The dead end room paralyzed him. He was trapped, suffocating in the dusty air. No exit aside from the one he'd just come from, and the footsteps were right on top of him. It had been a break room at one point—broken vending machines lay near tables covered in vermin droppings. Someone had piled old filing cabinets, rust-eaten and forgotten, behind the door.
Denzel crouched behind these, sneakers sinking into layers of paper garbage, and curled himself into a ball, holding onto Cloud's sword like a lifeline. He prayed nobody would see him when they entered. And if they did, could he just cry out Yuffie's name and beg her forgiveness? Would they spare his life even though he cut off that one guard's arm? Worse, had he killed the guard? All he remembered was the blood everywhere.
But if they caught him, if Yuffie knew he'd taken Cloud's sword, he'd never be left alone and then he'd never have an opportunity to find Cloud. He had to stay hidden. He had to help Cloud.
The guards entered seconds later.
"He's in here. Find him," one of them ordered.
Footsteps fanned out. Denzel peeked out and saw three masked men in the flickering fluorescent bulbs, sneaking forward with katanas poised. It looked as though they meant deadly harm. Would crying for Yuffie even work?
One guard came towards him. He hid and squeezed the hilt so hard his hands hurt. If he was discovered, he'd need to take action but his limbs were paralyzed. Cold fear pooled in his chest, branching down his arms and legs. The heartbeat in his veins was far too loud. He figured the guards must be able to hear it, too. He held his breath. Just don't let go of the sword.
A masked face popped into his hiding spot, eyes curled in a smile.
"There you are!" a gruff voice spoke.
The bright edge of a katana appeared, and Denzel brought Cloud's sword up in terrifying response. Steel bounced off one another. Denzel stabbed forward, anxious and eager and searching for the exit in the corner of his eye. It was unguarded. The other men were deep in the room, and Denzel knew he could make it if he just got rid of this one nuisance.
Cloud's sword moved like fluid perfection, cutting in such a straight and sudden line that the guard did not have time to react. Perhaps he'd thought Denzel wouldn't know how to wield such a weapon (and he was right), but Denzel was a cornered frightened animal, desperate and pushing everything in him to its limits.
The sword crunched right through the guard's armor, right into his chest. He screamed out. The others rushed to his side, but Denzel was already gone. The sword shook in his hands as he hauled out of the room as fast as he could, legs pumping acid. Sweat coated his face.
Footsteps pursued him once again. He ran without direction. He'd killed a man. The thought spiraled in his brain. He'd stabbed that guard right through the heart. There was no coming back from that. Even if Yuffie could protect him, he knew the dead man's comrades would not care. He'd done the ultimate sin.
He ran into darkened corridors, a wing of the old hospital that hadn't been repurposed for Godo's troops. Faint emergency lighting dotted the ceiling, pulsing low and steady like a warning. He kept going. Maybe he'd lose them in this labyrinth. The decay was more pronounced as he advanced, sneakers crunching over broken glass and plastic shards, discarded medical equipment left in the halls.
His lungs were pure fire and at last he couldn't go any more. His body seized, halting him at a junction. The footsteps were no longer right behind him, but he could still hear shouts in the distance, getting closer. His legs would not move faster. He was slowing down, thighs begging for respite, breath hurting his head.
The corridor terminated at a set of hinged double-doors that led into pure darkness.
There was no more emergency lighting, no flickering bulbs. Just total darkness. Denzel gulped. He could not go in there.
And he couldn't keep running. He took a deep breath and turned, keeping his back to the double-doors.
He had to face the music. He wasn't a warrior like Cloud, wasn't brave like Marlene, or clever like Yuffie. He was scared and lost. He'd killed a man for no reason, and it was time to deal with the repercussions. His enemies would be here soon.
Sure enough, two masked men rounded the corner, boots loud on the debris littering the hall.
Nobody could forgive him, Denzel knew. Except, perhaps, Cloud. If he ever saw Cloud again.
The guards advanced, weapons drawn. The failing light cast spooky shadows across their forms, throwing long angles of their blades across the hospital walls. There was no way out. Denzel felt dizzy. The cold metal doors pressed against his shoulder blades. Cloud's sword trembled.
This was it. This was the end. If they didn't kill him—
"You little shit," one of the guards cursed. "Why are you doing this? Who are you? Are you one of them?"
Denzel couldn't speak for fear of breaking into tears. He wanted to be brave. He thought about laying the sword down and surrendering. Would they be merciful? It was worth a try.
He began to lower the weapon, when the doors behind him opened. A cool whip of air coiled through the corridor from the darkness.
Hopelessness sank into him. He'd been cut off. Soldiers must've found a way behind him. He'd never find Cloud. This was really it.
Except the guards in front of him had stopped moving. They were looking at the thing behind Denzel with eyes wide, stances adjusting to a new threat.
Someone stood at Denzel's back. A tall formidable presence loomed around him, but he wasn't afraid. It was comforting, somehow. He glanced behind.
It was Cloud, blood leaking down one shoulder, lip swollen and busted, but his eyes were narrowed on the guards with deadly intent. It scared Denzel because this was the Cloud he'd seen in Icicle Inn, the one who'd turned on him and sliced open his arm.
"Cloud?" Denzel wasn't sure he wasn't hallucinating.
Cloud stepped into the light, and the guards all took a step back. Then he reached into Denzel's arms, plucked the sword easily away, and moved Denzel behind him, holding one arm out protectively. The boy was numb, woozy. He couldn't believe Cloud had appeared like an angel to rescue him again.
The guards attacked. Cloud took care of them in two steps, arcing the sword through them like nothing. The bodies collapsed in four pieces. The smell of spilled intestines made Denzel gag.
Cloud motioned for them to move and walked the way Denzel had come, boots moving lightly across the hazardous terrain. Denzel was still shaking, but he managed to follow. The blood of the fallen men glistened dark, twisting along the broken tiles. His stomach retched.
"Stay behind me," Cloud ordered softly, taking caution at each intersection.
So far no pursuers, but distant yells echoed.
"What are you still doing here?" Cloud asked as they walked. "You should've taken Yuffie's offer to go home to Kalm."
"Not without you," Denzel replied. His heart was finally settling in his chest. He felt protected with Cloud here. The sword was in its rightful hands.
Cloud let out a dry laugh. "This again? I'm not going to Kalm with you."
The conversation paused as more uniformed soldiers arrived, this time holding rifles and wearing heavier armor. Cloud shoved Denzel back and angled the sword defensively. It wasn't the full weapon so there was no way to fully protect from an onslaught of bullets, and Cloud must've known this because he charged with immense speed, whipping the sword around in precise acrobatics before the guards could pull the trigger. One was able to spray bullets in Cloud's direction, but they mottled the wall harmlessly. Cloud decapitated the man, and his finger squeezed the trigger in death, throwing a stream of bullets into the floor. Cloud jumped back, holding Denzel away until the weapon clicked dry.
"Shit," Cloud remarked, out of breath. "We need to find the rest of the sword. Where was it?"
But Denzel couldn't breathe. He'd been watching the pile of corpses grow, the spine of the decapitated man splurt blood in the tune of a heartbeat, and he was feeling faint. The walls were spinning.
"The sword, Denzel, where is it?" Cloud's voice was urgent, commanding.
He could not comply. The room was turning. His stomach was a knot. He tasted bile in his throat. He bent and threw up all over the floor, nothing but clear vile liquid. He wiped a sleeve over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, but the images of the dead men floated up in the dark and the smell was overpowering.
Cloud was saying something to him but he couldn't hear. His vision was failing. He was going to pass out. No, he begged, please don't do this in front of Cloud. He was so ashamed of his weakness.
Then two arms were around his shoulders, holding him up. Strong, comforting arms.
"I-I-I can't…" he stammered out, hyperventilating.
Cloud's voice came back to him, calm and quiet. Soothing. The commanding undertone was gone. This was the Cloud from his past, the one that loved him and cared for him.
"—stay with me. There's nothing you can do. Just stay with me."
Denzel couldn't stop seeing the mess of bodies. It was too much, overloading all senses.
"Look at me."
He opened his eyes. Cloud was leaning directly into his vision so all he could see was Cloud's face, those blue eyes holding onto his. Cloud smiled.
"There you are. Okay, I just want you to breathe. Can you do that?"
It was almost a command. Denzel tried to take a breath, but his lungs were compacted.
"Breathe, Denzel. Listen to me."
Listen to him. Listen. He focused on those eyes, blotting out the bodies on the floor around them.
"You aren't to blame," Cloud said. "None of this is your fault. You were thrown in, and nobody expects you to be brave."
The word made him think of Marlene. She would've been brave here. He finally took a deep breath. He could be brave, too.
"Good. Take another breath. Slow and steady. Just focus on me."
Denzel could do it. He stared at Cloud while the rest of the room spun. Slowly, the edges of his vision stabilized. The dim corridor settled in.
"Okay," Cloud said after a moment. "We need to keep going."
"Yuffie," Denzel muttered, head grasping reality.
"I know, that's why we have to keep going. Can you do that for me? All you have to do is stay behind me. You can hold my hand. I will protect us. But I need you to keep going."
Cloud made it sound so easy. Just keep going. Denzel nodded.
"Good. Now, I need you to think. Where did you see the rest of my sword?"
But that was so long ago. He tried to remember.
"Up… upstairs. From where I first saw you."
"Good. Okay. You ready?" Cloud asked. He released Denzel's shoulders and took the boy's hand in his. "Remember, just breathe."
Denzel felt foolish. He didn't need his hand held like a little kid, but it was anchoring him and he didn't want to let go. This hand that had killed so many.
Cloud pulled him along the corridor, past the corpses and blood-soaked floor. Denzel did as he was told and focused on his breath. In and out. Keep it simple. He kept his eyes down, looking at Cloud's hand holding his, watching where his feet stepped.
Suddenly they were at the stairs. Cloud released Denzel and ascended, keeping one arm near the boy at all times. Across the hall was the storage room, but the door was closed. Denzel pointed at it.
A few guards rushed past, and Cloud pressed into the stairwell until the coast was clear.
They entered the storage room, and it was here that Denzel finally caught his racing heart. The sword remained splayed open, innards exposed. Cloud closed the door behind them and set upon the weapon, making it whole and pulling the sheath onto his back.
He stood, adjusting the leather straps.
"You hangin' in there?" he asked Denzel.
"Huh? Yeah." But he felt so stupid for falling apart like that, throwing up and losing his mind.
"You're doing fine," Cloud said, rolling his shoulders.
Now Cloud was fully armed and one-hundred percent more lethal. It gave Denzel an odd sense of dread. He didn't want anyone else getting killed.
Cloud unsheathed the sword, testing the position of the sheath. The steel swung uncomfortably close in the confines of the storage room. Cloud assessed it, fixing something on the hilt.
"I'm sorry for before," Denzel said, wrapping one arm around the other. "It won't happen again. I just… I felt so…"
"Helpless?" Cloud offered. He took apart the smallest blade again and extended the hilt towards Denzel. "Maybe it's because I took this away from you?"
The hilt ached for his hand. He hungrily accepted it. It had made him feel powerful, even if temporary.
"You don't have to use it, of course," Cloud clarified. "Let me do all the fighting, if we have to."
Denzel liked the weight in his hands.
"Alright, time to go," Cloud said.
"Why does Yuffie want to hurt you?" Denzel asked, remembering what she'd said about Cloud being a very terrible person. Would Cloud admit anything that she'd said was true if Denzel brought it up? Would Cloud offer any information at all?
"She doesn't."
"But she poisoned you…"
Cloud sighed. "It's complicated. Yuffie's father is re-militarizing Wutai with the WRO's blessing. Godo thinks mako is to blame for the surge in local violence, and Yuffie is leading some sort of task force charged with rooting out the source. They think I'm involved."
"Aren't you?"
"Kinda. Not really. Like I said, it's complicated." Cloud eased the storage room door open and peered out. "Come on, let's move."
Denzel wasn't done with the conversation though. "Will she kill you?" he asked in a small voice.
"No, no, of course not," Cloud said with the hint of a laugh. "We would definitely not kill each other."
And that was the end of it. Cloud went into the hall and Denzel followed. They continued through the maze together.
The conversation lingered in his head. The guards, he realized, hadn't actually tried to kill Cloud. They hadn't even been given time to speak or attempt to subdue him. Cloud had mercilessly cut them down, and a tiny alarm triggered in the back of Denzel's mind. Maybe Cloud wasn't the victim here. Maybe he was the dangerous enemy Yuffie feared.
"Ahead, finally," Cloud said, and a windowed area came into view. The old hospital lobby.
The ceiling opened up and sunlight poured from holes in the crumbling roof. Discarded plastic chairs were crawling with ivy and crossed with spiderwebs. Shouts came from the adjoining hall. Three more of Godo's military cut them off, but Cloud dispatched them without hesitation. It was easier to swallow the bloodshed when he had Cloud's sword in front of him, Denzel realized. He'd surrendered control of the situation to Cloud, who was masterful in protecting him.
They were near the exit. Everything would be alright soon. Denzel could make out the dark skies outside.
"Cloud!" A new voice halted them.
Yuffie stepped from the shadows, blocking the exit.
Cloud positioned Denzel behind him and unsheathed his sword. But Yuffie was unarmed. A black mask hung around her neck, and she wore the same dark flexible armor as the guards. She held her hands up in sincerity.
"Cloud, stop this," she called softly, "Don't drag Denzel along anymore."
"I'm not dragging him anywhere," Cloud replied. "I told him to go home."
"Oh come on, he's holding a piece of your sword. Stop lying and let him go."
"I'm fine," Denzel interjected, but neither of them paid him any attention.
Yuffie stepped forward, eyes locked on Cloud, and Cloud stepped back, maintaining equal distance.
"Where is my materia?" Cloud asked.
She laughed. "Is that a joke?"
"Your men took a restore from me. I want it back."
"This awful thing?" She withdrew the green orb from her pocket. "It's not even mastered. Why do you want it?"
"It's important to me."
Yuffie glared, not convinced. She put the restore away.
"You know I can't let you walk out of here," she said. Her tone was resigned and sad. Denzel felt sorry for her. "We used to be friends," she implored, "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"If it didn't, you would no longer be in my way."
Denzel caught the meaning. Yuffie understood, too. Her shoulders slumped. They were at an impasse. And Cloud was running out of time. Soldiers would arrive at any second.
She took a deep breath. "My father will tear this city apart. I can't lose you like we did Tifa."
"You won't..." Cloud's voice strained with impatience. "Now let me leave."
Shouts approached. Yuffie did not waver. Cloud took a step forward.
"I'm walking out this door," he informed her. "You won't stop me."
He kept going, sword angled at her. Denzel was at his heels. Each step brought them closer to Yuffie yet she stood firm. Surely it was an act. Surely she would let them pass.
Sweat beaded Cloud's forehead. He looked nervous, but the sword kept steady. It was a horrible game they were playing, he and Yuffie. Neither wanted to yield first.
"Cloud…?" Her voice raised with uncertainty. Her hands were open.
The tip of the blade rested on her chest, directly over her heart. Her armor looked flimsy in comparison.
"Get. Out. Of. My. Way." Cloud intimidated, jaw clenched.
Nerves jittered Denzel's bones. Yuffie held his gaze, her face dead still. Cloud pressed forward. The sword split into the top layer of her armor. Denzel couldn't stand it.
"Please, Yuffie!" he begged. "Please let us go!"
Finally, she relented. Her eyes went to Denzel and she stepped aside. Cloud let out a breath and strode past her without a second look. Denzel was horrified. But Cloud was already outside, and he had to follow. There was no choice. He'd made his decision.
"Denzel." Yuffie grabbed his arm as he walked by. "You don't have to go with him, you know. Stay here with me. You don't belong with him."
He pulled his arm away. She sighed.
"Okay… I understand." She grimaced and pressed the restore materia into Denzel's palm. "Here. I was going to give it back to him anyways."
She ruefully fingered the slice in her armor.
"You must really love him," she said.
Troops were arriving in the lobby. Yuffie motioned for Denzel to go.
"Just don't forget who was there for you the day that he wasn't," she intoned. "And I'm still here for you now."
He held her stare a moment longer, then followed Cloud outside.