Genesis was tired. Bone-achingly tired. No amount of sleep was helping, especially now that his sleep was so often plagued by nightmares. He was half monster, half angel, black wings sheltered against the cold light of morning. In his nightmares he was trapped by a rusted cage, and he looked like a crumbling statue. Somewhere in his consciousness he reached out to his goddess, to his god that was Sephiroth, but the end was always the same. Hopelessness, pure hopelessness and despair filled him. Where he walked, the piano of "Love and Loss" filled him, the acts of Loveless banged around in his brain. The years of his short life burned him, filling him with dread of his future. His lungs burned and he curled his fists against a glass that held him suspended in fluid, wing curled around him like a cloak. He was a lost little boy, pretending at being a man, trapped by the life he led.
He was training when the seizure happened. They told him it was the fevers, that his body was breaking down. It was when he was taken to Hojo that his gilded cage was given to him. He was allowed to attend his promotion to First Class, was allowed to go off with Sephiroth, but his body was betraying him. The mako injections resumed but they were different—higher concentrations, he thought. His eyes glowed green temporarily and he felt an alien presence buzzing inside him, giving him strength but taking so much from him.
Sephiroth tried to pull him away, but he was sent to Wutai again, and he was left to Hojo. It felt like Sephiroth was allowing him in his clutches. If he could be torn apart and rebuilt, Hojo would have done it, did do it. Hollander was complicit in Hojo's rebuilding of his makeup, but his body was rejecting it. Whatever he was injected with made him violently ill. And then all the sudden, just as the fevers came on, they went away. No one knew why, but he was better again. Still his gilded cage was the mako chambers. He knew rest only when he was there, floating in the green liquid that had given him life in Midgar. He felt stronger, faster, better, and Hojo laughed maniacally as he tested him rigorously. Monster after monster fell at his feet. Years passed this way.
Suddenly he was sent to Wutai. He lost himself in the act of killing human beings where previously he'd been killing monsters. He donned new clothes, befitting the Consort of a man who was Sephiroth's. Red leather clashed with black leather and when they were on the battlefield they were like moon and sun, fire and ice made real. He found that when he was looking in the mirror he had to check himself for scales. It would have been better that way—if tooth and nail had turned to fang and claw he would have been happier rending flesh from bone. Under Sephiroth, he was killing more human lives than saving them. The peace treaties failed. Blood had to be shed. Wutai had declared war on Shinra. He wasn't sure how much time passed, but it was falling all around him without his consent and he was seeing the demon of Wutai made real, feeling like a demon himself.
One night he was caught by the sight of Sephiroth drenched in blood, bits of human life clinging to his hair. He looked terrible and beautiful, the picture of a blood-covered warlord. He'd kissed him like that—they were both covered in blood. The stars were beautiful that night, and the floor served as their bed as they made love under that terrible sky with their coats against the earth. It was the first time they'd made love in what felt like forever, and he wondered if it would be their last.
On leave, he'd fought Sephiroth with Angeal as usual, but he was out to make Sephiroth bleed. Infinite in mystery was the gift of the goddess, and her will was not to make Sephiroth bleed but for Genesis to. He was told, like always, not to take Sephiroth lightly, Angeal's features screwed up with concern at the way Genesis was out for blood, but Genesis was heedless. They'd been fighting, their relationship was strained, and Genesis was childish.
Masamune cut through his shoulder like white hot fire and he fell to the floor, the virtual reality of Junon crashing around him. He'd said he was fine, but he wasn't. It'd been weeks and he wasn't healing, the wound gray around the edges as if he was a torn statue.
That was when he felt it one night, tearing through him like new life and death. White streaked his auburn hair when it was done tearing through him, and he unfurled a black wing at his side, bloody from ripping through his shoulder blades. Terrified, he'd confronted Hojo, who only laughed.
"You played with my angel and here you are, an angel yourself. A terrible disfigured monster. You're degrading."
"You're degrading." He heard the words echo in his head. He'd tried to rip the thing out himself, tearing sinew and bone from himself. He'd passed out from blood loss and was dragged to Hollander's lab. There the wing just tore from him once again, bloody feathers enveloping him from the joints he'd torn apart. They had mended themselves with more mako injections. His gilded cage was only made more beautiful by the addition of this wing. There Hollander took his DNA and made monsters with his face.
The first time he saw his own reflection staring back at him was nerve wracking. He was a monster, and here was the evidence. He'd tried to rip his wing out again, sawing at it with Rapier. The thing turned to ash in his gloved fingers and sprang to new life again, pushing bone from bone, life from the carcass of death. He was death itself, made living on the battlefield of Wutai.
He'd gone to Banora in his cloud of hate, and found the trees overflowing with dumbapples. It tasted like bitter 'd been the first place he flew to on his new wing, finding his nightmares made real. He'd taken a dumbapple and bit into it, finding it tasting like ash in his mouth. Everything tasted of death. Even Sephiroth, who once tasted of so much life. Simpler times were on his mind, when he could just take what was his. Now Sephiroth feared him.
The first time he came to Sephiroth on his new wing, holding out the Banora White apple, Sephiroth had looked at him with disgust.
"What happened to you?" Sephiroth had asked.
"My nightmares are becoming real. Soon your lips will be but a memory."
He'd kissed Sephiroth. He'd held him tenuously with his wing and insisted they made love like this, but Sephiroth was afraid. His lover had become a monster.
Love was dying around him and soon he was left with himself, his ability to clone himself into other monsters. He'd caressed his own face, made winged creatures with his visage.
No one could save a fallen angel, not even Sephiroth. He was losing himself at a dizzying pace. He didn't know who was in control. All he saw was a monster clawing at life.
"You are inferior," Hojo had hissed at him, and it was true. He was a fallen angel, and everything was falling all around him. "You're degrading and soon you will be nothing. Was it worth it, for a taste of Sephiroth?"
He couldn't even be happy for Angeal, who had Zack now. He couldn't be happy for Sephiroth, who was miserable without him, but scared of him. He sat above the city and held a Banora White apple against his chest, and made his decision.
He'd take everyone down with him if he was dying.
