Chapter 5
Rhapsody in Pain
Life took you away from me,
When I am blind, still you I see.
Born a victim, lived a lie,
My gift to you; freedom to die.
*
An obnoxious noise pervaded the evening, threshing every molecule of air within a hundred metre radius. Over time, it steadily increased in frequency and volume, whipping all senses into a blanketed agony.
The long and slightly frost-bitten grass, that grew between cracks and around the perimeter of the small dilapidated helipad writhed chaotically; beaten downwards in the unnatural gale. It stretched for miles around, beneath washed out grey skies and only broken by the old barracks as they stood alone, like an island of concrete and razorwire at the centre of a golden sea. The sound of chanting, marching cadets, was all but drowned out, momentarily.
Vincent drew his cape more tightly around his shoulders, taking a short glance back at the oblivious ranks and the old remembered buildings which were just as ugly and uninspiring as ever, despite their patchwork architecture, before turning away. The downcast skies were as drab as the grey paving beneath his feet, and thus were restful on his eyes. He did not discriminate a single shade purely on it's reputation, even though it meant another spell of rain. It had already been daylight for over fifteen hours, and that was far more tiring in itself.
Behind him, the sound of rotor blades began to die away, leaving only the whispers of the wind and grass that shivered slightly. He pulled on the aged leather strap which had only just started to wear an invisible groove into his shoulder, a sword which weighed considerably more than it should. Intending to ignore the weapon left temporarily to his voluntary, and he had to remember that he'd not overtly been asked to follow this time, responsibility, until it was possible to return it to its owner. He took the well worn path that had appeared beneath his feet without taking any conscious effort to find it.
The golden tint, he discovered as he passed among them, was given by a thousand million knee high dandelions – some of which, even in the early months of winter, still possessed defiant ragged blooms among the majority of disintegrating white-topped spires. Spits of ice cold rain stung his face whenever he turned it from the ground to seek out the first signs of Kalm in the distance, so after a while he rarely tried.
The last time he'd been there it was still as small as ever since the influx of refugees ended, and there had been too few of them, he hastened to recall, barely enough to cause disruption in neighboring towns. He hoped to spend as little time there as necessary, just to ask, though he knew he'd get no positive answers, whether a foreigner had passed through recently, and maybe gather a few supplies.
He pulled again on the strap, feeling cold metal slap solidly against his back. Vincent wasn't a swordsman, though the idea of learning intrigued him a little. Cloud said that it was just a matter of practice. Actually, if Vincent remembered rightly it had been more like,
"When everyone wants to beat the crap outta you for being smarter than they are, and you happen to have an unnatural amount of talent in that specific direction, you learn to watch the higher ranks train when they don't realise it."
He'd said he trained since he was old enough to walk, that his father taught him, and that was saying enough since the man had died around his seventh birthday. Then somehow, in Midgar, one of the less dense first classes had taken him under his wing.
"Oh, the fortune that appears to us in tragedy disguised," he sighed, not caring if it seemed strange to speak to himself. If Cloud had survived, or been left out of the Nibelheim mission, he might someday have succeeded Sephiroth as general. Just as if he'd somehow managed to convince Lucrecia to forsake her lifetime's work… Either way, fate would have played itself out somehow, and conspired toward a similar end. Vincent was still an avid believer in fate.
Vincent was not a Vampire; in the storybook sense. He would not turn to dust in daylight. A crucifix was merely an item of jewelry, thankfully, given Cloud's tendency toward the things, and garlic could only hope to give him antisocial breath for a while. But he had some similarities as well, such as the sensitivity to light and the romanticism of things. A stake through the heart would probably have more or less the same effect on him as on a human, and of course he needed to drink blood to function normally. If he could possibly be classed as normal these days.
The sword on his back was not too heavy to carry, yet. It slapped mutely against his cape, reminding him with every step the task which he had taken upon himself, to keep the younger man from trouble; whatever that could be. Something wasn't right, the way he'd left without an explanation, even if they hadn't been in touch for years, Nanaki and Strife were virtually inseparable. He didn't think the visit was purely social, and was a little unhappy with the usual lack of details.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Cloud dragged the knife back with a grunt, it made a gravelly, rattling noise as he pulled it, and then thrust again to hit the same mark more deeply. Spits of rain hit the back of his neck, numbing it through cold as he attacked the wound again, digging out a small stone. It weighed as little as a feather in his red stained hand as he rolled it around, then threw it over his shoulder.
Kneeling further back, and pulling his coat up again to cover his raw neck, he twisted the ivory handled knife and sent it spearing into the soggy earth where it shuddered awhile, embedded in the same haematite clay that covered his face and hands.
"Ick." He hissed, grinning to himself at the sight he must present if there were anyone around to see him kneeling in the dirt beside a tent, which was only inches away from being in a river. But there wasn't exactly anyone to see him there, and it seemed to be his destiny to get rained upon. He washed as much of the mud from his hands as was possible, then flicked the other dagger from it's sheath at his back.
This time, the edge was pulled across mostly clean flesh, cutting through the vein just below his pulse. Immediately, thick, dark globs of blood began to roll down his wrist to pool in his palm. He watched with familiar interest, the blue-green swirls of light which mingled with the fluid. It was not Mako, but pure spirit energy that seemed to exist symbiotically within his arteries. All traces of Jenova's presence were long gone, his body having somehow managed to reject the cells entirely. Just as his soul had been the vessel for her ultimate destruction, his body was her undoing.
He was everyone's failure, the death of all that should not be.
He held the hand as if it were a chalice, not bothering to actually vocalise the words he needed. The planet knew his will as intimately as he did, and a small offering was all that he was required to give. The Cetra did not approve of blood magic, but then, even they had needed to fall upon a sacrifice in the end. As the liquid dripped onto the hastily carved runes they shone brightly for a second before healing into naked scars, soon covered in clusters of tiny green shoots.
The cut in his arm closed simultaneously, and he licked his fingers clean, one at a time. There was no scar, there never was. The only scars on his entire body were those left by Masamune, silvery traces across his palms and heart. Reminders of his first death, and the only one that would ever matter. They had made a pact, the three of them, one night. So long ago now that it felt like a silly plan thought up by children. He hadn't realised back then, as children rarely do, how much he would lose in the fulfillment of his duty. He hadn't guessed that it would ever be necessary.
'But mine's special… it doesn't do anything.'
It was a terrible irony, he thought, that it was essential for his existence to continue. He should never have been born, just as Holy should never have been created. Holy was not a separate entity, it required an inception; a second half, and a catalyst. It was an end, not a beginning. Absently he rubbed the other wrist, below the bandage, before crouching at the entrance of his tent to wrestle with the temperamental zipper. It was lucky that his fingers were already numbed with the cold, or they might have protested at the way they were being treated. On a final desperate tug the zip flew open and Cloud was at last allowed entrance to his temporary… very temporary, accommodations.
If it was not warm, at least it was reasonably dry inside. He had no bedding, his belongings were little more than that which he wore and that he had managed to buy from Kalm on the way through. Digging through them to find something edible, he silently chastised himself for shopping on an empty stomach. Then unwrapped his second Snickers bar.
Instead of actually eating it, he used the bone dagger to peel off the chocolate as he thought. He wouldn't sleep, that was already becoming apparent.
*
'They're beautiful.'
'They're yours, here, happy birthday.'
'For me! But… they're so… they must have cost a fortune. Besides, my birthday isn't for three days.'
'I wouldn't know, they've always been yours. They were made for you.'
'You're being romantic again. They look ancient, and I'm not even sixteen yet.'
'I, I can't be here in three days.'
'I understand, but…'
'I'm sorry Cloud, really. But lately I've had this feeling that we haven't got much more time together.'
'Don't talk like that, and don't think it either… I haven't slept properly in ages.'
'I know, but you feel it too.'
'Of course. So, tell me about these blades that were made just for me, thousands of years before I was born.'
'I caught that.'
'I was only trying to lighten the mood.'
'Not that. Could you please try and keep your mind vaguely focused for a minute, I'm getting a lot of naughty thoughts that aren't mine.'
'Yours are good too.'
'Cloud; Chuui yoku sh'te kudasai!
…Did you know, that there are legends that say before even the ancients there were a people called the Eddain? Just myths, probably, told by the ancients. But one tells that they had a leader, a king called Odin, and when he died he became the spirit of the moon.'
'My mother used to tell me about that… It's where she got my name.'
'Hmmm, the clouds, Odin's daughters.'
'Stop laughing, or I'll…'
'Ow, you wouldn't dare.'
'Just keep that image.'
'I wasn't trying to upset you. But 'cloud' is generally used to insinuate feminine attributes. Anyway, those blades were said to have been made for…'
'The youngest.'
'Yes. they're made of the same metal as the legendary broadsword Ragnarok, and they belong to you. There's another legend as well, I'll tell you later when we have more time to talk.'
*
He turned the handle carefully. One dagger for one purpose, the other for the rest. He only ever drew blood with the bone handled blade if it was unavoidable. Caramel, however, was a completely different matter. He ate it straight from the metal, staring at the flapping green canvas overhead. He would not sleep. He could not sleep. All he could do was hear the music of the stars and the pained whimpers of a semi-healed planet. He could not sleep, because he was too full of sugar. He would not sleep, because he kept telling himself that he could not sleep. And when he stopped telling himself, he was too busy thinking about the time he was wasting; not being able to sleep.
"K' so."
He was up and out of the tent the moment his knife was clean, and only stooping to retrieve the other dagger, he was half way to the graveyard city.
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Authors Notes: Hello out there, I actually managed to write some, with absolutely no character interaction, eep. (Flashbacks don't count.)
This is gonna be a long story, and since it's not supposed to be funny, (Like Clouderella,) I'm having trouble getting all my ideas in line. It's not that I don't know what to write, I actually have the whole thing planned from start to finish, I just wanna get the imagery right. PLeEEEEsE, Review… or I'm going back to Silent Hill 2 and getting ALL the endings before I write anymore. ^_^.
Thank you, Sky, for having a little faith in me.
(You know, I think there's a story that seems suspiciously like my 'Sparring' story, that went up yesterday. I'm just wondering, cause I thought it was an unusual idea when I wrote it, if anybody knew of any other Cloud-Rufus as Siblings stories.)
O - Yasumi nasai…
