a series of Final Fantasy VII fan fictions
by Sarah the Boring
Final Fantasy, names, characters, et cetera copyright Square Soft, Inc. The story itself is the property of the author.
Two: The Third Demon
The draw, aim, and fire were, as always, pure instinct. He had no conscious analysis of what was happening until it had already finished; between the first accelerated, uneven heartbeats of the coming battle and the final slow lift from the red madness, conscious thought ceased and instinct, id, ruled him completely.
In that final moment, he realized that his opponent had finally ceased to breathe and slowly stood up straight, recovering from the protective stance of a longtime sniper. His travelling companions—not quite his friends, he felt he would never use that label comfortably again—stood uneasily behind him, their breath loud amid the whirr of machinery and the distant hum of gathering Mako.
Cloud blinked, swallowed, whipped his sword over his head and neatly slid it into its harness. He coughed lightly. "Vincent? I, uh, think you got him."
The shade which was once Vincent Valentine turned. His crimson cloak, now spattered almost invisibly with the dying blood of his mortal enemy, swirled around him. He looked blankly at the boy, who was obviously trying not to break into a smile. All he saw was the end of another fight.
A fight like any other, really. But only to them.
He nodded slightly in acknowledgment. The noble beast, Nanaki, lowered his head for a moment in respect, then suddenly threw it back, exposing his wide throat as it broke loose in a wild, guttural howl. Cloud looked at the Canyoner strangely; Tifa, standing next to him, crossed her arms protectively and shivered. Vincent listened to the rough music of the noble beast's howl, hearing in it, as they did not, all the anguish and anger, the justification and revenge.
"This, which has fallen. Hear what it has done to me and mine. Because of this creature and others like it, I have suffered, and I am the only one left."
A strange shiver of recognition crept over the former Turk's shielded heart. He felt a quiver of fear follow it, but let it pass. Yet another thing to deal with later, in solitude, in the darkness and wildness of an empty night. It would eat him alive eventually, left unchecked, but he would examine it in due time.
Before he realized that he had moved, he took an abrupt step forward, toward the Canyoner. His hand was outstretched, but Nanaki took no notice; his painful requiem lingered on one final note, hollow and cold as the wind over a grave.
"I am the only one left."
Vincent's cold fingers, in gloves reeking faintly of steel and gun oil, brushed the fierce mane of the silent Canyoner. He did not stroke the beast's head, as one might do with a common dog. His hand simply rested, as in a blessing, for a moment before slipping away. There was nothing he could say; Nanaki had already expressed it without words, and to frame it now in the speech of humankind—the kind which had so hurt them both—would be to mar its lonely beauty.
Nanaki lowered his head again, just for a moment. Then he turned to the group, speaking for the shade as if by instinct.
"It's over. Let us go."
With the swiftest of looks behind him, Vincent Valentine was gone, leaping from that doomed tower of steel into the roofs and walls of the Midgar slums. He rebounded from them soundlessly, and melted into the eternal shadows of the city yet another time.
In time he would return to them, to meet once again on the field as they pressed ever closer to the madman at the center of it all. But for now, he wished only for the invisibility of night and the comfort of solitude.
In time he would come to face the second demon of three: Sephiroth, the child of the woman he loved and her husband, his mortal enemy. Hojo himself was dead, and with him the only other living memory of his beloved. Now there was only her son, all that remained of her on earth....
And in time Vincent would come to fight him to the death.
But for now, he ceased to exist for a while, no more than an unsettling shadow in the edges of the night.