// I know that no one likes him, but that dislike is only generated from
fear, and they only fear him because he is different. It's weird, I can
somehow relate to him . . . it's confusing really, but I understand him.
He hardly ever speaks, and I can't see his face, but I know that he is sad
and I know he has been tortured . . . somehow . . . and somehow I know what
it's like and what he's been through. But that doesn't mean I trust him.
It's hard for me to trust anyone anymore. In the few moments he had left
to go retrieve the bullets and oil for his weapon, everyone immediately
flocks around me, complaining about how weird he is. I'll give him one
chance. Everyone deserves at least that. He steps out of the library and
my eyes stray involuntarily towards his arm . . . it's more of a claw
really. Forged from some metal. The only thing I can think is how sharp
his fingertips look. "Ready? You can come with Nanaki and me over the
mountains of Nibel.
He nods slowly . . . I think. His movements are subtle . . . but again it's somehow easy for me to read him, and slight gestures are apparent to me, like I was trained to see them. It's so strange, like some de ja vous from another life. His eyes stray to Red . . . I knew I could rely on Nanaki to not judge and he will be content traveling with me and our new member.
The mansion itself gives me only feelings of dread and foreboding, something I feel that despite the obviousness of the manor's terror, the others do not feel as strongly. I /know/ there is something here, I can feel it, and those feelings did not disappear when we found Vincent, or when I encountered Sephiroth. There is something here, something I know somehow. It makes me anxious and jumpy, and all I want to do is leave right now. Yet, the mountains of Nibelheim do nothing to comfort me . . . because whatever it is there too. Maybe it's just my past come to haunt me . . . maybe its something else.
None of us speak . . . our new companion, though I would have thought he would have questions about where we are going and why, is silent as stone. Nanaki is too focused and indifferent anyways to care much about our little human trifles. The silence aggravates me . . . there is tension between us all . . . or maybe just something left unsaid and hanging in the air. And some of those unsaid questions are mine . . . who is this man? What happened to him and why was he locked in a coffin in the ShinRa mansion? I hazard a surreptitious glance back at him . . . he looks young to me, his features anyway. Yet there is something about him that makes him seem old. I shiver despite myself and hurry onward.
The random creatures attacking us are more of a nuisance than anything, no one is hurt, they merely interrupt our journey, and it angers me to know that Sephiroth does not have to contend with such matters. He will be far ahead of us by now. We wander through caves and tunnels, I don't know the mountains as well as I thought I did. It seems hours since we first began, and I can only assume that we might find a path out soon.
The dragon attack is something unexpected and it immediately claws at Vincent. Vincent has already proven to me that he is capable in battle so I do not look to see if he is all right when the dragon lunges for him and I hear a muffled cry of pain. Nanaki blasts the dragon with a quick ice spell and before it can recover, I slash it from behind. The dragons have been difficult to fight, but we have sort of developed strategy and rhythm. Already the great beast is weakened. I hear some low, guttural growling, and leap back in shock as ebbing spheres of fire shower over the dragon, refortifying it. Surely, Vincent would not be stupid enough to cast a fire spell on a fire-breathing dragon. I turn to see what the hell he thinks he is doing, and behind me, instead of the tall man I expected to see, I find a short purple beast with terrible claws and a panicked gaze. I almost move to attack it but Nanaki shoulders me out of the way and before I can even consider any other course of action, I block a tail blow from the dragon. Nanaki attacks and I then I cast a quick demi spell and turn back to the purple beast to see it run and claw rabidly at the dragon's scaly flesh. Vincent is gone . . . and in his wake was left the monster that I see before me.
The dragon dies slowly, after a long fierce battle full of sporadic healings from this would-be Vincent monster. And just as the dragon is absorbed back into the life stream, the beast growls and slowly that arcane sound turns into a human moan. And I watch as Vincent shudders to the ground, restored back to his original form. Nanaki runs to his side and begins to lick his face . . . yet all thoughts I have directed towards are new comrade are far from comforting.
"What the hell was that?"
Vincent takes a long inhalation of breath and I suppose seems to be steadying himself before speaking. He looks me in the eye unflinching and unashamed. "I transform when I am in great danger. It is very difficult for me to control, and once I have given up my physical form, I can no longer control my body. I am focused completely on my attacker."
"What's to say you won't attack me or one of the others?"
"The fact that I am still human enough to distinguish between friend and foe."
Nanaki seems to accept this as a reasonable assurance . . . I am less trusting. I watch Vincent rise to his feet in one single, controlled motion. Nanaki gives me a meaningful look and follows me as we continue through the maze of caves. I decide at once that I cannot trust Vincent and that we would be better off without him. So I endeavor to wear down that control that he seems adamant in retaining. I take the longest ways around everything. I insist on capturing every bit of sparkling treasure I see regardless of how impossible the odds of reaching it. But Vincent is unshakable and it angers me. He does not transform again, doesn't look like he plans to anytime soon.
A little more prosperous than when we began, I finally give up and head towards the only visible exit. I had noticed before that the way out was guarded well by a particularly nasty looking monster, but it is only one more obstacle of many. Nanaki prowls forward and it does not attack. He bows his head low, a yellow flare erupting from where he stands.
"It's called Materia Keeper, it absorbs fire."
I cast an undisguised look of distaste towards Vincent who either pretends not to notice me or truly isn't paying attention, which I doubt . . . he seems the type to notice everything.
We advance upon the monster and only when I am close enough to reach out and touch it does it decide to attack. It lashes at me with its massive horned head, catching me in the ribs but not hurting me too badly. I counter attack it just as Nanaki whispers an ice spell, breath fogging before him in the moist air. I hear Vincent's pistol firing behind me and watch as the beast rears back in pain, then jumps forward, trampling us all. I am the first to recover and I charge at it swiping once then jumping quickly away. Nanaki leaps forward while the monster's attention is diverted and kicks it hard in what I suppose would serve as a neck. More gunfire.
What happens next is a hear a dull roar, and turn swiftly to see if Vincent has transformed again, milliseconds later I regret my decision as I am caught in the full blast of what feels like electric numbing gravity, pulling me down and apart and shocking every nerve and fiber in my body. Trine. My mind recognizes the spell and it's like I always knew it. I stumble forward and attack weakly, and am grateful when I feel the cool wash of a cure spell course over my body. The battle goes on, the creature is stronger than even I thought it would be. Nanaki growls in frustration when the Materia Keeper cures itself, restoring its strength and endurance. Another trine spell and this time Vincent takes the brunt of it. From my peripherals, I see him stagger a bit and bare his teeth, watch one gloved hand clench the dirt. There is a feral glint in his eyes. If he transforms now . . . we are dead. Without really thinking I reach out to him, as if I could really stop something I understand so little. But Vincent is not changing, he is struggling hard against it. He looks up at me in obvious pain, and his eyes widen just a fraction, just barely registering surprise or . . . fear?
"Cloud watch out!" I turn in time to see one large, sharp claw baring down on me with frightening speed. But I never feel it hit me. Vincent somehow leaps in front of me, and takes the blow, then falls to the ground unconscious. And in the interim Nanaki has restored his magic and I feel fainter somehow, like I am far away, and I see Shiva materialize. I am always mesmerized by Shiva and I watch from miles away as she condenses and shapes the moisture in the air, and needles of ice pierce the hard skin of the Materia Keeper. And then I am back as if I was never gone, I dodge an ill-directed blow, then charge forward with a deathblow. I strike it hard down the middle of its head and its legs give out. It falls, then disappears.
By the time I turn around to see if Vincent is alive, Nanaki is already there whispering life back into him. Vincent stirs but does not sit up. And somehow I like him and trust him all the better. No one says anything. I somehow know it must have hurt unbearably to keep that creature locked inside him. And I somehow know that when Vincent took that hit for me, he was doing it to save me, not trying to escape the pain. I bow my head and my field of vision is engulfed by his cape, spread almost dramatically across the floor. All I see is red. I close my eyes and still all I see is red.//
I open my eyes and all I see is red. I stare down at the valley of Cosmo Canyon in the early dawn. The sky reflects the red-clay dirt and the clouds reflect the sky reflecting the dirt and the clouds. Even I can acknowledge such beauty. The only darkness is the small recess of faded light in the crater made by the Ultimate Weapon. I can't really care though . . . it doesn't do much. I scour the red lands, wondering if maybe I can see Vincent and his bird running across the sandy bottoms of the canyon. But no, he would be too far away and is probably already in Nibelheim looking for . . . for whatever it is he wants to find. I press my palms hard to my temples, just because I feel like that's what I should be doing. I have little memory right now, just some sort of constant dull ache in the back of my mind and a reminder of something that I really can't remember right now. The edges of the forest are dull and grey. I know that something is wrong but only I just can't remember what's wrong right now. I feel so tired. But I think I sleep a lot. More than I should really. I don't eat very much. I always forget because I haven't been hungry for so long . . . not food hungry. There isn't anything to eat. Unless maybe he left me something. Maybe there's still some bread left. Is cognac food? Oh well. I stand, never remember sitting down, and wondering why it feels like I've thrown myself from the canyon edge. My body just hurts. It's hard to describe what's in my head. Maybe little pieces of aluminum . . . it doesn't really hurt, no not really that much. But it feels weird . . . kind of reflective, like how foil is reflective. Like some field surrounds my temples so that nothing can get in or out. I guess I should be happy. The forest is very still. There is dew on the ground and it is kind of refreshing against my bare feet. Where are my boots? Maybe I left them with the cognac. I don't normally drink that much. That much of anything really. I probably need water. I remember Minerva when I bend to drink from the stream, and then I remember deer. I stand up and don't remember anything. Didn't I want something? Something I was looking for? I shake my head but it doesn't help. I'm kind of hungry . . . maybe he left me some of that bread from Corel. Maybe it will rain tonight. Maybe there will be thunder and lightning. My boot catches on a raised tree root and I put my hands out in front of me to catch myself. The grass is soft and dry. I wonder where Nanaki went . . . he was here a little while ago. He is a good companion, maybe he went to go get food. I should probably help him. Something pinches my arm and I look down and there is a bee stinging me. Go away. You know you're gonna die now. I flick it away and it flies and I follow it to where it leads me and then I keep remembering that I am sort of hungry and that there should be some bread growing nearby and that bread with honey on it might be a good meal considering how long it's been since I've had a good meal. I grab the bee hive and walk away back to where ever it was I was trying to go in the very beginning . . . only I can't remember where that is. I don't wanna go that way cuz that big plant might eat me so I guess I just should better go back over here . . . only I should probably get a drink of water before I go. I usually don't drink too much. I step in the stream as I leave and I let the water rinse over my toes . . . it feels refreshing. Maybe later I can go swimming . . . if the water isn't too shallow by then. Unless it rains. I wish I had something to pray too . . . I feel like maybe people need to be prayed for right now. I wonder where they all went. I look around. They aren't over there . . . or over there . . . they aren't anywhere. There's a grasshopper though. I catch and it sticks to my hands when I open my palms . . . there is a lot of honey on me. I don't remember how to get back to the bread. I always had trouble with it anyways. I sit down and try to think . . . reason a path out of bugs frogs and big pillars and cliffs. It hurts my head to think so much. Nowhere to go but up. Or down. Maybe I will just rest for a little before.
//I did always hate him . . . I don't know how . . . but I know at least that. I hate him and he deserves to die. For what he did to me and to Zack and to Vincent and to Aeris and Nanaki and . . . Him. For what he did to all of those men in black cloaks who forgot who they were and forgot to eat and forgot how to walk. I /hate/ him. I let Vincent come with me . . . because we both deserve vengeance, and Nanaki as well, who was also subject to Hojo's torture. These were my companions back at Nibelheim . . . back when I still didn't know who I was. Hojo babbles like he always does, and I don't really expect him to make any sense . . . but when he says the name of my angel I look up and for a sick moment . . . I want to turn back around and let him do what he's doing. He wants to help Him. He seeks to /help/ Sephiroth. But I know already that even if I left Vincent would kill him . . . and that if I left and Hojo prevailed, what would happen? How many people would die? I resign myself to what I can only assume is destiny . . . and I ask Hojo just what the hell he thinks he is doing. It is strange . . . he hates me more than any of his other reject specimens . . . but he also remembers me. I hate it. And suddenly I grow focused on what he is saying, some gravity pulls me to his words. And it doesn't register right away, but I see Vincent look both surprised and confused . . . and I wonder how Hojo could possibly be Sephiroth's father.
After I found out who I was . . . I began to notice that Vincent looked like Him, had the same build, the same features only different coloring. And as I learned more about Vincent, that he had somehow been involved in Nibelheim and had been in love with Sephiroth's mother, Lucrecia. And I thought, this is Sephiroth's father . . . but Hojo? No, the idea is ludicrous. I half want to say something . . . to point out that there is no way Hojo could have possibly sired something so beautiful. I do not listen to his continued tirade . . . and I am full of rancor inside. It is a sacrilege to claim to be connected to Him somehow. Even I scarcely acknowledge what we had . . . not because it hurts but because I know I was never good enough for Him . . . and never will be. The thought came to me slowly . . . and from a great distance. And with these thoughts and my new identity . . . I don't even remember what I was trying to be before all this. I know that I took his sword and his clothes . . . but what else, not his name and looking back, it seems not even his perspectives or personality . . .
My thoughts are interrupted, as Vincent raises his voice just barely and I see him aim his pistol at Hojo, more of an accusation than a threat. And my thoughts slip away all together . . . and instead all I can do is fight . . . all I can do is kill.//
I blink into the twilight and wonder when it got so late and wonder why it feels like my mind has been packed in foam. It's like I've been drugged or something . . . I feel so distant and uncontrolled. I lie flat on my back gazing up at the treetops and wondering how I got here . . . and where the hell is my left shoe. A smashed grasshopper clings to my hand, stuck there with something sticky. I don't even wanna know what it is. I sit up and there is a sick slurping sound . . . I look behind me to find that I had been pillowed by a lovely beehive, dripping with honey and dead insects. I sigh, as if my luck could get any worse. I reach back to feel my hair. Just perfect. If the honey didn't transform me into a sugary snack . . . I might just leave it in, who cares how I look anyways. But as it is I'm sure the smell is attracting every mosquito in the world. I traipse through the woods . . . wary of the night and praying that we killed everything. I'm not sure I can fight right now . . . especially with my sword conspicuously absent. I reach the stream and there are a series of different foot prints in the mud. One set of standard issue ShinRa SOLDIER boots is clearly visible, no less prominent are the human foot prints with toe, heel, and arch. Then both, one boot one naked. I sigh . . . my shoe could be anywhere by now. I bend low, knees resting on the banks, and plunge my head under water, trying to rinse out the honey. I think it may be time to take the dreadlock approach of hair maintenance. I surface, look around me, still wary, drink a little, and decide to head back to the relative safety of my cave. I don't even have to think about it anymore, it's automatic . . . jump here, climb this, go under that. No one will ever be able to get to me . . . only a handful of people on the planet have the skill to even battle the beasts here. I'm sure He would have no trouble, not that He will ever get the opportunity to find out . . . or maybe He already /has/ been here. Some of the haziness in my mind wavers, and I see Him in the foreground of my cave.
And too suddenly everything comes back . . . and my mind flooded by memory renders my body incapable of even standing, and I fall to my knees. Oh gods He came to me . . . He doesn't want me anymore I loved Him and I killed Him and now I have betrayed Him. He loved me . . . He said He did . . . and I keep thinking about Vincent . . . having dreams about Vincent and not Him. Why?? How??? How can I even think about Vincent? Not only is it near blasphemous . . . he is /nothing/ compared to Him. Weaker and uglier, crueler, so incredibly imperfect it makes me want to scream. Sephiroth loved me. He really did He said so. And I took that and I ripped His heart out and I shredded everything that we had . . . I took a utopian world and threw it away . . . and now I've even disgraced the memory of it by coveting something else, something infinitely less appealing . . . and Vincent deserves more than that . . . it's not his fault that he can't compare. I smack myself without thinking, the sharp sting of my palm against my face barely registering. /Don't think about Vincent. Just don't think about him./ I grind my teeth, trying to think of Sephiroth but it's so /hard/. I don't even have any clear memories of him, because I /still/ don't know which ones are which and all of them are foggy, like looking at my life through a crystal ball. And of all the things I am not, I am certainly no prophet. I don't know my own past, barely aware of the present, don't care about the future. I don't deserve to go to the Promised Land, I don't deserve to ever see Him again, not even in my dreams or memories. All I want is to never have to think at all ever again. I want that haze . . . that crazed inane distraction and denial. I want my left boot to be lost forever and I don't even want to realize it's gone. I remember last night. I remember every word He spoke to me and before that I remember Him poised above me, kissing me. And before that I remember falling. And even after all of that I fall again. I stagger to my feet and my knees are bloody. And I run as fast as I can. I can't run away, there is no where to go. I know what I am doing and I want to do it. I run hard towards the wall and pray to every god I know that it will knock me unconscious. I don't remember feeling the impact.
//I must have died. This swirling green surely must be life stream. I cannot feel it . . . not like I used to. It is more of a presence than a pain. It does not tingle, or burn, or dissolve. If this is death I am disappointed . . . I expected to feel more anguish, some sort of pain, some penance. But this is just nothing.
And quite rapidly it turns into something. I see Zack, shouting and throwing his hands to the skies, countenance etched with exhaustion and fury and . . . hatred. And then I see Sephiroth, who's face I cannot read. And I can't hear what they are saying. Their voices are muffled, and sound as if words were spoken in some ancient tongue. And nothing changes . . . Zack is yelling and pointing and ranting, and Sephiroth just stands there, saying nothing, doing nothing . . . I wonder if He feels nothing.
Why am I seeing this . . . this is no memory of mine, and if it were Zack's memory, I would be seeing it through his perspective. I would be yelling. But instead . . . I hover above this scene, unable to do anything but observe. And nothing changes. Maybe this is my hell. But it would be far worse if Sephiroth would do something . . . if he were to break and show some emotion, then that would be truly hellish. But he doesn't move. In fact, His features are obscured, like I'm watching Him from underwater. But I can see Zack. It's frustrating and I want to leave. But I can't move. I cannot see my body or know if it's still even there. Maybe I'm alive, and just dreaming or just having some unconscious, fever induced hallucination. Or maybe this isn't /my/ hell. Maybe this is His. Maybe this is what He sees and feels everyday . . . yet, it doesn't make any sense. Surely the greatest anguish would be derived from the memory of me betraying Him and killing Him. So I watch this unchanging scene and it plays over and over again like a broken record. I listen hard but hear nothing, and I watch intently but His face is still obscured and hazy. I scrutinize the surroundings, trying to figure out where they are. Nibelheim, it seems obvious. Sephiroth met his plight there. But there is some doubt that lingers in my mind. Whatever room this is seems somehow morphed and mutated. It is not the inn. I swallow and feel thirsty. It seems ages that I have been watching. I've lost count how many times Zack has turned his hands to fists and screamed. I don't even know what they are fighting about. I can't get close enough to do anything.
I turn my attention away. Maybe this is death, maybe I killed myself. This is torture, watching them but not being able to see. I do not want this, I really really want to leave. But I can't get out I can't even move. There's no way to leave, I am trapped here, maybe for eternity. And I can do nothing but cry, silently, softly. This is the hell I deserve.//
"I shouldn't have left you, I should have known you would end up doing something like this."
Sensation returns and there is pain. I'm fairly certain that my head has split open and my brains are spilled all over the floor. I dare not open my eyes. Something wet and rough, yet very gentle brushes against my forehead. It is cool, and eases the pain some minute amount. "Water." And Vincent lifts his water jug to my lips and pours slow trickles of water into my mouth. I swallow slowly, having little control over my tongue or my throat, or anything really. It does surface in my mind, the inquiry as to what he found, but I already now the answer and for now I'm in too much pain to even ask.
"You seemed to be doing so much better, when I left. I thought maybe you would wait for me to come back, to be patient and not hurt yourself. I'm sorry Cloud, I shouldn't have left you."
I want to tell him that he shouldn't be sorry, but I can't. I can't even move.
"You really did yourself in this time." His voice wavers and though I had fought against it I open my eyes. I thought there would be some blinding light to stab my aching head, but it is dark out, and I can't see much of anything at all. I wanted to see if he was crying, but he is blurry and faceless. "Try not to move." He doesn't wait for any acknowledgement on my part before letting his hands hover over my head and letting the green wash of cure flow over me. The pain decreases, not by a marginal sense but regional. It shrinks from around my temples and moves towards my face.
"Thanks."
He says nothing. I try and sit up but his hands press to my shoulders and keep me prone on the ground. "Did you eat anything? Drink anything while I was away?"
I opt for a spoken negation. "I don't remember. I might have."
" . . . Did something happen, Cloud?" It is not a question, more of a demand really. He says 'tell me what happened now, you ungrateful pitiful excuse for a human.'
"Later . . . not important." I can move my arms now, and my feet. "Did you find anything out?" I am humoring him as much as myself. Hoping maybe somehow that he found a resolution to everything, and also I want to divert his attention from my insanity and suicide attempts.
"Well . . . I'm afraid I became preoccupied a bit."
I bend my neck to look him in the face. "What?" All that, after all his promises and assurances and determination to help me, and he gets preoccupied? I barely restrain myself from saying something. I clench my jaw and bite my tongue, and stare determinedly at the ceiling of the cave.
"I know, it sounds ludicrous and I cannot express how sorry I am." He pauses for a long moment and I still manage to stay quiet. "I might even imagine, I know how he felt, sitting in that library, paging through his life. I . . . You are not the only one with unanswered questions Cloud. Half the reason I went to Nibelheim was to get proof . . . to feed my own morbid curiosity. It never occurred to me, when I was younger and more naïve, that when Lucrecia became pregnant that the child might be mine. Hojo talked on and on about his contribution and his blood and his child, so I never even had a chance to think that her child might be mine as well. And it never really occurred to me until . . . until you pointed out how we look the same, speak the same, even to some degree act the same. So I had to find out if it was true."
I sigh, forgiving him somehow. "I had begun to suspect it as well. So what is the truth then?" The darkness seems to glitter, it is almost beautiful.
"I found one of Hojo's journals, several actually, but this one in particular was the most revealing for me. I will read from it, if you wish me to."
I nod and wince, and Vincent's hands tread over my cheeks and heal me again, this time the pain confined to only my forehead and nose. I know I must have broken a few bones . . . it /hurts/. "Read to me."
I hear him thumbing through pages and he pauses, lights a small candle that does not hurt my eyes, and reads. "'The overall project has been successful with only a few shortfalls. We now make preparations to transport lab equipment, specimens, and assistants to Midgar, where the technology might allow us to further study the effects of Mako enhancement and the addition of Jenova cells. ShinRa has been informed of the unfortunate accident involving the Turk and the dragon, and has not questioned me about it. As for the Turk, in actuality I have locked him in a coffin, in the basement of the Nibelheim Mansion. As an after thought I left clues for his release, I don't know why, I thought maybe it would be fun. The death of my assistant was also not questioned, yet condolences were sent. I do regret her parting, she was an amazing scientist and a very bright woman. I may even have loved her . . . but she was a whore,'" he chokes on the word, '"and spent too much time with that Turk, so they will both pay. As for the specimen, I have done what DNA testing I could, and I have found the genetics of three different life forms, none of whom are myself. Regardless though, the child is mine, no one else can claim it, and those who try will be faced with unspeakable tortures, this I vow . . .' That is what he wrote, and after I found that I grabbed what other journals I could find and fled. And then I thought I must know how you feel as well. You killed your only love, and I killed my son." His voice breaks and he turns his head down and claws at the stone floor. His teeth are gritted.
Not knowing what to do, how to comfort him, I speak. I pour myself out to him and pray that maybe we might find comfort within each other . . . even though I know I don't deserve it. "He came to me, He was here, I wasn't dreaming or remembering. He was here. He told me that I was the only person that ever meant anything to Him, and that He missed me. And then He said that He didn't approve of . . . of the ways I think about you. And I don't blame Him, I shouldn't think about you, but He looked so /hurt/ and wouldn't let me apologize and then He /left/. So it was me . . . and, and that's why I ran into the wall."
Vincent looks up at me, unshed tears in his eyes, he looks pained and confused, bewildered and anguished. He bows his head and fumbles for words. He closes his eyes and speaks. "Cloud . . . I . . . it wasn't you. He never loved you, he never had anything to do with you. It was Zack, it always was."
And the glittering darkness swallows me, and every path that I have taken coalesces into this single moment, and I wish I was dead.
He nods slowly . . . I think. His movements are subtle . . . but again it's somehow easy for me to read him, and slight gestures are apparent to me, like I was trained to see them. It's so strange, like some de ja vous from another life. His eyes stray to Red . . . I knew I could rely on Nanaki to not judge and he will be content traveling with me and our new member.
The mansion itself gives me only feelings of dread and foreboding, something I feel that despite the obviousness of the manor's terror, the others do not feel as strongly. I /know/ there is something here, I can feel it, and those feelings did not disappear when we found Vincent, or when I encountered Sephiroth. There is something here, something I know somehow. It makes me anxious and jumpy, and all I want to do is leave right now. Yet, the mountains of Nibelheim do nothing to comfort me . . . because whatever it is there too. Maybe it's just my past come to haunt me . . . maybe its something else.
None of us speak . . . our new companion, though I would have thought he would have questions about where we are going and why, is silent as stone. Nanaki is too focused and indifferent anyways to care much about our little human trifles. The silence aggravates me . . . there is tension between us all . . . or maybe just something left unsaid and hanging in the air. And some of those unsaid questions are mine . . . who is this man? What happened to him and why was he locked in a coffin in the ShinRa mansion? I hazard a surreptitious glance back at him . . . he looks young to me, his features anyway. Yet there is something about him that makes him seem old. I shiver despite myself and hurry onward.
The random creatures attacking us are more of a nuisance than anything, no one is hurt, they merely interrupt our journey, and it angers me to know that Sephiroth does not have to contend with such matters. He will be far ahead of us by now. We wander through caves and tunnels, I don't know the mountains as well as I thought I did. It seems hours since we first began, and I can only assume that we might find a path out soon.
The dragon attack is something unexpected and it immediately claws at Vincent. Vincent has already proven to me that he is capable in battle so I do not look to see if he is all right when the dragon lunges for him and I hear a muffled cry of pain. Nanaki blasts the dragon with a quick ice spell and before it can recover, I slash it from behind. The dragons have been difficult to fight, but we have sort of developed strategy and rhythm. Already the great beast is weakened. I hear some low, guttural growling, and leap back in shock as ebbing spheres of fire shower over the dragon, refortifying it. Surely, Vincent would not be stupid enough to cast a fire spell on a fire-breathing dragon. I turn to see what the hell he thinks he is doing, and behind me, instead of the tall man I expected to see, I find a short purple beast with terrible claws and a panicked gaze. I almost move to attack it but Nanaki shoulders me out of the way and before I can even consider any other course of action, I block a tail blow from the dragon. Nanaki attacks and I then I cast a quick demi spell and turn back to the purple beast to see it run and claw rabidly at the dragon's scaly flesh. Vincent is gone . . . and in his wake was left the monster that I see before me.
The dragon dies slowly, after a long fierce battle full of sporadic healings from this would-be Vincent monster. And just as the dragon is absorbed back into the life stream, the beast growls and slowly that arcane sound turns into a human moan. And I watch as Vincent shudders to the ground, restored back to his original form. Nanaki runs to his side and begins to lick his face . . . yet all thoughts I have directed towards are new comrade are far from comforting.
"What the hell was that?"
Vincent takes a long inhalation of breath and I suppose seems to be steadying himself before speaking. He looks me in the eye unflinching and unashamed. "I transform when I am in great danger. It is very difficult for me to control, and once I have given up my physical form, I can no longer control my body. I am focused completely on my attacker."
"What's to say you won't attack me or one of the others?"
"The fact that I am still human enough to distinguish between friend and foe."
Nanaki seems to accept this as a reasonable assurance . . . I am less trusting. I watch Vincent rise to his feet in one single, controlled motion. Nanaki gives me a meaningful look and follows me as we continue through the maze of caves. I decide at once that I cannot trust Vincent and that we would be better off without him. So I endeavor to wear down that control that he seems adamant in retaining. I take the longest ways around everything. I insist on capturing every bit of sparkling treasure I see regardless of how impossible the odds of reaching it. But Vincent is unshakable and it angers me. He does not transform again, doesn't look like he plans to anytime soon.
A little more prosperous than when we began, I finally give up and head towards the only visible exit. I had noticed before that the way out was guarded well by a particularly nasty looking monster, but it is only one more obstacle of many. Nanaki prowls forward and it does not attack. He bows his head low, a yellow flare erupting from where he stands.
"It's called Materia Keeper, it absorbs fire."
I cast an undisguised look of distaste towards Vincent who either pretends not to notice me or truly isn't paying attention, which I doubt . . . he seems the type to notice everything.
We advance upon the monster and only when I am close enough to reach out and touch it does it decide to attack. It lashes at me with its massive horned head, catching me in the ribs but not hurting me too badly. I counter attack it just as Nanaki whispers an ice spell, breath fogging before him in the moist air. I hear Vincent's pistol firing behind me and watch as the beast rears back in pain, then jumps forward, trampling us all. I am the first to recover and I charge at it swiping once then jumping quickly away. Nanaki leaps forward while the monster's attention is diverted and kicks it hard in what I suppose would serve as a neck. More gunfire.
What happens next is a hear a dull roar, and turn swiftly to see if Vincent has transformed again, milliseconds later I regret my decision as I am caught in the full blast of what feels like electric numbing gravity, pulling me down and apart and shocking every nerve and fiber in my body. Trine. My mind recognizes the spell and it's like I always knew it. I stumble forward and attack weakly, and am grateful when I feel the cool wash of a cure spell course over my body. The battle goes on, the creature is stronger than even I thought it would be. Nanaki growls in frustration when the Materia Keeper cures itself, restoring its strength and endurance. Another trine spell and this time Vincent takes the brunt of it. From my peripherals, I see him stagger a bit and bare his teeth, watch one gloved hand clench the dirt. There is a feral glint in his eyes. If he transforms now . . . we are dead. Without really thinking I reach out to him, as if I could really stop something I understand so little. But Vincent is not changing, he is struggling hard against it. He looks up at me in obvious pain, and his eyes widen just a fraction, just barely registering surprise or . . . fear?
"Cloud watch out!" I turn in time to see one large, sharp claw baring down on me with frightening speed. But I never feel it hit me. Vincent somehow leaps in front of me, and takes the blow, then falls to the ground unconscious. And in the interim Nanaki has restored his magic and I feel fainter somehow, like I am far away, and I see Shiva materialize. I am always mesmerized by Shiva and I watch from miles away as she condenses and shapes the moisture in the air, and needles of ice pierce the hard skin of the Materia Keeper. And then I am back as if I was never gone, I dodge an ill-directed blow, then charge forward with a deathblow. I strike it hard down the middle of its head and its legs give out. It falls, then disappears.
By the time I turn around to see if Vincent is alive, Nanaki is already there whispering life back into him. Vincent stirs but does not sit up. And somehow I like him and trust him all the better. No one says anything. I somehow know it must have hurt unbearably to keep that creature locked inside him. And I somehow know that when Vincent took that hit for me, he was doing it to save me, not trying to escape the pain. I bow my head and my field of vision is engulfed by his cape, spread almost dramatically across the floor. All I see is red. I close my eyes and still all I see is red.//
I open my eyes and all I see is red. I stare down at the valley of Cosmo Canyon in the early dawn. The sky reflects the red-clay dirt and the clouds reflect the sky reflecting the dirt and the clouds. Even I can acknowledge such beauty. The only darkness is the small recess of faded light in the crater made by the Ultimate Weapon. I can't really care though . . . it doesn't do much. I scour the red lands, wondering if maybe I can see Vincent and his bird running across the sandy bottoms of the canyon. But no, he would be too far away and is probably already in Nibelheim looking for . . . for whatever it is he wants to find. I press my palms hard to my temples, just because I feel like that's what I should be doing. I have little memory right now, just some sort of constant dull ache in the back of my mind and a reminder of something that I really can't remember right now. The edges of the forest are dull and grey. I know that something is wrong but only I just can't remember what's wrong right now. I feel so tired. But I think I sleep a lot. More than I should really. I don't eat very much. I always forget because I haven't been hungry for so long . . . not food hungry. There isn't anything to eat. Unless maybe he left me something. Maybe there's still some bread left. Is cognac food? Oh well. I stand, never remember sitting down, and wondering why it feels like I've thrown myself from the canyon edge. My body just hurts. It's hard to describe what's in my head. Maybe little pieces of aluminum . . . it doesn't really hurt, no not really that much. But it feels weird . . . kind of reflective, like how foil is reflective. Like some field surrounds my temples so that nothing can get in or out. I guess I should be happy. The forest is very still. There is dew on the ground and it is kind of refreshing against my bare feet. Where are my boots? Maybe I left them with the cognac. I don't normally drink that much. That much of anything really. I probably need water. I remember Minerva when I bend to drink from the stream, and then I remember deer. I stand up and don't remember anything. Didn't I want something? Something I was looking for? I shake my head but it doesn't help. I'm kind of hungry . . . maybe he left me some of that bread from Corel. Maybe it will rain tonight. Maybe there will be thunder and lightning. My boot catches on a raised tree root and I put my hands out in front of me to catch myself. The grass is soft and dry. I wonder where Nanaki went . . . he was here a little while ago. He is a good companion, maybe he went to go get food. I should probably help him. Something pinches my arm and I look down and there is a bee stinging me. Go away. You know you're gonna die now. I flick it away and it flies and I follow it to where it leads me and then I keep remembering that I am sort of hungry and that there should be some bread growing nearby and that bread with honey on it might be a good meal considering how long it's been since I've had a good meal. I grab the bee hive and walk away back to where ever it was I was trying to go in the very beginning . . . only I can't remember where that is. I don't wanna go that way cuz that big plant might eat me so I guess I just should better go back over here . . . only I should probably get a drink of water before I go. I usually don't drink too much. I step in the stream as I leave and I let the water rinse over my toes . . . it feels refreshing. Maybe later I can go swimming . . . if the water isn't too shallow by then. Unless it rains. I wish I had something to pray too . . . I feel like maybe people need to be prayed for right now. I wonder where they all went. I look around. They aren't over there . . . or over there . . . they aren't anywhere. There's a grasshopper though. I catch and it sticks to my hands when I open my palms . . . there is a lot of honey on me. I don't remember how to get back to the bread. I always had trouble with it anyways. I sit down and try to think . . . reason a path out of bugs frogs and big pillars and cliffs. It hurts my head to think so much. Nowhere to go but up. Or down. Maybe I will just rest for a little before.
//I did always hate him . . . I don't know how . . . but I know at least that. I hate him and he deserves to die. For what he did to me and to Zack and to Vincent and to Aeris and Nanaki and . . . Him. For what he did to all of those men in black cloaks who forgot who they were and forgot to eat and forgot how to walk. I /hate/ him. I let Vincent come with me . . . because we both deserve vengeance, and Nanaki as well, who was also subject to Hojo's torture. These were my companions back at Nibelheim . . . back when I still didn't know who I was. Hojo babbles like he always does, and I don't really expect him to make any sense . . . but when he says the name of my angel I look up and for a sick moment . . . I want to turn back around and let him do what he's doing. He wants to help Him. He seeks to /help/ Sephiroth. But I know already that even if I left Vincent would kill him . . . and that if I left and Hojo prevailed, what would happen? How many people would die? I resign myself to what I can only assume is destiny . . . and I ask Hojo just what the hell he thinks he is doing. It is strange . . . he hates me more than any of his other reject specimens . . . but he also remembers me. I hate it. And suddenly I grow focused on what he is saying, some gravity pulls me to his words. And it doesn't register right away, but I see Vincent look both surprised and confused . . . and I wonder how Hojo could possibly be Sephiroth's father.
After I found out who I was . . . I began to notice that Vincent looked like Him, had the same build, the same features only different coloring. And as I learned more about Vincent, that he had somehow been involved in Nibelheim and had been in love with Sephiroth's mother, Lucrecia. And I thought, this is Sephiroth's father . . . but Hojo? No, the idea is ludicrous. I half want to say something . . . to point out that there is no way Hojo could have possibly sired something so beautiful. I do not listen to his continued tirade . . . and I am full of rancor inside. It is a sacrilege to claim to be connected to Him somehow. Even I scarcely acknowledge what we had . . . not because it hurts but because I know I was never good enough for Him . . . and never will be. The thought came to me slowly . . . and from a great distance. And with these thoughts and my new identity . . . I don't even remember what I was trying to be before all this. I know that I took his sword and his clothes . . . but what else, not his name and looking back, it seems not even his perspectives or personality . . .
My thoughts are interrupted, as Vincent raises his voice just barely and I see him aim his pistol at Hojo, more of an accusation than a threat. And my thoughts slip away all together . . . and instead all I can do is fight . . . all I can do is kill.//
I blink into the twilight and wonder when it got so late and wonder why it feels like my mind has been packed in foam. It's like I've been drugged or something . . . I feel so distant and uncontrolled. I lie flat on my back gazing up at the treetops and wondering how I got here . . . and where the hell is my left shoe. A smashed grasshopper clings to my hand, stuck there with something sticky. I don't even wanna know what it is. I sit up and there is a sick slurping sound . . . I look behind me to find that I had been pillowed by a lovely beehive, dripping with honey and dead insects. I sigh, as if my luck could get any worse. I reach back to feel my hair. Just perfect. If the honey didn't transform me into a sugary snack . . . I might just leave it in, who cares how I look anyways. But as it is I'm sure the smell is attracting every mosquito in the world. I traipse through the woods . . . wary of the night and praying that we killed everything. I'm not sure I can fight right now . . . especially with my sword conspicuously absent. I reach the stream and there are a series of different foot prints in the mud. One set of standard issue ShinRa SOLDIER boots is clearly visible, no less prominent are the human foot prints with toe, heel, and arch. Then both, one boot one naked. I sigh . . . my shoe could be anywhere by now. I bend low, knees resting on the banks, and plunge my head under water, trying to rinse out the honey. I think it may be time to take the dreadlock approach of hair maintenance. I surface, look around me, still wary, drink a little, and decide to head back to the relative safety of my cave. I don't even have to think about it anymore, it's automatic . . . jump here, climb this, go under that. No one will ever be able to get to me . . . only a handful of people on the planet have the skill to even battle the beasts here. I'm sure He would have no trouble, not that He will ever get the opportunity to find out . . . or maybe He already /has/ been here. Some of the haziness in my mind wavers, and I see Him in the foreground of my cave.
And too suddenly everything comes back . . . and my mind flooded by memory renders my body incapable of even standing, and I fall to my knees. Oh gods He came to me . . . He doesn't want me anymore I loved Him and I killed Him and now I have betrayed Him. He loved me . . . He said He did . . . and I keep thinking about Vincent . . . having dreams about Vincent and not Him. Why?? How??? How can I even think about Vincent? Not only is it near blasphemous . . . he is /nothing/ compared to Him. Weaker and uglier, crueler, so incredibly imperfect it makes me want to scream. Sephiroth loved me. He really did He said so. And I took that and I ripped His heart out and I shredded everything that we had . . . I took a utopian world and threw it away . . . and now I've even disgraced the memory of it by coveting something else, something infinitely less appealing . . . and Vincent deserves more than that . . . it's not his fault that he can't compare. I smack myself without thinking, the sharp sting of my palm against my face barely registering. /Don't think about Vincent. Just don't think about him./ I grind my teeth, trying to think of Sephiroth but it's so /hard/. I don't even have any clear memories of him, because I /still/ don't know which ones are which and all of them are foggy, like looking at my life through a crystal ball. And of all the things I am not, I am certainly no prophet. I don't know my own past, barely aware of the present, don't care about the future. I don't deserve to go to the Promised Land, I don't deserve to ever see Him again, not even in my dreams or memories. All I want is to never have to think at all ever again. I want that haze . . . that crazed inane distraction and denial. I want my left boot to be lost forever and I don't even want to realize it's gone. I remember last night. I remember every word He spoke to me and before that I remember Him poised above me, kissing me. And before that I remember falling. And even after all of that I fall again. I stagger to my feet and my knees are bloody. And I run as fast as I can. I can't run away, there is no where to go. I know what I am doing and I want to do it. I run hard towards the wall and pray to every god I know that it will knock me unconscious. I don't remember feeling the impact.
//I must have died. This swirling green surely must be life stream. I cannot feel it . . . not like I used to. It is more of a presence than a pain. It does not tingle, or burn, or dissolve. If this is death I am disappointed . . . I expected to feel more anguish, some sort of pain, some penance. But this is just nothing.
And quite rapidly it turns into something. I see Zack, shouting and throwing his hands to the skies, countenance etched with exhaustion and fury and . . . hatred. And then I see Sephiroth, who's face I cannot read. And I can't hear what they are saying. Their voices are muffled, and sound as if words were spoken in some ancient tongue. And nothing changes . . . Zack is yelling and pointing and ranting, and Sephiroth just stands there, saying nothing, doing nothing . . . I wonder if He feels nothing.
Why am I seeing this . . . this is no memory of mine, and if it were Zack's memory, I would be seeing it through his perspective. I would be yelling. But instead . . . I hover above this scene, unable to do anything but observe. And nothing changes. Maybe this is my hell. But it would be far worse if Sephiroth would do something . . . if he were to break and show some emotion, then that would be truly hellish. But he doesn't move. In fact, His features are obscured, like I'm watching Him from underwater. But I can see Zack. It's frustrating and I want to leave. But I can't move. I cannot see my body or know if it's still even there. Maybe I'm alive, and just dreaming or just having some unconscious, fever induced hallucination. Or maybe this isn't /my/ hell. Maybe this is His. Maybe this is what He sees and feels everyday . . . yet, it doesn't make any sense. Surely the greatest anguish would be derived from the memory of me betraying Him and killing Him. So I watch this unchanging scene and it plays over and over again like a broken record. I listen hard but hear nothing, and I watch intently but His face is still obscured and hazy. I scrutinize the surroundings, trying to figure out where they are. Nibelheim, it seems obvious. Sephiroth met his plight there. But there is some doubt that lingers in my mind. Whatever room this is seems somehow morphed and mutated. It is not the inn. I swallow and feel thirsty. It seems ages that I have been watching. I've lost count how many times Zack has turned his hands to fists and screamed. I don't even know what they are fighting about. I can't get close enough to do anything.
I turn my attention away. Maybe this is death, maybe I killed myself. This is torture, watching them but not being able to see. I do not want this, I really really want to leave. But I can't get out I can't even move. There's no way to leave, I am trapped here, maybe for eternity. And I can do nothing but cry, silently, softly. This is the hell I deserve.//
"I shouldn't have left you, I should have known you would end up doing something like this."
Sensation returns and there is pain. I'm fairly certain that my head has split open and my brains are spilled all over the floor. I dare not open my eyes. Something wet and rough, yet very gentle brushes against my forehead. It is cool, and eases the pain some minute amount. "Water." And Vincent lifts his water jug to my lips and pours slow trickles of water into my mouth. I swallow slowly, having little control over my tongue or my throat, or anything really. It does surface in my mind, the inquiry as to what he found, but I already now the answer and for now I'm in too much pain to even ask.
"You seemed to be doing so much better, when I left. I thought maybe you would wait for me to come back, to be patient and not hurt yourself. I'm sorry Cloud, I shouldn't have left you."
I want to tell him that he shouldn't be sorry, but I can't. I can't even move.
"You really did yourself in this time." His voice wavers and though I had fought against it I open my eyes. I thought there would be some blinding light to stab my aching head, but it is dark out, and I can't see much of anything at all. I wanted to see if he was crying, but he is blurry and faceless. "Try not to move." He doesn't wait for any acknowledgement on my part before letting his hands hover over my head and letting the green wash of cure flow over me. The pain decreases, not by a marginal sense but regional. It shrinks from around my temples and moves towards my face.
"Thanks."
He says nothing. I try and sit up but his hands press to my shoulders and keep me prone on the ground. "Did you eat anything? Drink anything while I was away?"
I opt for a spoken negation. "I don't remember. I might have."
" . . . Did something happen, Cloud?" It is not a question, more of a demand really. He says 'tell me what happened now, you ungrateful pitiful excuse for a human.'
"Later . . . not important." I can move my arms now, and my feet. "Did you find anything out?" I am humoring him as much as myself. Hoping maybe somehow that he found a resolution to everything, and also I want to divert his attention from my insanity and suicide attempts.
"Well . . . I'm afraid I became preoccupied a bit."
I bend my neck to look him in the face. "What?" All that, after all his promises and assurances and determination to help me, and he gets preoccupied? I barely restrain myself from saying something. I clench my jaw and bite my tongue, and stare determinedly at the ceiling of the cave.
"I know, it sounds ludicrous and I cannot express how sorry I am." He pauses for a long moment and I still manage to stay quiet. "I might even imagine, I know how he felt, sitting in that library, paging through his life. I . . . You are not the only one with unanswered questions Cloud. Half the reason I went to Nibelheim was to get proof . . . to feed my own morbid curiosity. It never occurred to me, when I was younger and more naïve, that when Lucrecia became pregnant that the child might be mine. Hojo talked on and on about his contribution and his blood and his child, so I never even had a chance to think that her child might be mine as well. And it never really occurred to me until . . . until you pointed out how we look the same, speak the same, even to some degree act the same. So I had to find out if it was true."
I sigh, forgiving him somehow. "I had begun to suspect it as well. So what is the truth then?" The darkness seems to glitter, it is almost beautiful.
"I found one of Hojo's journals, several actually, but this one in particular was the most revealing for me. I will read from it, if you wish me to."
I nod and wince, and Vincent's hands tread over my cheeks and heal me again, this time the pain confined to only my forehead and nose. I know I must have broken a few bones . . . it /hurts/. "Read to me."
I hear him thumbing through pages and he pauses, lights a small candle that does not hurt my eyes, and reads. "'The overall project has been successful with only a few shortfalls. We now make preparations to transport lab equipment, specimens, and assistants to Midgar, where the technology might allow us to further study the effects of Mako enhancement and the addition of Jenova cells. ShinRa has been informed of the unfortunate accident involving the Turk and the dragon, and has not questioned me about it. As for the Turk, in actuality I have locked him in a coffin, in the basement of the Nibelheim Mansion. As an after thought I left clues for his release, I don't know why, I thought maybe it would be fun. The death of my assistant was also not questioned, yet condolences were sent. I do regret her parting, she was an amazing scientist and a very bright woman. I may even have loved her . . . but she was a whore,'" he chokes on the word, '"and spent too much time with that Turk, so they will both pay. As for the specimen, I have done what DNA testing I could, and I have found the genetics of three different life forms, none of whom are myself. Regardless though, the child is mine, no one else can claim it, and those who try will be faced with unspeakable tortures, this I vow . . .' That is what he wrote, and after I found that I grabbed what other journals I could find and fled. And then I thought I must know how you feel as well. You killed your only love, and I killed my son." His voice breaks and he turns his head down and claws at the stone floor. His teeth are gritted.
Not knowing what to do, how to comfort him, I speak. I pour myself out to him and pray that maybe we might find comfort within each other . . . even though I know I don't deserve it. "He came to me, He was here, I wasn't dreaming or remembering. He was here. He told me that I was the only person that ever meant anything to Him, and that He missed me. And then He said that He didn't approve of . . . of the ways I think about you. And I don't blame Him, I shouldn't think about you, but He looked so /hurt/ and wouldn't let me apologize and then He /left/. So it was me . . . and, and that's why I ran into the wall."
Vincent looks up at me, unshed tears in his eyes, he looks pained and confused, bewildered and anguished. He bows his head and fumbles for words. He closes his eyes and speaks. "Cloud . . . I . . . it wasn't you. He never loved you, he never had anything to do with you. It was Zack, it always was."
And the glittering darkness swallows me, and every path that I have taken coalesces into this single moment, and I wish I was dead.