Chapter 35 - Real Damage

December, 1990

The soldier screams.

Sephiroth drives the sword further into his chest.

Part of Sephiroth frowns as the yell cuts off into a gurgle. The soldier should have died instantly. He's missed the heart. If he had executed the stab, the scream would have been a choke.

Blood soaks into his glove. The body slips off the thick blade. Sephiroth takes a step back and breathes. His heart beats rapidly in his neck. He can't pay attention to it now. It's too distracting. He only hopes that it was still slow enough to keep a dizzy spell away.

The heel of his combat boots catches on something. The bodies of the Wutai soldiers are everywhere in the hallway. He lost count. They keep coming without stopping. Some of them had shouted. Others started without a sound. Now they all lay around him like the leaves abandoned from a tree. For the moment, Sephiroth is alone in the hallway with the bodies.

The grip is solid in his left hand. Sephiroth straightens and scans the Shinra hallway. It is silent. Dead bodies don't move. He shakes the weapon idly, waiting. Blood splatters the white walls. Several of the doors are ajar but nothing comes through them. The dead eyes at his feet catch his attention.

Years and years ago, he used to feel something about them.

Now it feels like they don't even exist anymore.

Sephiroth spreads his feet and tenses. Is it over? Has he actually made it? Or is there another trick?

"Sloppy," Dinand says behind him, answering his question, "Incredibly sloppy."

Sephiroth lowers the weapon, the tip to the ground. The hallway shimmers and breaks apart. The people at his feet disintegrate into the digital lines and shapes and then fade entirely. Dinand glares at him through the glasses as the steel room comes through the headset. Reality settles down around him again.

Dinand scowls and waives his hand at where the last body lay. "If you think that you can dick around in the sim room and waste everyone's time, tell me now. You keep this up and I'll send you to run all night long."

Knots form in Sephiroth's stomach. He looks away before pulling himself back. This is a game of pretending to be calm. He's not sure what he did wrong. Sometimes he never knows.

"What do you want me to do differently?" Sephiroth taps the sword once against the tiles and sheaths it on his back. The magnet clicks against his back. The first time he had been allowed to do this, it sent shivers down his back. It still does. The tiny flicker of pride that he gets to carry a real weapon. Still, he measures the space between the two of them. It's enough but any more might be noticeable by Dinand.

Dinand glares at him like he is the mud under his shoes, not his student for the last six years. He doesn't respond. He doesn't have to. Sephiroth is supposed to be better and it is up to him to figure out how to do it. His ears burn. He should have seen that coming.

At one point, he was thankful when they changed his SOLDIER training schedule from Monday through Saturday to every other day. Now he's not sure. Dinand pushes him harder when they have time together. The edge of his voice is sharper and whenever possible, the hits hit harder.

It's supposed to teach him something.

"We're going to run it again. You are only allowed to hold the sword in your right hand. No materia." He pulls out the remote.

Sephiroth interrupts him. "Wait, I'm not-"

"Stop." Dinand shakes the remote and comes closer. "Left-handed SOLDIERS are 70% more likely to die. You want that?"

Sephiroth holds his excuses in his chest until they die. This ambidextrous technique is new. The simulation that he did was challenging but not impossible. With the other hand, he's not sure that he could keep up.

SOLDIER. Even still hearing that word makes his feelings twist in him. On his sixteenth birthday, Mariella had given him the papers to make his formal application into the program. They were wrapped up like a present. The week before, he did the physical tests. While the unmoving faces of the testers said nothing about how he did, the exams had been easy.

His copy of the acceptance letter hangs on his wall with the surprising start date of May 25th, 1991. Shinra decided that he needed to finish high school first. The disappointment drags against him but he concentrates on the positive. He gets to graduate high school and he's already in the program. His signature is scrawled on the bottom. Several signatures are under his including Professor Hojo's jagged lines, Mariella's print and the head of the SOLDIER's program, Lazard Deusericus.

Hojo's questions come back to him. He looks away. They don't need to distract him during the day. They do enough of that at night.

His vision blends into pixels.

Dinand started the simulation while he was thinking. Panic rises in him but he pushes it down. It won't help anything. Those emotions will either force him to make mistakes or hyperventilate. He ignores the sweat and unknits all the tense muscles in his back. He reaches for his sword and an invisible hand swats it away with a sting.

"Right hand, idiot."

He grits his teeth but he does what he says. Of course, he knew that. The sword is heavier in his non-dominant hand. He reverses his stance. He's been practicing this in his room but it hasn't been translating very well. When his instincts tell him to use his left hand, he needs his right. It squeezes his head. He catches his left hand drifting over to take over the shaky grip but he pulls away.

The hallway is based on HQ, probably one of the executive floors by the marble under his feet. It is clean again. His brain stutters and wonders where the blood splatters went but they haven't happened yet. The muscles in his left arm hurt. He waits as the first Wutai soldier spawns from one of the open doors.

The spear is long. The bells on the ends click against each other. Again he reaches for the grip. It is so uncomfortable. He's never been allowed to hold the standard sword with both hands. Dinand never explained why. The confidence that he has built disappears. One Wutai soldier should be okay.

It is later, when multiple come at once, that his mind fixates on.

This projection yells something and sprints towards him. A door clicks open behind him. Sephiroth lowers his weight and waits. The soldier goes for a jab and Sephiroth side steps it. He swings the sword to cleave off the top of the weapon and it misses by a half inch. The metal rings out as it bites into the marble.

The soldier goes for his head. Sephiroth ducks and yanks the sword out. He thinks of grabbing the spear but he's afraid to use his left hand at all. An edge of fear sinks into him. Instead, he thrusts the blade forward, going for the unprotected stomach. Except he starts it on the wrong foot. The thrust goes sideways, nowhere near his enemy. The fear blooms. Dinand is watching. He jerks at the spear coming towards his thigh.

The point scrapes against his hip, throwing him off his balance. Only then does he feel the enemy that has been sneaking up behind him. He's been so absorbed that he hasn't been paying attention behind him.

The Wutaian's sword slams down into the top of his skull.

The simulation's "real damage" is turned down. Dinand, and now SOLDIER, can't put him in a truly life threatening situation. The cut that should have broken his skull smacks instead. In the typical simulation effects, the hit is wet and cold. His knees go. The marble tile comes up. It stings. Blood bursts in his mouth from where his teeth cut through the inside lining. The sword bounces out of his hand.

He brings an arm up at the blurry sight of a spear diving for his neck. His arm hits something foreign. The seal breaks on the headset. It rips against his skin. The training simulation glasses half peel off his face. Filmy blackness covers his vision. He can't see either reality. Another hit comes hard on his back. He groans and rolls.

Several more hits make his bones creak. He scrambles to get to his knees but the invisible enemies punch his face, sending him sprawling again.

Part of him expects Dinand to turn it off. It doesn't stop.

It sinks into him.

This is a lesson.

Sephiroth protested at trying this with his left hand. SOLDIERs are never supposed to disagree with their superiors. This isn't the first time he's learned this one. Sometimes he can't help what comes out of his mouth.

He spits blood he can't see and reaches up for the glasses. He clasps his hands over them. Should he try taking them off? It will turn off the training recording at least. His brain reminds him that there is a sign on the wall that if the simulationee does this or covers their eyes, the programmer is required to stop it. He holds onto the glasses for a moment longer.

Pain burns across his hands and face. He yells. A Wutain soldier's sword must have attacked him straight on.

He sprawls backward. The glasses rip off entirely. Both hands throb. A hot burn digs into his cheek. He hits the back wall before he's finished falling. His spine jolts against it. The headpiece clatters on the floor in front of him. He hears the whine of the machines as Dinand shuts them off.

The room comes back to him in hazy pieces as his eyes adjust back. The steel walls are distant from the decorated hallway he is in. He brushes his face. It is wet. His lip is cut. It tastes like acid.

He groans at the bruises he'll have to deal with for the next couple of days. This will not be fun. The teachers will look at him with doe eyes and the students won't even want to walk next to him. His stomach drops. It's Wednesday. There is a good chance by Sunday the bruises will be gone. The mako in his blood should heal them but it depends on how tired he is and how deep they go. He hopes no one sees them.

He'll try to heal them himself but it's nearly impossible.

Dinand stands with his arms crossed. Sephiroth's sword is next to his foot. Sephiroth struggles halfway to a sitting position. Blood fills his mouth. He swallows it down. It burns up his nose powerfully. He coughs, curling onto his side for a second. His breath is short. Part of him pings in concern but he can't say anything. He can take an emergency pill if he has to.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Dinand's toe catches the edge of the hilt and kicks it towards him. It clatters and lands within grasp. "Or are you ready to be a big boy?"

Sephiroth closes his eyes for a second. Warmth curls down his chin. The emotions calm in him. He can't say no. He hurts but SOLDIERs don't get to be hurt. Nor should he.

It is all his own mistakes.

So he reaches for the sword.

And tries again.

Thank you for reading as always -Quin

Thanks to A for betaing this chapter. They are amazing. You can find their FFVII work on Twitter (AngealLovesYou).