ADVERSARY
Guardia Castle, 1005 A.D.
It was around eleven o' clock on Saturday that Sephiroth realized he was quite possibly the most accomplished man in the history of mankind. Staring through the arched castle window, from the room he'd conned a monarch into giving him, he could see far out on to the horizon. Thousands of dark shapes loomed in the distance, advancing at a steady pace.
His privately owned ambush was arriving. In hours, the entire kingdom would near-completely razed to the soil it was built upon. The Midgar army would then begin occupation, horrifying the helpless, technologically backward citizens of Guardia. However, before all was lost for the Guardians, Sephiroth himself would appear, calling all the magical holy hell that existed within the plane of Guardia's world against Blake's armies. Forcing a retreat, He'd once again have his might to hang over the heads of the Midgar people whom he so detested. Peace negotiations would open between he and the Midgar Heads of State: his two sons. It was what you'd call a "win-win" situation.
His two sons he'd fathered with a woman whom he'd personally murdered only a few years beforehand. She was "snow-white" in spirit, and as pure as they come. She hated him under all possible normal circumstances.
Fortunately, he had the means to bring about the "abnormal."
It was more a mastery of human psychology than sorcery, he'd reckoned, recalling their relationship over the past twenty years. Like all the other once-individualistic zombies that had followed him through the SOLDIER program, she too fell prey to his genius, his cunning. A mind could be molded like a substance more supple than craftsman's clay, with the right approach.
He on the verge of having everything, once again. The only thing that stood between him and infinity was a few "heroes" lead by two spiky-haired sword-wavers. When he broke it down that way, it seemed like a simple task. He liked simplification.
Granted, they had furious potential if aimed in the right direction. However, he'd spend the last year sowing seeds of distrust amongst them all. He'd kidnapped the ninja girl, made her believe she'd assassinated her sword master boyfriend, and then reunited them under the guise of belonging to an assassin clan that periodically harassed Cloud Strife and company.
He would have liked to have permanently held a Mako-infused Crono and Yuffie under his control, but they managed to wriggle out of his grasp, he'd learned.
Oh well...what can you expect from mere humans...
It was no big deal. He'd cheated, conned, and overborne his way to this point, and nothing logically could stop him. Last time he'd tried this, he'd been too single-minded on his goal of bringing down the humans. This time, he had a plan.
Wherever the two had run off to, it mattered not. Cloud Strife was actively being pursued by the Midgar Special Tactics Team, and his wife and friends were somewhere in the city, in the friendly acquaintance of the one known as Leon Alazane.
Leon Alazane was a mild-mannered, cool-headed, laid-back, slacked-off, fun-loving individual. Leon Alazane was a trusted guy who shared the compassion of the entire Avalanche gang. Leon Alazane was also a walking weapon.
A multi-million-dollar, Hojo-crafted, walking weapon with directives to kill members of Avalanche at precise moments.
He seemed absolutely harmless, which is what made him so deadly. For all he knew, he was living proof of the miracle of modern medicine. A young boy brutally injured in an explosion on the streets of Midgar, his impoverished parents were wholly unable to pay for any kind of medical treatment. He remained without hands and nearly paralyzed for months until a scientist from the ShinRa arrived at the door to their slum apartment, and made them an offer that seemed like a godsend.
While Leon was being "treated" for his injuries, Hojo was desperately trying to create his own version of the Ancient's "Weapons". Skin reinforced with metallic plating, cybernetic joints, and an automated self-maintenance system made Leon an instant killing machine, should the Doctor so prescribe it. However, Hojo was laid to waste with his other creations, and Leon walked the streets, free and clueless.
Unfortunately, Sephiroth scoured Hojo's musings about his laboratory work. Most of it had been deemed "useless", yet the "Leon Project" had caught his attention.
Useful...useful indeed...
The scattered nature of his opponents, mixed with the knowledge that a friend amongst them could strike at any time he pleased was more than just a confidence booster. To Sephiroth, it was all the proof he needed to know that he was ultimately invincible. Things just needed to play out as planned.
He'd been in the background the whole time. Watching. Waiting. Calculating. The enemy, Sephiroth, was a mastermind, no doubt, yet so was he. In the shadow of the in-fighting, the passion, the conspiracy, the actions of his "allies" in the foreground, he'd been taking a different approach. For him, the answers were not uncovered with swordplay, with heroics. There was no feat of strength or courage which could jam the gears that were turning Sephiroth's plot more and more into reality.
The answers whispered upon the Black Wind.
Sephiroth was pulling one over on everyone. He was creating a reality so far-fetched and nonsensical that the heroes who once were faced with straightforward dilemmas involving monsters and the apocalypse and so on, were nearly powerless to stop it. However, Magus was no ordinary heroic type. He'd been in Sephiroth's place. He'd schemed and deceived with the best of them. He knew how Sephiroth saw things, where he'd lead the situation.
The others couldn't understand, so he stayed away. Away from her as well.
It pained him to shut her out. She was an intellectual, after all. However, she was much too close to Crono and her friends to understand his own "hands-off" approach to Sephiroth's plan. Her brilliant mind was clouded with loyalty and emotion. He supposed it was why he admired her so. He also knew it was why they ultimately might never be able to be together.
He was nearly devoid of emotion, therefore he could see Sephiroth's actions as they were: a series of ruses and ploys designed to spark massive immediate action from the heroes, weakening and disabling them, one by one. He knew that had they all laid low for the entire time the two planes of existence had been crossed over, it would not have made Sephiroth any stronger; it would have given them a competitive edge.
He couldn't even fathom the difficulty entailed in creating a magical formula so advanced it could rip holes in the fabric of the universe and reposition them in precise locations. Sephiroth, it was rumored, was advanced enough to lure the births of stars into the planet's atmosphere to use them as colossal weaponry against his foes.
He was a challenge, to say the least.
However, Magus knew that he himself was no slouch in combat. He was the proud member of a magically-enlightened dynasty. He had faced a force so great it threatened the existence of the earth, and come out on top. Most of all, Sephiroth didn't know he existed. Magus could feel Sephiroth's disturbance on the winds for months beforehand. Sephiroth had no such abilities.
He would spring from the shadows in Sephiroth's finest hour. He would show the man what true darkness really was.
A smile played across Sephiroth's shadowed face as he watched the final ranks of the Midgar forces close in upon the forests surrounding the castle. They were decked out with rockets, automatic personal firearms, and off-road assault vehicles.
Inside the castle, the soldiers and officials scrambled in befuddled horror. They searched desperately for the man they'd enlisted to bring down their former champion, the man who'd conned them into handing over scores of wealth and power in times of need. He'd made sure he was nowhere to be seen, until the proper time.
In a sedated state of calmness, like a professional athlete before an event, he reflected inwardly about the immediate future. It was to be glorious. He would descend from the heavens in the moment of truth, beating back the terror-stricken Midgar soldiers, winning over the people of Guardia one hundred ten percent.
The opening shots were fired. Stone fragments mixed with blood sprayed within the castle walls as the first "warm-up" volley of assault weaponry was cast upon them. Their stationed vehicles setting up a perimeter, the soldiers rushed the forest in teams of four. The guards along the walls immediately fell back to the inside.
The Knight Captain shuddered as he stood, lead-footed before the main door, which had just been braced against charge. In a roaring flash, a rocket-propelled explosive burst it open. Several yards behind it, a two-by-two tactics team advanced up the steps, spattering three-round bursts in the Captain's direction from their rifles.
He had every opportunity in the world to run, to return to his men and organize whatever counteroffensive was possible, yet he stayed fixed as they pressed forward, death on eight legs.
Stone faced, he drew his longsword, marching toward the door. He was determined to look them in the face, to let them know whose people they were trampling over.
The first burst caught him in the right shoulder, passing through his gilded plate armor as if it were nonexistent. The second landed in his side, searing through a piece of his lung. A sucking wound in his chest, he drew closer, just feet away from the awestruck enemy soldiers. Another burst landed in his side, finally bringing a groan from his pursed lips. They stopped firing. He could never reach them in time.
"Drop your weapon." The man in front demanded. The Captain gazed up from his wounded body and into the man's eyes. His bewildered eyes, brimming with inner conflict.
"You don't even know what you're doing, do you?" The Captain scoffed in a low voice.
"Drop your weapon!" He shouted, a rocket-bearing soldier advancing from the rear as cover.
"Gods save us all..." the Captain whispered, eyes fixed upon the rocket man. With a sweeping throw, he cast his sword, end over end toward the rocketeer. It caught him, flatfooted, in the chest. His cries of shocked mortal pain were outscreamed by the waves of bullets that blazed into the Knight Captain. Both men hit the ground almost at the same time.
The remaining four did not exchange glances. As if no encounter had taken place, they moved to the next room.
It was only minutes to showtime. He listened to the progress of the fray from within the walls of a hidden chamber in one of the castle's old towers. The people of Guardia were undergoing heavier and swifter losses than he'd predicted. He'd have to step in quicker than he'd planned. It really didn't matter that much, anyhow. He'd play the savior just the same.
With a deep breath, he moved from his position at the window. There was a bit of a storm brewing in the distance, over near Midgar. He smirked, figuring it'd help wash away the mess that was yet to be made on the castle grounds.
He opened the door to the long, stone catwalk between the adjoining tower and the main castle spire. Stepping out onto the brick-railed walkway, he was met with a cold, dry wind that blew directly toward him, chilling through his thick leather overcoat. His facial expression changed from one of arrogance to one of malcontent as he plodded to the door opposite him. Buckling the overcoat's belt and removing the locking pins from the Masamune's scabbard, he reached for the large brass ring handle, swinging the door open with much more force than intended.
In the darkness of the stairwell, two red pupils stared back at him. His pale green eyes narrowed in angered shock before closing completely as he was lifted off his feet and thrown backward across the bridge. Numb enervations spread throughout him as he skid in reverse, scraping his back along the cobblestone. With a furious grimace, he stood up.
His gothic opponent emerged from the doorway with a malicious smile, a replica of Death's Reaper held slack in hand. A moment passed. While Sephiroth had not known of Magus' direct relation to his plan, he'd been unable to escape the sense of incredible magical might that moved within him and the planes he walked. Sephiroth felt like he'd been slipped the answer to a puzzling riddle that had been itching at the back of his mind for months.
"So, this is it." Sephiroth stated, matter-of-factly. Magus raised an eyebrow.
"I don't even get a 'who the fuck are you?'"
"I guess not." Sephiroth mused, looking down at the firefight in the castle below. Magus laughed in appreciation for the man's casualness.
"You know, if you weren't such a sociopathic dick, we probably could have hit it off real well."
"One of life's great tragedies." The silver-haired man nodded solemnly with false disappointment. He quickly followed up his quip without missing a beat, demanding, "Get out of my way." Magus sighed and shook his head.
"Yeah, I don't think that's gonna happen."
"Then you can forever be remembered as a temporary setback." Sephiroth slid the blade out of its long sheath, holding it behind his back, ready to swing out at the bat of an eye. It was then he advanced toward his opponent across the catwalk, one hand outstretched like a shield.
A shield, indeed...
Magus noted, far too experienced to fall for Sephiroth's seemingly harmless gesture. Offensive magic was not going to be effective in this instant. He had to try his luck in the physical sense. He swirled round with his cape following him, wheeling the scythe in an arch toward Sephiroth's midsection.
A narrow miss. Sephiroth countered with an overhead slash, blocked properly with the haft of the scythe, like a hockey player's cross-check. Both men pushed against each other, weapons locked. Of nearly equal sheer physical strength, they quickly stalemated, Sephiroth ducking back, turning and resuming his guard, both hands bracing the long, wicked blade held full out before him. A mistake.
With a blast of lightning, Magus hurled him back into the wall of the opposite tower where Sephiroth had waited, scheming, moments before. Dazed, but still maintaining a spiteful smile, he returned to a standing position.
"No great balls of fire? I'd sure expected some of those."
"Nope. I did my research. Those don't work to well on you, apparently."
"No. No, they don't." He readied the sword, coming back at him just as before.
"You've got to be the dumbest evil genius I've ever known." Magus noted, ready to take him down as promptly as the last two times.
Suddenly, Sephiroth was no longer in front of him.
Shit...
It was one of the oldest tricks in the book, and Magus fell right into it. By the time he turned, startled, to face his enemy behind him, all he could accomplish was to expose the more vital front of his torso to the blade which lashed into him.
"Sticks and stones." Sephiroth murmured, drawing the blade out of Magus' ribs, bringing a horrified gasp from the wizard. He watched him stagger back, clutching his weapon and the railing for support, looking about in perfectly enraged disbelief. An effortless follow-up could have ended him right then and there.
He's letting me "suffer"...well, fuck him then...
"So what's your master plan, Sephiroth?" He asked, condescendingly, as blood poured from his open wound. "Smash some planets together, then crush the shit out of them all because you were never good enough for mommy and daddy? Is that what this is?" Sephiroth's pleased expression did not falter.
"You are dying, my friend." Magus shrugged.
"Yeah, we all go sooner or later, even you. Even you."
"I wouldn't count on that." He continued, watching Magus break away from the wall on his own two feet, walking slowly.
"Really? Just like you're going to save this castle from the invasion you started?"
"Just like that."
Magus laughed at him, spiting the pain. Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. The catwalks began to shake, along with the walls holding it up, and the towers it bridged. The soldiers below began to panic.
"What the hell's this?" Sephiroth demanded, no longer amused. Magus crowed with laughter.
"You know, big guy, you might be real a tech-savvy badass, but I am a fucking wizard."
"You are going to die."
"Yeah. But so are you." Magus drew back the scythe, instantly bringing up Sephiroth's guard against the blow.
You aren't the only tricky one...
Magus did not swing full force. He did not swing at all. He dropped his windup and speared Sephiroth in his bare chest with the handle of his weapon. One, two, three shots landed before Sephiroth warded it off.
"That's a few ribs right back at you." Magus informed his enraged enemy.
I've still got it after all...
He noted, confidence returning. Until the bridge shook him from his weakened feet.
He crashed down before Sephiroth, whom jumped to avoid a tremor and some falling rock. The silver-haired giant smiled a smile of genuine evil satisfaction.
Magus gasped as the sword took him in the side, turning him full over and pinning him against the wall as the blade advanced through him slowly. His eyes widened with a blank craze. Sephiroth sighed.
"You see it." He said. "You are blessed with the gift of foresight, moreso than I. See, I didn't know you were coming. I knew you existed, but never expected you to show up now of all times."
Pieces of the stone walls fell dangerously ever more close to them.
"The Strife family is going to be annihilated. All of your allies are going to fall, Magus. Especially the one called Crono. He is to die at the lips of the very same blade that is killing you right now."
"He's stronger than you could ever be, fucking mama's boy." Magus hissed, pushing the blade deep out of his back and side. With a kick he threw Sephiroth into the opposite railing.
He needed to stand up and fight back, but he couldn't. He was nearly split in half.
"You're only making it worse." Sephiroth informed him. Magus stared him down.
"Fuck. You." There was no breaking him. At least not emotionally.
"You were an interesting temporary setback, my friend." Sephiroth raised the blade. Then Magus knew what he had to do.
It's suicide...
The Masamune cleaved into his collarbone.
Like those Samurai types Crono so admires...
Sephiroth's eyes gleamed, intently watching the blade sink into the flesh.
Well Crono...this is for you, kid...
He roared in determination, startling Sephiroth from his killer's high. The scythe reaped Sephiroth's legs out from beneath him, hurling him over the railing, smashing through the stained glass window below.
A three hundred foot drop...you like that?
Magus collapsed back against the low wall, cracks forming in the catwalk. His vision was blurring.
Not yet...you're not done yet...
With his good arm he dragged himself through the doorway to the isolated chamber, and turned, blasting energy through the remains of the catwalk, demolishing it completely. With a deafening crush, the huge cubes of stone hurtled downward through the remains of the window, into the Great Hall.
Four hundred years ago, I failed to take this castle...you sure as shit are not going to do it now...
Whether or not Sephiroth ultimately survived the fall was not Magus' main concern. He, for once, needed to put utmost faith in the abilities of his human friends.
Friends?
Yes...they are my friends...especially...
He would miss her the most. But their previous goodbye would not be their last.
He had one more fight left in him.
THE END
Part Twenty-Six