Chapter 28

Determination

Youko flicked fluid and blue crystalized flesh from his claws, lips curling in grim satisfaction at the fading shriek echoing painfully in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. The unnatural red light in the corpse's eyes flared as it slumped forward, supported from within the container of shattered glass and shredded metal thanks to the mishmash of cables and tubes.

The yawning pit of exhaustion dragged at him, but he forced himself to stay upright, narrowing the focus on his target. Zack was running low on magic. It had happened once or twice before, but always a sudden surge of power had come out of nowhere as the man downed some sort of medicine. Ironically, the very thing Sephiroth had suggested during that training session. He trusted Zack to take care of himself.

Yooouuu…

The fading hiss continued after the shriek quieted; the wheeze of a dying breath. Whatever that thing was, it wasn't even remotely human. Maybe once, but not for a long, long time.

You betray one who would free you.

The light flared in the corpse's eyes. Stubbornly clinging even as the woman-shaped creature's vitals were failing, greenish blood and bits of shredded organs mixing with the odd blue fluid she'd been suspended in.

At least I don't manipulate someone into betraying their comrades. Youko responded, following the trail of her words to their strange shared frequency. It was almost like talking to Hiei, when the fire-demon felt the need to speak without words. I protect, which seems to be a concept you know nothing of.

Youko drew his claws back and plunged them into the woman's chest. As before the flesh was strangely resistant, crystalline, and splintered oddly beneath the force. It was not a clean entry by any means, shards of flesh digging into his bare arm, letting wisps of mist steam off the nebulous wounds. Claws curled around what he assumed was the heart, if he remembered his anatomy correctly. It pulsed beneath his grip. Weakening with each beat.

Ideally he would summon a blade of grass to finish the job, but his youki was strangely hard to grasp. In fact, everything was getting rather hazy as Zack skirted the edge of exhaustion. He needed to finish this quick. If he was correct, then taking out this thing should at least stop Sephiroth long enough for them to take a breather. Her aura was oddly tangled up in his, which was how he'd even figured out that the weird pickled thing was even alive. The smug laughter had been the confirmation.

Protect? She spat back, laughter fading in and out, You are far too late for that. How does it feel, dog, to be dancing at the whims of one of those monkeys? Did he teach you to heel too?

Anger flared. Muscles flexed and then clenched, crushing the organ in a crack and splinter of crystal. Was anything actually flesh on this thing? The light in her eyes lingered, fading slowly,

Perhaps one day you will appreciate what I have given you. Enjoy your freedom, until another picks up your chain, and you are caged once more.

And then…she was…gone. The presence animating the long dead body extinguished. Youko stared at the lifeless corpse, trying to puzzle through those last confusing words. Freedom?

Webs of fractures spread along the body as he pulled his claw free of the woman's chest, chips and shards of crystalized flesh falling away from the main mass… He stopped, and stared. His hands…were strangely transparent.

Before another picks up your chain again…

…his oathstone.

Damn, damn, damn.

The only reason he would be this far gone was if Zack couldn't do anything about it. Given how well he'd been moving not too long ago…

It was too soon. Why hadn't he realized it was too soon? It had taken hours to drain that much magic before!

Youko ignored the weakness he'd assumed was from magical exhaustion, and spun away from the container. He reached for his plants, recoiling at the slow trickle of youki answering his call. The knot of pain and guilt that tied him to Zack was slowly unraveling, and Youko wasn't sure if he could hold it together.

There. Behind the pillar, near the burnt and withered husk where he'd planted the hungry vine and coaxed it to growth. The nearest mushroom cap had a splash of bright healthy scarlet, surrounded by a halo of white and green along the edges. All of the others still retained the pale color they'd been grown with.

The Sanguine Fungi were supposed to be red. But only after they had fed. He'd hoped the magic contained in the goop below, as well as his youki would be enough to sustain them without their usual meal. One seemed to have had a feast anyway.

Youko grunted as he landed on the cap, his knees buckling beneath him. There wasn't any pain. There never was except for Zack's emotional state. But this sucking weakness was slowly unraveling him from within, loosening his grasp on the magically constructed body. If he lost it completely…

No.

He stumbled toward the bodies sprawled in the center of the deepest concentration of red. Rust stained silver pooled around them, the only evidence of the amount of blood that would have fed the fungi this much. Sephiroth was slumped over Zack's chest, unconscious. At least he'd been right about that. He stumbled to his knees beside them.

No wonder the magic supporting him was barely a trickle. Zack was also out, his skin a painful looking shade of red—burns, his mind immediately supplied, running through his inventory of seeds for the ingredients for a salve before he realized he didn't have the youki to grow any of them—but then he'd seen Zack take a fire spell directly and not even come away pink. Why wasn't his innate healing taking care of this? He could feel it working, sucking even more of the magic to feed itself and destabilizing his hold further—

That couldn't be it. Youko grunted, and rolled the larger form of Sephiroth off his prone summoner, barely sparing a glance for Zack's superior or his broken wing. The reason the burns weren't healing was because there was something much worse. A gaping wound stared up at him, shredding clothes, skin and organs in a disturbingly similar way to how he'd gutted the not-a-woman. He could feel the burn of magic under the man's skin, working frantically to repair the worst of the damage before it was too late…

If I let go and banish myself… he thought wearily, would the freed up magic be enough?

Or would he sit there at home, not only worrying about when Koenma would tell him it was time, but now also about whether or not he'd failed the one he'd ended up giving up so much to protect?

No.

Not without trying, anyway. The bond would snap, one way or another. All of Zack's magic was focused on healing, and Youko's own youki was failing…it was just a matter of time, and what he could do with it.

Youko reached out with the remaining youki he had, careful not to draw any from the magic working to heal Zack as he did so. He didn't have enough to even sprout a seed, but he did have enough to reach the things he'd already grown.

His hungry vine was only barely clinging to life, echoing with the impression of heat and fire that had torn it apart. It only surrendered a pittance of the youki he'd used to animate it, not even enough to return it to its seed state.

But the mushrooms…

They glowed with Life, drinking greedily of the magic in the reservoir below them. He pulled it toward him, all of them at once, every stalk he'd planted and grown withering as he yanked the life from them. It was painful, the anguish of his plants shook his soul, but he persevered. Stalks shivered and collapsed into the vat below them, throwing up massive shoots of glowing liquid as they impacted. Only one managed to remain. The one that continued to drink its fill of Zack's blood, flowing from the blade wound that pierced straight through him

Youko held the magic, preventing it from working to stabilize his body. That wasn't what he needed it for, and he needed every bit he could. His clawed hands trembled as he placed them over the wound; he could still see the gaping stab through them, flickering as they were into and out of view. He didn't have much time.

He'd…never healed anyone directly before, but his plants would be too slow. Only the Sun's Blossom could heal something this bad quick enough, and he had nowhere near enough magic to grow that seed. He'd seen Yukina heal, but never had he tried—

Zack shuddered, the glow of his innate magic along the edge of the wounds fading, Youko reached for the bond they had and shoved his collected magic at it, preying it would be enough. The threads of the bond unraveled under his mental grip, but he refused to let go, just continuing pouring the magic through. Waiting for something. Anything.

The green fire at the edge of the wound reignited into a blaze. Zack sucked in a shuddering breath, where before they'd almost been too shallow to see.

The mushroom cap shuddered beneath them, a new weight landing on it. Youko forced himself to move. To turn. He had nothing but will and claws remaining to him. And given how detached he felt from this body, he might not have those claws much longer.

A man crouched where he'd landed, a golden armored gauntlet digging into the spongy fungi. Black hair and red eyes—red like the not-a-woman—and a strange offness around him. Almost like Sephiroth's but different. Whispers hovered around him like mist, multiple, faint voices, but none had the same chilling tone as the woman's.

"I mean them no harm." His real voice was almost jarring, cutting through the whispers that Youko couldn't understand. He drew a green orb from his cloak, it glittered in the light, "I can help."

Help.

Help was good.

Youko kept his eye on the other man as he knelt beside him, the orb glowing a comforting spring green. He felt some of the burden ease, taking the weight off of his quickly dwindling hoard of magic.

Everything unraveled around him as the last of his hoarded magic drained, and the link snapped.

x-x-x

Kurama jerked awake. He raised a hand before his eyes, dark against the ceiling. The silhouetted blunt human fingers trembled in the night, but they were solid. He let out a shuddering breath, covering his face with his arm.

He didn't want to think.

If he thought, he would worry about something that was out of his hands completely now. He'd done everything he could.

And he felt exhausted for it. The summonings were becoming worse. They hadn't affected him this bad before…

Before meeting her.

Minerva.

Since that night in Koenma's office.

He forced himself not to think about Zack's fate, or whether or not he could trust the gold-armored man to take care of them, and instead spoke to the darkness he could faintly sense.

"Did you get it?"

The shadows peeled back, revealing the fire hiding within. Hiei's familiar voice drowned out the faint night noises drifting in through the open window.

"Yes."

Good. At least something good came from this mess. Hiei needed something to reference before he went diving; Minerva's power signature was distinctive and convenient.

"It will take some time for me to locate the memory." Hiei grunted, and Kurama heard the faintest shift of cloth, nearly inaudible footsteps crossing the wooden floor, "This will go smoother if you are unconscious."

The unspoken question lingered between them, accompanied by the drowsy buzzing of the jagan's youki as Hiei unsealed the demon eye. Eyes closed, Kurama pictured the scene as his bed shifted, Hiei's light weight settling on the edge. Red eyes—like the man's. Like the not-woman's—reflecting the purple glow from a third.

"Just…do it, Hiei." Kurama sighed into the darkness, "I give you permission to do what you need to."

Cool fingertips brushed against his forehead. Odd. Hiei's hands were generally warmer than that. Was he running a fever? Kurama forced himself to relax as he felt the jagan's probe brush against his mind, clamping down on his instinctual defenses. He didn't much like abilities that caused mental intrusions—and this would be going far beyond simple telepathy—but this was Hiei. He trusted Hiei.

Hiei wouldn't kill him. Perhaps maim him for being an idiot, but he'd at least let Kurama wake up first so he could glare at him.

Under the jagan's mental coaxing, Kurama surrendered willingly to unconsciousness.

x-x-x

"I don't know why you are being so stubborn about this! They all need medical attention, and the cargo ship—"

…shouting echoed in his head, rising above the somewhat more distant whirr of a familiar sound. Mechanical. Beating the air.

Whirling…

…those were helicopter blades…

"We can only fit so many, little girl." The sneering voice dragged up purposefully buried childhood nightmares. Sephiroth struggled against unconsciousness. Everything felt slow. Like his thoughts were wading through syrup. What was Hojo doing here? Had he been drugged? "Of course we prioritize the most grievously injured. Be grateful the Turks even picked up your little…distress call."

And…where was here? The rough surface he was lying on didn't feel like the familiar cold medical table in the surgery ward, not that he'd been in there much lately. Nothing really hurt him bad enough to require surgery.

Or…so he thought. Pain was currently screaming at him, his arm, chest, and an unidentifiable knot in his right shoulder, tangling up with his thoughts and tripping them over each other. It wasn't just that…everything felt raw. Alien. Sephiroth could barely focus.

"Fair requires facilities that your quaint little town cannot hope to provide." Fair.

Fair.

Fair.

A wave of nausea washed over him, his mind filling with a horrifying image. Zack sprawled on a backdrop of red, rivers of blood running down gleaming silver steel. Familiar steel, splitting uniform and flesh. Blue-purple eyes dimming, lips more used to smiling, now flecked with blood and whispering a single word.

W-why?

"Vincent stabilized him—we bound his wounds. He was even conscious long enough to tell us what happened, for Gaea's sake! If anything, Kunsel or even Sephiroth need it more! Neither of them have woken up at all. And there's the wing—"

"You would take someone else's word over one with more knowledge of SOLDIER physiology than you could ever comprehend?" Hojo cut the female voice off. They were getting louder. He clung to them, forcing the horrifying vision from his mind. The darkness was lightening, there was sun filtering through his eyelids. If only he could move them. "You and the others will simply have to wait here for the transport. Now step aside! Gun. Katana."

You killed him.

No. He wasn't dead.

You betrayed him!

NO!

The light was blinding, his body screamed at him. The voices immediately hushed in stunned silence. His head reeled—he was sitting up somehow. Sephiroth immediately sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, teetering, leaning against a nearby stone, but he was up.

"Just. Stop. You do not command my men, Hojo."

"And neither do you, as of right now." Hojo snapped. At least he assumed the blurry white blob, flanked by two others in blue was Hojo. Turks. Those two words must have been code-names. "Given all reports we should not allow you near anyone for the foreseeable future. You will be under armed guard when back-up is flown in from Costa del Sol, and kept under observation for the foreseeable future. The President will not be pleased that you decided to follow Hollander's trash and destroyed a valuable project!"

Dread gnawed at him—could, could it be true?—but Sephiroth was stubborn and gathered his not-inconsequential will and forced himself to his feet. His right shoulder felt abnormally heavy and leadened, fire burning furiously beneath his skin—had he injured that now too? Wasn't it bad enough his arm had been broken? It wasn't from the crash… He remembered—remembered the crash—but he'd been taking it easy. Elixirs and a constant supply of regen only numbed the pain. Why did it feel like he'd pushed himself past even his considerable limits?

"Even if I am removed from command, my men do not fall under the jurisdiction of the Science Department." Sephiroth responded flatly, even impressed with himself how even he was able to keep his tone despite his nausea. Even injured, two Turks—possibly three if there was a pilot in the machine behind them, would have a costly time taking him down if they tried. Given the hesitant looks they tossed at each other, they knew it too. With his vision clearing, Sephiroth noted he didn't recognize them, meaning they were likely the group who operated on this continent exclusively. He could use his reputation to his advantage, but that meant he couldn't afford to show weakness. "Unless there are life threatening circumstances—" and Zack was not dead, no matter what Hojo implied or his fuzzy memories tried to insist. She had said he woke up.

"Unless protocol has changed, temporary status effects are not sufficient reason to relieve someone of their command after the effect is dispelled," Another voice spoke softly, with the tone of one reciting verbatim. "There is sufficient evidence that outside factors contributed to the psychotic break. Do you not remember Dr. Crescent's work?"

Sephiroth tore his attention away from Hojo's entourage—a psychotic break?—and finally took note of the second half of the argument. The civilian, Tifa, stood protectively before a sheltered hollow near the edge of the valley, while Sephiroth had been propped against the rough cliff a short ways away—understandable caution if Valentine was telling the truth. Her gloved fists rising warningly as one of the Turks looked too long in their direction. To Sephiroth's surprise, a flicker of emotion broke the usual apathetic mask, and the man winced minutely, a hand twitching toward his side. There must be a reason why they were even indulging in talking. Hojo was more one to take than to ask permission. He would have to reevaluate his opinion of her if she managed to get a hit in on a Turk.

Another reason was the shadow crouching in the doorway to the reactor just a short distance away. His words had drawn the director's attention away from Tifa, much to the girl's apparent relief. Dark hair and dark clothes, only recognizable to Sephiroth by the golden armor shining in the sun.

"You stay out of this." Hojo's venom filled response surprised Sephiroth. He never got visibly upset. His gaze drifted from the blank-faced shadow to the purpling professor, "You of all people should understand the word confidential."

"Valentine is correct." His head was pounding, and only the rock to his back was keeping him upright, but Sephiroth refused to show anything less than confidence to the Director and his entourage. He had to trust Valentine's words on the subject of his sanity. He didn't know what he would do otherwise. Sephiroth barely remembered much, but what he did was jumbled and horrifying enough. Both of his men were heavily injured, but stable—although Sephiroth likely wouldn't feel better about that until he could check them himself—and he couldn't lose control of the situation, it was the last handhold he had left. "So long as there is evidence that I am no longer compromised, my rank still stands."

"And where is this evidence?" Hojo wasn't even looking at Sephiroth. He was glaring daggers at the man in the doorway. Who was Valentine, to have earned such ire from Hojo? Hojo did not hate anyone. Most people were too far beneath him to even be noticed, "You have only given me the word of an unconscious man—one known to sympathize with traitors. Not the most reliable of sources. As for you…"Hojo sniffed derisively, but did not continue.

"The reactor is littered with monitoring equipment, as you know, professor." Valentine was staying surprisingly calm, despite Hojo's jabs. He merely straightened, and stepped to the side of the door, "You may judge for yourself. I have already made the appropriate back-ups. You may wish to have your guards apprehend the fugitive before he regains consciousness."

"DIRECTOR." Hojo corrected with a scowl. He waved one of the Turks forward, and called for the one that remained in the helicopter. The thwooping of the whirling blades died as the engine powered down, a third, helmeted Turk taking the step out of the helicopter. Smaller. Slighter. Female. "Trust you lot to not secure the criminal properly. Just remember that this waste of time was your doing, little girl." He suddenly spat at Tifa, who'd hesitantly stepped out of the way to let the first turk—a scarred man with dark hair—toward the reactor's entrance, "You side with a murderer, and deny your friend medical attention you so insisted they needed."

"Enough." Sephiroth growled. He was growing tired of all of this. "Leave the civilian out of this, and go play with your machines. We will discuss this when you are not insisting on challenging my authority. It isn't like we have the capability to leave." Not now. Definitely not for the mountain, if the climb down was anything like the hike up.

Hojo sniffed again, and stalked up the stairs, although he hesitated as he passed the narrow threshold between the ramp and the entryway, giving nervous glances toward the stone-faced red-eyed man who watched him pass.

It suddenly hit him. Hojo didn't hate Valentine.

He feared him.

"Valentine," Sephiroth sighed as the white labcoat vanished inside the darkened portal, one blue suit remaining to guard the entrance behind the Director. The female. "I would speak with you."

With a careful glance at the remaining Turk, who was blatantly staring at him at this point, the red-eyed marksman lept from his perch, landing cat-like on the stone ground beneath it. He paused momentarily to exchange a quiet word with Tifa—the civilian was trembling after Hojo's accusation, and while she flinched at the initial contact, she ended up looking significantly calmer before he moved on.

And then he approached Sephiroth, who sagged back against the stone behind him. A heavy weight almost felt like it was dragging him down, but he refused to concede that much. Valentine stopped a few paces away. Close enough to speak, but distant enough to allow Sephiroth his space.

"I understand you treated my men." Sephiroth pulled words from silence first, "Where are they? What are their conditions?"

"We moved them from the reactor," Valentine tilted his head toward Tifa, who'd given up her defensive posture and backed down some, kneeling next to a shape sprawled in the hollow she'd been guarding. At first Sephiroth wondered why they would have been moved, the thought getting caught up in the jumbled mess of his mind—Hojo was finally gone—but eventually decided seeking shelter was better than leaving vulnerable wounded in enemy territory. Valentine waited a moment, but moved on when no further questions were incoming. "Fair is weak, and suffered severe burns, but he will live. Kunsel was not physically wounded, but has yet to regain consciousness for more than a few moments."

"Why is he unconscious?" It wasn't adding up. Kunsel was a SOLDIER. Unless Genesis had cast a sleep spell on him—

"I arrived after the fact," Valentine shrugged, "Mako crystals indicate exposure."

Which…would explain it. Sephiroth nodded wearily. Another thing he couldn't do anything about. "Genesis?"

"Unconscious and restrained." The other responded curtly. Short and to the point, Valentine's style of reporting gave Sephiroth the oddest impression he was addressing one of his own SOLDIERs. One of the more disciplined ones. "We left him in the inner chamber. The professor will have a means of keeping him docile."

More likely than not. Especially if he had come with the intent of transporting an injured SOLDIER. Pain-delirious SOLDIERs could be dangerous. Sephiroth pushed away from the stone, sucking in a breath as it flared the fire he was trying to ignore. Something shifted, sending waves of extra pain through his shoulder. It forced him to stop in his tracks. What was that? Shoulder wound, he cataloged, but there was no obvious tear in the borrowed cloak he was wearing to indicate a blade wound. Nothing beyond the tiny rips—left by hundreds of thorns wrapping around him, squeezing, suffocating—dislocated maybe?

"…There is one person you did not ask after."

Sephiroth looked up, frowning. "The girl?"

The marksman shook his head.

"I am not in the mood for games, Valentine."

The dark shadow stepped forward.

"Broken arm. Broken rib. Multiple lacerations from tiny bladed implements. Mutation. Both physical and mental trauma resulting from extended exposure to a hostile and highly unstable influences. You are in an even worse state than when I found you before."

Mutation?

The word rang in his mind, but he pushed past it. HE was the one in charge here. Not Valentine.

"My injuries. Do. Not. Matter."

He could still move. He could still fight if he needed to.

A careless shrug, "Suit yourself. I will not carry you onto the transport if you overdo it."

He tossed a small metal device at Sephiroth, who caught it with a little effort. A standard issue PHS sat in his hand, a text message flashing on the screen. An older model, so not Zack's, but definitely ShinRa issued. Kunsel's?

An acknowledgement of an SOS. An ETA.

They would be gone before Hojo managed to pull himself away from the surveillance equipment. It would be far easier to deal with the Director when they weren't helplessly in his power.

But…

"I won't leave Genesis."

Not with him.

He owed his old friend that much.

"You will."

Sephiroth scowled at the response. "I will not. You don't know what Hojo—"

The intensity of that red-eyed glare stopped Sephiroth in mid-sentence. "I have back-ups of the surveillance records. The Turks know this. Genesis will not vanish."

He then turned away. Sephiroth almost missed the mumbled words.

And then he was gone, the conversation finished. Sephiroth put his back to the stone again, letting it support him, watching the retreating dark figure as it crossed the short distance to the knot of Tifa and unconscious SOLDIERs. A small, dark shadow fluttered out of the sky, settling on the marksman's shoulder.

Sephiroth took a shuddering breath, and then pushed himself away from the stone one last time, using a trembling hand to brace himself against the roaring fire the motion kindled. He took a step. Then another, toward the girl and her charges. He had to see.

Something heavy pulled at him, hindering his movement and yanking on the knot of pain in his shoulder and upper back, fanning the flames of healing mako. Sephiroth hissed and turned, eying the strangely deformed folds of his borrowed cloak, warding off most of the cool mountain air.

And then froze at the black shape that spilled from the red mass. Sephiroth's searching hand met feathers, dislodging loose ones to tumble to the ground around him, joining a myriad of others he hadn't noticed against dark stone.

"Mutation."

Genesis with a single dark wing. Angeal with a single white one.

"That's…Seph—That's degradation!"

And now Sephiroth with a single, useless, broken wing.

x-x-x

Vincent politely did not turn when he heard the sound of crunching rock. Likely from the SOLDIER's good fist. Displays of frustration were somewhat understandable.

"I would not wish my fate on anyone."

His earlier statement echoed in his mind, drowning out the demon's whispers for a moment. Seeing Sephiroth—who he was now certain was Lucrecia's son—he couldn't help but feel as if he failed. He'd confronted Hojo with the intention of sparing her and her son a life of experimentation. He'd been freed only to learn his torment had been in vain.

But, they had made it out alive, somehow. That was a start. And Vincent wasn't normally one for optimism.

Especially not with Hojo so close.

His demons hissed with pleasure as his thoughts returned to the scientist, who was oh so close. And vulnerable. Vincent tried to push away their proffered images of tearing the man apart with his claws—or even just putting a bullet through the man's eyes—but they were quite tempting. He'd attempted to make the man see reason once. Nothing had appeared to change in the last two decades other than some grey in his hair and a new title.

Director indeed.

Gast had been ten times the man Hojo had been. If anyone would have been Director, it should have been he.

So kill him.

The lesser demons quieted, but Chaos' intentions were quite clear. His claw tightened around the grip of his weapon. But he forced himself to relax. Vincent could feel Chaos pressing against his will. He had to stand firm.

The same reasoning that had stayed his hand upon first seeing the professor was still valid. He was the most capable right now. The one responsible for their little band of wounded. If he let himself give in to the whisperings…

He had blurry memories of the tests. Of wings and claws and dark magic. He didn't think he'd be able to keep Chaos in check should he act on his hatred.

Caw.

The sharp noise sounded in his ear, a quick jolt of pain snapping him out of his internal brooding. He turned a disapproving glare on the too-smug bird on his shoulder. Loki was innocently preening his glossy black feathers, but Vincent could almost imagine he could hear the bird's laughter.

The whisperings faded, as they always seemed to when something else occupied Vincent's mind.

The bird on his shoulder finished preening and then shook his wings, blinking up at Vincent innocently.

The marksman shook his head, and then paused, hearing the crunch of approaching footsteps among the loose stones that littered the valley floor.

The Turk was approaching, a second had relieved her post near the door. That meant the third was likely standing guard over Genesis. He was sure he could take on two if need be. But she wouldn't have made that much noise if she'd intended on attacking.

"What do you want?" Tifa came up beside him, having noticed the woman's approach.

"To talk." She responded. Her voice was oddly distorted by the flight helmet, but she pulled it off, dirty grey hair spilling out from underneath. Vincent couldn't help his mild surprise. Female turks were one thing, but hair that long had been against regulation in his day. She balanced the helmet under her arm, "He called you Valentine, didn't he?"

Vincent remained silent.

What she read into the silence, Vincent couldn't tell, but her brown eyes studied him. Carefully.

"What of it?" Tifa responded in a huff. The turk ignored her.

"Veld still has a picture of you. He never did believe the reports of your death."

Veld.

His partner, and in some ways, his best friend.

"You worked with them?"

"…a long time ago." Vincent finally responded to Tifa's incredulous question. He didn't take his eyes off the Turk however. "This changes nothing."

"This changes everything. The Director lied." Her faint smile was dangerous, "I will need to report this."

Vincent shrugged. ShinRa politics were no longer his concern. Lucrecia's son was right now. And later…

Later perhaps he would settle the score with Hojo.

His demons purred in the back of his mind.

Another sharp jolt of pain as Loki pecked at him again, although this time it was at his shoulder. Vincent didn't glare at him—best not to draw more attention to the bird—but it did drive the demons back again.

Again.

…was it on purpose?

Come to think of it, they had been surprisingly quiet when he'd been watching the reactor in the summon's company.

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Valentine." The Turk seemed satisfied with whatever she'd come over to learn, "I thought you'd like to know that no one has broken your record in training, yet."

A jaunty wave and she retreated, returning to her partner near the reactor door.

"…what was that about?" Tifa seemed somewhat lost.

Vincent just sighed.

"Politics."

The director's hold on the Turks was tenacious at best, if her attitude was anything to go by.

"We don't leave people behind."

The Turks take care of their own. Veld's philosophy. But he also believed in the mission first.

"They will not bother us, unless we jeopardize their mission." Which was likely to guard the Director. Which meant any thoughts of revenge would have to stay tabled. For now. He turned his back to the reactor, "Help me prepare the injured for transport. We need to be ready to leave as soon as the plane arrives."

x-x-x

A/N: Fiiiiinally done. I sorta meant for this to be done before Christmas…and then New Year…and…well…at least I can now say I hope everyone had a happy holiday! Or winter, if that is your thing. It's getting cold.

And the action also winds down in the story as well! Zack is in one piece! (sort of) Seph's not insane (completely) and Vincent does more than lurk in the background (because everyone else was kinda unconscious.) We're also coming back to the YYH part of the story. The next chapter, as you can probably guess, will be very YYH heavy. The upcoming flashback was initially slated for this chapter, but the chapter was already 5k+ words without it, so I booted it to the next.

By the way, we aren't even close to the end of the story. Just the Nibelhiem arc. Which used to be all I had planned. It's changed somewhat since then.

Hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Please leave a review if you are able, and if not, I hope I'll see you next time!