A month went by and Sephiroth was in and out. Zack really wanted to hang out with him again. Maybe not to go drink per say, but maybe they could get some coffee or something. Did Sephiroth even drink coffee? He seemed like a Black Sumatran kind of guy, while Zack could have some gunpowder tea.
He resolved to go out on a limb and ask the guy. He did say to come find him, after all, and Zack knew where to look. He took the elevator up to the floor above SOLDIER barracks.
He got out in a long hallway that looked almost the same as barracks, save for one difference…no doors…? He followed the hall down and around the corner to find the only entryway in the wing, a simple slide-door with a key-code lock just like Zack's. Well, this was it…
He went to knock on the door, his fist balled halfway in the air, and hesitated. Now Zack really did feel like he was asking him out on a date. What would he even say? He couldn't do it, he felt beyond stupid. If Sephiroth had truly wanted to hang out with Zack again, he would have found him by now.
He gave up and turned away, only to find Sephiroth standing right behind him.
"Coming in?" he asked Zack, who swallowed a lump in his throat with a nod. Sephiroth swiped his ID card and let them in.
Zack beheld an open hardwood loft space big enough to play basketball in, set against the backdrop of full floor-to-ceiling shatterproof windows that looked out onto a panoramic view of the Midgar City skyline in twilight. He caught the pungent waft of incense—dragon's blood—and a low ambient glow flowing from recessed papillon pendent lights.
"I hope you don't mind the low light," Sephiroth apologized. "My eyes are acutely sensitive after being Mako-infused for as long as I have."
"Whoa," Zack gasped, spinning in a slow circle to take it all in. A thought… "ECHO!"
And his voice bounced off the fifteen foot high ceilings! Zack gaped in awe, throwing his arms wide.
"This is amazing! Look at all this space!"
Sephiroth watched Zack's eyes bulge out of his sockets with a sort of beguiled amusement; like a boy in a puppy store.
"Hey, you know what you should do?" Zack said. "You should have a party!..."
Sephiroth shot Zack a blank look that flew right over his head.
"…Yeah, yeah, a company potluck! You can put up like one of those folding tables over here, and have like, a soda fountain over here. I can bring my projector and we can watch the crew video on your back wall! It would be so awesome!"
Sephiroth smirked. "We'll see."
Zack's shoulders slumped a hint. He knew he wasn't going to get anywhere but the little kid in him was sad to go home. He continued his slow sweep of Sephiroth's living quarters.
Despite the loft being near empty, Zack felt a sense of fullness invade him. An organic energy like cool streams churned in a deliberate pattern through his veins and then out again. He noted several brush-ink calligraphy motes hanging in strategic locations from the ceiling, and his eyes fell on a rectangular sand pit against the far wall. Kanji scrolls hung along its edge, while whirling spirals were drawn into the smooth sand like cycloning winds with a ceremonial rake.
"You're a Zen Master?" Zack gasped. Sephiroth just folded his arms at the dutiful spiraling sand.
"…The cat didn't work out."
Zack smiled. Then he caught sight of an odd arrangement of furniture in a corner by the windowed wall, a chaos-shaped void in the smooth flow of energy, seeming so not-Sephiroth. A bean bag chair sat flopped with a plumb iPod tangled in headphones on the seat, notebooks and gel-pens scattered on the floor next to a Macroeconomics textbook.
"…Hers," Sephiroth smirked, and Zack lit up in revelation. They lived together, and he took care of her. Something about that seemed so unbelievably sweet to Zack. Now looking at little bits of her world, he felt like some part of him in some small way was her friend already.
"Is she a student?" Zack asked.
"Online for now. She's actually pretty close to her Associates Degree."
"Cool. What's she studying?"
And Sephiroth shot him a look like rolled eyes. Hell if I know.
Zack chuckled. Independent girl.
The vastness of the loft was like an auditorium for President Shinra to give them all their annual yawning "keep up the good work" speech. There was truly nothing in here!
"You're not big on materialism are you?" Zack noted.
"One cannot take away that which one does not already possess…and it's a good deterrent against bed bugs."
Zack chuckled again.
The last and only piece of formal furniture unveiled to him; a raised platform bed containing one of those ridiculously expensive micropore temperfoam mattresses, diligently made with plain black covers against the windowed wall—every night the city slept with him. A copy of "Meditations" by Marcus Aurelius laid open upside-down on the pillow to save the page.
"…It hurts my back," said Sephiroth. "I don't use it every night."
Zack cocked his head at that, aside from the fact that the most comfortable bed in the world hurt his back. "How do you sleep?"
"Well, I don't really, I sort of sit cross-legged and levitate with my sword over my lap."
Zack cracked a wide smile at the sarcasm dripping from Sephiroth's words. Young guys in the unit joked about him being this sacramental demigod who ate small children, communed with the cosmos, and didn't sleep. To hear Sephiroth poke fun at their stories made Zack shake his head.
"…Wow, you're just a guy, like me."
The slightest smirk escaped Sephiroth's velveteen façade.
"I wish I was as cool as you all made me out to be."
Zack studied him in sardonic awe. This guy. He descended from Heaven and killed a couple angels on his way down simply because he didn't like the rules, and now he was here, working for the power company, just another hustler trying to scrape out a place on this miserable hunk of rock. If Zack were to ask him why, he imagined the man would shrug and reply because I can.
"You seem taken aback," Sephiroth noted.
Zack laughed. "I'm blown away! You know what some guys have to do to get their own rooms? And you've got a whole floor to yourself! This has to go down as the greatest hustle in Shinra history! How the heck did you pull this off?"
"Shinra has a Sephiroth Clause in their company policy."
"Which is?"
Sepiroth shrugged. "I get whatever I want."
"Oh what! They do spoil you!"
"I don't make the rules."
"Yeah, you just break them!"
Sephiroth stood there in a cool composure and Zack saw something he could relate to; a rebel and a hellraiser, causing trouble for fun. No wonder he had Angeal's lectures memorized. Here was a guy who was actively trying to get fired, going so far as to disregard the uniform, reveling in the pure and simple truth that he could get away with murder while overhead couldn't even go to the bathroom without logging their time.
Zack threw his hands in a wide sweep around the room.
"So what do you do with all this…space?"
"Angeal and I used to spar in here all the time. The high ceilings are so I can swing my sword in a full arc without scraping the paint, which I failed to do there…and there…and there…"
"You guys really were best friends, weren't you?"
"He was my best friend, but I doubt I was his."
"What makes you think that?"
"Let's put it this way. Genesis and I were both at Angeal's wedding. Guess which one of us was his best man?"
Zack stopped, a mottled realization descending on his consciousness.
"…Wow…and some friend he turned out to be."
Sephiroth gazed at Zack with wise eyes that knew all and saw all, but wished they hadn't.
"When the metal hits the meat, you find out who your real friends are."
Sephiroth—the bane of absolute truth—his words settled on Zack's soul like toadstools taking root in a flower bed. Nature is as nature does and no man could stop it nor interfere with it. A lulling calm cast over them as Sephiroth turned away from Zack, walking to stand before the massive wall of glass, gazing out at the flickering code-lights of the cityscape with an air of solemn fortitude. Zack saw him like that, a harrowing portent of wisdom. A seeping sense of realism exuding from his aura that was divinely destructive and allover atheistic.
He went to stand beside him in a slow stride, gazing in turn out at the city that they'd sworn an oath to protect and serve. Now, that same wayward look crossed their eyes, as if the limelights were confusing to them, aerolights that fell from the sky one day and formed a metropolis in their wake.
"What were his last words?" Sephiroth asked Zack after a long while. Zack let his eyes fall along with his heart, allowing the words to flow in their own time from the core of his being.
"Protect your honor, always. It's the one thing you have that no one can ever take away."
"I am pained, because I cannot agree with his final sentiment…" Zack cast an imploring gaze on Sephiroth, who returned it with a steady stare. "There is nothing you possess in this life that cannot be taken away. They can take everything away from you." He bore into Zack as if he were teaching him a lesson, as if Zack were his student. Then, the rouse faded, and he went back to gazing out over the cityscape.
"Those weren't his only words," Zack spoke after a long silence. "He talked about you. He called you his youngest brother."
Sephiroth stopped, his gaze pulled to Zack like a magnetic beam. Awe behind his irises, the subtle hint of wonder, worlds swirling within his soul laid bare. It was only the second time in his life it had happened. But he caught himself, and closed his eyes, returning to the farscape of the skyline.
"…My apologies. You have no idea what that means to me."
But Zack gazed at the big man no longer afraid.
"…I think I do."
Sephiroth stared at Zack from his peripherals, hard eyes trained on him in a solemn similitude that bound the two men in a commonality. With a resounding silence, a shared affirmation, Sephiroth felt what it feels like to decide. He turned away with conviction, striding to the center of his loft.
"…He taught you the Way of Five Rings, correct?"
"Yeah." Zack followed, not quite sure what was happening.
"It takes many years to fully grasp their understanding. To attain this wisdom is to cross at a ford. This occurs often in a man's lifetime. It means to set sail even though your friends have stayed in harbor, and, if the wind changes within a few miles of your destination, you must row across the remaining distance without sail."
Sephiroth aligned himself into Summoner's stance, feet together, two fingers upright at his chest, aiming at Zack.
Zack froze, unable to think, unable to comprehend in the drugging lull of warm calm that seemed unbroken by his phase.
"Concentrate…" Sephiroth ordered, and Zack snapped into defensive caster's stance, two hands palm up at his sides, ready to call up a barrier or some other elemental status ward depending on the attack. He tensed for a long time before the big man caught him. "Your eyes, they shift, what are you looking at?"
"…Trying to see where the first attack will come from."
"It will come out of nowhere, from where you least expect it, it will always catch you off-guard. You're unconsciously taking in too much sensory information, that's why you can't seem to calm down."
Zack gasped, everything in his being seemed to click into place. Sephiroth drew an octagon in the air with his fingers for Zack's eyes to follow.
"Many teachers will teach their students to fix their eyes on points. Some maintain that the eyes should be fixed on the enemy's sword, others on the face or hands, some on the feet, and so on. In single-combat you must not fix the eyes on details. Your mind will become bewildered, and victory will elude you. When you have mastered the Way, you will see the weight of your enemy's spirit. In Strategy, fixing the eyes means gazing at a man's heart."
He stood there in the dim glow like a living statue, boring into the eyes of the young SOLDIER who bore back into his. An unstoppable force met an immovable object.
"If I can see his heart, can he see mine?" Zack asked.
"If he has mastered Strategy, then yes."
"Then he'll see my sword coming straight at his face before he can swallow his own spit. My heart is in my sword, it's the only way I can lift the thing. I'll embrace my dreams, and when we cross blades, I will defend my honor."
"Overconfidence will destroy you," he scolded, and Zack flinched back, his inner fire snuffed like a blown candle. "Every time you take a sword in your hand, your goal should be to kill the enemy by any means necessary. Whenever you strike the enemy's sword, you must continue your attack in that same motion. This is key. But, if your only aim is simply to strike your opponent's sword, you'll never actually hit him."
Then, Sephiroth assumed the staggered fighter's stance, holding his palm up in front of him…an invitation. Zack knew this exercise, he'd done it with Angeal to train in balance. He lined himself up in fighter's stance with Sephiroth, placing his hand palm-to-palm with his.
Sephiroth guided their hands in flowing circular movements, and Zack followed, always staying connected to Sephiroth, never breaking contact. A tingling energy siphoned through their skin, chasing through their connection like foxtails as their arms moved in snaking "S" figures. Sephiroth swept their hands in a wide arc, and Zack knew the angle and trajectory without thinking, his palm held light resistance in a culminating calm. Everything in the world seemed revealed, terrifying truth was no longer terrible, and fear was mist and shadow—something that felt scary but could do no actual harm. His mind remained in smooth stasis until Sephiroth reached over his shoulder, and Zack followed in turn.
Swords now, they drew them in a slow sweep. Now, steel against steel in a delicate ringing of cured metal, they continued the exercise with their swords. A crescent moon reflected beam lines off their silver blades, carousing restless in the neon hue of Mako eyes. A flay of Sephiroth's wrist and a magnetic energy singed in freeflowing fractal fraylight, his daikatana eclipsing the sheer enormity of the Buster Sword it had connected with many times before. The swords sang a soft lull as if they remembered each other. Hello old friend.
Step in a circle now, Zack followed knowing every move his body should emulate. A cranial circuit showed the world in electric pulses that could be manipulated, moved, maneuvered, and Zack felt all of it swirling in a vortex of electricity, a line that traced the inside of his nerve endings in fuchsia tendrils of limelight. Sephiroth's sword swept a little faster now, flowing around in a sidelong arc and taking Zack with it. A flick, the daikatana broke contact for quick dings.
Tap, tap.
Then reconnect. It jolted Zack back into fighter's stance, still connected with the daikatana, awareness serrated into zooming focus. The long blade flared up trying to break contact, but Zack's sword followed it, not letting it go. An aggressive whip knocked Zack's sword up, and it was on…
They rushed each other like dragons. The daikatana whipped like a scorpion tail searing in flitting swipes against Zack's monumental bash-slices. Zack saw the arc of their swords as a fine line that couldn't be lost even if the blades broke contact, he followed it around to meet slash on slash.
Sephiroth slip-parried Zack's jabs with small swirls of his sword tip, whisking them out of the way as if made of water. Now Zack saw why he fought with a daikatana, the longer his sword was, the less he actually had to do with it. Cheap cheater, he was trying to get out of doing more work than he had to. A natural south-paw swordfighter, he saw now that Sephiroth had the capacity to fight dirty if he wanted to. After all, the man had never lost a fight. Ooh, Angeal would have hated that.
Zack felt the rigid systemic timing of their blade hits, regimented and disciplined, no muscle-memory. Akin to when Angeal had been training him in pacing, they hit in tune to a beat, a rhythmic, controlled flow.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5…tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
They established an understood parallel dimension, dark fire exuding from a sort of shared sacramental awareness, swords singing like the angelic alto of aural gothic choirs.
An up-swipe bashed away his thrust-jab as they lashed for each other in cacophonic crashes. Sephiroth whipped around deflecting Zack's blow, who followed the momentum into an overhead slash that crossed with his blade. Their piercing eyes met for a moment, and Sephiroth put both hands on his hilt for a split second, just a second against Zack.
A dynamic twist-flare and Zack's sword charged into a—
"Stop," Sephiroth ordered. Zack froze mid-slash.
Sephiroth walked around Zack, who still held his sword motionless in the air, inspecting, examining. He decided Zack's arm was hyperextended, and with strong hands moved it back into place. He hit the hilt of his daikatana off Zack's elbow to straighten it out. Continuing around to his weak side, he kicked his feet closer together. Then, emotionless, he returned his sword crossed-blade against Zack's.
"Go."
—Into a flying sweeping arc-slash.
A fulminating flare up, the whirl of a daikatana caught the edge of moonbeams serrating at Zack. He felt it, he didn't need a wind-up, it was right there. A hyperslash of light and Zack crossed twenty feet of open space in a nanosecond, sending Sephiroth's sword flying against the glass wall. He gasped, that just happened.
The world seemed to pause as the big man walked with that flowing stride over to his wall. Sephiroth picked up his sword in a calm sweep, the fight was over. Then he returned with a look in his eyes that Zack had seen on someone else once…long ago.
"Not even Angeal could land that on me," he said as he stood back in front of Zack, whose eyes shot up to his in a whirl of emotion. Then, in the warm Zen of the dark loft, Sephiroth put his hand on the young SOLDIER's shoulder.
"He was very proud of you Zack."
The darkness invaded him, snatching the air from his lungs in a choking tightness. Zack almost lost it, standing there before this man who had been his best friend's best friend, struggling to contain the brining storm welling up within that threatened to consume him. Sephiroth just stood there stoic in front of him, an immovable wall, the image of abhorrent beauty and immeasurable strength, showing Zack another purpose, one more path, another way.
Without a word, Zack turned for the door, blinking away tears as he went. He spun the sword in a hyperphonic twirl, latching it onto his back like a part of himself, and left Sephiroth's loft. Outside in the hall, leaning his back on the sliding door, he breathed as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders, a heavy burden sliding from his being to float away into the atmosphere. He breathed easy now, the cool sloshing climate-controlled air entering and escaping him to carrying away bad energies with its departure.
With a sense of finality, Zack walked back to SOLDIER wing, feeling like he'd finally laid an old friend to rest.
[Received Black Belt]