Chapter 2- Legend
For one week there was no sign of Sephiroth. Rumours flickered from town to village like buds of flame. The eastern continent had became a hive of tittle-tattle; out of fear and turmoil. Things had changed. Shinra and its last remnants were scattered; broken apart. Military camps had been eradicated across the entire country. Within this chaos the people recognised his legacy written in starlight. He is Sephiroth, the One-Winged Angel, born in a storm that doomed his creators. They saw that. But most of all the people saw the hero of old and his downfall; the demise of a great man who became a winged god.
Lifting a lantern from the wall Sephiroth strode out into the night. The wind at his back, he gazed around the sleeping settlement of Kalm. Casting a flare of energy across wooden walls which set it alight. The wind fanned the flames, and burning cinders flew from one thatched roof to the next. Soon a number of fires were blazing. Villagers began to run from their homes- even the men. Sephiroth moved among them, slashing left and right with the Masamune. Behind him flames licked out of the open doorway of the inn, then broke through the roof.
Panic swept through the settlement as Sephiroth hovered over the flames, killing anyone who came within the reach of his blade. Two courageous young men ran at him, carrying hatchets. He slew them both. The villagers began to stream from the settlement.
An hour later after destroying homes untouched by the fire, blood covered, Sephiroth sheathed his sword. Everything was gone: the homes, the net huts, the storehouses. He gazed on a scene of utter devastation.
Wearily he pushed himself to his feet and walked through what had once been the main street in Kalm. Bodies lay everywhere, some burnt, some not touched by fire. As he walked Sephiroth saw that he had been utterly undiscriminating. Women lay dead alongside their men, and at the far end of the street two children had been cut down. Judging by the blood trail, one of them had crawled a little way before dying.
As he stood the there, surveying the grim evidence of his rage, he knew that only part of his fury had been inspired by Hojo and Shinra.
All his life he wanted to be a hero, to kill their monsters and to sign their pictures. To give people someone to believe in. He was created to live down the perceived legacy set by Shinra. He gazed upon the ruins, and watched flakes of grey ash floating in the breeze. All was ashes now. He had found a love, a great love of the people and had surrendered them to die. In the process he had become not only an adulterer and killer, but a murderer of women and children.
Tears spilled on his pale face, and fell to his knees, calling out the name "Nibliheim" again and again. " Mother!!! Why did you make me do this!!!!!!!!!"
In the hills the survivors of the massacre gathered, listening to the sounds. The anguished cries carried the weight of both grief and madness. The survivors huddled closer together, and prayed the demon would now leave them be. Very soon again, much like Midgar only his heartbeat could be heard across the continent as he cried.
For one week there was no sign of Sephiroth. Rumours flickered from town to village like buds of flame. The eastern continent had became a hive of tittle-tattle; out of fear and turmoil. Things had changed. Shinra and its last remnants were scattered; broken apart. Military camps had been eradicated across the entire country. Within this chaos the people recognised his legacy written in starlight. He is Sephiroth, the One-Winged Angel, born in a storm that doomed his creators. They saw that. But most of all the people saw the hero of old and his downfall; the demise of a great man who became a winged god.
Lifting a lantern from the wall Sephiroth strode out into the night. The wind at his back, he gazed around the sleeping settlement of Kalm. Casting a flare of energy across wooden walls which set it alight. The wind fanned the flames, and burning cinders flew from one thatched roof to the next. Soon a number of fires were blazing. Villagers began to run from their homes- even the men. Sephiroth moved among them, slashing left and right with the Masamune. Behind him flames licked out of the open doorway of the inn, then broke through the roof.
Panic swept through the settlement as Sephiroth hovered over the flames, killing anyone who came within the reach of his blade. Two courageous young men ran at him, carrying hatchets. He slew them both. The villagers began to stream from the settlement.
An hour later after destroying homes untouched by the fire, blood covered, Sephiroth sheathed his sword. Everything was gone: the homes, the net huts, the storehouses. He gazed on a scene of utter devastation.
Wearily he pushed himself to his feet and walked through what had once been the main street in Kalm. Bodies lay everywhere, some burnt, some not touched by fire. As he walked Sephiroth saw that he had been utterly undiscriminating. Women lay dead alongside their men, and at the far end of the street two children had been cut down. Judging by the blood trail, one of them had crawled a little way before dying.
As he stood the there, surveying the grim evidence of his rage, he knew that only part of his fury had been inspired by Hojo and Shinra.
All his life he wanted to be a hero, to kill their monsters and to sign their pictures. To give people someone to believe in. He was created to live down the perceived legacy set by Shinra. He gazed upon the ruins, and watched flakes of grey ash floating in the breeze. All was ashes now. He had found a love, a great love of the people and had surrendered them to die. In the process he had become not only an adulterer and killer, but a murderer of women and children.
Tears spilled on his pale face, and fell to his knees, calling out the name "Nibliheim" again and again. " Mother!!! Why did you make me do this!!!!!!!!!"
In the hills the survivors of the massacre gathered, listening to the sounds. The anguished cries carried the weight of both grief and madness. The survivors huddled closer together, and prayed the demon would now leave them be. Very soon again, much like Midgar only his heartbeat could be heard across the continent as he cried.