Blood Feast

Chapter 8: Where Angels Fear to Tread

The materia hadn't worked on creatures whose thought processes bordered on self-aware. Behemoths had the intelligence of angry adolescent humans, the bulk of freighters. Materia no larger than their taste buds would, of course, be child's play to things like them. Easily toyed with, easily ignored. If only he had some that was a little more mature. But Cloud, Yuffie, even Reeve…

Manufactured materia never did boast much power, anyways, but accessibility.

No matter. Vincent left the Forgotten City and continent far, far behind him. Now, despite a few annoyances, he was well on his way to the next destination.

Some would say that it might have been too soon to make a return. He pictured it now, to near photographic perfection: The perpetual red shroud hanging on the air. The scorched and twisted structures which reached for the sky, or stood staked deep into the earth. Hillocks of scrap as far as the eye could see. The occasional shallow grave or open pit of corpses, man or beast, yet to be marked or cleaned away accordingly. The odd building here or there, touched by a miracle, therefore unscathed, therefore still occupied.

The dead moon that took its sweet time drifting farther off into space.

Beyond that, the sky above mimicked an eternal gray noon, a sky once thick with the choking fumes of poison city life replaced with the haze of cloying, red space dust. The air reeked even then, after untold months, of scorched trash and debris. Ruins of houses and stores lain scattered all around the freshly desolate battlefield. Pillars of burnt stone and torn webs of charred cables adorned the former sectored slums, emanating the miasma of an urban necropolis, a graveyard for towns of the innocent and corrupt and everything in between. In the meantime that Vincent strode through the skeletal remains of Midgar, he would discern a lost corpse here or there that he pictured in much the same way before his arrival, remnants of people who refused to leave their homes or were unable to flee or brave the angry storms that spiraled down from above. To be lost in abysmal silence until the day cleansing gales would wipe the land of their bones turned to dust, back to where they belong with the Planet.

Midgar. Poor-

"What?" Vincent wrenched his head at the air. To his right, out of the very corner of his eye, he caught a fleeting flash of movement. It disappeared round a giant fallen plate from the upper levels. It was miles in diameter, slanted towards the ground with buildings spilling off the side. Vincent, alarmed by that sound, pursued it to wherever its destination lay. He dashed off, Death Penalty at his fingertips. He tracked the unseen entity for a few miles before realizing where he was headed. Through the carcass of a sector, the den of the crooked and depraved, Wall Market, with its crushed and abandoned bars and filthy shops and disease-ridden brothels, places to which he had to admit visiting once or twice long, long ago. Past an old playground destroyed twice over. South to where he had once known the Sector 5 Slums to be, now comprised only of mounds of trash, wood, metal, and stone. A quick veering off to the east.

To the church.

Aerith's church, her second memorial. It was merely a pile of rubble, but its interior remained accessible in spite of the devastation dealt. Vincent entered warily, hand poised on his gun, eyes searching the cold empty environs of the still hallowed site. Still here, somehow.

"Vincent," said a voice.

His voice.

He looked ahead, up the aisle that separated the splintered pews. Yatsui knelt at the edge of the upturned floorboards of the church floor, cleared to make way for the garden that Aerith had long ago planted. Vincent recalled the many yellow blossoms that thrived under a solitary beam of sunlight when he and Cloud and the others had visited Midgar a time after her death. But over the pale man's head, he could see the remainder of her garden dwindling and struggling under the lack of light that Meteor denied. All that remained were a few dull buds and wilting stalks of shriveled petals drooping to the ground.

Vincent neared the other man. "You know, turning up wherever I go is a pretty picture you do not paint for yourself."

He made no effort to answer. He solely gazed down at the sickly bed, then taking a moment to touch a finger to one of the flowers. "Poor little flowers. How you strive for life that might soon end. Caught in the shadow of death. Where is the one who brought you life and nurtured you? Gone, it seems. But not by choice, I deem. Poor dying blossoms, it is not your fault; you are not to blame for any of this. You need not the pain you suffer. Bestow it to me so you may live again…"

"Yatsui," Vincent called, growing agitated. Yatsui appeared to flinch at his own name this time. He glanced over his shoulder then aimed his eyes back upon the diminished garden.

"Vincent. Why did you come here? This place, so full of pain. Makes my soul, if I had one, reel in shock and empathy. It… is almost too much to bear."

"I assume you think my business is your business now, that I should concede my every intention," he remarked. "Is that right?"

"I sense hostility, but harm is the last thing on my mind, Mr. Valentine," Yatsui sighed. "As is alienation. In any case, I should apologize. I know my behavior is untoward, brash, even. We are not familiar with each other."

Vincent glimpsed an opportunity to, at last, glean Yatsui's true nature. He took a few steps closer to the man brooding over the neglected garden, preparing himself.

"Hm. Pain is what makes a human… human, no? To feel no pain is to not be human. Could that be why I desire it so? To be human, like you, my dear Vincent Valentine?" he asked in the most innocent voice a man could ever have. The child in him reared itself up yet again. Vincent stared down at the pate of his gently shaking head. "What am I doing? I ask for the agony of other people, in turn, dehumanizing them. But all will feel it, nonetheless. Pain is endless…"

"So, what are you, then? If you aren't human?" the gunman queried, finally. Yatsui chuckled, an eerily quiet noise that could have gone wholly unnoticed.

"So, you really wish to know? Is it that important to know what I am?"

"If it'll shed light on your ridiculous behavior, I'd think so."

"Haha. Well, then… I see your need to learn the truth is incredibly strong for someone like you. And your understanding of what exceeds the natural, given your being surrounded by it. The supernatural." Yatsui rose to his full height before Vincent, facing him with staid but dignified eyes that could most certainly stifle the defiant or wither the meek if they really wanted or needed. His translucent lips crooked in the corners, the precursor to a smile that ultimately never came to light. "I ask once more, do you wish to see, to know, what I truly am? You might be surprised, you might be drawn to fear, you might…"

"You underestimate me if you think what you have to show could scare me," Vincent replied curtly. Yatsui smirked finally at the other man's candor.

"What confidence. I should have known better than to say that about a man such as your stature and bearing. Alright, I shall show you my true self, the form that has isolated me from humankind since time immemorial. But beware; I do not retract what I said moments ago."

Vincent shrugged in response. He never expected him to do anything of the sort. He was only concerned with knowing the truth, as far as why this annoying man continued to make his presence known when and wherever, at any given time. And for further insight into why he hungered for people's pain.

He nodded at Yatsui. And the man returned the gesture, smiling sadly at the same time.

Yatsui splayed his arms out from his body, slender fingered hands supine. He lifted his chin at a slight angle and closed his eyes. Every external noise seemed to fall off into silence in this strange ritual that the man had begun to perform. But that quiet was shattered quick by a mild wind that picked up out of nowhere, running through both men's clothes, but mostly it centered on Yatsui's feet, causing his robe to whip wild over his long legs.

Vincent staggered back, spying particles of gray light materialize beyond the dusty red air, dashing in vivid motions like fireflies fighting for their lives. The air thickened with the fragments of ethereal light abounding and swirling in circles. A font had sprung from Yatsui's body, not quite blinding but overwhelming, nonetheless. The luminosity formed as mist, swallowed him up, his outline the only visible indication that he still existed there.

It took a moment for Vincent to realize that he was frowning, a hard frown in something like disbelief. The misty illumination began to take form. A figure drew out of the mist, becoming taller than anything humanly possible, rising seven feet, perhaps more— Vincent doubted Barret could compare, for once.

He looked closer, focusing on something that appeared to be deviate from human shape. It was one of Yatsui's arms. As he saw it, it wasn't an arm, but an extremity molded into something else entirely. It was a wing, which arced high over his head, its tips below brushing the floor as it grew fuller and fuller.

"How is this for truth?"

Vincent fought the temptation to pull his gun on the eerie force that resonated throughout the church debris.

He had nothing to say this time. He could only look on at the spectacle in subdued awe.

There were few things in life he never knew existed, or quite existed. This was one of them.

His body swathed in a gray fog, his face still white like salt but all features of it obliterated, save for those dull golden eyes. The wing that replaced his right arm was like a chiseled phosphorescent slab of marble, the hazy down exuding a generous glow.

"This is what I am," said the hollow bell of a voice. "Are you not scared? Tell me, please, what think you?"

Silence.

"Vincent-"

"So, you're some kind of spirit? Or—and I hesitate to say this—an ang…"

The figure raised its translucent hand to stay the supposition of his nature. Then he let his hand fall back to his narrow hip, with wisps of light rising then fading to nothing after that steady movement of his arm.

"No. There is no name for what I am. You could say I am nonexistence personified. Or you could say not. Think whatever you will of me after this but never believe me to be anything more than that."

Is this real? Vincent thought. In seeing this form, what Yatsui called his true from, he couldn't help thinking of some sort of angel at the very least. Or rather… half an angel? But what kind of psychopomp had an arm for a wing? Fallen? Unfinished? On the verge of a death that distorted its body in funny ways before breaking apart?

"What are you thinking, Vincent? Please tell me," the voice entreated, which sounded as though it traveled through a long, barren tunnel just to reach his ears. Vincent sensed a gap, some indeterminable distance open up between him and Yatsui, who was now clear as day not human. All notions of empathy for the man—not a man—seemed to drop away. Despite that he should've been more understanding. They weren't that different, but…

He just couldn't figure it out.

"Well, that does it." Vincent lowered his gun. "This explains something. But what? So, you're a monster then? Something that eats the unwanted parts of humans? The mind? The body? The soul? Which is it? And why?"

"I do not know. In that perspective, I find it difficult to answer, but what an astute inquiry you bring to the table." The creature paused. "It may vary from person to person. The pain insurmountable may lie in their flesh, the agony may burrow deep into their soul, suffering may flood the mind, overflowing to the point of suffocation. Had my sustenance always been such? I cannot-"

"Vincent?"

Heads turned to the entrance of the church.

That shock of sun-yellow hair was sight for sore eyes at this point in time. The accompanying grayish blond, not quite as much.

Vincent sighed and glanced back to Yatsui, who had vanished in a helix of dim mist, leaving behind dusty footprints at the broken floorboards. He bent down and ran a cursory finger through them, feeling the grain between his thumb and index finger.

Cloud and Cid strolled up the aisle to their silent companion, taking places on each side of him.

"What are you doing here?" asked the younger of the two blonds, patting the gunman's shoulder in greeting. "I thought you went back to sleep."

Vincent studied the dust a little closer. Was it salt, or sand? The grains felt crude, like microscopic cubes. Then he aimed his eyes upon Cloud and started with his typical emotionless pitch, "I could ask the same of you and Cid. In another manner of speaking, of course."

"Well, I…" Cloud shrugged modestly. "I needed to come here for something… and I called on Cid to bring me to Midgar. He's just tagging along for a bit."

"An' what the hell are you doin' here? Finally rose up out of that moldy-ass coffin for good this time?" Cid remarked, a cigarette pressed between his windblown lips. Vincent glared at him then down at the ground. Where did he slip off to? I can only hope it's for good this time but… The question remains, what is he? "Hey, earth to Vincent! What are we, chopped liver? Why I oughta-"

"Cid, you oughta calm down. I hope you don't ever have kids," Cloud warned. The older blond backed up a step, rubbing at the back of his head as though embarrassed.

"Hey, what in many hells do kids have to do with anything…"

"Anyway. Vince, what's up? This isn't the usual place for a walk in the park," Cloud said.

"I have a little problem. Thought I'd pick around Shinra HQ for some records," he answered, eyes rising up to the collapsed roof. He distinguished a faint shadow lingering amongst the broken support beams that still managed not to cave in on themselves. Vincent leered.

"A problem?" Cloud repeated curiously. "What kind of problem?"

"Monsters!" Cid exclaimed.

"Hold on, Cid. Now, what's your problem, Vince? Maybe we can-"

"Fuck, Cloud, you spiky haired shithead! Monsters! Some goddamn monsters are here!" the man blurted out, wheeling Cloud in the direction of the church's threshold. Gathered there at the doorway were a horde of skittering things like giant worms on legs, more legs and circular sets of overgrown teeth. Whole Eaters. Cloud drew his ever imposing broadsword over a shoulder and jumped in front of Cid. "Shit, and me without my spear!"

"These guys aren't a problem. But why so many in one place?" the young blond noted. Vincent drew Death Penalty, releasing its safety.

"They're here because of me," he said, sighing.

"What? Why?"

"They smell something on me. I think it might be Jenova."

"Great. Even when she's dead, she still causes trouble," Cloud scoffed.

"Vincent, draw back," warned a whisper. Vincent blinked upward.

"What're you scheming?

"Cloud." Vincent snatched Cloud back a few feet, just prior to a crackling boom ripping through the church and a balloon of lightning hammering down on the Whole Eaters. It burst once it touched the ground, sending the monsters flying in every direction, splattering like hapless insects on a windshield as they hit the walls.

"What in the fuckin' hell was that?" Cid yelled in surprise.

"Don't look now, because here comes something else!" Cloud jabbed a finger towards the burnt frame of the doorway. Another entity lurked just outside, grunting, snorting, and snarling softly as though surveying its surroundings in the greatest of patience. The ground somewhat rumbled with each careful step of the thing but unseen by the little male band.

"It's definitely a big one," Vincent said in a low voice.

"You'd think that Meteor would've offed all of the big things that couldn't hide in Midgar's nooks and crannies," Cloud opined.

"Hell, you forget about the network of train tunnels that run through and under Midgar? The sewer systems, all o' that?" Cid told him. "There's plenty o' places for the big asses to hide out in."

A shadow swished by the doorway, colliding with the outer wall. The decrepit structure rattled and shook with dust and rubble seeping out of its many crevices, also dislodging a few loose bricks from the pieces of walls that still stood to this day. They clattered on the floor, alarming the faceless entity and prompting it to move closer to the church's entry. A round, glowing yellow eye peered inside, glimpsing the three men huddled within.

"Shit." Cloud exhaled tiredly. "A Behemoth. Dammit, they're like roaches."

"Hmm," Vincent sounded thoughtfully. Fortunately, it was only the weaker of its species, but powerful, still. The violet skinned beast wailed and jutted its heavy claw through the doorway. Cloud, Vincent and Cid pulled back to the hindermost corners of the church, overstepping the flowerbed. The monster's angry movements splintered the wood frame, widening the ingress and allowing the beast to actually poke its bulky, horned head in up to its shoulders. It bellowed again as it forcefully squirmed towards them.

"I think I have some materia on me. Hold on." Cloud rummaged through his pockets. "Right, here we go." He inserted the chosen materia into the base of his sword and lifted the broad, towering blade above his head then thrust it at the monster vying to cross the threshold. Energy amassed at the very tip in the form of noxious, green gas. The monster recoiled straight away at the sight of the poisonous vapor, instead switching its hind quarters around in one quick motion, its tail smashing into the brittle wood and stone. The doorway crumbled without a fight, obstructing everyone and everything's view of each the other.

Outside the beast roared, hungrily padding about and picking at the debris.

"Great, we're stuck. Way to go, asshole," Cid grumbled.

"No, we're not," Cloud snapped. "We're just-"

A wooden board fell from above, just narrowly missing the blond's head. He sidestepped the trash and looked up to the buckled ceiling.

"Something's up there," he muttered.

The lurking Behemoth suddenly keened in unusual intensity. Another rattling boom had erupted, followed by an earsplitting shriek and a resonant thump on the ground outside.

"What the hell just happened?" Cid exclaimed.

"We can pick our way out and see, c'mon." Cloud approached the rubble and moved it to the sides, using his sword as leverage. Vincent soon joined him at his side, pushing boards and stone out of the way. Cid was last to assist in the labor, swearing under his breath at the work to be done.

Working through the debris took very little time with the muscle combined. And once they were free, they soon discovered what had occurred unbeknownst to them. The Behemoth lay slain, and by a single, mysterious man as far as Cloud and Cid was concerned. He stood next to the desiccated corpse of the monster and calmly twisted on his heels when he heard their footfalls behind him. He grinned sadly.

"Oh, hello. This beast was bothering you, was it not?" said the man. The two blonds approached him warily while Vincent lingered before the church.

"Did you do this?" asked a bewildered Cloud.

"I suppose I did." The man politely held out his hand. "My name is Yatsui. You are?"

"Uh…" He glanced at Yatsui's incredibly white, welcoming hand, and then eventually offered his own once his brain processed the gesture, shaking it limply but once. The soft grip carried with it silent clarion bells, ringing with some strength that something was not quite right here. "The name's Cloud. And uh, that's Cid, and that's-"

"Ah, Vincent Valentine, so we meet again," Yatsui swiftly interposed with that distinctively modest and melancholic smile. Vincent narrowed his crimson eyes to their smallest.

"You met before?" queried Cloud.

"Yes, some time ago in a charming hamlet not far from here. He is quite the taciturn one," remarked the pale-faced man, his eyes glinting with a mischievous sparkle. Vincent crossed his arms in each other, his glare steady. He found it a tad odd to see Yatsui so effortlessly feign congeniality as if they hadn't encountered each other just a few minutes ago and changed into a towering gray ghost.

"Hey, any of you smell that?" Cid announced abruptly, pulling the cigarette from his lips and flicking it on the ground. Both Yatsui and Vincent riveted their sights on him. "Smells all flowery and shit."

"Hey, now that you mention it…" Cloud sniffed the air and tracked the scent to Yatsui himself. "It's… you."

"Pardon?"

"You're the one that smells like flowers," the swordsman pointed out.

"Oh, do I? I never notice," Yatsui replied with a humbled expression. His company exchanged uncertain glances before Cloud resumed questioning the Behemoth's slayer.

"Anyway, if you don't mind my asking-"

"By all means."

"-what's your business here? This isn't exactly the place of opportunity it used to be."

"I could ask you the same, sir. I would not favor this a locale to visit at one's leisure."

"Well, I'm sure we all have our reasons."

"Reasons which I may never comprehend. This city was built on blood and sadness and pain…"

"What?"

Vincent was the only one aware of Yatsui's exhausting empathy. He was beginning to see that the man had the capability of seeing things beyond the tangible without first knowing a thing about them. Of course. One attuned to agony found it easy to discern when they made it their life's mission to seek and destroy. Or seek and consume, in his case.

He suddenly felt the need to leave, to abandon Midgar in its entirety, and stepped forward, tapping Cloud's shoulder.

"We should leave."

"Oh, I guess you're right. But you guys go on ahead. I have something I need to do first…"