Tseng was walking through the dark halls, flanked by stone and cold. The air was like acid in his lungs, stinging and making each breath an effort. His body was struggling but he had to find a way out of this maze. The halls seemed endless and identical no matter which direction he looked. Tseng knew he could not trust his eyes so he resorted to use his senses to guide him. He closed his eyes and with one hand sliding against the walls, he advanced forward; in the direction of the increasing heat and mist rising from the depths of this abandoned, industrial compound. His breathing was strained, his heart pounding, but he kept on moving ahead. Even with his eyes closed he knew he had been here before. He was not sure when, but the surface of the walls seemed ever so familiar, as well as the increasing heat that carried that familiar smell of something putrefied.
After what seemed hours of fumbling, his hands came against a halt and he opened his eyes. The metal door rose high and sturdy in front of him; a prodigious gate protecting something that was meant to be shut away. A single, insignificant torch mounted in a metal ring was the only source of light, but the vastness of the metal gate could not fit into the frame of the flickering glow. Tseng stood there gaping with bewilderment. The monumental gate was rusty and the paint was fading in flaking patches, part of it charred and worn as if ravaged by the elements. It carried scars like torn skin and just seeing it evoked sensations of torment and pain. The etchings formed a portrayal of some kind of tree. It was a monumental tree that reached far beyond the light of the torch. It had ten branches, each of which carried descriptions of virtue.
As Tseng studied the features, a ghostly whisper emerged from the vastness. He cast a glance over his shoulder, drowning in the vast calignosity from where he came and where time and space now was lost. He walked to the left and tried to find the wall that had guided him, but there was nothing but empty space around him. He discovered the same to the right. It was as if the gate and the tiny source of light was his only solid point in this dead world. He could not return, only move ahead. The gate before him, however, was completely impenetrable. There were no openings, no crevices, not a handle, not a single element that would implicate an entrance. It was so solid that it left the Turk with the impression that the metal door was a mere trompe l'œil, or a relievo at best. He was standing at the base of the gate, defeated by its size and solidity.
He examined the wall, but the choices were taken from his hands as the similarities to the story of David and Goliath was a mere understatement in comparison. If the gate was to hide something, it would surely be sealed forever. Whilst exercising his options and possibilities to perhaps circumvent this dead-end and go back to find another route to wherever he was destined to go, there was an unnerving hiss rising from the blackness behind him. Something was approaching; Tseng could sense it. Not through heavy steps echoing through the halls, but he could not escape the presence meandering in the obscurity. It was the darkness itself coagulating into something organic. The Turk could neither see nor hear it, yet its presence intruded and the fear it instilled unfeigned. Each time it moved, Tseng felt a surge of apprehension wrapping around every nerve fibre in his body and impairing his rational thinking. He started panicking; he felt trapped like a caged animal. He needed to get out.
"What the hell," he panted, fingers tracing and scratching every scar and feature on the metal gate.
Nothing enabled a grip. He turned and cast worrying looks behind him as the darkness approached. As the eerie sounds of misery fell closer, his hands shot out, fumbling and desperately trying to find something to hold on to. He removed the torch from its place and threw it far out into the dark hallway to be able to view whatever was coming at a distance. He cocked his gun and aimed towards the sounds.
"Show yourself!" he shouted in a fruitless attempt as he was very well aware that whatever sought his presence was not abiding by the rules of the living. It was not something to reason with. Yet fear seeded the kind of fatuity that manifested in his recurring attempt to reason with the darkness.
"Show yourself! Step into the light where I can see you and show yourself! Hey! I said…"
A numbing shriek washed over him and pushed him against the wall. It felt like being jammed in a vise that compressed his chest and made it hard to move. He was subdued to the ground, knees bending to the force that hit against him, and pain nestled into his limbs as if something was eating him from within. Tseng was writhing in agony but his unbending will was a difficult target. It poured strength into his body even when the winds of fear threatened to tear him down. He staggered onto his legs and held up his gun anew. Tseng warned with a curse at first and after repeating himself he instantaneously fired his gun. The projectile travelled into the unknown but hit nothing. Instead, a widespread rumble surrounded him and barbs coiling out of the mist wrapped around his legs. The thorns dug into his flesh and ripped the skin whilst pulling him down again. Despite the pain, Tseng fought against the dark and fired his gun until it clicked empty in his hands. Suddenly a tremendous blow to his being ripped him from consciousness.
When he awoke, he was still in front of the gate. It was rose tall and mighty above his head and fire framed it in its entirety; illuminating every etching and carving on the metal surface. Tseng found himself on his knees with nothing but a rusty butcher knife and his empty gun by his side. He took the knife in his hand studying it; it was a monocoque knife with a handle of solid steel which rested heavily against his palm and the blade was worn and chipped. The longer Tseng studied it the more present the essence of danger and he was slowly overtaken by an eerie sensation of something distantly calling from his memories. He had seen it before; it looked very familiar. He could almost feel the edge of the blade cutting through his flesh, yet he was uncertain if he had ever been in this place.
He managed to stagger to his feet, knees weak and joints hurting. He kept on staring at the knife, wondering why it was in his possession and who had placed it there. He looked around in the vastness, but there was nothing but darkness and the burning gate. His eyes wandered over the metal barrier, the etchings, the relievos, the iridescent inscriptions brought out by the dancing, flanking blaze. He watched the ancient, indecipherable letters from times long gone and tried to make sense of the entirety of the image on the gate. There was a sturdy tree with ten branches reaching towards the sky, burning within the confinement of the gate. Each branch had a symbol associated with it and all symbols were also found in the verse carved into the trunk of the tree. Tseng walked up to the gate, but was struck by the immense heat emanating from the metal haul and instinctively back away. As the heat rose, the air started trembling like a hazy mirage over desert sand and distorted the letters; and the more distorted, the more familiar the letters that were formed. Almost as if in a trance, Tseng began reading.
"… I call upon thee, Sephiroth, ten steps to find your way home. Bathein infinite Light, illuminate your revelation of Truth to understand the concept of Mercy. Judgment shall fall upon you like Tears, but with strength you shall reach Forgiveness. Seek to contemplate and surrender to Love. With Wisdom you shall find wholly remembering and Peace grants you the power of Healing. Let us have peace, let us have life, let us escape the cruel night, let us have time, let the sun shine, let us beware the deadly sign. Run from your fate, run from the hate, we are here for your need, I can hear your plea… save yourself before the earth bleeds."
He shook his head trying to comprehend all that was so mysterious and wondrous. He was confused but focused and there was a sense of determination within; strength. He stepped up to the wall and reached out, whilst repeating the inscriptions again and again. As his fingers touched the shimmering haze, a flash of light burst into life within his head. It erupted like a sun, bringing pain and fearful images. Suddenly, it all came back. He had been here before, nine times before; and at all nine occasions he had failed. Tseng dropped the knife as it burned his palm and left the mark of a man suffering perdition; the mark of the fallen seraph. Many nights he had watched that mark on his palm and it took him many deaths to figure out what his purpose was in this lost world. Tseng watched a single wing etched into his palm and spoke the name softly;
"Sephiroth."
At once, the tree burst into flames along the outlines, branches creaking as if it had been a living thing writhing in agony and it dawned upon the Turk that what he desired the most was hidden behind this metal door. He had to get through to the other side. For that, he had to be methodological and take things step by step. Tseng watched the symbol on the lowest branch stand out and shimmer brightly like a sun. It was the symbol of Wisdom.
"Wisdom," Tseng whispered to himself. "Wisdom of what?"
He remained standing for a long time. Something within his head was pressing to come forth but the thoughts were blurred and he could not unravel the significance of the inscriptions he read. He began reasoning in frustration.
"Wisdom… wisdom is knowledge. Knowledge is... information… no," he shook his head. "Knowledge can include facts, information, descriptions, or skills acquired through experience or education. Knowledge is familiarity with situations or people…" Tseng watched the symbol of wisdom, losing himself in the curves and forms of the letter. "People," he repeated, "People and familiarity. What is it with 'knowledge' and 'familiarity'?"
He sat down, contemplating and echoing all his thoughts into the void; "Familiarity…" he sighed deeply. "Familiarity… of something you know. Of something I know. But I don't know anything."
As his words flew into the open, the heat from the tree intensified and the Turk had to back away a little more.
"All right," he began again. "All right… what I know is… is… is…" Tseng sighed, as conclusions ran dry, "… shit. I don't know anything."
He continued studying the gate, the inscriptions, he kept on reasoning with himself, tried all combinations of words and thought he could think of, but nothing he said or did changed this state of abeyance he seemed to be caught in. Nothing broke a spell. After exhaustive hours of contemplation, he was ready to give up and frustration was eating him from within. He attempted to find another route, but that was just a waste of effort and thus he returned to the gate and tried anew.
"Wisdom,' he sighed and gazed up on the blazing tree on the gate and his mind set adrift.
He had seen something like that before. He looked at the tree and slowly images of something emerged from the depth of his mind. It was the tree from the Aaros valley that everyone spoke about; the legend about its roots reaching the Lifestream itself; the Sephiroth.
"Sephiroth," he whispered and the symbol started fading. "Sephiroth... the tree of Life." Tseng stood up. "This is the tree of Life… Sephiroth's life. Burning… suffering… death… the tree of Death."
As he spoke those words of regret at the realization of the suffering seraph, the symbol of 'Wisdom' faded to nothing and the lowest branch extinguished. Instead, a second symbol appeared and took the shape of a word; 'Seek'. Armed with his confidence to unravel the first puzzle, Tseng attacked the next word with reasoning. He tried many combinations of words and random sentences but nothing encouraged success.
"No," Tseng sighed. "This can't be random. I'll be here forever, there had to be something guiding me."
He studied the inscription; "… with wisdom you shall find wholly remembering…" He tilted his head. "Wisdom… I remember you, Sephiroth. I remember the crimes against you, the suffering and death. But what do you seek? 'Seek to contemplate'. Contemplate what? What do we seek? What does one contemplate on?" Tseng stared at the symbol a long time then exclaimed; "Meaning! We seek the meaning of Life!"
However, nothing happened and with a tinge of concern he tried anew. The meaning, whatever it was, was properly hidden. He was walking to and fro, casting questioning eyes up at the symbol as new thoughts emerged.
"The meaning of Life... of all our lives… of my life… of me being here?"
The symbol flared and subsequently faded slightly and Tseng stopped in his way. He was on the right track.
"I'm here for a purpose, aren't I?" he questioned rhetorically. "but what the hell for? That's the meaning, I bet. Can't make it too easy on me. All right, Sephiroth. It's your wits against mine, your riddles and my solutions. All right," he sighed with a trembling breath. "I can do this. Let's see… seek to contemplate and surrender to Love. Love. Yazoo," Tseng whispered as he realized the meaning of his nightmares. He remembered his promise to the only man he had ever shared his soul with. "I'm here for Yazoo. I've always been here for Yazoo."
And thus, yet another symbol faded and another branch was freed from the blaze only to give way for the concept of 'Mercy'. Tseng was puzzled by the meaning of the symbol, but with his well-known approach of reasoning he soon brought about an idea of what was asked of him.
"Mercy through pain," he whispered as he recalled the tortures he endured under Kadaj and Loz, the rats and the immense pain that didn't stop until he begged for forgiveness and Yazoo showed him mercy by granting him deliverance.
He shivered at the mere thought of what was to come, but he spoke the words and the dying symbol of 'Mercy' gave way for the 'Truth'. After many futile attempts to break the riddle, the answer slowly crept up on him almost like a predator. It was equally sinister-like and equally terrifying an answer. Just like Sephiroth was sacrificed like a lamb, Tseng had to sacrifice something for the truth. Truth that he, as well as many others, had ignored and distorted not to live with the guilt of condemning a young man agony. The distant memories were clear now; just as the notion of the blade against his flesh. It was payback time and the only rule was an eye for an eye. His heart trembled at the mere thought. He rejected his enlightenment and made yet another attempt to appease the Gate of Death, but deep inside his core, he knew what he must do. With a trembling hand, Tseng gripped the knife and stuck out his tongue. The blade was hot against the bottom of the tongue and he could sense the chipped edge as it grazed against the thin skin.
"Just one swift movement," he thought, but could not go through with it.
He removed the knife in frustration and cursed his fate, but there was no way out. He had to make that sacrifice. Stubbornly and with determination he placed the blade anew under his tongue. His heart was racing, his mind was screaming, his stomach was turning, but his yearning prevailed. The knife sunk into the fleshy tongue, the pain was sharp, but swift as the shock to the system delayed the full effect of the hurt. Blood flooded his mouth and gushed over his lips, wetting his chest with the stench of metal. He was panting like an exhausted dog and felt the stump that remained in his mouth retract into the gullet. He spat with anger, pain and disgust and watched the flesh lying limp and shiny on the ground. With trembling hands he took it up and after gathering strength he threw it against the blazing tree. The branch silenced and the fire withdrew.
The word that appeared on the fifth branch was 'Light'. Tseng gave off a strong shiver as he sensed that whatever journey he would embark on would be filled with dread.
"Light," he thought, "infinite light is sun… sun is fire… fire burns."
Tseng finally understood that the message of the inscriptions was that in order for Yazoo to find a way to escape this hell, Tseng would need to burn in the fire of his lies and the pain he was part in creating, in order to understand the sacrifice of the angel. The tree of Life would only grant peace through the agony of Death. He knew that no matter what he had to endure to set Yazoo free, it was nothing in comparison to what Sephiroth had suffered. He walked up to the smouldering gate and pressed his palms against it. The skin immediately started sizzling, the flesh slowly charring as he defiantly screamed out with pain yet stubbornly remained in the grip of fire until the symbol accepted his offering and set him free. As Tseng backed away, the skin on his palms was black and the flesh on his fingers cracked open at the joints, revealing the tender, unprotected flesh beneath the dead surface. He could hardly breathe from the ache. Sweat broke out through every pore and drained him completely. He could feel the droplets run down his side, over the chest and along the spine. His hands were trembling, his brain refused to accept what he was witnessing yet he had to move on. The fire, in which the tree of Life was burning, had to be quenched and there were still five more branches ablaze.
Tseng staggered a few steps back to take the whole tree into view. He was dizzy with pain and eyes were blurred with tears, yet the symbol of 'Forgiveness' shimmered from on high like a blessing. He clutched his hands close to his chest to quench the pain enough to be able to focus on his next task. How was he to interpret 'Forgiveness' and what was asked of him. His mind was tired and thoughts scattered, but as he reasoned within, the answers came swiftly and pitilessly.
"Forgiveness," he mumbled unintelligibly and spat out a large bolus of coagulated blood. He swallowed what flowed down his throat and with tearful eyes met his cruel task. "To seek forgiveness, we need to be humble," he went on internally. "To be humble, we need to… kneel."
Tears of anger, frustration and fear were flowing freely down his face as he announced his opposition in waves of screams. His hair was wet with sweat and body weak from the gripping despair, but the truth was relentless. He sat down on the ground and pulled the belt through the loop of his trousers. To his great shame, he was crying like a child but his hands seemed to move autonomously. He wrapped his belt just above his right knee and pulled the loose end with his teeth until it was tightly sealing around the flesh. He waited; waited for the leg to go numb. After the prickly sensations had died, he made the first incision to snap the tendons on the hollow of the knee.
With fumbling hands he stabbed through the layer of tendons and muscle, desperately sawing his way through the tissue with the damaged knife, but in the bone the nerves were still alive and in vigor. He attempted to carve his way around the joint not having to damage the bone, but the wounded, numb hands were useless tools of precision. He scraped the knife against the bone and the pain that shot through his body agitated every corner of his being; bursting into tormenting agony. He dropped the knife and held the semi-severed leg with cramping hands. Tseng was screaming out with pain; the black mouth, filled with blood, opened up to sounds of suffering. His saliva was foaming at the corners of his mouth, mixing with the blood into pink spume that covered his chin, but he knew that there was no return. The tree was ablaze above him, rising over his head like an arbiter delivering a judgement. And Tseng's sentence was to fight for the freedom of another through his own withering. Slowly, he picked up the knife with the ragged edge again. He clenched his teeth, nostrils flaring with heaving breaths and gathered poise, with determined, repeated stabs below the knee, he severed the joint and the limp lower leg fell to the ground. Tseng watched with dread for just a few seconds, not fully comprehending his own deed, before he lost consciousness and collapsed.
Tseng wasn't sure how long he had been drifting in a lifeless state, but when he came to the cruel reality of an incomplete task faced him. The symbol burned and etched into his mind. Tseng remained lying on the ground, shaking his head and begging for mercy.
"Please, no more. Please, Sephiroth, I can't… I can't… please," he whimpered, but he was rewarded with the same compassion that Sephiroth faced in his final days. None.
With great effort the Turk managed to sit up, slowly releasing the belt from the severed leg and wrapped it around the other. Phantom sensations of pain were ghosting in his wounded leg and slowly the blood started flowing. Tseng realized he was limited in time before enough blood was lost to rip him from the world. He didn't have much time before the cold would take him over and fatigue encase him in lethargy. He quickly, yet ungainly, wrapped the belt around the other leg, but realized he did not possess the luxury of time to be able to wait for the numbness to set in. Echoes of grief, and cries of regret and pain, were delivered with each cut and stab to the void where no one could hear or would care about his misery. When the other leg fell to the ground, he threw his defiant glare upon the burning tree and shrieked with a broken voice;
"You got what you wanted, you son of a bitch! You got what you wanted!"
But no remorse or pity was shown and although the symbol of humility and 'Forgiveness' faded with the blazing branch, the word for 'Tears', the sixth symbol burst into vigor. Tseng immediately understood. By now, his mind had come to know the ways of suffering and no prolonged contemplation was needed to interpret the sign. He crawled a little closer to the wall and gazed upon it askance.
"I don't understand you, Sephiroth. What can I do as a blind man?"
He wasn't expecting any answers, yet he spoke to the tree as if had been a living thing. Tseng read the last fractions of the inscription that bore significance.
"…surrender to Love. With Wisdom you shall find wholly remembering and Peace grants you the power of Healing."
He shook his head and giggled as if he had lost his mind. The pain he was carrying inside of him was great, but he had to solve the riddle of the Gate in order to move on.
"Why my eyes, Sephiroth?" he asked and alternated between sounds of agony and insanity. "Why my eyes? How the hell am I to complete what you ask of me when I'm blind? Why are you doing this?"
His thoughts drifted onto Yazoo and the beauty of a man he had come to adore. But just as he was about to mourn the pain of loss of never being able to behold that beauty again, the answer that resounded within him, gave him comfort.
"Because Love is blind. That's it, isn't it Sephiroth… love is blind… as was yours. Your little slips and your passion for all that you refined. It was blind."
Tseng took courage and committed to memory the last few sentences as he repeated; "…surrender to Love… Peace grants you the power of Healing. Surrender to Love… Peace grants you the power of Healing. Surrender to Love… Peace grants you the power of Healing."
He raised the blade to his left eye, the tip of the knife straight against the cornea and after a moment of inertia the sharp pain was replaced by the sluggish flow of viscous ocular fluid trickling down his cheek. There was no blood, only the dull ache and blackness as the eye collapsed under fading pressure. With one eye remaining, Tseng cast a final glance at the wall and repeated anew; "Surrender to Love… Peace grants you the power of Healing."
With those last words, the world went completely dark and the Turk was confined within his own pod of flesh. The blood was leaving him. He could feel the shivers of cold shooting through him like arrows of ice. He was slowly dying, withering like the lonely seraph did, confined in his solitude.
Tseng rolled over on to his back, speaking into the void;
"I don't know if the symbol is still burning or not, Sephiroth. But I don't care anymore… I did everything you asked for. I'm sorry… for everything. I don't know what else you want. I have nothing more to give you. Please… just set Yazoo free. If you promise, I can grant you one more thing…"
Tseng lifted the knife and placed it over his heart. He knew he had no strength to thrust the blade through his breastbone and so with great effort he forced the tip of the knife through the chest muscle and angled it between the ribs; tip pointing toward the throbbing, mourning heart. There was nothing more to stand in the way of the rusty blade. And so with the final words 'Please, set Yazoo free', Tseng surrendered to Love in the only way he knew how. The knife pierced the heart and cleaved it in half. At that instant, the gate cracked from bottom to top and cut a deep path through the tree as the symbol of Love faded into nothing. With a tired blooded smile, Tseng gave up his last breath knowing that the ninth symbol was now fulfilled. He had found 'Peace' in the embrace of death, leaving only one branch still flickering with flames.
It was as if he had been caught in limbo where life had abandoned him, yet he could hear the earth-shattering rumble of the gate as it opened and the cold wave that washed him over. There was tremendous pain in his chest, his legs were heavy and immobilized and pulling him down to nowhere. He was surrounded by blackness; his eyes could not focus on anything, but through his fumbling in the depths of the black waters, he felt a hand and instinctively grabbed hold. He was exhausted and aching, but Tseng refused to let go of the hand holding on to his. He swam towards the surface, each movement being a manifestation of defiance against the torments that had crippled him through the years. He broke the surface of the lake, inhaling the crisp air that welcomed him to the world of the Living. His eyes were met by the blushing morning sky, but he did not rejoice until he lay on the shore with Yazoo in his arms. He held the platinum haired man in his embrace; thanking the gods for the strength he needed to endure the hell. Sephiroth had taught Tseng a valuable and unforgettable lesson, which was to see things from the eyes of the condemned. Tseng turned his head toward the middle of the lake and spoke softly.
"Thank you."
Tseng had completed nine arduous tasks and thus the tenth, the process of 'Healing', could now begin.