The Chaos Connection
by NightsDawne

[This little ficcie starts six months post-game for FF8 and two years post-game for FF7. GFs, Summon creatures, call them what you will they are not of this plane and the common link between every Final Fantasy world. What happens when they're needed in two places at once? Will Seifer find a power beyond that he is hoping for? Will Vincent and Sephiroth find a new beginning? Disclaimer: Squaresoft owns both FF7 and FF8 game characters. I've had some requests to make this slash, but at the moment I'm still undecided if I'll bring romance into the story or not. If it's really going to bother you if it turns that direction, you might want to hold off getting too involved in the storyline.]


Chapter 1: Chaos

The tall blond stared at the object lying in the wooden box in the display case of the pawn shop. A small charm made of silver-white metal, formed in the shape of a demon, wings wrapped around its body. He smirked to himself. Someone must have thought it was just jewelry, but he had been a student of Balamb Garden. He knew what it was. It was a guardian force charm, a link to a mystical being from another dimension. A guardian force was the key to true power, giving the one it protected the ability to cast magic as easily as a sorceress.

He had had his own guardian forces once, but they were all gone now, taken from him when he left Balamb Garden, when he'd betrayed everything he'd believed in to become a sorceress knight, fallen to the spell of a pretty face and the promise of power. It had all been a lie, of course. He'd been used. The sorceress was evil, bent on destroying the world, and he'd been a tool to help her. When she was defeated by the one who had been his rival at Balamb Garden, he'd lost even the lie. He was left with nothing but memories of what he had thrown away, the chance to become a SeeD mercenary, an elite fighter, respected. Nobody respected him now. A few pitied him, most reviled him. But here, lying in a pawn shop unrecognized, was the hope of regaining a little of what he had been.

Seifer looked over to the clerk. "I'll take that charm there."

The clerk walked over to the item, pulling it out of the case and setting it on top of the counter. "One hundred gil."

Seifer opened his wallet. "I've got seventy five."

The clerk started to put the box away. "Then come back when you have one hundred."

"Wait." Seifer reached up and took off the silver chain he wore around his neck. It had been a present from an old girlfriend. She was gone now, too. She belonged to his old rival. "Seventy five and this." He dropped the chain on the counter.

The clerk picked it up, examining it to make sure it was solid and not plate. He nodded, putting the box back down. "Deal."

Seifer laid down his money and palmed the box, walking out of the store. Here was not the place to call out the guardian force and find out what he had just purchased. He made his way toward the empty ampitheatre in the center of the city.


A chill wind lifted raven hair from the pale cheeks of the tall, slender figure that stood on the cliff, half a galaxy away from a failed SeeD cadet and his newfound hope. Ruby red eyes scanned the entrance to a cave, barely hindered by the darkness. That was where the dragon had vanished to. The man dropped his rifle down to swing loosely by his right leg as he made his way to the entrance, flipping a long red cloak away from his left arm. It barely resembled the limb it had replaced years ago, golden metallic plates cupped over each other from above his elbow down, ending in an articulated hand whose fingers were tipped with vicious and deadly claws. Then again, Vincent Valentine barely resembled what he had been years ago.

He still looked as if he were in his late twenties, although his chilling eyes and the death pallor of his skin had leant a sinister air to his delicate features. His hair had once been shorter, somewhat groomed, not the tangle of black locks that now swept to the middle of his back, bound carelessly with a strip of dark red cloth to keep it from interfering with his vision. In former days, over a quarter of a century ago, he had worn a dark blue suit, the uniform of a Turk, an expert in security, or rather, in the political definition of security. Truth would say more that he had been an assassin. Now he wore a black double breasted shirt and loose black pants, the sleeves of the shirt pushed up to his elbows to accomodate his gauntleted arm, a black fingerless glove on his shooting hand, his feet shod in steel-toed boots that illogically made no sound whatsoever. It was his nature to move silently, like a predator. It was also his nature to be alone, or had been for a long time.

He was fifty four, but he would never age, nor would he ever die. At least he wouldn't die a second time. He had once tasted oblivion, a thought that he avoided now, for down that path lay madness, but he had been human then. He had tried to end this existance he was now cursed to, revived from death but not exactly alive, tried it often enough to know it was futile. The beings that had accompanied him back from death refused to let their host go. They were sore company, four demons, but they kept their silence during his waking hours. Only when his existance was threatened would they emerge, transforming his body into one of theirs and eliminating with cruel efficiency whatever had harmed him, and only when he dreamed was he forced to face them himself.

He had come to terms with them over the last twenty-seven years. Half his life had been spent in their possession. They weren't evil, nor were they good. They simply were. He was no longer afraid of them, but seeing them only reminded him of what he no longer was, of how little that was human remained in him. He avoided facing them the way he avoided looking into mirrors, disgusted by the perfectly preserved animated corpse he saw reflected in them. He avoided people for much the same reason. Even those few who insistantly called themselves his friends had difficulty looking him in the eyes. Their nervous smiles as they tried unconvincingly to act as if he were normal only made it more painfully clear that he was not.

Only one understood him, the one he had rescued from certain death, one he had journeyed two years ago to kill. Sephiroth, like him, was a Jenova mutant, their bodies hybridized to a powerful alien being. Sephiroth, however, had been changed in utero, born with the maddening power of alien strength pouring through every cell of his being. Vincent remembered quite clearly what it was like to be an ordinary human, skilled with a gun, trained as a killer, but very much mortal. The only thing he couldn't recall vividly was emotion, although he knew he had once had it. It still lay somewhere deep within him, but untouched, untouchable. Sephiroth didn't seem to mind the cold exterior of the man he only half-jokingly called father. It was still unclear if his biological father had been Vincent or the mad scientist Hojo who had changed both of them to what they were now, but the Jenova mutants had more in common than the silver haired warrior had ever shown with the scientist. Vincent allowed him to call him what he wished. He had, after all, loved the youth's mother, and in his own way he took care of Sephiroth as if he were his son.

It had been while Vincent was locked away in a cryonic coffin that Sephiroth had fallen victim to Jenova's lure for consuming victory. Her own body a useless corpse, she had taken over the one available to her when Sephiroth had stumbled into contact with her. She had driven him insane, using his altered power to nearly destroy the entire world in an effort to steal all vitality unto herself. Vincent had joined the small group of heroes that had determined to stop Sephiroth. As humans they had almost failed. Sephiroth had evolved under Jenova's influence to a being of near invincibility that with a single blow nearly destroyed Vincent's companions. Vincent had almost believed he would die again, but his demons refused to give up as easily as human flesh would. Chaos, the most powerful of the demons, had erupted, striking the final blow that had severed Sephiroth into two creatures, the soul possessed by Jenova and a confused young man with no memory of the past five years of his maddened campaign of violence.

It was the latter Vincent had rescued, secreting him away from the others lest they attack him, hiding him from a society scarred by his attacks, nurturing him through the trauma of guilt over what had almost occurred at his hands if not at his will. Vincent understood guilt. It was an emotion he couldn't shake, couldn't overcome by any deed. He understood Sephiroth, and the young man understood him. Two immortals, banished from heaven and hell, unable to escape a world that was frightened of them. Sephiroth gave him a reason for his existance if nothing else, and another voice besides those of the demons.

Father?

Vincent stopped in the darkness of the cavern, only his thought required to respond to the other voice, a link of their Jenova genetics. Yes?

Just wanted to make sure you were alright. You haven't checked in since you left.

Vincent was slightly amused by the note of worry in Sephiroth's thoughts. It's only a dragon.

I should have come with you.

You were asleep. Don't worry about me. Vincent gazed through the shadows, his acute hearing easily picking up the scrape of scales over stone. I'll be home soon.

I don't know why I should worry about you. You like trying to get yourself killed. It's your hobby. Sephiroth's worry eased into a touch of humor. Another thing he and Vincent shared was a sense of the morbid being amusing. Perhaps it was a natural part of being immortal.

A man can dream, can't he? Vincent walked toward his prey, the massive creature turning as it sensed something else in the cavern. Vincent almost smiled, imagining the monster sizing him up as a meal as it had three of the villagers who lived in the shadow of the mountains so close to the run-down mansion he and Sephiroth called home. He heard a snort as the dragon turned to face him, seeing him through pitch darkness with infrared vision that surpassed even his own heightened senses. It would be entertaining, single-handed combat against a beast that could usually withstand half a regiment of soldiers, protected by its dense armored scales. Chaos had been restless lately, anyhow. Battle would serve as a safe release for the demon's violent hunger. Vincent didn't even bother to call up any protective magic as the dragon lifted its head, prepared to unleash firey breath.

Be careful, father. I know what your dreams are like.


Seifer made his way into the center of the ampitheatre, only moonlight guiding him. He opened the box, taking out the charm and holding it in his palm for a few silent moments, sensing the power of the guardian force. He could feel the tingle of its strength like tiny shocks on his skin, a surge of resistance to him. It was not a force that would be harnessed willingly. He smiled in satisfaction as he hoisted his weapon in his other hand, the dark gunblade Hyperion. It would want a fight, proof of his worth. The thought gave him even more pleasure than the unexpected find.

Seifer held the charm out at arm's length. "Guardian Force! I summon you!"

A rustling of wings led Seifer's eyes to the creature that answered his call, a mere outline of black, barely visible even by moonlight. "Who dares to command me as if they were my master?" The voice was a low, reverberating growl, glowing red eyes betraying the creature's location clearly as they opened, fastened on the young man.

Seifer flipped his gunblade up to ready position, held outright, his stance fearless, a smirk on his lips. "My name is Seifer Almasy. Do you accept my command?"

The guardian force snorted, crossing his arms over his chest, hovering several feet off the ground. "You're overconfident, child. You have no magic, even."

Seifer's eyes narrowed. "I'm not a child. Let's get on with it."

"Very well." The demon spread his wings, a growling chuckle escaping him as he raised his hand, a massive sword forming as his fist closed around the hilt. "Meet your judgement, Seifer Almasy."

Seifer sucked in his breath, bracing his feet to take the charge. Moonlight glinted off the blade of the sword as it was swung over the demon's head, then released, flying at the blond youth's chest. Seifer prepared to block, but was shocked when the sword split into thousands of unstoppable shards like razor blades, ripping into his flesh, the force sending him reeling back. He dropped to one knee, blinded by blood from hundreds of cuts to his face.

"Had enough? Or do you wish your death?" The demon crossed his arms again.

"Neither." Seifer closed his eyes, focusing as he struggled to his feet, raising the gunblade again, using sound as his guidance as he spun in and slashed into one of the unfurled wings of the demon. With expert timing he squeezed the trigger of the gunblade, fire erupting, giving the demon a taste of pain as well, eliciting a growl of displeasure from the guardian force.

The demon floated back, away from the young man. "Hrmph. You are either brave or stupid. But time for play is over." He raised both hands. "SATAN SLAM!" The demon threw his hands forward, the ground lifting violently under Seifer's feet, knocking him to his knees once more. Seifer instinctively curled to protect himself as what seemed to be the very fires of hell wraped around him, searing his flesh. The fires ended, but before he could even be grateful to survive heavy objects slammed against him in a seemingly endless rain. He screamed in agony, a desperate rush of adreneline pumping through him, willing him to survive.

Seifer stood. "I won't die today!" He spun his gunblade in his hand, green energy arcing from the blade. The demon drew back, surprised by the strength of the human. Seifer opened his eyes, his vision blurred by blood and pain. "Demon Slice!" Blue light circled him, drawn into his blade, then exploded towards the demon, rolling the guardian force back several feet, his claws scraping the ground as he took the full force of the attack. Seifer slumped, determined to live but unable to do anything to save himself. One more blow from the powerful demon would end him.

The demon closed his uninjured wing around his body as he dropped to the ground, his clawed feet somewhat awkward to stand on. "You are no ordinary human, child. You have survived both my saber and my judgement, and inflicted damage to me as well. I am impressed by you."

Seifer lifted his head, gasping for breath. "I'm pretty impressed myself. You'd be a strong ally."

The demon chuckled drily. "As would you. I will join forces with you, Seifer Almasy." He threw his wings out, fully healed, then cast curative magic on Seifer.

Seifer smiled as his wounds closed, leaving only faint scars. "What's your name?"

The demon rose into the air once more. "I am the demon of judgement, he who divides soul from flesh. I am unending, immortal, the darkness in every saint and the light in every sinner. My name is Chaos."