Faded Dreams, Falling Like Rain
A Final Fantasy VII Fan Fiction by Sarah Digna Yudlowitz, Jenova's Puppet Strings
E-mail Address: Lildeharou@aol.com (Send all questions, comments, praises flames, etc. here)
AIM screenname: SentientOrchids (If you wish to talk to the author, she will be happy to respond)
Dream . . .
Dream of death . . .
Dream of moonlight . . .
Legal Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII and all of its characters belong to the company of Squaresoft. I do not claim these
characters or the concept of the game for my own. This work is not to be distributed, sold, or posted anywhere without the
consent of its author. Comments and encouragements are always welcomed, as they are a part of the enjoyment of writing
Fan fiction. Please take this into consideration while you read the following fiction.
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The Author's Note: This might be my last chapter until at least August twenty-ninth. Why, pray tell? It's because I have to go
and take a regent on the sixteenth, so I have to study. And I then have to go Florida, where old folks go to die, and where my
folks take me to destroy my perfect milky whiteness. DAMN THEM! Anyway, for a change, this chapter is in the head of
Sephiroth.
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Chapter Twenty-three
It's raining hard on this crutial day of battle with the Wutain forces. The battalion,
expectantly, is silent. The dawn will break in roughly thirty minutes. That is when I will lead
them to Shinra's victory. I cannot think about the costs. I cannot think about losing this battle, or
the young lives that have been taken at the end of my blade, and by the guns of my troops. There
are many of the battalion that have been killed. I don't see faces any longer . . . I don't see lives
thrown in the balance. I see my duty. Nothing else. Shinra tells me what's expected of me . . . and
I comply. All I've ever known was Shinra.
I try to cleanse myself of all thoughts as I sit inside a trench I've dug with my troops,
polishing Masamune, but all I can think about is: how many lives have I taken with this blade I
cherish so? Masamune is my only friend. My only companion. Masamune has felt my strikes, my
oponents, and aided in their demises. A sentinel has but one friend, I find myself thinking
bitterly, his weapon. That is how it's fated to be. My life is lonely, but it's better to have no
attachments.
"General?" Comes a cock-sure voice from behind me. It's my second-in-command, I
dully note. I remain quiet. I had heard his approach, his rushed breath. It's a whisper, but I can
still attest the emotion. Pride. He's excited. I'm almost inclined to scoff. I do not turn around. I
don't want to see his face; his eyes. I become aware of how I list things in my head. So
monotonic . . . so cold . Even as I speak to myself, I can never seem to succumb fully to what I
am feeling. But I am not told to feel, I tell myself. I am an asset. Isn't that always what I've been?
"General . . . the troops are ready." I finish polishing Masamune, and I walk past him, toward
where these young prospects gather.
"Then let us go in early. It makes no difference, anyway. They're completely vulnerable
to our attack."
"It was amazing how you led us into battle last time, sir, if you don't mind my saying.". I
nodded, but waved him back. Praise did little to soothe my unrest. The events as follows are not
as detailed in my memory. My attempts at numbing myself succeeded considerably, and I
concentrated wholly on the task at hand. The first wave SOLDIERs came first, sleep spells at
their disposals, amongst other ailments that could be induced to subdue an enemy. By the second
wave, I began to notice a trend in the fighting techniques of my battalion. The Wutains had little
materia at their disposal. The battalion knew this through their careful inspection of Wutai's
resources.
"Why aren't they using magick? They're going to get themselves killed!" I watched, the
anger building in my chest, as one of the younger SOLDIERs from the first wave sprang upon a
Wutain ninja, his sword swinging wildly, ripping into the flesh with the bite of steel with a force
that sent the body sprawling backward. The SOLDIER stood gasping for precious seconds, and I
saw the utter blankness in his eyes . . . the way in which he fought made me grimace. He was
slaughtered instantly from behind. "Berserkers . . ."
"Sir?"His voice was so distant now.
"Who warranted this?" I found myself seething.My second-in-command said nothing,
and I turned to face him, finally coaxing his name from my mind. Aiden Maelstrom. What a
fitting surname. "Maelstrom," I said, my tone fighting to remain calm, "Do you understand that I
can court-martial you if you withhold information from me?"
"President Shinra himself, General," Maelstrom returned, his Makou eyes meeting mine.
They wavered under my icy stare, and I ordered the last waves ahead, keeping back those who
held cannons of Makou.
"I trust that you won't further disappoint me, Lieutenant," I told Maelstrom, gesturing
towards theSOLDIERs in the trench. "Tell them to aim appropriately, according to their orders."
I leapt from the trench, casting a lightning spell at a group of Wutain soldiers in the distance as
they tried to retreat back into their tents. I stalked into their makeshift barracks. Having
surveyed the area, their General was nowhere in sight. The Wutains were falling easily, I
observed, even though the Berserker turned SOLDIERs were susceptible to attacks in their
careless state of raw anger.
I searched the tents, pulling each one open and peering around. Although the sun was
rising, it was still dark, and my eyes shifted, picking up heat patterns, dropping my formal
peripheral vision. I couldn't remember a time when I couldn't do this. Light had always hurt my
eyes, but after becoming a member of SOLDIER, I had to get used to the pain that I associated
with the giant star. But pain had always been easily pushed aside for me; as easily as I tossed
back these tent covers.
Inside, many holy items lay. Beads of all sorts, shapes, and sizes rested upon large
paintings of Wutai's god, Kjata, his disciples 'round him. This was beginning to become
irritating. And then I spotted a more elaborate tent. Instinctively, my lips drew back in a snarl. It
was typical. These Wutains were foolish lots. I held myself open for different possibilities, but
doing this for so long, I could almost know what was going to happen.
Tearing Masamune through the cloth of the tent, I stepped inside, fully prepared for an
attack of sorts. But inside, there was darkness. The faint smell of tobacco and sex hung in the air
like a cheap perfume, and a candle, recently blown out, drifted smoke around the air. Someone
was here, obviously not doing a good job of hiding their presence. I heard a noise from behind
me, rather close, so I turned sharply, thrusting Masamune forward on impulse. My eyes then
made contact with a dark-eyed kimono-clad woman as my blade tore into her belly. She dropped
her weapon, clutching uselessly at the blade that had punctured through her. I cursed myself for
being so sure, and wrenched the blade out, hearing her choke on the blood and bile that rose in
her mouth before she fell backward, her eyes clouded as she let out a last breath. And then they
dulled from their widened state. Cadaver eyes never ceased to be something that made me
uneasy. I tore the thin material from her body, and confirmed my suspicions. She was pregnant. I
had killed women before, but . . . never children. My eyes went to the weapon she'd been holding
ready. A Murasame.
I left the tent, an ice spell at the ready. It flowed from my fingers, stunning several black-clad ninjas that advanced toward me from the side. My already blood-drenched sword found its
way into more bellies, throats, and finally, the General stood before me. Masamune raised over
my shoulder, I stared evenly at him. He bent down, sword at his feet, and then bowed.
" . . . I will call off the rest of my troops," the man said evenly. He knew when to
surrender.
***
I sat, idly placing my hands around the glass of champagne I'd been drinking slowly for
the past hour. Champagne was a rarity, I realized, but I had never liked anything alcoholic. It
was silly and frivolous, and the feeling it gave was too much like the procedures Hojo had run
over me when I was younger.
Shinra staff came and went to toast with me and leave to the ballroom floor. Good, let
them enjoy their frivolous dancing and happiness, I thought. Better them than myself. Some of
the higher ranking SOLDIERs stand around, and I silently search the banquet -held in Shinra's
honor- for the face of Lieutenant Maelstrom.
"Looking for me?" a voice says from my side. It's a woman's voice, and it belongs to
Scarlet, head of the Weapon division of Shinra Incorporated. I sigh inwardly.
"No," I say bluntly. She looks at me as if disappointed.
"Well, that's all right. Because I came looking for you. I just had to find a secluded place
away from all the merriment."
"I'm not here to socialize," I answer. Immediately, I regret my choice of words.
"So what exactly are you here for? Aren't you happy for Shinra?" Scarlet asked, crossing
her legs on the stool next to mine. I absently wonder how she's managed to find a tighter, more
low-cut dress for the banquet. Twirling the champagne glass in my hand and drinking it to give
myself something to do that won't hinder my disgust at this woman, I just shake my head.
"I was told to attend," I reply. Scarlet raises a brow and suddenly gets a glint in her eye.
"Well," she says, slurring the word, "the award ceremony isn't until nineteen-hundred
hours."
"You're right. I'm going to go wait in my room until then," I say. There are so many
reasons why I detest alcohol, I remind myself. There are also many reasons for detesting Scarlet.
Who hasn't she claimed in this corporation? And then President Shinra stops me on my way out.
"Ah, General," he says, his grin broad. He holds out his hand, and I shake it in a
comradely gesture, even though I do not want to be here. Anywhere but in the presence of those
whom I've known my whole pathetic life, never once given humanly kindness. Is it even kindness
they afford me? Offer me? No, I remind myself. I am an asset, always ripe for the taking. They
ask. I comply. They ask once more. The take of all I have. But I have nothing but myself. I don't
belong to myself. I am an asset. My stream of thought ends abruptly as I force the pain to
subside. I cannot feel. Will not. "I trust your evening fairs well, now that the Wutains have
surrendered."
"It is a relief, President," I answer truthfully. "The Wutains were honorable opponents,
however stubborn they were."
"So I've heard. We're planning on infiltrating through their resources now. It seems like
a wonderful power source. It's secluded by all those mountains."
"Yes, sir. Many of the Chocobos have died."
"We can breed more," the President laughed, waving his hand about as if dismissing
even thinking of it. "I also have heard about your performance in the final battle."
"Sir, if I may ask something?" I succeed in keeping the anger from my voice. It's a
wonder that I even try. For what?
"Of course, Sephiroth," he says, finally using my name.I find myself thinking back to that
SOLDIER's eyes as he attacked without clear thought. Those eyes lacked definite emotion.
"Why did you order my battalion to cast Berserk spells on themselves?" I asked as
calmly as I could, with thinking of the dying Kimono-clad woman's fate. Lifestream. With the
spirits. Returned to the Earth. There were millions of euphemisms. I just felt like staying in my
room until someone came to get me. I lived in the barracks, my room to myself. But it wasn't
really to myself, was it? I had an office too, but it wasn't a safe haven. While the room in the
barracks had a number, and nothing else, the office had "General Sephiroth" upon the glass in
bold black letters. None of the recruits dared to disturb me, but the Shinra developmental staff,
and sometimes the Turks came to deliver messages from the President . . . or Hojo.
"I'll have Tseng explain it to you later, hmm? All that matters is that the war has been
ended quickly and efficiently, with your help and mine," Shinra grinned. I took that as my cue to
leave, because I could no longer abandon the rising tides of anger, but for reasons I know not of,
I stayed close to President Shinra, but inconspicuous, listening as he turned back to his social
entourage. A few moments went by and Scarlet sauntered up to him at his side. She whispered a
few things to him, of which I only caught snippets. They were relatively far away, and my honed
sense of hearing could only pick up so much. But I did know they were talking about me. I
paced, scoffed, and brooded in a corner as couples danced past me in their own little world.
Now and then I saw Scarlet looking at me. I didn't care that she knew I was there. I hoped she
was wondering if I could hear or not. President Shinra laughed at something the woman said
and nodded. "Sephiroth is a wonderful general. After what I heard about General Takashiri's
wife and unborn child, I am more than ever certain that Sephiroth is devoted to being a cold
hard warrior. He sought what Takashiri's most prized possession was, and eliminated her."
Something dormant in me snapped with those words. I left, and I did not plan to attend
my own ceremony. I slipped silently into the barracks, the fireflies and the moon vexing me with
their light. I didn't need light or companionship. I needed sleep. Yes, sleep sounded good. But my
train of thought soon died when I spotted a warmth pattern ahead, stretched over the ground. I
walked closer, silently.
"The stars are beautiful , aren't they?" the figure asked. He turned his head toward me,
smiling sadly.
"The adjective beautiful . . ." I scoff, "is wasted upon everything."
"How do you figure?"
"You can talk about it on many levels, but on one or another, beauty has a double
entendre."
"I don't like to think about deep stuff," the man responded, and laughed up at the sky.
"But sometimes, I think about Makou and Lifestream. It will run out one day."
"Of course it will," I answer.
"But no one cares, because Shinra doesn't. I'm glad they fired me."
"Maelstrom," I say, immediately knowing to whom I'm speaking to now.
"The one and only. So, Sephiroth, you've got skeletons in your closet." I raise a brow. I'm
not sure what he means. I'm hardly familiar with Midgar slang.
"Excuse me?" I ask.
"I saw you attacking those ninjas. There was something in your eyes that made you the
coldest man I've ever known. Hojo can do that to you." He stood up an rolled up the sleeve of his
sweater, showing me a faded Roman Numeral Two tattoo on his left bicep. My eyes narrow, and
I look at Maelstrom's face. "When I was a kid, I'd bounce back and forth between the streets and
a shelter for homeless parentless children. I was an Orphan, alone. I was eight when Hojo came
to take me to Shinra. I was promised everything, and instead, I was a Lab rat. By Shiva, I've
never gotten over that shit." Aiden Maelstrom's makou green eyes twinkled with something
undefinable to me as he rolled the sleeve of his sweater back down. "It was right after you were
born."
***
"This poor man's sick," Aerith whispered to Cloud, who was staring at the shell of the
man in front of him. He sat at the edge of his bed in a large pipe, no longer used for anything
important, and so became his dwelling. His head lolled back and he murmured an incoherent
slew of babel. His chest heaved and his shoulders shook as he fought to stay right. He gave
Cloud an accusatory look, but the boy leaned in when he caught the tattoo on the man's left arm.
"Number . . . two? What does that mean?"
Lilith curled her fingers, feeling the IV give her sustenence as her eyes drifted open.
There was rain. And the hazy cloud that filled her mind. She closed her eyes again and tried to
clear away the dream from her memory. There was something very wrong about it. For it to have
happened, she couldn't have existed.
