Disclaimer: Final Fantasy Seven, and the characters, names, places,
situations and so on, are property of Squaresoft corporation. I own none of
them and am making no money off of them. This story was written purely for
my own enjoyment.
A/N: Not entirely pleased with the ending to this chapter. R&R, let me know what you think of it!
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"Cid would call that 'highly commendable."
Irvine Kinneas shifted position uneasily. His coat still bore the marks of the battle earlier that morning…a scorch here, a tear there. It was an expensive coat, and may even have been beyond repair. But whilst his sense of style dictated that he keep his coat firmly donned, his trademark black Stetson hat was in his lap, as were his hands. Both trembled slightly with tension and pent up shock.
"Your skill with little tools, I mean. I suppose you don't spend as much time around weapons as you do without picking up a thing or two."
Irvine nodded dumbly, but the mild praise meant little to him. It utterly failed to untangle the knot in his stomach, nor shake the feeling of dread—at himself, mostly—after having been too…damned…slow. Swallowing, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Could…could we just get on with this, please?"
The silence from the other end of the desk couldn't be labelled as anything. All that Irvine sensed from the other man was death. Presently, there was a grunt and a dark nod, and Irvine continued, carefully keeping his voice neutral.
The hinges on the door to the Mayor's residence were surprisingly well oiled, but they could hardly withstand the combined efforts of two highly trained SeeD mercenaries. Twin kicks from both women sent the door tumbling inward, followed soon after by said women. They leaped within, moving with speed and grace, taking up positions inside the modest sized living area. They were ready for anything the remaining two bogeys could deliver. Literally.
"Look out!" yelped Selphie, swinging her nunchuks in a wide arc as Quistis, technically the field leader of the operation but by no means stupid, ducked. The weapon swung with a hiss over the top of her head, colliding with a thrown shuriken aimed at the spot her forehead might have occupied if not for Selphie's warning.
The hollow clang of the two weapons colliding echoed throughout the small room from end to end. But the deadly projectile simply whizzed away, completed its trajectory and alighted with a purr in the outstretched hand of their adversary. She regarded the two newcomers with a haughty stare with one dead grey eye, its twin a memory beneath a simple black patch. She tossed her short silver hair and allowed her body to flow into a defensive stance to mirror her opponents.
"Fujin," Quistis said plainly. "You don't have to follow him blindly. Give yourself up and I promise I'll make sure Squall and Cid will take that into account."
The other woman said nothing, and Quistis knew there was no way she would consider the offer. Fujin normally said little, apart from a few fierce, one-word statements. This time the perky woman tossed her hair even more irritably and growled.
"TORNADO."
And at her command, the air in the room came alive, a furious force of nature sweeping the two SeeDs off their feet and slamming them against the wall of the quaint living room. Dozens of ashtrays, magazines, books and pieces d'art leapt into the air and flew about the room, whizzing just inches away from the Quistis' face. Selphie shrieked momentarily, but her lips narrowed in grim concentration as she saw Fujin, reeling momentarily from the effort of casting such a spell. Her arms, like her companion's, were pinned to the wall and useless, but SeeDs had more than one method of attack.
A flurry of blue-green sparkles flared briefly around her slim body. Fujin, sensing at last what was coming, raised a hand to cast some countermeasure, or to cast reflect, but she was far too late. A bolt of lighting flared across the room, beyond the ability of the Tornado to deter it…one, two, three times it leaped from around Selphie and earthed itself in their silent antagonist.
The two had expected her to shriek, or give some sign of pain. But as the winds died down, blowing themselves out of existence, the two noted with a chill sense of apprehension, that the woman simply crumpled up without a word, or even acknowledgement that she'd been all but electrocuted. A faint indication of the trial the two had yet to face?
Allowing herself a momentary lapse, Quistis knelt down with a sigh, catching her breath. Selphie leaned against the wall, gasping, but her own respite was short lived, interrupted by a faint noise from upstairs. Hardly a shriek, more of a whimper, but enough to be heard nonetheless.
"Hyne! The mayor said everyone'd been evacuated." The slim young woman turned tail and sprinted up the stairs, ignoring the feeble protests of her fellow.
"You didn't rush immediately to give them a hand?" the voice of death continued on.
Irvine shifted again, gazing at the hat in his lap, just as Zell had done with his gauntlets. No, he hadn't. He'd stayed down there, didn't even send Zell up back the girls up. Hell, he'd even told him to shut his mouth when he made as if to scramble back up into the sunlight and into the mayor's residence. He was ruining Irvine's concentration. The girls could handle themselves, he'd said. Quit worrying. They weren't babies, they'd faced worse than this, blah, blah, blah, all the time keeping his mind focussed squarely on tracing the wires running beneath the open face of the bomb. He knew they'd be alright…
"I…look, I…" He pinched the bridge of his nose with one, trembling hand. Trembling with grief, not fear. He feared his questioner, but his sorrow at his own failure more than eclipsed that. "I thought they could handle it. He was…always so easy to take down before. I never dreamed that this would turn out like it did."
"Really?"
That black silence persisted for a moment longer.
"Well…I guess I don't have to tell you that you were wrong…"
And inside, deep inside, another piece of Irvine perished.
"Dammit, Irvine! You gonna shut that thing down or what?"
Slender fingers traced a scraggly wire to its origin, then discarded it. "In a minute, Zell."
"Look, I'm not sure if you understand this, but THINGS HAVE GOTTEN REALLY FUBAR AROUND HERE!!! Or didn't you hear the hurricane?!?"
A second trace, with fingers ever-steady. The new, green wire ran into the tangled mess to a place he hadn't ventured yet. "Be cool, Zell."
"Easy for you to say! Damn, can't you hurry it up? Oh, hyne, you're not…?"
Irvine snapped his fingers, and darted his hand into the device. There was a barely audible snap.
"You are, aren't you? HYNE, IRVINE I'M NOT SOME HYNEDAMNED CHICK YOU HAVE TO IMPRESS! STOP FOOLIN' AROUND AND STOP THAT FU…"
"It's done, Zell"
"Wha…?"
Selphie leapt with both feet onto the top level of the residence, already in a defensive stance. For a moment, only an empty, sunlit room greeted her for her trouble. Then a bloodied bundle shifted position in the corner of the room, and moaned softly.
"Mrs. Dobe!"
She abandoned her defense and leapt to the aid of the fallen woman. With a brief mutter, the bonds binding the woman froze solid, then shattered as Selphie tapped them with the end of her nunchuku. Freed, Flo Dobe rolled onto her back, head lolling listlessly. Bruises covered her motherly face, and a thin trickle of blood ran from her lips onto the scraggly carpet. Her eyes were swollen shut into slits, but two frightened eyes could be seen staring up at her rescuer.
"It's alright, ma'am," Selphie whispered soothingly, concentrating on manifesting a Curaga spell. She paused when she saw that the broken woman's lips were quivering. "Please, Mrs. Dobe, It's safe, now."
Those cracked lips quivered, and a faint voice filled with tentative panic issued forth from them. "B…be…behind…y…y…"
But the sound of a gunblade's hiss, the clank of Selphie's nunchuku and her cry of alarm drowned out what she had to say. It was an unnecessary warning anyway, by that point.
The snap of the lid of Irvine's toolbox shutting failed to drown out the cry from the levels above the two SeeDs. Zell, with his keen grasp of the world's various martial arts, only jerked up his head in alarm, keeping his balance perfectly.
Irvine's heart froze, his eyes widened and the toolbox slid from his suddenly limp fingers. The clatter of tools striking pipes, tubing, metal plates and the like somehow seemed less than the rush of blood to his ears.
"Selphie…"
Then he turned, totally ignoring his companion and leapt up through the twisted substructure, scrambling for purchase even as Zell thundered after him.
It was a battle, no doubt. But it was one-sided enough to equate to a mere skirmish. Everywhere she moved, a block, every spell she could gather the wits to cast, a Reflect, every time she swung her weapon, a clash of steel as it's chain met a purely forged Gunblade. Too furious an attack to resist, as she was backed into a corner, chewing her lip in an effort to keep from descending into panic.
In the end, her own considerable skill was really not enough to win victory. Her adversary feinted a slice at her arm, and she brought her weapon in a sweeping arc downward to intercept it. Then there was a flash in midair, as the blade seemed to change direction without warning and come down with an agonising smack on the side of her neck.
Selphie, energetic, bubbly, frail Selphie stifled a cry of alarm, as the flat of the charged blade stunned her. Then a dull thump, and the air was expelled from her body with a knee to the midriff. Then another strike, and the side of her face rung with a blow that reverberated along her entire jaw. And another, a heavy, merciless kick, sending her spinning away to land with a crack against the wall of the Dobes' upstairs room.
There was an element of panic present in her as her trembling lips moved to cast a potent Thundaga. But really, it was professional resolve that kept her wits together, born of years of training. The attack had left her bruised and dazed, but her adversary had little chance of beating her into submission. Lightning crackled along her fingertips, the handles to her nunchuku and even along its chain, with enough power to reduce her assailant into a breeze of organic dust.
Then the electricity dissipated. The Magic fled. Her useless weapon fell from limp fingertips as her limbs refused to acknowledge her will. She fell to her knees, and then collapsed onto her side. There was a vague feeling within her that there was something she really ought to be concentrating quite hard on, perhaps the chap in the grey coat arrogantly sauntering towards her, the last golden sparkles of a Confuse spell falling from his gloved fingers. But she couldn't quite make the connection between the image she saw and the course of action she should take.
Then her body felt itself being lifted, coarsely, off of the floor and then being pinned against the wall, so that her face was level with an angry red scar, two frozen green eyes and a thin mouth, corners upturned into a smirk which seemed somewhat familiar.
"So. The messenger girl."
The voice was slick, confident…and disappointed. The lips moved, but the sounds that issued from them took an instant more to reach her ears.
"I wanted her, you know. Or puberty boy. Or that irritating cowboy. Even Zell, the shadowboxing, hot-dog devouring, fashion-taste defying chicken- wuss. Wouldn't have come amiss. But you're the one to face me?"
Seifer. Seifer something, she couldn't quite remember his other name. But she was making progress…a few moments previously, she hadn't been able to recognise his face at all, much less remember his name. He seemed different from what she'd expected, though. She couldn't quite recall how he'd been, or even if she'd met him before now, but there was a sense of unfamiliarity.
"She could have filled the emptiness, given me closure. I'm just wandering in a void, now. Instead, I've got you. And I think I've shown you how pathetic you are by comparison."
She felt indignant. That was good. It meant the numbness in her head was going away. She tried to speak, to protest at her treatment, but the tingling sensation of awakening hadn't yet spread to her lips, and her ability to speak was as surely neutralised as if she'd been on the receiving end if a Silence attack. Seifer…Seifer…Seifer…um…hell, what the hell was his last name?
Seifer (if that was even his name) pursed his lips thoughtfully as he searched her blank face for signs of defiance. Then he wrinkled his nose and sneered, one corner of his mouth twisting cruelly upward. Madness and pain and pleasure flared out from his eyes. She felt nothing as he spoke, his voice sounding less distant now, and crueller. She'd expected it, somehow. She knew this man…damn it, what was his accursed surname?
Then he raised his hand, clutching his Gunblade and holding it aloft, pure point stabbing at the ceiling as his eyes narrowed on her face with grim purpose.
"Yes," he sneered, the words almost totally clear now. "That's what you are, messenger girl. Too. Bloody. Pathetic."
Almasy. That was it, Seifer Almasy.
No. Oh, no.
She paused in her tale. That terrible voice from across the imposing desk facing her held itself silent, displaying a gentleness not shown to the other two. Perhaps he sensed that his companion was as close to the edge as was he. The only difference was that he was merely staring into that abyss. She was dancing in frenzy upon its edge.
Finally he leaned forward and asked softly, so softly as to almost be the most hushed whisper; "Then what happened?"
Across from him, Selphie Tilmitt, once a bubbling brook of life, now a haunted ghost, raised her face to him. The dried trails of a torrent of tears stained her cheeks, and her eyes were wide and red, peeking numbly out at him from the tops of her knees, curled up against her body as her legs were. She rocked back and forth occasionally, a tight ball of pain, crippled by an anguish that defied expression when all she knew how to show was joy.
She regarded him with a pale, featureless expression for a brief instant whilst he patiently awaited her answer.
"Th…then…" A gulp, a closing of those now dark eyes and a deep breath. Continue. "Sh…she… just rushed in…"
A sharp crack, like a thunderbolt. A ragged gash appeared as if from nowhere on the arm of Seifer's coat. And blood, spurting briefly in an arc as if in pursuit of the razor chain which had drawn it from beneath both coat and skin, stained the material of his trenchcoat. Grey became darker, a burgundy shade of pain.
Seifer yelped briefly. Selphie watched his eyes widen, with surprise more than anything else, before the fingers of his left arm spasmed and she tumbled to the floor once again. The tip of Seifer's Hyperion dug into the carpet beside her as he brought his injured arm down with a jerk and clutched the wound with a trembling left hand. For a moment, Selphie stared up at him as he bit back any expression of pain. Then his lips rearranged themselves into his characteristic smirk and he swept around to greet the newcomer.
She remembered thinking how, even in pain, he still looked like a showman.
"Instructor…" he said, coldly. Selphie gathered the strength to lift her head, even that small movement intensifying the headache gradually afflicting her as Seifer's Confuse spell slowly wore off. Even with her addled mind, she knew the newcomer was dealing with something quite different from the person they knew.
Quistis Trepe, newly reinstated SeeD instructor, had neither smirk nor banter to offer. Instead, she flowed into a battle stance, her trademark Save the Queen at the ready, and stared unblinkingly at her adversary.
"Save it, Seifer," she spat, tightening her grip on her weapon. "Your posse'll be nursing a major headache later on, Irvine and Zell are dealing with the surprise you left under the house and I'm in no mood for any of your shit. Not this time, Seifer. I'll ask you once, and once only; put down your Gunblade, step away from Selphie and Mrs. Dobe and turn and face the wall."
"Only once? How considerate. Now that's how many times I have to answer you. You've really cut my work in half…instructor!"
The last word was said in a roar as he jerked his blood-covered arm up, ablaze with a spiral conflagration. But the roar stopped when the air was rent with another sharp crack. His hand jerked, leaving a fiery trail, before it discharged its burst of flame out of the wall behind Quistis. Before the flames had even finished demolishing some more of the personal effects of Dobe and his wife, she'd completed her strike and her whip snaked around in another arc towards Seifer.
This time, his Gunblade blocked her strike. Blood still flowed from the gash in his upper arm, but he didn't seem to notice as he swung it at her head in a desperate counterattack. But again, there was another crack, this time leaving a bloody trail on the back of Seifer's right hand.
Furious, too caught up in his berserk rage to even notice, he brought the blade around again, and was again blocked. Again, his coat was shredded and reddened by the opening of another gash.
When he clutched the barrel of his blade and raised it above his head, fully intending to split her in two, it cost Quistis nothing more beyond a simple flick of her strong wrist to bring her whip flashing across his chest, shredding his waistcoat and again drawing blood.
And so it went. His furious frenzy matched every time by her chill, professional mask. The seconds stretched into a minute and with each passing instant, Selphie gathered enough strength to move another muscle. With each instant, the others would finish their task and rush to their aid. With each instant, Seifer's doom approached.
But the seconds were like hours.
And, for a long time after the events of the day had passed, Selphie would remember three of them in her nightmares.
The din of the fireball bursting through the wall of the house above them was enough to hasten Irvine's pace. With a desperate command, the remaining metres of substructure between him and the platform upon which Dobe's house was built crystallised in a complex sculpture of ice.
He unshouldered his rifle, opened the chamber, dug out two cartridges, marked red, and furiously pushed them into his Exeter.
He was sort of aware that Zell was shouting something very important below him, but he heard nothing beyond the pounding of the blood in his ears as he settled against a pipe, cocked his rifle, aimed it at the remaining distance above him, now a mass of ice gleaming even in the darkness, and squeezed the trigger.
Twin lances of fire arched directly upward, devouring the ice in its path and turning it into a cascade of water, steam and tumbling blocks of ice that hadn't been melted or flashed into steam.
Not all of it was blown outward. But in his fury, he didn't even glance upward as some debris rained down, raising flurries of blue sparks as they struck the Protect shield hastily erected by Zell. He focussed only on reloading his rifle and, when he'd snapped it shut, primed and ready, he leapt upward again, scrambling from handhold to handhold, pursued by Zell.
He was screaming something about calming down and being careful, but Irvine couldn't make it out, and couldn't be bothered to.
Again, that chain flashed forward towards Quistis' adversary. It would meet a counterattack by Seifer, render it wholly useless by its sheer force, and then whip right back around to slash his arm, or hand, or chest. Sooner or later, the pain of so many wounds would tire her adversary enough for her to deal a crushing blow.
At least…
That's how it ought to have gone.
One.
When Quistis' whip sliced the air again, Selphie had almost garnered the strength and will to speak.
When Seifer spun around and raised his arm…his LEFT arm…to intercept, she'd almost found the will to push herself up off of the floor on her hands and knees.
By the time the whip's chain had struck his forearm, darkening his coat once again with blood, Selphie's head had long since cleared enough to realise that something was wrong. Especially when the chain wrapped itself tightly around his arm. Her trepidation grew, when bloody teeth showed through a taut smirk.
Two.
She opened her mouth, furiously willing her vocal cords to function. Before her, the battle dance froze, Seifer's grim smirk pitted against Quistis' fading mask.
She was off balance.
He was…
He yanked his arm back, hauling Quistis forward, the death grip with which she always held the handle never relaxing, even now.
She tumbled forward.
Steel flashed as he thrust out his Gunblade.
Three seconds.
The last Selphie saw in those clear, always sad green eyes, before they closed, was an expression of sheer shock, as Quistis stared blankly into the narrowed eyes of her victor, the cruel length of his Gunblade impaling her like a spire.
And all that she had to offer the oldest of her friends, as the last tendrils of the Confuse spell fled, was a scream of helpless anguish.
Irvine heard the Selphie's cry long before he'd even finished scrambling onto the platform supporting the house. It had died down when he shot into the house, not even sparing a glance at Fujin's crumpled, defeated form. His rifle was at the ready and he concentrated on nothing beyond reaching Selphie and Quistis and beating thirteen kinds of hell out of whomever it was they were facing. Even Zell, usually the impulsive one, had given up trying to stop Irvine's mad rush and was instead rushing right behind him, ready to offer his fists as backup.
Finally, in mere seconds, which had seemed for awhile like long hours, Irvine finally ran out of stairs and leapt into the Dobes' living room.
Seifer was gone. That crisis had subsided, but a new one presented itself, stunning him into silence and banishing the adrenaline that had clouded his mind and whipped him into a fury. Selphie Tilmitt jerked her face up at him from the floor, where she cradled a figure all pale skin, rich blonde hair and bloodstained maroon clothing, hanging lifelessly in her arms.
"Help," she whispered up at him, the shock on her face vastly surpassing his own. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please help her. I'm so sorry…"
NEXT: Prayers and fury.
A/N: Not entirely pleased with the ending to this chapter. R&R, let me know what you think of it!
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"Cid would call that 'highly commendable."
Irvine Kinneas shifted position uneasily. His coat still bore the marks of the battle earlier that morning…a scorch here, a tear there. It was an expensive coat, and may even have been beyond repair. But whilst his sense of style dictated that he keep his coat firmly donned, his trademark black Stetson hat was in his lap, as were his hands. Both trembled slightly with tension and pent up shock.
"Your skill with little tools, I mean. I suppose you don't spend as much time around weapons as you do without picking up a thing or two."
Irvine nodded dumbly, but the mild praise meant little to him. It utterly failed to untangle the knot in his stomach, nor shake the feeling of dread—at himself, mostly—after having been too…damned…slow. Swallowing, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Could…could we just get on with this, please?"
The silence from the other end of the desk couldn't be labelled as anything. All that Irvine sensed from the other man was death. Presently, there was a grunt and a dark nod, and Irvine continued, carefully keeping his voice neutral.
The hinges on the door to the Mayor's residence were surprisingly well oiled, but they could hardly withstand the combined efforts of two highly trained SeeD mercenaries. Twin kicks from both women sent the door tumbling inward, followed soon after by said women. They leaped within, moving with speed and grace, taking up positions inside the modest sized living area. They were ready for anything the remaining two bogeys could deliver. Literally.
"Look out!" yelped Selphie, swinging her nunchuks in a wide arc as Quistis, technically the field leader of the operation but by no means stupid, ducked. The weapon swung with a hiss over the top of her head, colliding with a thrown shuriken aimed at the spot her forehead might have occupied if not for Selphie's warning.
The hollow clang of the two weapons colliding echoed throughout the small room from end to end. But the deadly projectile simply whizzed away, completed its trajectory and alighted with a purr in the outstretched hand of their adversary. She regarded the two newcomers with a haughty stare with one dead grey eye, its twin a memory beneath a simple black patch. She tossed her short silver hair and allowed her body to flow into a defensive stance to mirror her opponents.
"Fujin," Quistis said plainly. "You don't have to follow him blindly. Give yourself up and I promise I'll make sure Squall and Cid will take that into account."
The other woman said nothing, and Quistis knew there was no way she would consider the offer. Fujin normally said little, apart from a few fierce, one-word statements. This time the perky woman tossed her hair even more irritably and growled.
"TORNADO."
And at her command, the air in the room came alive, a furious force of nature sweeping the two SeeDs off their feet and slamming them against the wall of the quaint living room. Dozens of ashtrays, magazines, books and pieces d'art leapt into the air and flew about the room, whizzing just inches away from the Quistis' face. Selphie shrieked momentarily, but her lips narrowed in grim concentration as she saw Fujin, reeling momentarily from the effort of casting such a spell. Her arms, like her companion's, were pinned to the wall and useless, but SeeDs had more than one method of attack.
A flurry of blue-green sparkles flared briefly around her slim body. Fujin, sensing at last what was coming, raised a hand to cast some countermeasure, or to cast reflect, but she was far too late. A bolt of lighting flared across the room, beyond the ability of the Tornado to deter it…one, two, three times it leaped from around Selphie and earthed itself in their silent antagonist.
The two had expected her to shriek, or give some sign of pain. But as the winds died down, blowing themselves out of existence, the two noted with a chill sense of apprehension, that the woman simply crumpled up without a word, or even acknowledgement that she'd been all but electrocuted. A faint indication of the trial the two had yet to face?
Allowing herself a momentary lapse, Quistis knelt down with a sigh, catching her breath. Selphie leaned against the wall, gasping, but her own respite was short lived, interrupted by a faint noise from upstairs. Hardly a shriek, more of a whimper, but enough to be heard nonetheless.
"Hyne! The mayor said everyone'd been evacuated." The slim young woman turned tail and sprinted up the stairs, ignoring the feeble protests of her fellow.
"You didn't rush immediately to give them a hand?" the voice of death continued on.
Irvine shifted again, gazing at the hat in his lap, just as Zell had done with his gauntlets. No, he hadn't. He'd stayed down there, didn't even send Zell up back the girls up. Hell, he'd even told him to shut his mouth when he made as if to scramble back up into the sunlight and into the mayor's residence. He was ruining Irvine's concentration. The girls could handle themselves, he'd said. Quit worrying. They weren't babies, they'd faced worse than this, blah, blah, blah, all the time keeping his mind focussed squarely on tracing the wires running beneath the open face of the bomb. He knew they'd be alright…
"I…look, I…" He pinched the bridge of his nose with one, trembling hand. Trembling with grief, not fear. He feared his questioner, but his sorrow at his own failure more than eclipsed that. "I thought they could handle it. He was…always so easy to take down before. I never dreamed that this would turn out like it did."
"Really?"
That black silence persisted for a moment longer.
"Well…I guess I don't have to tell you that you were wrong…"
And inside, deep inside, another piece of Irvine perished.
"Dammit, Irvine! You gonna shut that thing down or what?"
Slender fingers traced a scraggly wire to its origin, then discarded it. "In a minute, Zell."
"Look, I'm not sure if you understand this, but THINGS HAVE GOTTEN REALLY FUBAR AROUND HERE!!! Or didn't you hear the hurricane?!?"
A second trace, with fingers ever-steady. The new, green wire ran into the tangled mess to a place he hadn't ventured yet. "Be cool, Zell."
"Easy for you to say! Damn, can't you hurry it up? Oh, hyne, you're not…?"
Irvine snapped his fingers, and darted his hand into the device. There was a barely audible snap.
"You are, aren't you? HYNE, IRVINE I'M NOT SOME HYNEDAMNED CHICK YOU HAVE TO IMPRESS! STOP FOOLIN' AROUND AND STOP THAT FU…"
"It's done, Zell"
"Wha…?"
Selphie leapt with both feet onto the top level of the residence, already in a defensive stance. For a moment, only an empty, sunlit room greeted her for her trouble. Then a bloodied bundle shifted position in the corner of the room, and moaned softly.
"Mrs. Dobe!"
She abandoned her defense and leapt to the aid of the fallen woman. With a brief mutter, the bonds binding the woman froze solid, then shattered as Selphie tapped them with the end of her nunchuku. Freed, Flo Dobe rolled onto her back, head lolling listlessly. Bruises covered her motherly face, and a thin trickle of blood ran from her lips onto the scraggly carpet. Her eyes were swollen shut into slits, but two frightened eyes could be seen staring up at her rescuer.
"It's alright, ma'am," Selphie whispered soothingly, concentrating on manifesting a Curaga spell. She paused when she saw that the broken woman's lips were quivering. "Please, Mrs. Dobe, It's safe, now."
Those cracked lips quivered, and a faint voice filled with tentative panic issued forth from them. "B…be…behind…y…y…"
But the sound of a gunblade's hiss, the clank of Selphie's nunchuku and her cry of alarm drowned out what she had to say. It was an unnecessary warning anyway, by that point.
The snap of the lid of Irvine's toolbox shutting failed to drown out the cry from the levels above the two SeeDs. Zell, with his keen grasp of the world's various martial arts, only jerked up his head in alarm, keeping his balance perfectly.
Irvine's heart froze, his eyes widened and the toolbox slid from his suddenly limp fingers. The clatter of tools striking pipes, tubing, metal plates and the like somehow seemed less than the rush of blood to his ears.
"Selphie…"
Then he turned, totally ignoring his companion and leapt up through the twisted substructure, scrambling for purchase even as Zell thundered after him.
It was a battle, no doubt. But it was one-sided enough to equate to a mere skirmish. Everywhere she moved, a block, every spell she could gather the wits to cast, a Reflect, every time she swung her weapon, a clash of steel as it's chain met a purely forged Gunblade. Too furious an attack to resist, as she was backed into a corner, chewing her lip in an effort to keep from descending into panic.
In the end, her own considerable skill was really not enough to win victory. Her adversary feinted a slice at her arm, and she brought her weapon in a sweeping arc downward to intercept it. Then there was a flash in midair, as the blade seemed to change direction without warning and come down with an agonising smack on the side of her neck.
Selphie, energetic, bubbly, frail Selphie stifled a cry of alarm, as the flat of the charged blade stunned her. Then a dull thump, and the air was expelled from her body with a knee to the midriff. Then another strike, and the side of her face rung with a blow that reverberated along her entire jaw. And another, a heavy, merciless kick, sending her spinning away to land with a crack against the wall of the Dobes' upstairs room.
There was an element of panic present in her as her trembling lips moved to cast a potent Thundaga. But really, it was professional resolve that kept her wits together, born of years of training. The attack had left her bruised and dazed, but her adversary had little chance of beating her into submission. Lightning crackled along her fingertips, the handles to her nunchuku and even along its chain, with enough power to reduce her assailant into a breeze of organic dust.
Then the electricity dissipated. The Magic fled. Her useless weapon fell from limp fingertips as her limbs refused to acknowledge her will. She fell to her knees, and then collapsed onto her side. There was a vague feeling within her that there was something she really ought to be concentrating quite hard on, perhaps the chap in the grey coat arrogantly sauntering towards her, the last golden sparkles of a Confuse spell falling from his gloved fingers. But she couldn't quite make the connection between the image she saw and the course of action she should take.
Then her body felt itself being lifted, coarsely, off of the floor and then being pinned against the wall, so that her face was level with an angry red scar, two frozen green eyes and a thin mouth, corners upturned into a smirk which seemed somewhat familiar.
"So. The messenger girl."
The voice was slick, confident…and disappointed. The lips moved, but the sounds that issued from them took an instant more to reach her ears.
"I wanted her, you know. Or puberty boy. Or that irritating cowboy. Even Zell, the shadowboxing, hot-dog devouring, fashion-taste defying chicken- wuss. Wouldn't have come amiss. But you're the one to face me?"
Seifer. Seifer something, she couldn't quite remember his other name. But she was making progress…a few moments previously, she hadn't been able to recognise his face at all, much less remember his name. He seemed different from what she'd expected, though. She couldn't quite recall how he'd been, or even if she'd met him before now, but there was a sense of unfamiliarity.
"She could have filled the emptiness, given me closure. I'm just wandering in a void, now. Instead, I've got you. And I think I've shown you how pathetic you are by comparison."
She felt indignant. That was good. It meant the numbness in her head was going away. She tried to speak, to protest at her treatment, but the tingling sensation of awakening hadn't yet spread to her lips, and her ability to speak was as surely neutralised as if she'd been on the receiving end if a Silence attack. Seifer…Seifer…Seifer…um…hell, what the hell was his last name?
Seifer (if that was even his name) pursed his lips thoughtfully as he searched her blank face for signs of defiance. Then he wrinkled his nose and sneered, one corner of his mouth twisting cruelly upward. Madness and pain and pleasure flared out from his eyes. She felt nothing as he spoke, his voice sounding less distant now, and crueller. She'd expected it, somehow. She knew this man…damn it, what was his accursed surname?
Then he raised his hand, clutching his Gunblade and holding it aloft, pure point stabbing at the ceiling as his eyes narrowed on her face with grim purpose.
"Yes," he sneered, the words almost totally clear now. "That's what you are, messenger girl. Too. Bloody. Pathetic."
Almasy. That was it, Seifer Almasy.
No. Oh, no.
She paused in her tale. That terrible voice from across the imposing desk facing her held itself silent, displaying a gentleness not shown to the other two. Perhaps he sensed that his companion was as close to the edge as was he. The only difference was that he was merely staring into that abyss. She was dancing in frenzy upon its edge.
Finally he leaned forward and asked softly, so softly as to almost be the most hushed whisper; "Then what happened?"
Across from him, Selphie Tilmitt, once a bubbling brook of life, now a haunted ghost, raised her face to him. The dried trails of a torrent of tears stained her cheeks, and her eyes were wide and red, peeking numbly out at him from the tops of her knees, curled up against her body as her legs were. She rocked back and forth occasionally, a tight ball of pain, crippled by an anguish that defied expression when all she knew how to show was joy.
She regarded him with a pale, featureless expression for a brief instant whilst he patiently awaited her answer.
"Th…then…" A gulp, a closing of those now dark eyes and a deep breath. Continue. "Sh…she… just rushed in…"
A sharp crack, like a thunderbolt. A ragged gash appeared as if from nowhere on the arm of Seifer's coat. And blood, spurting briefly in an arc as if in pursuit of the razor chain which had drawn it from beneath both coat and skin, stained the material of his trenchcoat. Grey became darker, a burgundy shade of pain.
Seifer yelped briefly. Selphie watched his eyes widen, with surprise more than anything else, before the fingers of his left arm spasmed and she tumbled to the floor once again. The tip of Seifer's Hyperion dug into the carpet beside her as he brought his injured arm down with a jerk and clutched the wound with a trembling left hand. For a moment, Selphie stared up at him as he bit back any expression of pain. Then his lips rearranged themselves into his characteristic smirk and he swept around to greet the newcomer.
She remembered thinking how, even in pain, he still looked like a showman.
"Instructor…" he said, coldly. Selphie gathered the strength to lift her head, even that small movement intensifying the headache gradually afflicting her as Seifer's Confuse spell slowly wore off. Even with her addled mind, she knew the newcomer was dealing with something quite different from the person they knew.
Quistis Trepe, newly reinstated SeeD instructor, had neither smirk nor banter to offer. Instead, she flowed into a battle stance, her trademark Save the Queen at the ready, and stared unblinkingly at her adversary.
"Save it, Seifer," she spat, tightening her grip on her weapon. "Your posse'll be nursing a major headache later on, Irvine and Zell are dealing with the surprise you left under the house and I'm in no mood for any of your shit. Not this time, Seifer. I'll ask you once, and once only; put down your Gunblade, step away from Selphie and Mrs. Dobe and turn and face the wall."
"Only once? How considerate. Now that's how many times I have to answer you. You've really cut my work in half…instructor!"
The last word was said in a roar as he jerked his blood-covered arm up, ablaze with a spiral conflagration. But the roar stopped when the air was rent with another sharp crack. His hand jerked, leaving a fiery trail, before it discharged its burst of flame out of the wall behind Quistis. Before the flames had even finished demolishing some more of the personal effects of Dobe and his wife, she'd completed her strike and her whip snaked around in another arc towards Seifer.
This time, his Gunblade blocked her strike. Blood still flowed from the gash in his upper arm, but he didn't seem to notice as he swung it at her head in a desperate counterattack. But again, there was another crack, this time leaving a bloody trail on the back of Seifer's right hand.
Furious, too caught up in his berserk rage to even notice, he brought the blade around again, and was again blocked. Again, his coat was shredded and reddened by the opening of another gash.
When he clutched the barrel of his blade and raised it above his head, fully intending to split her in two, it cost Quistis nothing more beyond a simple flick of her strong wrist to bring her whip flashing across his chest, shredding his waistcoat and again drawing blood.
And so it went. His furious frenzy matched every time by her chill, professional mask. The seconds stretched into a minute and with each passing instant, Selphie gathered enough strength to move another muscle. With each instant, the others would finish their task and rush to their aid. With each instant, Seifer's doom approached.
But the seconds were like hours.
And, for a long time after the events of the day had passed, Selphie would remember three of them in her nightmares.
The din of the fireball bursting through the wall of the house above them was enough to hasten Irvine's pace. With a desperate command, the remaining metres of substructure between him and the platform upon which Dobe's house was built crystallised in a complex sculpture of ice.
He unshouldered his rifle, opened the chamber, dug out two cartridges, marked red, and furiously pushed them into his Exeter.
He was sort of aware that Zell was shouting something very important below him, but he heard nothing beyond the pounding of the blood in his ears as he settled against a pipe, cocked his rifle, aimed it at the remaining distance above him, now a mass of ice gleaming even in the darkness, and squeezed the trigger.
Twin lances of fire arched directly upward, devouring the ice in its path and turning it into a cascade of water, steam and tumbling blocks of ice that hadn't been melted or flashed into steam.
Not all of it was blown outward. But in his fury, he didn't even glance upward as some debris rained down, raising flurries of blue sparks as they struck the Protect shield hastily erected by Zell. He focussed only on reloading his rifle and, when he'd snapped it shut, primed and ready, he leapt upward again, scrambling from handhold to handhold, pursued by Zell.
He was screaming something about calming down and being careful, but Irvine couldn't make it out, and couldn't be bothered to.
Again, that chain flashed forward towards Quistis' adversary. It would meet a counterattack by Seifer, render it wholly useless by its sheer force, and then whip right back around to slash his arm, or hand, or chest. Sooner or later, the pain of so many wounds would tire her adversary enough for her to deal a crushing blow.
At least…
That's how it ought to have gone.
One.
When Quistis' whip sliced the air again, Selphie had almost garnered the strength and will to speak.
When Seifer spun around and raised his arm…his LEFT arm…to intercept, she'd almost found the will to push herself up off of the floor on her hands and knees.
By the time the whip's chain had struck his forearm, darkening his coat once again with blood, Selphie's head had long since cleared enough to realise that something was wrong. Especially when the chain wrapped itself tightly around his arm. Her trepidation grew, when bloody teeth showed through a taut smirk.
Two.
She opened her mouth, furiously willing her vocal cords to function. Before her, the battle dance froze, Seifer's grim smirk pitted against Quistis' fading mask.
She was off balance.
He was…
He yanked his arm back, hauling Quistis forward, the death grip with which she always held the handle never relaxing, even now.
She tumbled forward.
Steel flashed as he thrust out his Gunblade.
Three seconds.
The last Selphie saw in those clear, always sad green eyes, before they closed, was an expression of sheer shock, as Quistis stared blankly into the narrowed eyes of her victor, the cruel length of his Gunblade impaling her like a spire.
And all that she had to offer the oldest of her friends, as the last tendrils of the Confuse spell fled, was a scream of helpless anguish.
Irvine heard the Selphie's cry long before he'd even finished scrambling onto the platform supporting the house. It had died down when he shot into the house, not even sparing a glance at Fujin's crumpled, defeated form. His rifle was at the ready and he concentrated on nothing beyond reaching Selphie and Quistis and beating thirteen kinds of hell out of whomever it was they were facing. Even Zell, usually the impulsive one, had given up trying to stop Irvine's mad rush and was instead rushing right behind him, ready to offer his fists as backup.
Finally, in mere seconds, which had seemed for awhile like long hours, Irvine finally ran out of stairs and leapt into the Dobes' living room.
Seifer was gone. That crisis had subsided, but a new one presented itself, stunning him into silence and banishing the adrenaline that had clouded his mind and whipped him into a fury. Selphie Tilmitt jerked her face up at him from the floor, where she cradled a figure all pale skin, rich blonde hair and bloodstained maroon clothing, hanging lifelessly in her arms.
"Help," she whispered up at him, the shock on her face vastly surpassing his own. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please help her. I'm so sorry…"
NEXT: Prayers and fury.