Sigh. Hoo-kay, explanation time. Believe it or not, I've been chipping away at this story for the past year or so, on and off, trying to finish this next part. I doubt I could consider it my best work, but then, I rarely consider my work worth much. Also, I'm only now starting to recover from what has been the worst bout of Writer's/Artist's Block I've ever had. Six months of me stabbing my drawing pad because I can't get what I want to do done. Loads of fun. Regardless of that, I do hope that this meager offering - note there are three parts instead of two, this time around - can make up for the insanely long wait, which I sincerely apologize for. Stupid laziness. Just to be technical, I also want to point out that the story is still on the backburner, but I'll try to pick at it more often than I've been doing in the past. Heh. Right. Ahem.
Oh, and on a side note - weeee,I finally got to use "Unforgiven" for the song quote! (Best. Metallica song. Ever.)
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is property of Square-Enix. I write this for my own enjoyment, and intend no infrigement or profit.
Hero of the Day
"You labelled me
I'll label you
So I dub thee Unforgiven.
- Metallica, "Unforgiven"
Part X
Vincent Valentine's pale face was characteristically impassive. Even when the monolithic conglomerate lie in ruins before the people's feet, Shinra's influence still fanatically gripped the countryside. He might have smirked at the abysmally dark irony, butthe spontaneous and downright human urge withered before it even managed to blossom into a passing thought.
He stood idly on the rooftop with weapon in hand as the militiamen fired in his direction, regarding the bullets that whizzed by his body and ricocheted off the clay and steel tiles with a cool inhuman equivalent to boredom. Non-chalantly, he re-holstered the silver handgun while pointedly ignoring the chaos that had ensued. His movements slowed, and one end of his thin lips curled up of their own volition. Chaos. How novel. He reached over his shoulder to the weapon strapped across his back, absent-mindedly swatting a .45 caliber bullet from the air with his yellowed metal claw, and brought it to the fore with a practiced ease.
A few of the gunmen stopped firing momentarily, squaring their attention on the monstrously large rifle he held expertly in his hands. From that distance, their human eyes couldn't see the intricately carved designs on the shaft, or the symbols painstakingly written into the hilt. Perhaps if they were observant, they noticed the bronze dragon statue that was perched at the mouth of the rifle; its wings and teeth flared threateningly.
They didn't know his weapon of choice was called the Death Penalty. But, they soon would.
Already, the rest of AVALANCHE had taken the opportunity to free themselves from their oppressors. Waiting for the opportune moment, Vincent crouched, his tall and lean body twisted in a way that, to the on-looker, seemed oddly feline. His allies moved swiftly and battled ruthlessly, and he was self-admittedly surprised to see a Turk among their numbers. The man whom he had first shot rose to his feet with a snarl that spoke nothing short of death. Vincent allowed another shockingly human thought to bubble to the surface; competition. He wanted to see if the man could live up to the malicious expression on his face. He sincerely doubted it.
Men and women alike appeared from doorways and alleys, carrying an assortment of objects that ranged from handguns to wooden planks imbedded with nails, and began to set up a makeshift blockade for the town's only exit. It appeared that AVALANCHE hadn't noticed, too busy with dodging attacks from all sides while protecting the wounded. His calloused forefinger rubbed against the icy steel trigger. The opportune moment had arrived.
He sprang into the air amidst the battle below, hefting his wing-tipped rifle and firing it towards the outer ring of men with a mighty explosion. A young and scrawny man with an unruly mop of red hair howled in pain and flew off his feet as blood plumed from his body like a blooming rose. The man landed on the pastel-colored cobblestones with an audible crunch.
The sound echoed languidly. Some turned and aimed their weapons at the spot where Vincent should have dropped...
All the townspeople looked up, and proceeded to go pale.
Vincent Valentine, with a torn and buckled suit of navy blue, was floating in mid-air.
The following pandemonium that ensued made his previous sniper-induced hysteria appear like every day commotion by comparison. Pinpointing exactly what was happening where and when became a nigh impossibility; even Vincent himself with his super-human senses and reflexes had tremendous difficulties tracking his allies' movements and actions.
When the rag-tag militia laid eyes upon his blatantly apparent inhumanity, at least a third of their ranks dropped their weapons to the ground with a loud clatter and ran for their lives.
The rest grew angry, their fear hidden by their renewed spirit and hatred of the unknown.
One readied their gun frantically and fired at him. "Die, you freak!"
He easily evaded the bullet, his ruby eyes alight with a predatory glint as he swooped down and rammed the hardy man in the chest with incredible speed; sending his body skipping lightly across the dusty street and slamming into a nearby wall. The militiamen slumped to the ground, a large splattering of blood smeared over the web work of small cracks. The pale former-assassin noted it coolly, doubting the foolish little man would be getting up soon - or ever.
Tifa rushed to the red-headed whelp he'd shot no more than forty-five seconds ago, ordering a few refugees to help her with him while she hurriedly tugged off her gray sweatshirt and draped it over the paltry figure's gushing wound. To Vincent's amazement, the terrified and dirty townsfolk came to her aid, and together, they hoisted up the bleeding man and began to carry him into the shelter of a nearby home.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied another militiaman near him aim a pistol another had dropped at Tifa's bandaged backside. At first, he hefted Death Penalty with the intent of shooting the gun away, along with the hand that gripped it. His finger curled around the trigger and itched to pull, but quickly thought better of it and lowered the dark steel rifle. Had he injured him, Tifa in her eternal optimism would have most likely stopped to aid him as well, and that was precious time AVALANCHE could not afford to waste. Instead, he opted for a more...physical tactic.
In the blink of an eye, he launched himself forward and halted smoothly between his foe and his comrade, expertly deflecting the bullet the man had fired milliseconds before with the cool metal that comprised what was once his left arm. No sooner had he done so than he had twisted its rotation and roughly slammed the back of his unbreakable golden claw across the man's chin. He wheeled around, knowing without having to watch that the militia man had gone down like a shot, unmoving and with a broken jaw, and he focused to find his next quarry, his long black hair whipping around his shoulder from his sudden movements.
A dark-faced teen to his right trained a gun on him shakily. He pivoted his foot to strike. Yuffie emerged from the frenzied throng and grappled the youth's arm, disarming him and then throwing him over her shoulder in one swift, effective motion. She glanced up at him and smiled. "Hiya, Vinny! Long time, no see!"
His lip twitched ever-so-slightly in something he could only describe as annoyance. He never liked that nickname. "Do you know where the others are?"
She shrugged, an odd sight as she only moved one shoulder. "Not really, but I -"
"Find them," he said flatly, turning away.
He made his way to Barret, who - he was not at all surprised to see - had already discarded his shackles and was busy scanning the square with a focused determination. Vincent stopped at the prone form of Captain Cid Highwind and noted he was still conscious, if barely. He looked as if he'd been used as a pinata at some small child's birthday party. Why that image decided to so unceremoniously appear in his mind's eye, juxtaposed with all the destruction and danger around him, he wasn't certain. He shoved it away to focus on the task at hand.
Cid stared at him, his eyes dulled with pain. It was obvious he was fighting to remain what little lucidity he had remaining. "Where the hell've you been all this goddamn time?" he muttered groggily.
"Can you walk?" Vincent replied, ignoring the question.
Cid's brows puckered in mild uncertainty. "Uh, yeah, think so. Just lemme try to remember how to use my legs..."
He wordlessly grabbed the pilot by the arm and effortlessly hoisted him onto his shoulders.
"H-hey!" Cid stammered, flustered and annoyed. "I don't need ya to -"
"Simmer down, Chief," he replied simply, "we have no time. It's either this or leave you here."
Cid, in response, grunted in reluctant affirmation. "Got a point. Carry away."
He spun to Barret, earning an annoyed groan from Cid. "Where are Cloud and the others?"
"Ugh, I ain't no goddamn rag doll, ya fuckin' spook!" the pilot snapped. He assiduously ignored the outburst.
"Fuck the others," Barret snapped worriedly, "where's Marlene?"
His vermillion eyes sharpened. Marlene and Mrs. Gainsborough had been hiding in Kalm. How could he have forgotten?
Barret distractedly glanced at him. "I gotta get Marlene and Elmyra; you'd better round up ev'rybody else and get the hell outta dodge! We'll meet y'all outside of town!" Without waiting for a confirmation - though Vincent wouldn't have given him one regardless - he charged further in to search for his daughter and her caretaker.
He wordlessly slipped through the roiling mob, expertly tracking down the leader of their small cadre. He dodged an airborne militiaman with a look of disinterest - no doubt thrown by the spiky-haired mercenary standing feet away from him - and slapped his human hand down upon Cloud's shoulder. He whirled, his gloved and bloodied fist lashing out toward the gunslinger's head without a second thought before recognition dawned and forced his arm to a halt inches from his pale face. Vincent stared stolidly. "We have to leave."
"I've noticed," Cloud replied dryly, nodding. He called for Rude, and they broke into a run for the town limits.
"Barret has gone to find his daughter and Mrs. Gainsborough," he explained as he ran.
Cloud's brow furrowed. "Elmyra? It's too dangerous for her to come with us."
"It would be far more dangerous for her to remain here," Vincent reasoned, side-stepping a middle-aged, overweight man wielding a fire-axe. The sharp tip dug into the stone as he automatically snapped out his Lariat and shot the man in the shoulder at point-blank range, sending him careening to the ground with a cry of pain. In the few seconds that distraction took, he observed that Cloud had found Tifa and had joined in their hasty retreat.
More townsfolk of various shapes and sizes poured into the exit, more still perched on rooftops and hidden by windows, effectively blocking it from an escape on foot. Karter stood between them all, his slate gray eyes burning with anger as he raised his Shinra .22. "Shoot them!"
He almost frowned. He should have killed the man when he had the chance. That was the last time he would ever spite his inner demons by keeping a hostile target alive against his own better judgement. Lesson learned.
Quickly, they ducked into a small alleyway as the dozens of men, women, and children fired in near unison, the air thick with the heady scent of gunpowder and kicked up dust. Vincent shifted the now unconscious Cid to his left shoulder as Cloud searched for anything that could be used as an egress in the dusty cubby. When his efforts were proven in vain, he growled tiredly and raked a hand through his hair. "Damn, a dead end." He walked back and twisted to peek around the corner. Bullets ricocheted off of the wall, spraying chunks of wood, stone, and dried stucco into the air as he yanked his head back into the crevice. "This isn't good," he stated grimly.
"Hey, we've faced worse," Tifa answered with confidence that bordered on false bravado. "We got out of the Shinra building alive, and that was guarded by hundreds of SOLDIERs."
"Yeah, but we killed all of them," Cloud rebuffed distractedly, sighing. "I'm trying to avoid doing that here."
"It's too late; we've already killed one," Tifa replied solemnly, her deep cherry wood eyes dropping to the ground for a moment.
Vincent's eyes registered the liberal splotches of blood on her white cut-off shirt and gloves. It was obvious that she referred to the red-headed whelp he'd shot, though he noted that she neither blamed him nor highlighted his involvement in any regard. A ghost of a frown touched his lips. "We stand little chance of escaping this town alive unless we resort to deadly force," he explained impassively.
Cloud shook his head, his lips a thin line. "No, there's got to be another way out of this town."
"There isn't," Vincent denied. "I checked for alternate escape routes while entering Kalm earlier this morning."
The mercenary glared. "You got in just fine."
He was unphased. "I flew."
Cloud sighed. "I don't want to hurt them." He poked his head around the corner only to be shot at again.
"They don't appear to share that sentiment," Vincent responded.
"It's too late to hinder yourself with things like morals, Strife," Rude said, his voice quiet and stern. "Do you think sparing their lives will make them think of AVALANCHE any differently? You're letting an enemy that hates you survive so they can bolster their forces later on."
"They're not an 'enemy'," Cloud snapped, "they're normal people."
"Normal people that are trying to shoot us," Rude retorted evenly.
"I won't kill these people," he declared emphatically, his blue eyes dancing with fire. "I don't care who they are or what they think of AVALANCHE - they're normal, innocent people, and I'm not going to slaughter them like cattle the way -"
Vincent's eyebrow arched slightly beneath his thick red bandanna as Cloud clamped his mouth shut. His ears pricked up at the sound of Karter's voice softly carried through the morning air, soft enough that only he could clearly make out his directions. His ghost of a frown deepened a fraction. "He is ordering the group to advance on the alley and fire at will," he recited.
The three others gaped at him; two wide-eyed, the other expectant but suspicious. He nodded curtly in confirmation.
Rude's eyes turned to Cloud, his unnervingly bright aquamarine eyes almost imploring him to reconsider. Cloud closed his and shook his head once, a final, fatal gesture. "I'm not going to kill them."
Rude straightened, his eyes darkening. "Then we are going to die."
Vincent couldn't help but agree.
Well, Yuffie pondered as she back-flipped away from a chain-spinning youth, she was still alive. For now.
However, given the panicked, armed mob that surrounded her, that lunatic Karter, her useless left arm, and her rapidly depleting reserves of energy, she was smart enough to understand that it wasn't going to last for much longer unless she am-scrayed to a safer location with the utmost haste. Then, there was also the matter of finding the rest of AVALANCHE without bringing death upon herself or someone else, which was becoming increasingly difficult with her tiring body and waning patience.
Worst of all, when the mother of all distractions happened upon her, she found she no longer had the time or patience left to pickpocket anyone. She cursed her luck.
She ducked the thin chain as the worn sole of her tennis shoe slipped upon a stray batch of pebbles - she cursed her luck again - and she awkwardly fell to her knees with a slight yelp of pain. The scraggly youth grunted and swung again, only to have the chain caught by another's grip and yanked away roughly, before they struck a blow to her attacker's face, sending him to the ground in a heap. Yuffie, full of foolish, fatigue-driven pride and irritation, ignored the hand that was held out to her and rose to her feet with as much grace as she could muster, wiping off her scraped and dusty knees. Only when she finished salvaging her dignity did she look up and notice exactly who it was that came to her aid.
Cas dropped his hand to his side and smiled grimly. "I take it I shouldn't have interfered?"
"No," she replied tartly, searching for her team-mates. "Why the hell did you have to open your big mouth, anyway? You would've been perfectly fine if you'd stayed quiet and denied it."
The brunette snorted and followed. "I was tossed in league with you the second I decided not to turn you over to Karter. There was no reason to lie about it."
"So, what was with that whole, 'There's no point telling everybody what they'll never believe' spiel you went on about, then?" she retorted.
"I thought you said that," Cas suggested, glancing at her.
"Oh yeah." She turned a corner, and ran face-first into the steel chest-plate that protected Barret's lower torso. Shaking her head, she took a step back as he shoved past her and Cas, followed by Elmyra holding Marlene, and -
She blinked in shock. "Reeve?"
Reeve smiled weakly. "Yuffie," he said. "It's nice to finally meet you in person."
"Small talk later; move ya asses now!" Barret snapped.
Yuffie stuck her tongue out at Barret's massive back as she, Cas, and Reeve followed him. Belatedly, she felt a cool relief flood her. She didn't have to worry about doling out the orders, only taking them - or, knowing her, disregarding them. Knowing she no longer had to lead, she relaxed.
She then saw the blockade of townspeople, armed to the teeth and advancing upon what appeared to be the remainder of AVALANCHE hunkered in an alley, and Yuffie squelched the urge to groan. "God, this town sucks."
"No shit," Barret snapped. "There ain't no other ways outta Kalm, either."
"Well, we certainly can't fight our way through all those people!" Reeve exclaimed, on edge.
"Sure we could," Yuffie retorted, her muscles on fire, "we'd just wind up killing a lot of them, that's all." The horde neared the alley, yet were seemingly oblivious to them. She wracked her brain to come up with a plan, and at the worst moment possible, she felt her mind grind to an absolute halt. "So, what the hell are we gonna do?" In other circumstances, she would've frowned at the panic in her voice, but she was too gone to care. She wasn't cut out to be a leader, or a thinker, or anything other than a silly little ninja that liked to play tricks and disappear into the night.
Reeve's pallid face suddenly brightened, his deep blue eyes filled with a grave sort of mischief. "Well, we're dirty, mangy terrorists, right?" he asked, his soft tenor dripping with bitter humor. "Why play against type?"
Vincent carefully laid Cid upon the ground behind the others, unholstering his Death Penalty and gripping it tightly in his right hand; an ominous hush settling over Kalm. The sounds of the dozens of footsteps marching towards them, mingled with the soft rustling of clothing and the metallic clinking of metal striking metal rang painfully in his ears. He stepped in front of the others out of second nature, with the aim of using his inhumanly resilient body as a shield if worse came to worse - which, he pondered, was currently going to be the case. Perhaps, he continued, a final stand here might have some meaning. It wouldn't absolve him of his sins, it wouldn't come close, but if his death could have some positive effect upon the lives of his companions, he believed it to be worth the sacrifice.
He caught the first sight of the militia. His bare finger tightened around the cool metal trigger of the Death Penalty. "For whatever it's worth," Cloud sighed, fists primed and a look of near-resignation on his rounded, boyish face, "it's been an honor knowing all of you."
"Nobody move!"
The mob, as if guided by a single thought, shifted their focus away from the alleyway they neared frantically, toward the innards of the quaint town. Some began to immediately raise their weapons, but in an unforeseen twist of events, Karter held out his arms and cried for an immediate hold on their fire. Cautiously, Vincent stole to the corner and craned his head around, his enhanced ruby eyes zeroing in on the cause of the disturbance. Quietly, the others appeared behind him, though he paid them no mind as the corners of his lips were tugged into the smallest hint of a frown.
By the square, where AVALANCHE likely awaited their executions only a few minutes prior, stood Barret and Yuffie imposingly, their expressions equally cold and severe. Standing in front of them, ramrod straight and silent, were Elmyra, Marlene clutched in her arms, Reeve - he silently confessed to being surprised to see the man there - and the young brunette that had unwittingly allied himself with AVALANCHE; Barret's hulking steel gunarm pointed at their heads. Yuffie, lacking a weapon, simply had her one able hand clenched at Reeve's throat.
Cloud's thick blond brows puckered in confusion. "What are hell are they -?"
"Quiet," Rude said, "Wallace is talking."
"All you better listen the hell up!" Barret commanded, his rough baritone booming as his glare was directed at Karter specifically. "Now, this shit's gonna go down one of two ways - either you and yo punk ass army's gonna let me an' my friends through..." His human hand rose to the safety lock on his weapon, flicking it deftly with his large, meaty fingers. The soft click seemed to echo ominously. "Or these poor l'il foo's are gonna be bitin' the big bullet, y'know what I'm sayin'?"
Cloud frowned. "He can't be serious. There's no way. Teef, is he serious?"
Vincent heard the soft rustling of waist-length hair. "He can't be," she replied, almost out of instinct. "It's got to be some kind of trick to get these guys to back off."
His glare travelled momentarily to Karter. The wary, untrusting glint in his slate gray eyes led him to conclude that the tall and muscular man shared Tifa's mindset.
"So, we have to make sure not to blow his cover, then," Cloud asserted grimly. "This might be our only chance to avoid further bloodshed."
"Not to mention get out of here alive," Tifa added softly.
Karter's sharp, chiseled face hardened in determination. "I don't negotiate with terrorists."
"Do you see a negotiatin' table 'round here, man?" Barret rebuked, his voice husky and threatening. "I ain't askin' for no goddamn demands - I'm tellin' ya to move the fuck outta my way before these pretty l'il thangs get they head's blown clean off!"
"You're bluffing," Karter hissed, eyes sparking.
Without preamble, Barret pressed his gun-arm to the brunette stranger's neck and fired a volley of warning shots by his head as the hostages flinced visibly, Marlene bringing her hands up to her ears with a look of pain. The town gasped and quailed in unison, a few stray voices wailing before becoming silent again. "Look, mothafucka, you said you wouldn't let any innocent people get killed -"
"Cas is a traitor, and one of your collaborators," Karter replied simply. "Feel free to kill him at your leisure. I know animals such as yourself have no loyalty to your kin."
Barret hesitated for a split second before he recovered, his glare darkening. "Aight, then." Suddenly, he aimed the hulking metal attachment at the back of Elmyra's skull, her eyes going wide as her arms tightened around Marlene. Vincent stiffened, batting back the anxiety that was pulsing loudly in the air. Tifa, now beside him, gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth. Cloud's hand moved to clasp her shoulder, a silent reminder of their role, and her hands fell to her side.
"How 'bout this one, huh? You wanna call my bluff now, judge-man?" Barret challenged, his obsidian eyes aflame.
Vincent unconsciously grit his teeth. "He'll do it," he lied smoothly. "I have seen him lose his temper before in situations like these. It...isn't pretty."
Karter quarter-turned in his direction, though his glower was fixed on Barret. "Why should I believe you? You shot me not five minutes ago."
"I'm simply warning you of the consequences should you refuse his request," he explained evenly. "Are you willing to gamble with the lives of innocents to satisfy your need for revenge?"
"Traitorous dreck from a terrorist pig," Karter spat heatedly. "I'm executing justice, not revenge! You..."
Marlene's tiny sniffles seemed to catch him off guard, and he fell silent as she whimpered, "Daddy, I'm scared..."
"Are you willing to exact punishment, no matter the cost?" Vincent pressed, successfully distracting Karter from noticing Barret's momentary indecision; his deep voice devoid of any extraneous emotion. "Regardless of who I am affiliated with, you would do well to listen to the voice of reason when it is presented to you."
Karter's face became red with fury and bitterness, his dark eyes fixated on the hiccoughing child that wiped her eyes with her small, pudgy hands. Slowly, he lowered his .22. "...Lower your weapons," he grated out through clenched teeth, "and let them pass."
Immediately, Vincent turned on his heel, replaced his Death Penalty, and placed Cid on his left shoulder as the small army sluggishly acquiesced. He returned to the corner to see that Barret and Yuffie were nudging the four hostages forward hurriedly. Barret growled, "Don't you be gettin' yo little backwater army to follow us, now." His thick lip twitched up into a feral smirk. "You jes be a good l'il bastard and sit tight for a week or two," he continued, motioning to Elmyra with his head, "else you might them lyin' in some field somewhere. You feelin' me?" Karter remained silent, seething as Barret passed. "Thought so."
Vincent and the others followed cautiously, his eyes darting about suspiciously as the dozens of stained, unrecognizable faces regarded them with just as little patience and even less trust. Kalm, he realized, had gone completely still, save the tromping of AVALANCHE as they marched into the gently swaying grass fields that flourished around them. Silently, they continued walking into the sea of lively jade blades, until Kalm town was nothing more than a tiny speck on the azure horizon. He never turned his head to make certain, and neither did anyone else; an unspoken understanding permeating their band.
There was no turning back, now.
To be continued...
