The end of Tifa's part in this chapter has some disturbing imagery. Of course, you should expect some of that in a story partially revolving around death!
The bed Tifa rested on was soft, much like her blankets and pillow. It was all some shallow facsimile of luxury, a small comfort on her heavy heart. She hadn't slept, instead fretting over and over again, even wondering why she fretted so when she couldn't remember what the world of the living looked like. She didn't remember anything but that one moment, full of pain and anger and terror, terror that eclipsed the fear of meeting the deity of the dead himself.
Turning onto her side, Tifa opened her eyes and stared into the darkness. She was surprised the dead even slept, considering they shouldn't need it. Raphas had told her that it was a mental need, to refresh the mind and that the lucid dead could wander the dreaming world if they wished. None of it made sense, of course, and neither did her new station.
She sat up and wrapped the blankets around her.
Her room was the darkest place she had been to yet. When she had snapped her fingers as instructed, the candles extinguished, and it seemed as if any trace of light was sucked out of the room. It was rather peaceful, pure black to keep her eyes from wandering to the newest, dreadful thing, but then she had been left with her thoughts for hours.
Tifa snapped her fingers, and the dim yet warm glow of candles permeated the room.
It was, in her opinion, a nice bedroom to call her own. There was a large bed, a chest, a dresser, a nightstand, and an empty bookshelf. A large, round, ornate rug with red and gold designs decorated the cold stone floor, and the balcony outside was spacious, with a wrought-iron balustrade.
A shame the view was so bleak, or she would have probably sat out there instead of lay in her bed. She shuffled out of bed anyway, ignoring the slippers awaiting her, and moving onto the balcony. A puff of wind blew against her, lukewarm and dusty.
The palace that was now her home was carved out of the side of a gargantuan mountain, much like a terrace, which was surrounded by a large and glittering city that spanned the horizon. What could be considered a sky was a distant firmament made of stone, the weak light of the city below illuminating the sparse, wispy clouds that floated above. Another strange thing about the world below; clouds in a world within a cavern.
Tifa leaned on the handrail, her eyes trailing down a road that connected the palace to the city. She wondered, then, if all the people down there slept at the same time, or if there were so many that there was bound to be activity no matter what hour...if there were hours. There was no time of day or night. So many questions…
She heard a hard knock on the door to her bedroom, and she went back inside to see who it could be. Unlocking the door, she peeked out of the crack and found Dyne blandly staring back at her.
"Mornin'. I see you're not ready."
Tifa lowered her brow. "I don't have the time. There's no clocks here!"
"True enough, I guess." He shrugged. "Get dressed, I'll be waiting here. Be quick about it."
Without another word, she shut the door and began to rummage through her dresser. To her surprise, the clothing was similar to what she had discussed with the palace tailoress. She picked up a white tank top, her thumbs rubbing the fabric, and reaching into it, she had found an old memory.
Laughter. Talk of something she didn't understand…
The sun, bright light, life in her chest.
Then she was back, back in her cold, dark den. Tifa let out a gasp, and without hesitation flung off her nightgown and started to make an outfit. Bra, the tanktop, a pair of black jean shorts, the boots against the wall. A black jacket. It was comfortable, at least.
She opened the door again and, seeing she was dressed, Dyne let himself in despite her protest. "Quiet. I need you on your bed."
"Excuse me?" Her hands immediately balled into fists.
"You need to project into the world of the living." He stared hard into her eyes. "Did you get any sleep at all?"
"No," replied Tifa, not budging from her spot. "I'm not sure if I want you in here while I am."
Dyne rolled his eyes. "Don't think so highly of yourself. Anyway, I suppose I'll have to walk you through this. Sit."
She hesitated, but finally relented and sat on her bed. He stood in front of her, and she noticed he was wearing something reminiscent of a modern soldier. Dog tags dangled off his chest, covered by a white shirt and a green overcoat. His pants were the same color and material, tucked into his boots. "So, what do I have to do?"
"You'll have to lay down, and then I'll have to take your soul, your consciousness if you will, and bring it up to the overworld." She still looked dubious, so he continued, "I can take you standing, but this way leaves you a bit less disoriented, believe it or not."
Tifa shifted on the bed. "...How? Do you know where my body is?"
"Our master said probably Nibelheim. Ring any bells?"
She stared at the floor, raking her brain. She remembered the name being passed around during her 'examination', but nowhere else. She shook her head, looking back up at him. "No."
Dyne shrugged, then pointed at the pillow. "No matter. When you go topside, you'll know where to go."
"Where to go…" She laid down, putting her hands on her abdomen. "Well, only one way to find out."
"You'll be whole again, soon. Hopefully." He put his index and middle finger on her forehead.
"Hopefully?!"
The only answer she received was the sensation of her entire body being sharply pulled upward, and her sight blurred with a tunnel of bright colors she almost forgot were possible. It twisted whichever way, sometimes broaching worlds of untold beauty and horror that revealed themselves for just an instant before they disappeared forever, each one more concrete and realistic than the last, threatening to grasp her and keep her within-
-And then she surfaced in a sun-speckled field, trees shading the grass, a lukewarm breeze tickling the ground.
A squirrel stared back at her, then scampered into the underbrush. Tifa clamped her jaw shut and looked about, realizing suddenly that she was at the edge of an old, abandoned graveyard on the side of a small mountain. There was a town in the valley below.
There was a jolt of something in her chest as she gazed at the town, the grass, the trees, like burning coal.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," Dyne blandly greeted from behind.
She twirled around to face him. He was pale as the corpse he was, though the natural tan of his skin was still noticeable. "I...I don't know if I exactly feel welcome."
"You aren't," he assured her. "But we're here to calm you down a bit-"
"I am calm," insisted Tifa.
He let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "You hate this place. It's only natural."
She shook her head, denying the emotions twisting like entwined serpents inside her. It would be wrong to hate a place so full of blaring sounds and blinding lights, and vibrant colors and life. It was so active, covered in insects and birds and-
-When had she grown so jealous, so spiteful, so mournful?
"Easy there. You're gonna eat yourself up at this rate." He carefully grabbed her hand, and finally, she noticed it was translucent. A ghost.
Dyne waved his hand around. "Feel anything yet?"
"...No."
"It'll be like it's callin' you to it."
Tifa pointed down at the town. "What if it's down there?"
"Then we go down there at night," he said tersely.
She hummed, trying to block out the sensations of the living world. A place she had been a part of not too long ago. She willed herself to ignore it, even as it tried to penetrate every bit of her spirit, enticing her with what could not be any longer.
"I hope your body is still around at this point," Dyne muttered. "Or we'll-"
"Wait," she whispered. Above her belly button was a sensation like a magnet, drawing her away from the town and into the trees. "This way."
She moved by force of will alone, halting whenever she thought too much and pulled along by Dyne until she got her bearings again. They found a path in the woods, and Tifa took to it as nostalgia swept her up in its arms. Yes, she knew this place!
With a disapproving grunt, Dyne quickly drew her back past the treeline.
"Hey!"
"Don't be a damned idiot!" He stared hard at her. "What do you think the living will do if they see you?"
She shrugged. "I don't know?"
"They'll run off and get the monks and such involved, and it might take hours to find your body. Did dying knock the sense out of you, too?"
Tifa let out a ghostly sigh, then flicked her hand. "Fine, look out for us, then."
He narrowed his dark eyes at her, then spied the trail for a few minutes. Dyne carefully walked onto it, then, hands on his hips, said "well, come out then."
She floated through a tree and then onto the trail, finding the magnetic pull stronger as she went higher. Dyne walked a little behind and to the side, watching for anyone who could be up here. The mountain trail became more familiar to Tifa, tickling her memory with every interesting rock formation, every stout mushroom, with every mountain laurel.
"I see this place is familiar to you."
Tifa nodded. "I think I've been up here before...well, alive, I mean." She looked up at the canopy of evergreen, sunlight shining through it. A certain joy crossed her, then it soured. "It's certainly something, isn't it?"
"Hm. The things we used to enjoy…" Dyne carefully walked over a small pit in the dirt, filled with small, slippery pebbles. "...It'd be better if it was all wiped away."
She frowned. "I-I don't think that." Certainly, she had negative thoughts about the overworld, but she didn't feel it should be destroyed. It was too harsh a sentence, even if it was too busy for its own good. "Just because I don't belong anymore doesn't mean no one should have it."
He shook his head, all the while staring ahead. "You haven't seen what I've seen, girl. This place is the real Hell, not the Underworld."
"Maybe it is, for us." Tifa watched as a deer eyed them warily. She pointed at it. "That deer wants to live. Doesn't it? Why stay in Hell?"
"It doesn't know any better. The dead do." His eyes moved to her. "Maybe you'll realize that someday."
She shrugged weakly. "...I'll take your word for it."
Up the mountain they went, silent but for the sound of songbirds in the tree boughs. The dirt path became more rugged, and bits of an ancient stone path would smooth it out here and there. The trees grew sparse, and grassy patches and shrubs replaced them as the sensation grew ever stronger.
They came across dark, eroded, carved stone, the ruins of some compound from a lost age. There was no birdsong here, nor the scamper of critters, just the occasional howl of the wind. Tifa looked about, knowing it was close; her body was here and her soul was singing to it. They stood in the middle of the ruins, the carved basalt rock floor in a circular pattern and a somehow still intact arch standing watch in front of them, mountain heather growing nearby. Its shadow crept towards them like a hungry hand.
Dyne pointed at a large patch of dry, disturbed dirt. "There, I'm guessing?"
Tifa pursed her lips, then shook her head. "It's close. It's close…"
A rustling came from the heather, and they both looked towards it.
The creature was silent but for its clumsy gait, watching them with empty, rotted sockets. Dark hair sat in limp clumps on its scalp, and its jaw lulled lazily, the skin about the mouth stained black. Its body was in horrendous shape, lacerations in the rotten flesh of the legs and the abdomen a mess of deflated, mottled skin. One arm was completely missing its skin, revealing the grey, greasy flesh beneath. The corpse's clothing was stained with dirt and rancid bodily fluids.
Something squirmed within.
Tifa averted her eyes and floated backward, a chill deep in her ethereal form.
"Well, you're in better shape than I was," Dyne drawled, sizing up the shuffling corpse. "Kinda strange that its been zombified, though. That ain't normal."
"I'm not getting into that!"
He walked up to it, his elbow tucked towards his side and his hand open. "Not like this, no...very strange."
The zombie tilted its head, seemingly watching him without eyes as it swayed in the breeze. Dyne's hand came within an inch of its chest, and then a moment later it collapsed to the ground in a heap. "That wasn't your old spirit animating it...someone was doing dark magic up here."
Tifa finally dared to stare down at it, the face covered by unkempt hair, its limbs sprawled out as if it had merely tripped. Her body. She felt that tug again, sharper, more urgent, and she recoiled. "I don't wanna be trapped in that. Isn't there another way?"
"Don't waste my time with your mortal sensibilities," he said with a harsh glare at her. "It'll regenerate, and the living will barely be able to tell you're unclean."
She fiercely shook her head. Dyne stood up.
"We do this the easy way or the hard way, for you," he growled. "Repossess that corpse, or I'll drag you into it!" He cracked his knuckles, glaring down at her.
Again she refused, refused him and refused the ever-present pull of her soul towards her empty vessel of a body. It was so easy, too, for Dyne to grab her, helpless in the hands of the psychopomp. It only took a few seconds, but she was flung into the decaying body, struggling to leave but forced down like it had its own gravity well. Spirit, soul, and body, all back together again.
She was in agony.
Soon, after feeling the searing sensation of skin and flesh and bone repairing itself and her body purging alien life, Tifa saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing.
Zack rubbed the sweat off his forehead with his arm. Thick jungle surrounded the path out of Gongaga, which was a poorly maintained road that changed to dirt deeper into the wilderness. It was a steaming hot backwater town, the only interests being the high-quality timber, tropical fruit plantations, and the temple to Ramuh.
A wind from the south puffed by him a moment, bringing the pungent, overbearing stench of rotting meat. Zack took a quick sidelong glance at the three corpses, hanging from their feet with large stones scattered beneath them. Home never changed.
He turned his head back towards the town, the houses a mix of modern architecture towards the center and thatch-roofed huts on the edges. After walking towards the small, open gate, he sniffed the air for any signs of his companions; instead getting a noseful of smoke, spices, and the scent of coming rain. He tapped his foot. They were taking too long!
Maybe he should have gone with them to the temple, but he hadn't wanted the attention. The talk that would come from Gongaga's newest emissary returning for a visit. He wasn't ready for that, the conversations. He sighed and walked a few paces towards the jungle.
"Zack?"
He rankled at the sound of his name, and he had to remind himself that that was Angeal's voice. Zack turned around and waved with a relieved smile. "It's about time you got back!"
Angeal scoffed as he hefted his pack. Despite his stoic gaze, he looked positively miserable. "You should have come with us," he scolded.
Zack shrugged. "So what're we doing?"
"We're going after a witch." Angeal took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the side of his brow.
"Is that all?" Zack gave him a look. "The courier said it was an emergency."
"No-"
"-She escaped from Midgar's authority, and they've not had any luck finding her," came Genesis as he strolled up to them, mango in one hand and his rust-colored jacket tucked in his other arm. "Quite the rap-sheet, too. Wielder of magic without a church license, summoner of devils, swindling fortune teller, poisoner, bone collector...Even known to raise the dead-as if she were an emissary of Phoenix!"
Zack whistled. "All hot and bothered now, huh?"
Genesis raised his chin indignantly. With his copper-red hair soaked in sweat, he looked more defeated than upset. "It is an affront to the goddess of life!"
"Yeah, well. Like most things we're after." Zack shrugged again, then looked out towards the road. "We ready?"
He started to go off before either of them could respond, his spirit uplifted to be back on the road. It was like the first time he took it, walking away from everything he knew. Then, it had been right before dawn, as the horrifying Grangalans, who would scoop up victims whole and float off would roost in trees, and the legendary vampire-witches would return to their homes and unwitting families.
It had been liberating and terrifying, leaving his parents and village behind. Fifteen years later, he had become an emissary of Fenrir, and he still couldn't face them.
"Would you let us catch up?"
He looked back at Angeal and rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry."
Genesis tsked. "You can take your time, you know. Your parents wouldn't have realized you were here, anyway."
"Before this gets out of hand," interrupted Angeal, his steely glare reaching Genesis and then Zack, "maybe we should decide where to start looking."
"What did the priest say?" Zack asked, ignoring Genesis.
"He didn't know, either. Just that she would attempt to escape our jurisdiction."
"I could've told you that."
Genesis strode up to him, and, as they continued on, gave him a small picture. Zack studied it; the woman staring back at him looked unhappy, her green eyes tired and her chestnut hair disheveled. An arrest photo, he realized, as he finally noticed the height lines behind her. Zack shook his head, "It's always the pretty ones."
"Any woman you meet is pretty in your eyes," complained Genesis. "Always with your nose up a skirt."
Zack rolled his eyes and handed the photo back. "Are you catty today because of the weather? It'll change soon. Monsoon season is right around the corner."
"Then the sooner we leave the better," said Angeal. "If we can't hitch a ride out, it'll be a good three days before we leave this jungle."
"It'd be nice if I could carry you two," Zack said lightly. "No offense, but you're both kinda slow."
"My apologies," drawled Angeal, a hint of a smile on his face. "We didn't mean to impede an emissary of the Fleet-Footed."
Zack gave him a look, then, turning to face the road again, he chuckled. "Guess I'll forgive you, this time!"
As it was, luck wasn't on their side. The first evening had them camping in a cavern Zack knew about from his first journey out of Gongaga, and by the middle of the next day the rains came, drenching their clothes and covering boots in gluey mud. They had barely had the chance to talk about the fugitive, though the picture would be passed between them, and thoughts of where she could be were muttered when they sheltered. It took five days and the kindness of the driver of a shipping carriage to finally leave their hellish situation.
They were far outside Gongaga now, though not from the regional rains. The small town they were renting a room at was at the very border of Corel, with a rushing river that flowed from the jagged peaks to the west and emptied out into a bay to the east. A shrine to Famfrit stood by the port for sailors and travelers that would ferry across the mighty river, and another shrine to Ramuh was to be found near the inn they occupied.
The room was quaint but thankfully dry, without a drop of rainwater leaking from the old roof. A radio sat next to the lamp on the center nightstand, and the cream-colored carpet had turned a light, dingy grey from ages of use. The bathroom was small, but welcome after several weeks of using creeks and rivers.
Genesis had offered, after pushing himself to the front of the shower line, to find some supplies in the village after he was done. Neither Zack nor Angeal protested the idea, considering it his apology for his mood through the jungle.
"Now that we're high and dry," said Zack as he put on a clean, dark blue shirt, "maybe we can focus on the girl."
Angeal grunted an affirmative as he sat on his bed, leaning his elbows on his knees. "If we knew where she would want to go, exactly, it would help immensely."
"No kidding." Zack plopped down on the bed across from Angeal, making the frame groan in protest. "Come on, they gotta have more info than a mugshot. Was it sent out that quickly?"
"Yes, and apparently without even a name or alias she would use," replied Angeal as his blue eyes looked up at Zack. He slid the picture from the nightstand into his hand and looked at her again, his brow creasing. "I swear I've seen her before."
"You've been all over the place. Maybe you investigated something she did back in the day?" Zack rubbed under his eye. "She looks kinda young for her rap sheet, too."
Angeal shrugged. "Might be a hag."
"Fair enough," said Zack with a small shudder.
Genesis returned not long after, holding a moist newspaper and some local pork-filled pastries. A sack of supplies rested on his back that he plopped on Zack's bed. He handed out the food before quickly removing his soggy boots and placing them by the door. He then sat at the small table in the corner, flipping through the paper as the other two ate. "Any thoughts on our little runaway yet?"
"We got nothin'," said Zack, holding up his free hand.
"Hm." Genesis held up the front of the paper. "It looks like the Corel Civil War is shaping up nicely," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "The rebels have taken some more territory."
"What's that got to do with us?" Zack asked before swallowing.
"Didn't you pay attention the last time we skirted Corel?" Angeal asked, exasperated. "South Corel will welcome us as messengers of the gods. North Corel, however, disavows Midgar-"
"-So the fugitive would be headed there!" Zack interrupted. "Why didn't the bigwigs in Midgar think of that?"
"They're sending out as many emissaries and monks as they can," said Genesis. "It would be no surprise if there were already search parties in South Corel for her."
"She could be anywhere on the continent," Angeal reminded them. "There's cults in the countryside she could hide with."
"Yeah, but if I were in her shoes, North Corel sounds like a dream. No church to stalk her and there's a civil war. She can go anywhere later on." Zack popped the rest of his pastry in his mouth, licking some stray crumbs off his lips. "I say we head there."
Angeal straightened himself, his eyes shifting between his two partners, his expression stern. "If we do, you're sniffing out every cave and grove we pass by for her."
"Sure," Zack said with a cheek full of food.
"And you, Genesis?"
Genesis shrugged. "I feel it's the best place to look. Maybe she would think it predictable, but it's our best lead."
Zack nodded before scooting his legs onto the bed. He had a slight smirk on his face. "See? Let someone else check out the jungles. Right, Genesis?"
"Mm."
"Fine. We'll search up the mountain's side, until we get to the border with North Corel." Angeal pushed his legs onto the bed. He reclined after shifting his weight, avoiding the less agreeable springs in the mattress. "I hope the ferry is still available?"
"They looked open to me," said Genesis as he stood up and unceremoniously dropped the newspaper on the table. "We can go tomorrow."
Zack pursed his lips, looking from Genesis to Angeal to the rain-splattered window and finally to the door. "Are you sure? There's still plenty of time before nightfall, and-"
"Let us sleep on beds for one night, Zack," Genesis said, his voice finally revealing how tired he was. "If you so enjoy roughing it, you're welcome to curl up on the ground."
"Nevermind, I forgot you need your beauty sleep." Zack yawned and scratched his chest. "Nothing else to do, anyway."
He laid down on his pillow, his head sinking into the fabric. Zack could feel his muscles relaxing, finally. The pain in his foot remained, throbbing from a pinched nerve. The raw skin of his palm, healing from a dozen shallow splinters. He tried to ignore it and closed his eyes, wondering about the journey ahead of them.
It wouldn't be their first time through Corel, though they had only skirted the southern regions to go elsewhere. It was considered one of the unspoken laws of war that emissaries were to stay out of engagements except for peacekeeping and tending to civilians. Since the civil war began before he became an emissary, he hadn't had much experience with the sights and smells of Corel.
Well, the people could use someone like Genesis at least, he figured.
He rolled onto his side, away from the lamp. Angeal and Genesis muttered about their path north, how to take the fugitive alive. What they should possibly do if they had to kill her. Eventually, their voices quieted, the lamp was clicked off, and all that was left to hear was the pitter-patter of rain and the slowing breaths of his friends.
Tomorrow. He would wander tomorrow.