Author's notes: I'm very proud of this chapter. It took a while for me to write it and get the emotions I wanted to portray right. I hope you guys enjoy it!
Special thanks: To those who sent me messages in DA for my birthday!
Edited: 1/8/2015
Typos pointed out by: Ex Oxide.
"The moment you close your eyes on the battlefield is the moment you never open them again."
-Snake, Metal Gear Solid-
"One Winged Angels"
By: FenixPhoenix
Chapter 28: "Striving, Surviving"
Cloud Strife killed the fifth solider with significantly more effort than the ones he'd dispatched before. It occurred to him, as he was given an unexpected but not unappreciated break, that the soldiers attacking him seemed… mindless.
On one hand, they did not scream or curse or even grunt. Even when his sword had detached the arm of one of them, the man's mouth had remained clamped, his face stripped of any and every emotion. Their ability level also puzzled him. They were fast, he granted that, but they wielded their weapons with only basic skill.
On the other hand, Cloud found that by the time he'd engaged his third opponent, his enemies seemed to have learned something from their comrades. So that when he fought the last solider, he'd managed to fare much better than the first attacker had.
The sudden and quiet appearance of a new adversary snapped him out of his musings. Cloud's eyes narrowed. Even within the obscurity he'd ran into, he managed to make out a lithe and small figure which, though unimpressive at first glance, seemed not puny either.
"Who are you?" Cloud asked when he felt his Jenova cells stirring with vague recognition. So another Jenova user…?
The strange man –boy?—said nothing as he unhooked two weapons from where they'd been hanging from his belt. Gray eyes alight with mako zeroed on him and Cloud found himself reassessing him. Swiftly, he began recalling the information AVALANCHE had gathered in an effort to answer his own question, given the fact that his opponent didn't seemed inclined to enlighten him in that area.
Short and slim, but athletic. A Jenova user who wields two scythe-like weapons with an attached chain… kumas…kamas or something like that? His hand tightened around his broadsword and, automatically, his breath hitched a beat when he noticed the boy's knees bending in preparation.
"He was young." he heard Vincent's distant, smooth voice saying. It rose inside his mind, plucked from his memories as he recalled him sharing the story of the battle in Cosmo Canyon. "Oriel. He looks merely like a boy, but he's not to be underestimated. He is certainly skillful with his weapons but his most dangerous attribute is—"
He's fast! Cloud's own mind finished the statement, taken aback when the boy lunged at him at high-speed. He seemed to glide through the air, as if propelled by an unforeseen storm that sent him almost barreling into him –had he not moved out of his path at the last instance.
Balancing only on his toes, Cloud's eyes scanned his surroundings, trying to make out the midget from within the darkness in which he'd melted. He found himself holding his breath, straining his senses and trying to understand what the Jenova cells in his body were saying. Unfortunately, Cloud had never stopped to figure out how to make use of the alien cells. So for him they merely acted as an alarm that signal a Jenova holder was near, and not a tracking device –which he'd learned later, much to his chagrin, that Genesis and Sephiroth knew how to use.
The Jenova cells –or what was left of them after he'd cleaned the poisonous bits in the lifestream—stirred and shook inside of him. Allowing sheer reflex to guide his actions, Cloud jumped to the side when he felt the boy coming straight as an arrow and just as dangerous. Hitting the floor with his shoulder, Cloud moved to a roll and ended up, uninjured, on his feet again.
Orienting himself, he spread his arms a little, senses open, muscles tensed. Oriel… That was the name of the boy and yes, Vincent had not exaggerated when he'd insisted he was a fast little bastard…
A shuffle of fabric behind him and then, "You are tainted." His voice announced from somewhere behind him. Idly, Cloud noted with a chill how even though the tone was stoic it still sounded innocently childish.
The whispering shuffling became louder and Cloud twisted his body and brought his sword up, horizontally, in time to stop the two kamas that would had otherwise pierced his back. He was face to face with the child, whose eyes, though hostile, seemed completely empty. Cloud shuddered at what he saw –or rather the lack of it. Nothing. There was no emotion. No passion. No anger. No reason. Not even a hint of humanity in the gray pools of his eyes…
The warriors parted, both jumping back and eyeing the other carefully. Cloud felt part of him wishing to ask why he was doing this, why he was fighting, but the other part just wanted to finish him off and join his companions. Truthfully, he was worried about Aerith and immediately found himself regretting having allowed her to accompany them instead of staying with Cid and Shera on the ship.
"Mother wants you dead," the boy stated, rolling his shoulders twice before advancing menacingly towards him.
He slashed at him with one of the kamas and Cloud spun aside, his arm avoiding the sharp edge of the crescent blade by a millisecond. He was seriously starting to get annoyed with the other's speed. Not even Sephiroth would have been able to match him, he was sure!
"Mother wants her dead too," Oriel added over the sound of their blades colliding in a rhythmic symphony of steel. "Where is she?"
Cloud's eyes became slits as he pinned the boy with a glare but said nothing. For a second the idea that he was talking about Aerith entered his mind, but his rational part shoved away his emotions. No, not Aerith. She was here after all. If the boy wanted her dead, he would have targeted her already.
Tifa, then? A voice inside reasoned, making his heart clench with anger just as strong and fierce as when he'd thought Aerith was in danger. It surprised him that within that anger he could detect possessiveness too, but the boy's biting attacks kept him from lingering too long on that.
As he tried to rapidly regain his bearing, Cloud realized that he was unsure whether he felt glad or worried that Tifa wasn't here.
She's in good hands. Vincent's there, he reminded the part of him that hinted at retreating in order to go and find his friend. Deliberately, he left both Genesis and Sephiroth out of the equation. Though he trusted Tifa's judgment, part of him –scratch that, most of him still held a grudge against Sephiroth and he was simply waiting for him to snap again. Not that he needed or wanted that to happened, Gaia knew he had enough on his plate as it was…
There, his mind screamed with triumph as, having dragged on the waltz, Oriel had opened himself after one of his attacks. It was only for a split second, but it was enough for him to step forward and slash upwards, his blade neatly sliding into the skin of his upper right arm.
Oriel moved back, eyes slightly wider yet still devoid of pain or recognition. He clutched at his wounded arm more out of instinct than necessity. His gray eyes turned to look at the wound impassively, as if his mind had not yet caught up to what was happening.
"Hmmm… Raphael will not be pleased," he mused. Then he tilted his head and spared an unreadable look at something or someone past his shoulder. Cloud didn't have to turn around to find out what he was looking at, the sudden wave of heat was enough indication of where the rest of his group was huddled.
Somewhere along the way, their attacks had landed them within closer distance to his allies and Cloud, again, found himself debating whether this was to his advantage or not.
Feeling the powerful urge –born from concern about Aerith he was sure- to reclaim Oriel's attention, he spoke, "Who's Raphael?" As he said this, he pulled with measured movements –so as to not prompt a hostile reaction yet- a thinner, smaller and lighter blade from the carcass of his main one.
He moved his arm up in an arc to behead the solider that came at him from one of his flanks. The body of the soldier gave two more steps before it fell to the floor lifeless. Cloud didn't even bat an eye, nor did he break the staring contest he'd initiated with the dangerous Oriel. The boy's eyes, on the other hand, did stray for a second to watch the dark-clad solider crumble to the floor. But nothing was revealed in those gray pools which, uninterested, had locked with his again.
"Who's Raphael?" Cloud repeated. A pause and nothing. He changed tactics, "What are you after, Oriel?"
The boy tilted his head at what Cloud could only guess was the mention of his name. The swordsman had aimed for just such a reaction. At least the boy still maintained some kind of individuality when referring to himself, which meant that maybe, just maybe he would be able to extract some information from him.
"Raphael said she will fix me," Oriel answered, rolling his shoulders –as if testing them- and then, with superior speed than he'd shown before -which Cloud, truth be told, had been unprepared for- he came at him. Sheer reflex made Cloud veer, causing one of the kamas to slide across the outside of his naked arm instead of across his neck.
Quickly getting over his shock, Cloud spun with the borrowed momentum. With the skill honed during his last fight with Sephiroth, he brought the lighter sword –which he had not returned to his buster sword—down in an arc, slicing at the boy's flank, just below the ribs, as he passed him by. Immediately, the boy countered so that Cloud found himself dancing the waltz of silver in a place of cold shadows.
"You said she will fix you," Cloud said with a huff, gritting his teeth and pushing the boy aside when their blades met for the fifth time. In the back of his mind, he had been mulling over his words. She. Jenova? Tifa? One of the other Jenova-cells holders? "Who's she?"
The boy stopped mid-step and tilted his head to the side, as if confused by the question. Though he wanted to know, Cloud did not wish to allow the opportunity to get a hit in slip by. Lunging forward, he struck Oriel square on the face with the hilt of his buster sword.
Despite the sound of battle all around, he was able to hear something crunching sickly and knew he'd at least broken the boy's nose. Blood poured out of his orifice in a torrent, covering his face under a crimson mask. Clearly disoriented, the boy staggered backward, holding his face and shaking his head, probably fighting the white and black spots in his vision. It still awed Cloud to see his face pale but showing no sign of being in pain.
What the hell was this boy made of? Was his mind so… destroyed that something so vital, so intimately part of every human survival instinct was missing? How was this even possible to begin with?
"Mother will fix me," he said with a strange voice, for he was now holding his nose in a vain attempt to keep his blood from flowing. Idly, he spat blood mixed with phlegm on the floor at his feet. Then, silver eyes locked on blue and he added, "You need to die. Now."
Oriel flew forward, no gravity to pull him down as he pretty much glided through the air towards him. Cloud brought his sword up, barely keeping the twin fucking kamas from ripping at his damn face. He felt his irritation increase with the newfound knowledge of the boy's lack of pain. Shit! How was he supposed to defeat an opponent that was mindless of the damage he sustained?
Out of nowhere something collided with his flank and, having been unable to disengage from the boy in time, he ended up sprawled on the floor next to something furry. It took him a second and a couple of blinks to identify said furry thing as Nanaki's cussing form.
A quick scan registered rusty blood oozing out from various wounds in the tiger's flank and some of the long hair of his messy mane was blackened and charred. None too gently, Cloud pushed Nanaki off of him and out of the way of a sudden airborne attack, curtsey of the bloody kid. Crouching between them, Oriel regarded them both silently, perhaps wondering who to attack first.
"Mother wants you to die as well," he said to Nanaki, crossing his kamas and, by the direction in which he was now facing, making a decision. "She will be needing your cells."
So… Jenova then? Is she the one that will fix you, Oriel? Cloud wondered, annoyed by how his own mind allowed itself to get entangled so easily. Moving to the boy's side, he next tried to determine what angle would cause the most damage to Oriel, choosing to leave the complex plot for another time.
Somewhere to his right Nanaki opened his eye and slowly rose to his feet. Even with the darkness, Cloud could see he was disoriented and, as such, vulnerable to an attack. So Cloud made his move. He sprinted forward and slashed, causing the boy to back further away from his friend and, thus, bought him some needed time.
"Nanaki, you alright?" He asked, positioning himself between their opponent and him.
"Been better…," he grumbled, shaking his head, "But watch your flank, Cloud. The witch is somewhere around here too," Nanaki growled, golden eyes scanning the area while his nose tried to pick the other woman's smell –if the loud sniff he gave was any indication.
"The witch?" he asked, shoulders tensing at the idea of another individual –strong enough to knock down the powerful tiger—joining, uninvited, might he add, the party.
In answer, a sudden gust of wind whipped them. Cloud crossed his swords, guarding himself as much as he could against the sharp icicles flying his way. Nanaki, quicker than him, had been able to jump for cover behind one of the nearby shelves. Cloud's jaw tightened when his skin broke here and there. It wasn't precisely the most painful thing he'd ever felt –he had been pierced by Sephiroth's sword once, after all—but it was definitely far from pleasant, in some places more than others.
The icy wind died and Cloud was grateful as he lowered his sore, cut and now bleeding arms to look at the newcomer, Nanaki's tail providing enough light for a better physical evaluation.
"That witch, huh," Cloud stated dryly as the tiger approached. The brunette walked towards the kid he'd been fighting, moving her hips more than was necessary so that her skirt opened up on the side to reveal a shapely leg.
With exaggerated movements, she brought her hand to Oriel's face and recited something fast under her breath. Her hand glowed green and when she retreated it, the boy's nose had stopped bleeding and the bone –which had been unmistakably crushed—was somewhat repaired, allowing him to at least breath again.
"Seems our target's not here," she pointed out, a tingle of annoyance wrapped in her voice. She turned a smoldering look at Cloud and he felt an alarm going off in his head. She was dangerous but, despite that, he could not help thinking that she was also attractive.
Disgusted with the thought, he shook his head and scowled. He went down into a semi-crouch, quickly replacing his lighter blade with a thicker one. Two against two. At least it was going to be a fair fight, number wise.
"They need to die," Oriel stated stoically, pointing one of his kamas in their direction.
Cloud did his best to ignore the throbbing on his arms, which were still decorated with bits of icy shafts he had been unable to pluck, some of which –he was sure—had ripped through muscle and were grazing his bones. Before them, Oriel's knees bent as well, quick to match Cloud's stand. They stared at one another in silence, both more than ready to meet each other halfway and retake the dance they'd started. Yet a thunderous explosion somewhere on the opposite side of the room distracted the whole group.
"Oriel, come. Let it deal with them," the woman ordered. When Oriel ignored her, she placed a long-nailed hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed in warning, her eyes taking on a stern look that allowed no arguments.
Obediently, Oriel nodded. And before either Cloud or Nanaki could stop them, a wing had sprung out from each of their backs and, wrapping it around their bodies like a protective cocoon, they disappeared in a flutter of black and amber feathers.
Another explosion shook the room, followed closely by Reeve's and Aerith's voices screaming Yuffie's name. The urgency of the combined tones pulled Cloud and Nanaki out of their brief stupor. Exchanging a curt nod, they made their way towards the place where a new battle was already taking place.
-o0o-
Vincent Valentine followed Genesis and Rie silently up the steely stairs and then through the dirty, solitary path. The manor rose at the end of the tunnel-like passage. No wonder no one had been able to hear him scream when Hojo had finished with him…Shaking the painful memories out of his mind if not his heart, he trudged on. If Genesis –for Rie was busy admiring the outside of the manor- noticed the slight wavering of his step when he'd been assaulted by his past, he ignored it and Vincent was reluctantly grateful for it.
Finally they reached the dark, cold place he'd never been able to consider his home despite the fact that he'd dwelled there for more than he'd cared to admit. Pushing the rusty gate open, Genesis led the way. They filed inside, automatically following the cracked and worn cobble-stone path that led to the manor's double-door entrance.
The temperature seemed to drop as they stepped inside. Valentine wondered if he was imagining it. He was about to ask Rie about it, but thought better of it when he remembered that Genesis was there too. Vincent was definitely not ready to show weakness –or any indication of it- in front of this ex-SOLDIER, who had yet to gain his trust to begin with. Hell, this man –he could tell from miles away—was trouble. Inside of him, Chaos growled in agreement. Funny how this was one of the few things in which he'd managed to agree with the monster that was held as much a prisoner in his body as Vincent sometimes felt himself.
"Marble entwined with gold and silver," Rie was quick to point out how elegant the place was, rubbing her hand on one of the outer pillars that framed the door. Though her tone was matter-of-fact, her eyes roved with curiosity and childish wonder. It made Vincent smile, forgetting for a moment the torments he'd woken to in this place.
"Where to?" asked Genesis, crossing his arms once he reached the stairwell that led to the second floor. More anxious than he cared to admit, he walked past the nonchalant SOLDIER and led the way up the stairs and to the right.
He knew this cursed place by memory. It was so ingrained in his mind, in fact, that even if he were to close his eyes, he would still have been able to move around without disrupting any of the dust-layered –surprisingly un-rotten, he noted- furniture.
The room they found themselves in was mostly empty, except for a table, an uncomfortable-looking chair (the furniture in here, Vincent had reckoned, had been chosen with décor over comfort) and a couple of shelves filled with uninteresting literature (he'd once tried to read some of it to kill time, only to find that most volumes were in a different language to begin with!).
Crossing this room, he opened the next door on the right and walked inside. This room had three shelves on the far end, a bed, a side table and a vanity. The dim light from two windows made the room –if possible- feel even duller than the one they'd just left.
"Dead end," Rie pointed out as she ventured past him. With noticeable curiosity she inspected the small bedroom. A flask was sitting idly atop the wooden, richly carved, vanity near the window. She picked it up and studied the green content with intrigue.
"It's better if you leave that, Rie," Vincent warned, not keen on having her taste the liquid, which seemed to have been her plan for she'd pulled the cork and had been about to introduce her finger in it. Genesis, sharing his thoughts, had stopped her before she'd done it and, gently, he'd taken the vial away and placed it back on the table.
Satisfied, if not very comfortable with the distance that now separated his two companions –or rather, the lack thereof, Vincent approached the far wall. It was the only one that had no pastel-colored wallpaper. Instead, it sported big, cement bricks of a dull gray color and, instead of being straight, was curving outward. Bringing his human hand to touch upon the left part of its surface, he felt for the small switch that would open the door. He found it and, pressing the brick slowly, the door slid open to the right with a rumbling sound.
Rie was quick to move towards the open door but instead of going through, she peered at the place Vincent had touched. The gunslinger fought the smug smirk that Chaos was prompting when realizing Rie was closer to him now than to the other male. Across from him, however, Genesis –to his mild suspicion—did smirk but said nothing as he approached them, stopping just in front of the open door. Cold, moist air caressed them and, beside him, Rie did not suppress a shudder.
"The underground passage is filled with wild creatures. Be on your guard," Vincent warned, upholstering death penalty from where he's strapped it to his leg, and descending the stairs carefully.
"Creatures, you said? …What sort of creatures are we to expect exactly?" Rie asked, following him at a slower pace, her voice betraying the fact that his words might have scared her more than they would any other of his group.
Genesis brought up the rear and, moving closer to her, said charmingly, "Don't worry. I'll protect you."
Vincent ignored that –him, but made sure Rie had her weapon out of its scabbard. The girl was clutching it furiously and he was reminded of how she'd looked when he'd hoisted her up into his arms and took to the skies.
"Relax, Rie," he said, noticing the slight trembling of her arms and the quick darting of her eyes, "the creatures are weak. They should not be a problem."
She flinched slightly at his words and was quick to confide, "I only know the basics of battle… the lab has always kept me busy. Plus, hurting and being hurt does not appeal to me in the slightest."
As if to mock her statement, three humanoid, green lizards with brown scaly armor plunged from up above to bar their way, a lance in their three-fingered hands. To his slight amusement –he was careful not to let it slip, however, else she should be offended- Rie screamed, having been caught off guard, and almost mechanically casted a quick fire spell that, much to her visual disappointment, the lizard avoided with ease.
Pushing Rie behind his body, Genesis casted a much stronger, and way more accurate, fire spell, killing the closest lizards, which had been just about to impale her. Vincent dispatched another one with a single bullet straight to the head. Bull's eye. He was about to move to the next one, but Genesis stopped him.
"We've finished ours opponents. Now finish yours," he instructed Rie sternly. And whether it was because they were in a dark cavern or because she was expected to fight on her own, she seemed more reluctant to follow the order than she had been when she'd fought alongside Tifa and himself.
Chaos growled dangerously and Vincent, in sync with the creature, couldn't help stating, "That is not necessary."
"It is," Genesis countered unsympathetically. And people said Turks were heartless… And yet, Vincent eyebrows quirked in understanding once Genesis deigned to explain to her, "One day you'll have no one around to help you and then what will you do?"
Rie gulped and her expression tightened marginally. Her muscles tensed beyond her control, her knuckles turning white as her fingers clutched around the hilt of her short sword. Then, somewhat resolute, she nodded –perhaps not with passion, but at least with understanding- and, bracing herself, she stepped forward.
The lizard, which had been eyeing them carefully and unsure up until that moment, immediately zeroed on her. Without hesitation, it launched itself into an attack. The fight lasted longer than it should have, with Rie immediately falling into defensive stands instead of offensive. She would have dragged it longer too, had Genesis not started barking instructions which, to Vincent's surprise, she followed successfully –if a little clumsy and not very gracefully. In the end, she'd slashed at the lizard's throat just as he'd thrown its lance at her, which she had avoided with unnatural reflexes.
When it was over, Rie bended forward, hands on her knees and breathing disrupted by shallow pants. Vincent did not know the real reason for Genesis' decision –for he was sure there was more to it than simple Samaritan actions—but what he did find out was interesting enough in and of itself. Rie might be awfully terrible at an offensive approach, but her body moved fluidly on the defensive, avoiding getting hurt with an ease that belied her uselessness.
"So… born to survive?" Genesis whispered to himself, unaware that Chaos was able to sharpen Vincent's hearing. So he was right. There was much more to Genesis' actions that he'd let on. Frowning, Valentine pondered his words, trying to guess what his musings meant. Before he could do so for more than a couple of seconds, however, Rie interrupted his thoughts.
"Vincent Valentine," she called with something akin to mild annoyance clearly present in her voice. It seemed to him that she was fast learning to understand and successfully use her emotions, "You said they would not be a problem!"
This time, hard as he tried, Vincent couldn't help the smirk that stole into his face, "I had not taken into consideration your skill level, Rie. I apologize."
In response, Rie made use of one of the few expressions she knew the meaning of… she scowled.
-o0o-
Barret Wallace grimaced not so much at the destruction around him, but at his precarious situation. Dark worried eyes finally took time to inspect the girl wriggling and moaning weakly in his arms.Damn she looked so fuckin' vulnerable and… jus'… jus' s'very wrong. This wasn't the brat he was used to dealing with. The girl who seemed to annoy her opponents so much, she came out mostly unscratched out of every battle!
"Yuffie…fuck," he murmured as worry reached the point where it prompted irritation. Vainly, he attempted again to pry the arm that was holding the other away in order to better evaluate the damage. But the damn brat jus' growled at'im and he sighed, raisin' his human hand in defeat and further irritation.
"Are you guys okay?" he heard Aerith asking as she approach them, moving through the wreckage around them carefully, else a false move would send her toppling down some of the newly made holes in the ground. The tip of her staff was still aflame, a torch within the cold darkness outside of the destroyed ShinRa building.
Fuck, we didn't even get no damn info! He growled under his breath and told no one in particular, "Dis ain't over yet."
"Barret?" Aerith knelt beside him, peering at him with concern.
"Shit, I'm fine but Yuffie 'ere…," he let his words hanging, motioning to the panting girl that he'd propped up on his machinegun. It had been such a chaotic fight against that damn Titan –fuck, who would'av known summons could become s'damn annoying!- that he hadn't realized how bad her wounds were when he'd dragged her out of the way of the falling ceiling. Shit! The earth summon certainly knew how to go out with a blast…
Of course, even as he'd done that, Barret's entire back had knotted with worry and stress. He'd closed his eyes, cursing the fact that Marlene would be all alone, certain that they wouldn't make it… and then, he'd open his eyes and he'd looked around them incredulously. By some miracle, the space they were crouching on had stood its ground, creating a small heaven within the groaning building that had sunk to the ground. It even reminded him of Tifa's bar, a gem within the slums of Midgar…
In that small bubble surrounded by rubble, Barret had somehow been able to eventually dig them out. It had been a slow and tiring process, since pushing in the wrong place might'ave brought everything down on them. Never in his life had he been more thankful for the damn years of workin' on the mines of Corel, back before he'd lost his arm, lost Dyne –or supposedly so- to ShinRa's shooting forces, swore a vendetta against the company and created the insurgent group that later saved the world.
Aerith, face covered in soot, leaned forward and tried to peer at Yuffie's arm, but the woman just balled into herself further, obstructing her view. "Yuffie, let me see…," she begged tenderly, but she fought her attempts.
Barret grimaced when Aerith pulled a little stronger and they were able to, briefly, see how her arm was twisted at an angle that was jus'… wrong. The fuckin' Titan had made a number on her. The image of how he'd plucked her from the ground as if she'd been nothing but a blade of grass assaulted his mind. He'd tried to get to her –so had everyone else—but by the time Nanaki had forced the summon to release her, Yuffie had passed out with the pain.
"I think her arm might be broken in more than one place," Aerith informed with worry, casting a healing spell more for the sake of easing some of the girl's pain than to actually heal her. After all, bones could, unfortunately, not be mended by magic alone.
"Everyone else? Spy man? Tiger? Chocobo-head…?" Barret prompted, wondering why she was so calm when Cloud –and everyone else for that matter- were nowhere in sight.
"Cloud and Reeve were helping Nanaki out back there," she pointed to where she'd come. "He said he was alright, just trapped. I told them I would search for you guys while they were at it."
As if on cue, Cloud's voice called –worry and urgency making his tone tremble slightly. Had Barret not know the guy as much as he did, he wouldn't have even caught it, "Aerith! Where are you?"
Aerith raised her staff, sending a small flame up for them to see, "I'm here! I found them! They are…," she spared a glance at Yuffie, hesitating, "I found them."
As soon as they came into view, Reeve hurried towards them. He knelt, worry all over his features as he noticed how still Yuffie –normally so damn hyperactive- was in his arms.
"Yuffie," he called with surprising tenderness. Though part of him felt like teasing him, Barret was too worried to do so. Instead he uncoiled his arms more, almost offering the girl for Reeve's inspection. "Yuffie," he called again, taking her in his arms. Yuffie, half-unconscious, allowed herself to be moved and seemed to even settled more comfortably in Reeve's slimmer musculature.
With morbid interest, Barret watched as Reeve took hold of Yuffie's unharmed arm and, slowly and tenderly, pulled it away. And the brat allowed him to do so with only slight protest echoed in her moan.
"Fuck, dat don't look too good," Barret blurted out unthinkingly.
"Yes, thank you for stating the obvious," Reeve hissed a little more hostile than was necessary.
Just then Cloud finished fidgeting with his radio and it came on instantly. Cid's cursing voice made itself present, his worry –often hidden within his callous anger—was strangely comforting.
"What the fuck happened? Don't you know how to do goddamn research! Shit-heads, why'd you go around fuckin' destroyin' the damn buildin'! And whyd'ya turn the fuckin' radio off! Wait! Never mind, I'm comin' to get ya!
Barret allowed some of his stress out through laughter. He was relieved beyond measure. He was going to be able to see Marlene, Denzel and Teef again and Gaia was he grateful!
"Ah, fuckin' pilot... he knows nothin'… nothin' at all…"
-o0o-
Sephiroth Crescent slipped carefully from between Tifa's arms. He did it slowly and with measured movements, not wishing to wake her when it was clear she'd been in need of some well earned respite. Once free, he continued sitting there, looking at her calm features with admiration, not devoid of a hint of jealousy.
For what felt like the fiftieth time, he wondered how she'd done it. How had she gotten over Nibelheim and what had happened here –what he'd done here. As incoherent as it was, though, he was also glad. Better to have only one of them unable to let go of this place than to have them both trapped.
He sighed, massaging his temples idly. He turned sideways to the window. It was still dark, and though he was not keen to face the cold outside, he needed to get out of here. He needed to… to clear his head and the manor was not helping, he was suffocating within its walls.
He switched his attention back to Tifa's peaceful face. He watched her for a moment longer, losing himself in the way her chest raised and fell, how her eyes moved under her eyelids, how her lips seemed ravishingly beautiful as wisps of air escaped them. Unable to control himself, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. It was a feather-like kiss, for he still did not wish to wake her, yet it served to satisfy some of his need for her. It was strange -and a little alarming even, he accepted- how much he had come to simply need her. No longer was it just a wish to be with her, but it had truly evolved into a need wherein he was sure his life would have no meaning without her.
And undeserving as he was, he could not let her go. He was beyond that point, in too deep over his head that the only way anyone would be able to separate them was if he was killed. And even then, he would still fight Minerva and Gaia itself to stay in the same plane of existence as her –even if it meant eternal damnation to an existence trapped in limbo.
Bending down, he reached for his boots and pulled them on. Then he slowly rose to his feet, untwisting and smoothing the fabric of his dark clothes. Strolling at leisure towards the door, he retrieved his masamune from where he'd propped it against the wall. Softly, he opened the door and stepped outside. With only a short backward glance, he closed the door and sighed.
Looking around, he inspected his surroundings, unconsciously searching for his companions –or rather, one of them in specific. Yet, Genesis was not nearby, he would have been able to pick his battle aura by now otherwise. Oddly disappointed, he chose to leave the manor rather than to check in the basement library. He'd already been holed up in there for the last two days until Tifa had convinced him to get some sleep with her. Apart from him, the one who'd stayed in there the longest had been Rie, who had seemed far more interested than any of them, in reading all the volumes the shelves held.
So far he had finished reading all the material the first shelf provided. Genesis had also finished his and had moved on to another one. Vincent was almost finished with his while Tifa was still in her first –mid-way through it. Sephiroth smiled at that thought. She really was a lousy reader.
Rie, for her part, was already on her third but Sephiroth wondered if she had been getting any sleep. He knew she took short naps because he'd once caught her sleeping in her chair, a book opened on her lap, but he doubted she had actually made use of any of the beds the multiple rooms provided.
As he reached the end of the stairs, he moved towards the entrance and pushed the door open. It creaked when it moved and Sephiroth found himself holding his breath, hoping the sound had not been loud enough to wake his sleeping beauty –as Genesis had chosen to deem her. When no other noise assaulted the quiet atmosphere, Sephiroth sighed tiredly and stepped outside, closing the door behind him and rolling his eyes when the door creaked again. Usless, he thought irritably.
For a while he just strolled around the solitary town. Everyone was in with a few exceptions, people too drunk to realize how cold it was outside. Before long, however, he found himself walking in the direction of Mount Nibel. His lips pressed into a grim line when he reached the foot of the mountain. To the side, he could see the place where Zack, himself and Tifa had taken a picture.
Sephiroth allowed his mind to dwell upon that particular memory. Even though she had meant nothing to him then, he found that he could still recall with perfect clarity what she'd been wearing. A tiny, brown skirt, brown boots reaching mid-calf, a cotton white shirt, an open brown vest and a matching cowgirl hat. He smirked. With her wardrobe choice, Tifa had certainly earned an appreciative look from every SOLDIER he'd brought with him –Zack and himself being no exception.
He even remember wondering for a split second about her, fantasizing –because yes, even he had had his share of fantasies—what it would be like to hold her, taste her, claim her. But as the professional SOLDIER he'd been, he had been quick to shove all those thoughts away and to control the hormones her body had pertinently awakened.
Yes. Even then, when Tifa has crossed his mind for the first time, he had been reluctant to let her go. Instead, he had stored the memory away and only now realized that it had always been there, tucked in a vault so secret that even he had, for a while, forgotten about it.
Shaking his head and reaching a decision, he commenced the ascent to the mountaintop. This was where it had all begun and perhaps that was why he needed to come here. Maybe if he faced the place where he'd felt his sanity start to slip away, he would be able to retain it now, if not forget that he'd once lost it?
Pretty soon, Sephiroth found that he was never happier than now by the fact that Gaia was so filled with monsters. They seemed, currently, to cross his path much more often than usual as he continued on his trek and it somewhat helped ease his jittery nerves. Physical exhaustion was much better than mental anguish after all.
It was not until he reached a certain spot that he froze with recognition. He felt beads of sweat, cold and vexing, sliding down his skin, through the middle of his chest and down to his abs. His mouth dried, his eyes narrowed a fraction and the hold he had on his weapon tightened with tension and... yes, this was pain. It had to be!
He closed his eyes. Against his innermost wishes, he found himself becoming knotted with inconsistencies. He wanted to forget this place thus he was resolved to remember it. He wanted to not feel pain, thus he was tempted to relieve his sins. He wanted redemption and forgiveness and thus he was seeking, calling his inner demons forward.
For though he could not remembered with as much clarity as he could remember the old, brown-clothed Tifa, he wanted to see the face of that man who had tried to stop him. He wanted to remember his expression at least and, as incredible as it was, he wanted to feel remorse about what he'd done to him. Because as unimportant as he had been during that time, he was incredibly important to him now. Even if he was merely a broken memory, a ghost trapped in his Nibelheim, Sephiroth had entwined his life with his that moment he'd set his heart, mind and soul on Tifa. His beautiful but scarred survivor of an Angel.
And yet, hard as he tried, as much as he willed it to, the face of the man he'd murdered was a blur. It could have been anyone, really. But was this really that surprising? He hadn't been thinking straight by the time he'd reached this point. The man had come at him, screaming and angry and demanding that he stopped. Jenova had bristled at the intrusion and had ordered him to destroy everything that was keeping him from her. And thus, when the man had tried to stop him, Sephiroth had quickly and efficiently, barely sparing him a glance, did as told.
"Like a pathetic little puppet," he spat with disgust, hating how that particular truth tasted as it rolled off his tongue.
Slowly, he turned to face the direction where the man had come from, fixing his luminescent eyes on the spot that was lightened by the full moon up above. He barely recalled his words, his voice sounding faraway. Sephiroth leveled Masamune, imagining the blurred-face man coming at him and, in the last instance, he pushed the blade forward. In reality he was slicing the empty air but in his mind he pierced again that chest that had heaved with anger or fear –no, maybe courage?
"Damn it," he muttered darkly, pulling his weapon down and staring at where he'd imagined the body would have laid sprawled if only he'd cared to look. But he hadn't. He had not even retrieved his sword, turning to leave long before the man had assimilated his death and had crumbled to the ground.
"And I left him like that for you to find," he whispered sadly, anger boiling just underneath the surface of his control, ready to turn him into a destructive tornado once he reached the reactor. Shaking his head and the memories encroached therein, he continued forward more determined than before. If he had caused such pain then it was only deserving that he felt it, wasn't it? Better late than never at the very least… In the back of his mind, however, he wondered if this was going to earn him the respite he so desperately felt the need to find. Or was this merely going to increase his heartache and add to the punishment he truly felt he deserved?
He fought his way up, killing two black dragons with ease. By the time he reached the foot of the reactor, where the seventy stairs waited to be climbed, he was already starting to feel exhausted. For a while he just stood there, eyeing the silvery building warily, almost expectant to hear the cold voice of Jenova again. But the voice remained absent and Sephiroth was relieved in that respect.
Squaring his shoulders he began his ascent, the black hole of an entrance coming closer and closer as he kept moving, legs wavering here and there but never changing his direction or stopping treacherously. At least he was in as much control as to not be deterred by his increasing fright.
Ruthlessly, the first thing that assaulted his mind was the image of Tifa. Sephiroth moved towards the stairs barely conscious of his actions, his agitation increasing as the memory became vividly real, sharply detailed. He could even hear her boots, the small heels clanking loudly as she came at him from behind, his sword held tightly by her small hands. She looked much like a child wielding a weapon unfit for her, much too big, too heavy, too dangerous to belong to such a fragile-looking woman.
Sephiroth turned back when he reached the stair he had been standing on when Tifa had attacked. Though much of that time was muddy in his mind, this particular memory was intact; smooth and clear. He remembered turning much like he was doing now and glaring at those eyes. And he remembered, even while being whispered nonsense by Jenova, how her eyes had blazed with anger, power and beauty.
Lost in the memory, he reached out to a blade that was not there. Yes, he'd taken the sword in his hand, disarming her with laughable ease, and then he'd pulled the weapon up and brought it down in a slashing arc. After so many years, Sephiroth found himself mimicking the motion, bringing his masamune down to slash –again—at empty air. Only in that day, the space had not been empty. Tifa had been there and he'd slashed her across the chest.
He saw her eyes widened, her body crumbling backward, rolling and rolling as she went down the stairs. He heard the smacking of her body, the sound of skin and fabric meeting the steely and cold floor. Hell, Sephiroth could even now smell her blood, the memory overpowering him to the point that he thought –for a tense moment—he'd done it again. But then the memory dispelled and he grimaced at the feeling, the tightness of his heart and the pain produced. Odin, he had almost lost her. He had almost lost her to his own damn hand!
His breath was shallow by now and his head throbbed after being immersed in such a disturbing memory. He placed a gloved hand on his face, hiding it from view and laughed mirthlessly at himself. He laughed because something was holding his heart, crushing it painfully and uncomfortably. He laughed because he was hurting and he didn't know what else to do. He laughed because, though he knew the natural course of action was to cry, he couldn't do it.
He had never learned how. Or perhaps he did and had forgotten? Shit… crying was never a requirement in SOLIDER. Was it something that he was supposed to learn instinctively or had he missed that class somewhere along the way?
"I'm sorry, Tifa," he whispered, no longer laughing. In his mind flashed now a more recent memory. It was the memory of the night before they'd set out on their journey to this cursed, unforgiving place.
Tifa had pulled him towards her and her lips had found his and… he'd simply given himself to the moment. He had lost it. He had plunged into the warmth that was her, her arms, her body pressed against his, her lips tasting, nibbling, teasing his. One thing had led to the other and she'd tugged at his clothes, un-strapping his coat and tossing it away. She stared unabashedly and appreciatively at his half-naked body. Sephiroth had felt pleased but also slightly nervous, like he always felt when under her scrupulous gaze. But her smile had been a boom to his ego and he'd followed in her actions.
Before long, he'd tugged and finally pulled her shirt off too. But when he'd drank her skin in, he'd frozen, unprepared for what he'd found. The scar his sword –he had left glared at him from its protrusion across her chest. It was a clean line, darker than her normal skin, and he knew that had he pushed a bit harder, he would have killed her back then.
So Sephiroth had hugged her then and there, unable to continue as guilt, dark and oppressive, filled him to the brim. If Tifa understood his actions, she gave no indication, but she hugged him back just as fiercely nonetheless. Only later had she reassured him that they would be alright, and he'd taken her words to heart.
A sudden presence made himself known and, pulling his hand away –now glad that tears had not made it past the wounds of his heart—he pointed masamune's sharp edge at one of the shadowy corners.
"How long have you been there?" he asked drily, none too happy to have been caught in his own personal hell.
Genesis stepped out of the shadows, his face just as grim, hard and cold as his probably was. But in his blue eyes, perhaps mirroring his, there was also pain. But his was a different pain. His was the pain of betrayal… and, inevitably, no matter what they'd thought or said in the past, he knew that they still had an unresolved issue. For it was them, after all, what had in the end caused each other's downfall.
"My friend, the fates are cruel. There are no dreams, no honor remains. The arrow has left the bow of the goddess. My soul, corrupted by vengeance. Hath endured torment, to find the end of the journey. In my own salvation…," Genesis recited cryptically.
Falling into their old routine, Sephiroth heard himself finish the verse he'd so fittingly chosen as a greeting, "And your eternal slumber."
From the end of the stairs, Genesis faced him silently. Then, he saw his eyes flashed with anger and hurt and knew the confrontation he'd been waiting and dreading had finally come. "You left me to die," he said icily, it was a declaration and a reminder, an accusation and a quest for answers.
Sephiroth nodded, no use in denying it. But Genesis had also crippled him during that time and he didn't feel like letting that detail slip. "And you stripped me of my sanity."
He saw him coming and, instead of waiting for him, like he was used to doing whenever they'd practice, Sephiroth lunged forward, sword in hand, and met the attack halfway. The metal-coated central room of the reactor boomed with the sound of steel against steel. Inevitable was a confrontation that fate had demanded. And as the danced carried on, Sephiroth wondered if Minerva was watching. Or did she even care? Look and listen, for two of her angels were roaring in pain…
To be continued…
AN: I will try to get Oriel's picture drawn so that you guys can better know what he looks like. Also, please don't forget to review and let me know what you think of the story so far. I am trying to rush it a bit more so that I might finish it soon.
