From the author of
"An Autobiography of Vincent Valentine"
Phoenix Down.
Phantom Wall Devils: A tale of Sephiroth
Part: Chi
Zayin
"Isn't life a series of images that change as they repeat themselves?"
(Andy Warhol (c. 1928-1987), U.S. pop artist. Quoted in Warhol, "Too Much Work 1980-84," Victor Bokris (1989).)
"Things... sounds... noise. Shit.
These things keep me up late at night...
Fear. Spinning, spinning, spinning.
'Round and... 'round... like a merry go round.
But it's not so merry.
It's all crazy sound."
Sephiroth took a deep breath, and shook his fingers loose. They were cramping. He took the sheet of paper with the black ink stains and crumpled it.
Then, he tossed it to the floor. There were piles of balled paper like it; they were like forgotten snowballs that never melted in the shadowed corner of the dusty gray floor.
He tried expressing his fear in other ways; singing, sparring, solving puzzles- other things he loved. But the fear still sat there in his chest.
He tried writing about how he felt; the anger, confusion, sadness, and the brink line of madness.
He stood, and began to pace. Back and forth. Back and forth.
"I... I can't. I can't. I can't cry. I CAN'T CRY... but... god... I... I... WANT... to... Cry..."
He sat down again.
He sobbed in his folded arms.
"Katrina. Who. Killed. You? WHY was it MAKO poisoning... you knew that I've been injecting mako my whole life. It never killed me. Why did it kill you? Who killed you?"
"Seph?"
The door crept open. A small pair of eyes shaded behind silver rimmed glasses poked in the ill lit room.
The flame on the single white candle on Sephiroth's desk fluttered.
"Are you ok, Seph? It's like, three am. You woke me up..." Art whispered.
While rubbing his bloodshot eyes, Sephiroth muttered, "Sorry... Art. I... couldn't sleep."
The black haired adolescent walked in quietly, and shut the door behind him.
"You want to talk about it? It was a... uh, pretty funeral, you know? Both Kat and her dad's."
"Yes. It was." Sephiroth sat back in his chair, lowered his face, and crossed his arms tightly.
Art paused.
"We... are leaving tomorrow, right? Goin' back?"
Sephiroth didn't reply. He remained still.
"Uhm... We HAVE to go back, you know, Seph. Gotta move on with your life. Uhm. Your still a general."
"Art. If I tell you something, you wouldn't repeat it would you?"
"Uh, no, I guess not." Art paused, and glanced around the room.
"We are going back. Sure. But. I renounce my loyalties to Shin-Ra. I'll do one more SOLDIER mission for them... But that's it. I don't know how long I can hold it in anymore."
"What do you mean...?"Curiously, his black eyes rose above the rims of his glasses.
"I've been thinking, for a long time now. It all... is leading back to someone. Everything is. It- almost makes sense now."
It was a strange calmness that froze to Sephiroth's features.
His eyes were no longer red, but a still clear.
The shadows on the walls seemed to only slightly flit and flicker across the room, as if afraid of the careful composure on the man's features.
His countenance radiated an epiphany of understanding something huge.
Sephiroth looked as if he were about to laugh at something demonically ironic.
"Wh- what makes sense..." Art saw the weird expression writhe in his eyes; the surreal was becoming real. Art didn't understand, and he was afraid at what Sephiroth then could have been capable of.
"Everything. Everything- IS MAKING SENSE!" Sephiroth's booming voice danced and reverberated off of the wooden ceiling.
"Don't you see? It is clear now! My beloved and her father were poisoned by mako energy! That, my friend, is a Shin-Ra product- packaged and refined by our beloved company that which by we are employed! And there is one element in common to these two people that have died..."
"And that is...?"
"Numbers."
"Uh... Seph, are you... uh, ok?"
Sephiroth stood and his shoulders rocked as he madly laughed. He covered his face with his hand as if dramatically shocked by Art's sudden flex of stupidity.
"Ok?.... OK?! Of course I'm, 'OK' I'm perfectly .... FINE! You see, Art... My girlfriend, fiancee, rather, did not die of natural causes. Therefore, she was murdered. There is only one man who could have done this. And as you as my witness... Well, here is the secret, my friend, my boy-"
Art's jaw fell. His eyes budged. He stared at Sephiroth with the look of awe and stupor.
"Your... Seph, are you ok? Your- uhm, acting strange. I think you may be loosing- it's late. We need some rest. Your... uh, in shock, you know, and just tired. I should go to bed, too, you know? Big day tomorrow- lots of traveling..."
Art stood.
Sephiroth shoved him down on the bed.
"NO! You don't get it, do you!? No... how... how could you... your just a child, at best, Art, no offence. It's Shin-Ra, Art, SHIN-RA! Evil. Manipulative. They killed her. They are killing people. My life. Her life. IT'S ALL HOJO!"
"Hojo, dude, calm down..." Art struggled to regain himself.
"He's just the old man at the lab, man."
Sephiroth turned, knocked over a chair, and grabbed his masamune from the floor.
He unsheathed it from its leather case. It slid out easily, with a hiss.
"DUDE! Put that fucker down, man, before you hurt someone!"
Sephiroth ignored him, and sliced the chair in half.
It fell to two perfect, symmetrical pieces.
"No. No..." Sephiroth sighed, and looked at the chair. His long silver hair slid down his front like a slice of metal.
"No. Art. I'm sorry. We are going back tomorrow. I want to know. I want to know, NOW. I want to know what this all means. It has gone too far... TOO FAR! SHE'S DEAD!! I need to know. I need to know who my mother is. I need to know WHY Katrina was murdered. I need to know the answers to the questions that have been plaguing my LIFE for TOO long. Only one... only one man knows. Only one man knows the answers."
Art trembled. He didn't dare ask.
Sephiroth picked up the long, heavy black sheath, and replaced his cold blade.
"Hojo. Art. It is Hojo. It always has been him. He is like... the puppet master."
Sephiroth kicked the two halves of the wooden chair aside, and smiled.
His smile was like a knife.
Then, without another word, he left.
"Your... your crazy, man. Abso-fucking-lutely loony..." Art whispered after the tall general walked out. Art stood in the empty hotel room in Mideel. He felt overwhelmed, and afraid. He looked at the chair that was expertly chopped in two, and then shuddered. He pushed the two halves with his toe, so the tumbled to their sides.
"Crazy ass... mother fucker. Better not piss you off, eh?"
It was a hot night, and Art didn't get any sleep at all.
Sephiroth slept soundly in the room next door.
The crickets and other nightly sounds- went 'round and 'round Art's sleepless and worried head.
"An Autobiography of Vincent Valentine"
Phoenix Down.
Phantom Wall Devils: A tale of Sephiroth
Part: Chi
Zayin
"Isn't life a series of images that change as they repeat themselves?"
(Andy Warhol (c. 1928-1987), U.S. pop artist. Quoted in Warhol, "Too Much Work 1980-84," Victor Bokris (1989).)
"Things... sounds... noise. Shit.
These things keep me up late at night...
Fear. Spinning, spinning, spinning.
'Round and... 'round... like a merry go round.
But it's not so merry.
It's all crazy sound."
Sephiroth took a deep breath, and shook his fingers loose. They were cramping. He took the sheet of paper with the black ink stains and crumpled it.
Then, he tossed it to the floor. There were piles of balled paper like it; they were like forgotten snowballs that never melted in the shadowed corner of the dusty gray floor.
He tried expressing his fear in other ways; singing, sparring, solving puzzles- other things he loved. But the fear still sat there in his chest.
He tried writing about how he felt; the anger, confusion, sadness, and the brink line of madness.
He stood, and began to pace. Back and forth. Back and forth.
"I... I can't. I can't. I can't cry. I CAN'T CRY... but... god... I... I... WANT... to... Cry..."
He sat down again.
He sobbed in his folded arms.
"Katrina. Who. Killed. You? WHY was it MAKO poisoning... you knew that I've been injecting mako my whole life. It never killed me. Why did it kill you? Who killed you?"
"Seph?"
The door crept open. A small pair of eyes shaded behind silver rimmed glasses poked in the ill lit room.
The flame on the single white candle on Sephiroth's desk fluttered.
"Are you ok, Seph? It's like, three am. You woke me up..." Art whispered.
While rubbing his bloodshot eyes, Sephiroth muttered, "Sorry... Art. I... couldn't sleep."
The black haired adolescent walked in quietly, and shut the door behind him.
"You want to talk about it? It was a... uh, pretty funeral, you know? Both Kat and her dad's."
"Yes. It was." Sephiroth sat back in his chair, lowered his face, and crossed his arms tightly.
Art paused.
"We... are leaving tomorrow, right? Goin' back?"
Sephiroth didn't reply. He remained still.
"Uhm... We HAVE to go back, you know, Seph. Gotta move on with your life. Uhm. Your still a general."
"Art. If I tell you something, you wouldn't repeat it would you?"
"Uh, no, I guess not." Art paused, and glanced around the room.
"We are going back. Sure. But. I renounce my loyalties to Shin-Ra. I'll do one more SOLDIER mission for them... But that's it. I don't know how long I can hold it in anymore."
"What do you mean...?"Curiously, his black eyes rose above the rims of his glasses.
"I've been thinking, for a long time now. It all... is leading back to someone. Everything is. It- almost makes sense now."
It was a strange calmness that froze to Sephiroth's features.
His eyes were no longer red, but a still clear.
The shadows on the walls seemed to only slightly flit and flicker across the room, as if afraid of the careful composure on the man's features.
His countenance radiated an epiphany of understanding something huge.
Sephiroth looked as if he were about to laugh at something demonically ironic.
"Wh- what makes sense..." Art saw the weird expression writhe in his eyes; the surreal was becoming real. Art didn't understand, and he was afraid at what Sephiroth then could have been capable of.
"Everything. Everything- IS MAKING SENSE!" Sephiroth's booming voice danced and reverberated off of the wooden ceiling.
"Don't you see? It is clear now! My beloved and her father were poisoned by mako energy! That, my friend, is a Shin-Ra product- packaged and refined by our beloved company that which by we are employed! And there is one element in common to these two people that have died..."
"And that is...?"
"Numbers."
"Uh... Seph, are you... uh, ok?"
Sephiroth stood and his shoulders rocked as he madly laughed. He covered his face with his hand as if dramatically shocked by Art's sudden flex of stupidity.
"Ok?.... OK?! Of course I'm, 'OK' I'm perfectly .... FINE! You see, Art... My girlfriend, fiancee, rather, did not die of natural causes. Therefore, she was murdered. There is only one man who could have done this. And as you as my witness... Well, here is the secret, my friend, my boy-"
Art's jaw fell. His eyes budged. He stared at Sephiroth with the look of awe and stupor.
"Your... Seph, are you ok? Your- uhm, acting strange. I think you may be loosing- it's late. We need some rest. Your... uh, in shock, you know, and just tired. I should go to bed, too, you know? Big day tomorrow- lots of traveling..."
Art stood.
Sephiroth shoved him down on the bed.
"NO! You don't get it, do you!? No... how... how could you... your just a child, at best, Art, no offence. It's Shin-Ra, Art, SHIN-RA! Evil. Manipulative. They killed her. They are killing people. My life. Her life. IT'S ALL HOJO!"
"Hojo, dude, calm down..." Art struggled to regain himself.
"He's just the old man at the lab, man."
Sephiroth turned, knocked over a chair, and grabbed his masamune from the floor.
He unsheathed it from its leather case. It slid out easily, with a hiss.
"DUDE! Put that fucker down, man, before you hurt someone!"
Sephiroth ignored him, and sliced the chair in half.
It fell to two perfect, symmetrical pieces.
"No. No..." Sephiroth sighed, and looked at the chair. His long silver hair slid down his front like a slice of metal.
"No. Art. I'm sorry. We are going back tomorrow. I want to know. I want to know, NOW. I want to know what this all means. It has gone too far... TOO FAR! SHE'S DEAD!! I need to know. I need to know who my mother is. I need to know WHY Katrina was murdered. I need to know the answers to the questions that have been plaguing my LIFE for TOO long. Only one... only one man knows. Only one man knows the answers."
Art trembled. He didn't dare ask.
Sephiroth picked up the long, heavy black sheath, and replaced his cold blade.
"Hojo. Art. It is Hojo. It always has been him. He is like... the puppet master."
Sephiroth kicked the two halves of the wooden chair aside, and smiled.
His smile was like a knife.
Then, without another word, he left.
"Your... your crazy, man. Abso-fucking-lutely loony..." Art whispered after the tall general walked out. Art stood in the empty hotel room in Mideel. He felt overwhelmed, and afraid. He looked at the chair that was expertly chopped in two, and then shuddered. He pushed the two halves with his toe, so the tumbled to their sides.
"Crazy ass... mother fucker. Better not piss you off, eh?"
It was a hot night, and Art didn't get any sleep at all.
Sephiroth slept soundly in the room next door.
The crickets and other nightly sounds- went 'round and 'round Art's sleepless and worried head.