Chapter 5: Judges

"At her feet he sank, he fell; where he sank, there he fell - dead." Judges 5:27

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He paused for a moment to run one hand over the shattered remains of the squat, metallic specimen tank, caressing the sharp edges of the twisted hull almost lovingly. Here had lain Jenova...not in all of her glory, per se, for she had been missing her head for some time...but in state, at least. He supposed that he should be grateful that their son had taken the rest of her as well, for now she was safe, miles underground and protected by an energy barrier, rather than encased in pitiful manmade steel.

But he regretted the distance, all the same. The whispers in his mind were faded and quiet, audible now only because there was the additional bond of her cells floating through his veins. Pure grace and mercy that she'd forethought to tell him to inject a small colony of her cells into his body, for now it was his only direct link to her. Also, he was no longer able to stand all night, basking in the glow from her tank and communing with her...sharing dreams and possibilities and plans, just between the two of them. Glorious union of the mind that surpassed any weak and wailing bond that humans could form, to be snapped in two by any piddling occurrence or emotional moment. Here, as in the basement of the Nibelheim mansion, he had stood in worship and wonder, and received commissions from his Goddess, his Mistress, his One.

Ah yes, and there was yet a task laid out for him, even though She was far away. The ignorant wretches in their tower wished to make of themselves a nuisance to his son and his son's Mother. A blast from a cannon that drew power from the Planet...a pitiful show of defiance from a cluster of puling infants, but even that small show of disrespect would not be allowed. He would stop them, and in the stopping, glorify himself in the firestorm.

What bliss, to die in the service of She who would make his son into a God!

With a final, idle stroke of the empty tank, he turned toward the elevators, that he might begin to make his fateful way to the Sister Ray, but the sound of breaking glass gave him pause. He turned toward the silvery, sparkling sound, but saw no one in the deserted labs. Frowning at the delay, but unwilling that any stranger, any survivor should have strayed into these rooms of all rooms, he walked away from the elevator doors and began to stride through the laboratory, glancing this way and that in search of the noise maker.

His quick search revealed nothing but a stray container, now a collection of broken glass on the floor, some of the pieces still rocking back and forth on their rounded edges. He frowned at the anomaly of a broken container, far from any tabletop or counter from which it might have fallen, and then started as a strident cry of warning rang through his head, but he did not have time to act.

* * * * *

She sprang from behind a bookcase and ran up behind him, her bare feet nearly silent on the smooth floor. He seemed to hear her all the same, for he jerked slightly before she had even reached him, but before he could turn to face her, she was upon him. Her left hand reached about his face to grasp his head, her right arm curved around his neck, and then she brought her arms apart once more. She jerked him about by pulling his head round, and as he turned, the glittering piece of glass in her right hand tore through his neck.

The shard bit deep into her hand, but she was past caring, instead noting with satisfaction all of the damage that she did. Skin, muscle, fat, arteries, and veins all parted beneath her weapon, and then the glass caught in the cartilage of his throat, and was wrenched from her blood-slicked grasp.

The hot crimson fluid flew from his neck, gushing from in between the already slackening fingers that he brought up in startled reflex, and fell on her like a warm rain. His eyes, wide with surprise...surprised to see her, surprised at the sudden gaping openness of his throat, surprised to realize that he was going to die in less than six seconds...found her face, and as she stared back, Lucrecia laughed.

He spoke her name, or attempted to, but all that reached her ears was a rough, "'Cre..." and a thick gurgling noise, and then she watched as he fell dead at her feet, splattering her with yet more blood as he landed heavily in the rapidly spreading pool about him.

As the red lake spread and touched her feet, she suddenly fled the scene, although she was far past caring for any conventions such as law. Just as doggedly as she had fled her cavern and traveled across rivers and fields and mountains and oceans in search of revenge, now she fled it as speedily down stairs, through hallways, into abandoned corridors, across countless catwalks and through myriad doorways, until she found herself suspended by a narrow bridge over a glowing, glittering pool of misty green Life.

The Planet's soul, life, blood this was...mako, energy, Lifestream. From this was all life born, and to this all life returned.

She jumped.

* * * * *

Fingers twitched once, twice, and then suddenly the entire body jerked into life. Hands scrabbled like crabs in the slick bloodpool and legs pistoned a few times, and then he heaved himself up, awkward and unbalanced as any wooden puppet. His head wobbled strangely on its damaged pillar, adding to the unnatural movements of the form as a whole.

Hojo coughed violently, retching up clots of blood mixed with strings of saliva and oily strands of purple-blue matter, and then frowned, rubbing his pained throat with one crimson-stained hand. His probing fingers found the ragged edges of the wound, still only half-closed with throbbing, bruise-colored webbing.

Leaving Her cells to finish their work unmolested by his curiosity, he picked himself off of the floor and began removing his ruined clothes. There were many extra sets of clothing and hundreds of lab coats in the next room, and no one to hinder his changing, but he hurried all the same.

He had work to do.