern was just as barren now as it was before, those alien pillars stretching as far back into the depths of the mountain as he could see.
Something was here, though. He knew something was here. She had to be here.
"Lucrecia," he whispered into the ambient darkness. Again, like in all his visits before, his voice, though low and quiet and muffled, carried throughout the chamber, bouncing off the walls and the pillars and the back of the cave, and when it returned to him it was something else entirely, a new voice that seemed to have been warped from his own.
...Vincent...?
"You put this there, didn't you?" he asked, setting the sack on the ground and rummaging through it until he found the old record book. When there was only silence, he frowned.
Behind him, Nanaki and the twins formed a loose half-circle around the cave entrance. Nanaki was crouched low, and it was clear from his stance that he was ready to pounce. Cirrus's grip on the Atma Weapon tightened. Ruana had her two swords sheathed, but her hands rested warily on their handles.
"Lucrecia," he demanded again, this time a bit louder. "I know you're here. Answer me." When there was still no answer, he sighed and continued up the altar steps. "You don't have to hide anymore, Lucrecia."
"Who's HIding, VINcent?" He leapt back and drew the Death Penalty as something suddenly appeared in front of him, rising from the depths of the glowing altar like some sort of vile chick out of an egg. The figure slowly bubbled and shifted within itself, and soon a distinguishable arm shot out from the mass of flesh. In the background, he heard Ruana gasp and draw her swords, and Nanaki snarled.
The creature finally created and full, it rose up and smiled at him.
Lucrecia...
"Hello, Vincent. It's been such a long time since I last saw you."
Chapter Eleven: Hubris END
A/N: Much like the last chapter, this chapter was originally slated to run a little bit longer – in this case, to the conclusion of the cavern scene. But, with as much new information as was added, I'll leave the next bit for the next chapter. I hope you don't mind.
As always, many thanks go out to reviewers. Special thanks go out to T. Costa for thinking enough of this story to link to it.
Notes:
87-year old Shera – Shera's age isn't ever mentioned in the game, so I made a guess and figured it at 31 years of age (which would make her one year younger than Cid). While thinking of her character as it progressed through the years, I always imagined her having Gloria Stuart's voice (who plays the 100-year old Rose Dawson Calvert in Titanic). So if that helps you imagine things, then there you go.
"Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came," Stanza VII – Interesting in that it reflects not only one of the themes (I hope) of the story, but also the series number. Stanza VII, Final Fantasy VII. Figure that.
"Perhaps this town ... was the ultimate monument to all mankind's sins." – "I? I am a monument to all your sins." – The Gravemind, Halo 3
Komm, susser Tod, komm sel'ge Ruh – The opening lyrics of Bach's "Komm, susser Tod." The phrase is German and says, "Come, sweet Death, come blessed Rest."