Chapter 1: Beginnings
"I don't want battles where we have to lose in order to win."
-Yuna (Final Fantasy X-2)
Iseld felt like yawning, but at the stiff-backed, almost inhuman manner and posture of the other men and women clustered around him, he didn't feel comfortable doing so without being set apart from them as weaker and less disciplined. He was a Dragon in Fear Knight under the command of the Dark Knight, Gafgarion, one of Alexandria's leading Generals, and in terms of skill, said to be second only to the great General Beatrix. Then again, Gafagarion was in his early 60's, while the Lady Beatrix was in her early 20's, and there were many who held to the claim that Gafgarion's skill was far superior to the First Knight's. Iseld didn't have much of an opinion on the matter himself, but as he served under Gafgarion, and they were currently en route to a battle versus Beatrix, he sincerely hoped that those who thought Gafgarion a match for her were right. As it was he did not believe he could last more than a moment against either of them. A recently graduated squire, he had confidence in his own skills as a Dark Knight-in-training; not to mention the fact that he had been accepted as a Dragon in Fear Knight, undoubtedly the most powerful, elite fighting force to serve under the Alexandrian flag. Beatrix commanded the armies of Alexandria, and thus did not train her own troops as Gafgarion did, which is why she did not have a force of her own to speak of. For that, Iseld was once again grateful.
"A-CHOO!"
Sneering some at the familiar sneeze, Iseld moved to the side a little in his march, allowing for the older, bigger knight to squeeze up beside him in column. It would have been an easier affair with chocobos, but here in Evil Forest… it was better not to bring more prey than the forest was already provided just by having yourself there. "Baku, still got that cold?" The young Dragon in Fear Knight asked the elder.
"It's not a cold, I don' know what yer talkin' about." Baku replied, goggle-shaped spectacles completely concealing his eyes, his large size at least doubling Iseld's.
The two were friends, or at least close-comrades within the stiff, cold ranks of Lord Gafgarion's dark knights. Baku, an old veteran served as a sort of mentor and teacher for the younger, less experienced knight, Iseld.
A forlorn, eerie howl split the night, and as one the entire company went on alert. On the best and brightest of days, Evil Forest was a traveler's death trap. Here in the dead of night, it would be a miracle not to be harassed by the bloodthirsty denizens of the forest.
The column came to a sudden halt, and the order rippled back through the ranks, being spoken by the ranking captain of each squad: "Quiet in the ranks."
'We must be close,' Iseld thought, one hand gripped about the hilt of the sword coiled at his side, his other hand curling into the leather loop-handle of the buckler clasped at his side. The darkness pressed in from all sides as the troop paused, waiting for direction from their leader, Gafgarion, who led them from the back of a black chocobo at the head of the column. The warbling of twilight fliers and other forest creatures was apparent from the farthest reaches of the forest, but in their vicinity absolute silence reigned. The moon was veiled by the thick tree cover, the only light coming from the torches and brands carried by the knights on either end of every marching line.
Finally the command was given, and the march began once again, slowly at first as the men and women worked from stillness into movement once again. It was then that the forest came to life.
"Mindless, spiritless, hear the immutable beat, Paralyze!"
"Life is short, BURY! Steady Sword!"
The two voices came from hidden places of darkness within the forest, and they carried power with them, the effect upon the unprepared Dragon in Fear Knights striking fast and hard. The spell-techniques were not aimed upon the front lines of the force, but rather in scattered places all throughout the contingent, making it nearly impossible to pinpoint where the enemy might be hiding. That was if pinpointing their direction would even do any good—as it was, Iseld found that he could not move, and from the look upon his companion Baku's face, neither could the other man. An effect of the 'Paralyze' spell; and not to be left behind, the 'Stasis Sword' cut into the air like a leaden ghost. A pillar of icy energy swept down upon the Dragon in Fear troops, frosting their armor and the air alike before applying forceful crushing, magical weight. And those were not the only two spells to strike, and more than Baku and Iseld felt their bite.
All around him, his men were being struck down and dying, but Gafgarion remained calm, transfixed on his search—he would find her; she was the only one who mattered. His men could fend for themselves, and if not, well, that was their own affair. He had trained them to be the best; if they could not survive a simple ambush then they were of no use to him after all. White mustached brow furrowed, and dark eyes narrowed, his strong hand leaping to the hilt of his black sword as movement caught his attention somewhere within the dark confines of the forest pines not ten yards away. "Master of all swords, cut energy! Night Sword!" Sweeping out his arm, blade slicing the empty air in front of him, a sound like a howling beast's whisper filler the air, and of a sudden red light blasted out into the darkness of the forest, cutting through trees at their base like steel through flesh, and illuminating the area suddenly with sick, appalling red light.
Raising her sword up in front of her, Beatrix only barely deflected the Dark Knight's attack, though it bent and wrapped around her blade, striking the knights on either side of her with dreadful accuracy. The man to her left gurgled and went down, his sword falling from lifeless fingers, his throat cut through by the dark energy, while the female knight to her right screamed and fell backwards, blinded, her eyes slashed by the ethereal energy and spraying blood. Scowling, her single eye fixed on the ancient, Dark Knight standing there in the darkness ahead of her, his troops running about in a frenzy around him, engaging Beatrix's knights and hired mercenaries with trained fearlessness and speed. "Gafgarion…" she growled, both shocked, and enraged to find him here. That the Queen would have sent him… Holding her blade aloft she moved forward to do battle with the Dark Knight Gafgarion, and prayed this plan was worth the cost. The ploy was to slow the pursuing force down, not obliterate them, but in order to have even a chance she had had to leave the Princess with only a small number of knights, who were outnumbered by their mercenary companions 3-1. She did not fear for her own life in this battle, but she hoped that she could trust the damnable mercenaries.
Patiently, he picked his way up the beaten, shattered mountain face. On the other side he expected that the Princess and her meager forces were making their way up the other side, heading through the Ice Cavern and towards the exit where he was to be waiting for them. He was not there yet, but then, he still had some time to spare.
As he climbed, his mind was in a different place. Every struggling foothold and grip of rock, every breath, reminded him of the tragic turn of events that had brought him this far. He remembered with every haunting ache and pain from the wounds he had gained in the most terrible fight of his life, just why he was here. He remembered everything as clearly as if it were occurring at that very moment—but still, he could not understand why they had occurred that way! Two of his dearest friends, dead—or so he had thought—but now, he found that they were actually both alive, and both serving the leaders of an army which he could never stand in league with. And neither could they, that is if he knew them in even the slightest way he thought he did. "Barret… Vincent… why?" The crackle of thunder alerted his attention to the sky, and looking up, he sighed as rain began to pour from the black heavens, matting his thickly spiked blonde hair to his forehead from his framed vertical position along the rock face leading south and north down the opposite side of the legendary Ice Cavern, just a stone's throw north from the equally legendary, though much more feared and notorious Evil Forest. Thrusting his shredded red cape back over his shoulder, he secured his giant leather-bound sword behind him and continued climbing, as yet unaware that at the top of the peak, a warrior he had never met, but with a kindred soul, waited for him.
The mercenary with the oddly-colored blue hair and eyes blew out a fuming, frustrated breath. If he had known babysitting this measly Princess would have been such a chore, he gladly would have chosen battle with the dreaded Gafgarion and his famed Dragon in Fear Knight. It wasn't that Garnet Til Alexandros the 17th was rude, or pampered as one might expect a princess to be, but rather that she was TOO damned polite! "You've thanked me enough damn times already! And like I said the first time, we're doing it for the gil, not for you!" He would have actually preferred a harsh reply or indignant rejoinder at this point, but NO, she simply bowed her head, smiled, and said:
"As you say my lord. Please, you know who I am but I am not so fortunate on the other hand. Please, by what name are you called?"
Eyeing her sidewise, keeping the men moving up the rocky slopes that were slowly turning from forested rock to icy frost, the mercenary somewhat suspiciously answered, "It's Nikkolas."
"A pleasure to meet you Sir Nikkolas, and thank you once again for the fearless aid you and your men are bestowing upon us."
The so-named Nikkolas, by now too exhausted to even correct her again, merely nodded, eyeing the path ahead of them with a sharp eye, wary of any danger or signs of ambush. One hand fitted comfortably around the hilt of his silver pistol, he was caught off guard as several things happened at once. First off, thunder sounded in the sky, and it began to rain. He cursed, knowing full-well that the higher they climbed in search of the Ice Cavern, the colder it would become, which would cause the rain that had begun to become hail. And hail was never a welcome guest when one was climbing a mountain. Next the man he had placed at the rear of the column called up to him. He didn't get all of what he had said because of the blasted thunder, but apparently Beatrix and her retinue had broken form the forest, and they were not alone. Cursing again, Nikki (as he was often called by close friends) looked back ahead to find a hungry and slavering Arctic Wolf fiend pounding down the trail. Cursing a final time, his voice nearing a shout as his frustration and stress level hit its limit the leather-armored man threw out an arm, thrusting the clueless, and likely still blabbing princess behind him, effectively placing only himself in the path of the charging canine fiend.
Half as large as a horse, and with fur so cold to the touch that it would chill a blade of grass cold enough to break in two with a prod of one's finger, the Artic Wolf panted air cold as frost, red eyes bulging, and focused on the blue-haired man standing between it and its chosen quarry. Baying ferociously, its high-pitched barks well-purposed for driving men to terror, the canine monster leapt high into the air with about ten feet still between it and the mercenary.
Nikkolas clicked his tongue in anger, now even if he killed the beast, its airborne momentum could likely take him, not to mention the Princess flying off of the mountain path and to their doom. A dark smile decorating his handsome features, the mercenary drew out his pistol in one smooth movement, only one thought passing through his mind as he took aim and fired: 'Ha! The one-eyed wench would never let me live it down.' The bullet tore a small hole through the small expanse of flesh, fur, and bone just between the fiend's eyes, and yelping once in the single blast of pain it experienced before dying outright in the air, the dog continued falling, Nikki yelling a warning out behind him as he rammed his back against the mountain wall, pulling the princess beside him and letting the creature hit the ground hard just where he had been standing. Despite his warning, the rolling fiend still took one unwary knight with it in its hellish tumble from the mountain path, the young man screaming the entire way as he fell, crashing into the waiting black treetops of Evil Forest with hardly a crash or sound.
"That poor man…"
Eyeing the Princess in disbelief, Nikkolas thought, 'She could have died in that moment, but she's already thinking about someone else… what an idiot. At least her gold is good.' Allowing the troop a few moments to collect themselves, Nikkolas began their movement once again. It would not take long for Beatrix and her entourage to catch up, but likewise, Gafgarion and his knights would be right on their tale. Keeping his curses to himself this time, Nikkolas ruefully acknowledged the fact that they were not going to make it to Ice Cavern before they were caught.
"Get out of my way. I don't want to fight you… but I have to reach the peak."
"You will not pass. Sorry, but this just isn't your night."
Cloud scowled. After fighting his way up the side of the mountain, just to make certain to avoid any obstacles or opponents who might be waiting to stop him by order of his the enemy army, he came to find that one had waited for him here at the very brink of the mountain's peak. 'What a waste,' he thought dryly. She was a woman, about as high as his chin—and he wasn't that tall to begin with—and gymnastically slender. He didn't once let himself underestimate her, however. He recognized a kindred swordsman's muscles along her fair-skinned frame, but more than that, he recognized a kindred warrior's soul within her. She had tousled silver hair—short, but attractive—with fierce, unflinching red eyes and a toned body that spoke of hidden strength. She may not have looked powerful, but if it were up to him he would not have wanted to face her without his sword. As far as swords went, hers was glorious to behold. Black, all the way from steel tip to leather bound hilt, the blade was not as wide as his Buster Sword's (then again, what sword was?) but it was still impressive, with thorn-shaped spikes chiseled outwards from the blade on either side, identifying it as a slashing weapon more than a stabbing one, even though the point at its tip was not one to be trifled with, and still undoubtedly sharper than anything his own rusted and scarred sword, covered in leather bindings like a wounded and ancient beast, had to offer. The pommel of her blade was decorated by a grinning skull, small rubies set into the skull's sockets to serve as eyes, and eerily similar in color to her own. 'Her eyes are like Vincent's.' The thought steeled his resolve. He had a purpose for being here—the others were counting on him, and as much as he wanted to keep from hurting as many people as necessary, he could not walk away from this battle.
As if sensing his determination the woman stepped her left foot slight forward, her large spiked sword still gripped in only her right hand. It was not much of a battle-stance, but the strength and confidence with which she held herself spoke wonders. The rest of her was resplendent in the form-fitting black mail of a Dark Knight. Rather than steel or iron, however, her armor had been crafted of the hide of a black dragon—one of the great beast's fins apparent behind her head, rising up behind neck from between her scapula as a sort of frilled black neck-guard. A black headband upon her brow to keep her messy silver hair completely out of her eyes completed the outfit, and with a look that told Cloud he could either walk away, or step forward and feel her sword-edge, she waited.
Cloud Strife was tortured in that moment. It pained him—no matter how good she believed herself to be, no matter how evil a person she might be in life, it was still a struggle. He had given up so much in the search for his friends, clasped hands with a dark power that had crippled and tainted him, even now after he had been reunited with them, and broken free of the unholy pact. He had hoped never to fight again then… but now he had lost his friends once again—Barret and Vincent—through some manipulation of the enemy that he could not understand, even though he had been there to feel their betrayal when it happened. Now he had to fight again for his friends, but did that mean others had to suffer? Feel pain and torment, the same way he had?
"We don't have all night. If you're unsure of yourself you can go back down the mountain and collect your thoughts… though I would've expected more from the Great Cloud Strife."
Sighing, his features softening into a remorseful frown, Cloud looked upwards, uncaring of the rain falling into his mako-colored blue eyes and whispered, "I need you Tifa, only you wouldn't let me lose my way like this. I'm sorry, this is for our friends, and I have no choice." And gripping the hilt of the Buster Sword, he brought it up in front of him with smoothness and strength not apparent in his light frame. His left hand flexing tightly, once covered by a golden claw—a gift of the darkness, and still not quite healed from the ordeal—he narrowed his eyes as he regarded the woman one last time from an outsider's perspective, before she became an enemy. A thought floated into his head, 'Her hair is the same color as Sephiroth's,' and then, with a battle-cry tamed after years of use, he lunged forward and struck.
They had fought their way up the mountain—together.
Numerous foes challenged them, both knight and mercenary alike attempted to halt their advance, to stem the charge of the Dragons in Fear. Often Iseld found himself facing a foe that was better than he was. A knight of greater technique, or strength, it didn't matter. If they were to continue fighting, even in the heat of battle, with men and women dying and screaming all around them, Iseld would die. But Baku was always with him, and with the veteran knight's help, they would be victorious, and they would continue on. Countless warriors fell before them, men and women that died and were swept aside off the mountain path and down back into the waiting, bloodthirsty Evil Forest like wheat before a mower's scythe, but they could not stop. There was no rest; they had to continue on, continue fighting and killing, in order to win back the Princess. Sometimes Baku would find himself overwhelmed by zealous knights of the 107th, or he would find himself the opponent of a mercenary fighter whose speed or quickness surpassed his own; but Iseld was always beside him, and together they would conquer any enemy and continue onward. But finally, they came to face a knight both of them knew—a one-eyed beauty, the Great General, Beatrix, who wielded the sacred sword, the blade: Save the Queen. But they were at one another's side, they could not fail, and even if they WERE outmatched, what other choice did they have? To run? Running was not permitted by the brave, and neither elderly knight nor young apprentice knew fear. So they fought.
First strike, counter-blow, parry, stabbing strike… the three battled as if in a dance, the two Dark Knights working together, riposting off of one another's strikes like finely tuned strings of a single instrument, and with Beatrix, defending herself and returning attacks with the grace and skill of an equally fine instrument. As melodious and wonderful as their dance was, however, it was not to last.
Iseld grunted as he strained against the Great Beatrix, pushing her back from their deadlock with the fervor of a young wolf. Sweeping out his arm in a flash that he intended to end the battle, he gasped as the brown-haired woman spun to his side, impact numbing his arm, his sword shattering into two pieces and falling to the ground, the hilt completely bladeless in his hands. He might have died there, but as in all instances, Baku came to his aid, lunging for the one-eyed Holy Knight in a thrust that would skewer her like a boar on the end of a hunter's pike. The woman only continued her dancer's spin, however, and replied with a thrusting of her own blade, the sword bursting through black armor and human flesh alike, spearing out the back of the lavender-haired old man's chest with terrible finality.
"NO!" Iseld cried. His voice was a mixture of anguish and rage. He knew that Dragon in Fear Knights were expected not to show such emotion… but he didn't care. He was helpless, and with his sword broken by the mighty Beatrix, he now could do nothing but only stare and watch his friend Baku, now impaled by the Great General's sword, knowing that the man had died saving him.
"UNWORTHY!" Gafgarion's roar was a toll of death, rising above the cries of the wounded and dying, past the mighty grunts of thunder, and into the heavens themselves. And it struck deep and cruel within Princess Garnet's heart especially. So many bodies lay littered between her and the Dark Knight it made her sick to count. And now Nikkolas—his pistol chamber run dry with all the shots he had expelled trying to stop the Alexandrian general, and his last breath fought—and taken—to protect her. It was all she could do not to throw herself at the black-armored knight herself, but she knew that would only destroy everything they had died for… and that the rest were still fighting for. It was an ironic, bitter tasting realization for her, but she knew that Gafgarion would not harm her anyways. So fighting her tears, fighting her feelings of regret and responsibility, she pushed her way up the mountain slope, the misty entrance of Ice Cavern just ahead while behind, Beatrix kicked aside the body of the young man who had flung himself at her, and looking around, realized that the battle could not be won in their favor. And with the split-second conviction that had earned her the title of Alexandria's Greatest General, she made a single, heart-wrenching decision, positioning herself between the Princess and everyone else down the mountain path, be they mercenary, Dark Knight, or allied knight alike, and including the steadily-advancing Gafgarion. Raising her sword, she summoned the last of her strength after the furious fighting, and with a cry, struck with the ultimate Holy Knight skill: Excalibur, down upon the slope, smiting the age-old earth and stone as if it were nothing, and breaking nearly the entirety of the mountain path away from the rest of the peak, sending friend and foe alike tumbling to their doom, a crescendo of panicked screams rising into the night as dozens of men and women fell at once, with only one of them almost certain to survive the fall, and he the only one not crying out. Hardly able to bear what she had done as she watched the young knights of the 107th, young and exuberant as she remembered them, so eager to serve the Princess, and the Great General Beatrix—now condemned to death by her own sword. All she could tell herself was: 'I had no choice. Gafgarion could not be stopped and we were outnumbered… it was either them, or the Princess.'
Yet another grievous weight placed upon the already wracked soul of the Princess Garnet. The night had changed her already—she had seen war, in all it's brutality for the first time—but the night was not over yet.
If she were not so deeply dedicated and trained to nothing but the instinct of her own perfection in battle—so much so that nothing else phased her mind—be it emotion or conscious thought of any kind—the Dark Knight might have laughed at the sloppy, completely power-driven strike he aimed at her as a beginning to what she hoped would be a memorable battle.
Her past was not a kind one, and there were yet many holes, filled with regret, pain, sorrow, and the desire for closure and revenge, but she forced herself onward, unwilling to ever mourn or give in—she was too strong to accept either option. She had never meant to be a swordsman, but her tumultuous life had forced the role upon her. More than just the techniques of a Dark Knight lay within her, though, in fact she had mastered several sword-wielding arts in her travels, and through those travels, she had eventually found herself here, hired as a "mercenary" of sorts to guard the pass to the exit of Ice Cavern from any who might approach. She had forced the man who had hired her—a black haired, red-eyed servant of the Queen to tell her who her opponent was likely to be if he wanted her cooperation, and he had revealed it was to be none other than the fighting legend, the sword-armed demon and ultimate SOLDIER, Cloud Strife. This news might have well turned any other warrior away from the job—after all they would only be receiving money to guard the pass where as Cloud Strife would be taking their life. Not her, though. She prided herself on her strength, her iron-will, and her history of never having backed down from any opponent. She knew Cloud Strife's record, she had studied the stories written and told about him, and she had gone over their battle a thousand times in her mind. She would win, because she was herself—she could never possibly imagine herself losing to anyone. Not to say she would challenge any opponent and expect to win. She knew that there were still many men and women greater than her on the planet who would kill her if they fought—but it would not always be so. She had never meant to be a swordsman, but as life had seemed fanatical to force the role upon her, she would not fight it. If she were to be a warrior, then she would be the GREATEST warrior this world had ever seen. Taking second place in anything she consciously put her mind to achieving was simply unacceptable. So now, as she flew back through the air in evasion of his first attack, as she had done thousands of times in countless fights before, she prepared herself for another victory. After all, there could be no other outcome.
Cloud raised an eyebrow, somewhat impressed as his female opponent somehow stopped herself dead in the air several feet up and back from her initial position on the path, and then suddenly came shooting back down and forward with him as her obvious target. She hit the ground running, face blank and emotionless, 'Like Sephiroth…' he thought grimly to himself as she charged with unbridled speed directly for him. Despite the weight of her armor she cleared the distance between them in the blink of an eye, and with five feet or so between them she took to the air once again, gravity seeming to sag around her as she brought her sword up, grasping the hilt with her second hand as well, arms bending in all the right places as she brought the blade up over her head—and then came down all at once, her form blurring down through the air like several images instead of one, faster than a shadow, but with the strength of a megaton blast, all her power focusing upon the point of her sword, angling down for the unmoving Cloud Strife's head. 'Crush Punch'… not bad,' he thought to himself, and then he was a flurry of movement himself, his giant sword rising up to block—and nearly breaking under the strain.
Cloud winced, fully aware that his arm was at the point of breaking every moment he held her tremendously powerful attack at bay, her body hanging in the air above him. His heavy black boots pushing cracks into the ground below him, the blonde swordsman gritted his teeth as steel grinded against vicious steel inches in front of his face, fully aware that his Buster Sword which had been with him since the very beginning of his journey, which had outlasted all of his other swords through countless battles, even the Ultima Weapon, which had been separated from him in his initial fall to darkness, was about to shatter into pieces under the strain of the woman's strength pressing down mercilessly above him.
For one grating, agonizing moment they held that pose, and for the expanse of that instant the woman was afraid that the battle might end then and there, but Cloud Strife almost immediately summoned up the discipline and determination that had gotten him this far—that had made him a legend—and his muscles, along with his spirit, buckled in refusal to admit defeat.
'If you can't take an enemy head-on, then move out of the way!' His mind roared at him and for a moment he was back in his battle with the Proud Clod. An invention created by enemies he and his friends had gained seemingly a lifetime ago, the robotic construction had been too powerful to trade blows with physically—which at that point in time, had been Cloud's only strategy of fighting. He had grown much since then, but he had also had his friends with him then. Now, he fought alone, for the sake of friends who had become enemies. Retracting his sword, Cloud lunged backwards, rolling as he hit the ground and coming up on his feet, tightening his grip on his sword hilt as he watched his opponent follow through her with technique. The moment her sword tip touched the ground, the loam of the mountain path erupted upwards in an enormous explosion that completely concealed her figure in upturned dust and rock. Preparing himself for an attack, Cloud was still nearly cut in two as the woman dashed out of the veil of airborne earth created in her previous attack, her sword sweeping out horizontally, leaving a trail like black fire in the night air. Dodging his midsection back and raising his sword up to avoid the sweeping blow completely, Cloud slashed down in a diagonal angle with his sword, putting the strength of both arms into the blow.
Having extended herself too far to hope to dodge, or pull her sword back up to block the blonde man's heavy sword strike, she had no choice but to turn her shoulder in, taking the blow directly upon her armor. Blasted back by the pure force of the attack, the left section of her armor collapsed away from her figure, revealing the sparse amount of black leather she wore underneath. 'Better,' was her only thought, before she brought her sword to bear and charged once again.
This time Cloud was ready for her, and raising his blade up parallel with his body, the point facing down, he blocked her strike with ease, his superior strength causing the force of their meeting to ring greater along her sword arm rather than his.
Of course this did not even begin to deter her.
Coming together, the two struck out in a lightning-fast exchange of sword strikes, each blow perfectly placed and countered—though not wholly defended. It was a testament to the skill of both swordsmen that they both held numerous cuts and gashes, and not all of them minor upon their bodies as they fought. Blood from both fighters stained the ground, and the fight had now dragged on longer than either of them had expected initially—but giving up was unthinkable for both.
Running towards her, his face split in a battle-snarl, Cloud stopped short as she slashed her sword upwards from shin to shoulder. Stopping just in time to avoid being cut, but unable to get a good start immediately after because of a deep rugged slash along his thigh, the ex-SOLDIER chose a different strategy on the spot, kicking out with his damaged leg, his foot connecting with his opponent's hip and sending her stumbling back. Roaring, he leapt up into the sky from where he stood, his torn red scarf/cape trailing through the air behind him, sword raised high as he came down in his Bravertechnique aiming for the dark-armored woman's position upon the ground.
Recovering from the kick, she dodged aside, the earth cracking where he came down, just as it had when she had used her Crush Punch ability. She expected him to rush out, as she had, but instead she found herself beset by a wave of blade-like energy rip-sawing along the ground towards her; Blade Beam. Focusing her strength, she cried out as she thrust out with her blade, canceling out the energy attack only to find Cloud already dashing in at her from behind. 'How did he—? No wonder they say he's the best.' Rather than become disheartened, the Dark Knight was only incensed by the caliber of her opponent. His skill made her fight better than she ever had in her life, and never before would a victory be better earned or more savored. Spinning she lanced her sword up in a stab only partially aimed at Cloud's shoulder, but more aimed at his sword in attempt to throw off his attack. It worked, and she jumped into him, ramming her armored knee into his midsection and doubling him over. Bringing her sword pommel down on his back, her eyes flashed as she blurted out, both mentally and aloud:
'This is—!'
"—the END!"
Blonde hair bristling, teeth gritting where blood flowed from the corner of his mouth, Cloud felt something deep and full raging up like a tide within him. Blue eyes bursting into flame as hot and red as hell, he cried out with a voice that was not his, but rather a demon's, black wings ripping from his back as his grip on his sword changed, the weapon sprouting black needles and blades as he tore upwards into the night sky from his prone position with his Climhazzardattack, taking the silver-haired woman with him.
Completely impaled by his thick blade, she was then flung off when he reached the zenith of his leap, her body spinning through the air like a dark comet, trailing blood as she fell and disappearing over the edge of the twilit cliff as Cloud came gently down.
It was some time before he was able to move due to the exhaustion chaining him, and sometime after that before he had regained control over his body, and reverted back to his normal state. Uncaring of the many dire wounds he had suffered, he clenched one scarred, bloody hand in front of his face. After all this time, he had thought himself free of the darkness, free from the sin of the mistake he had made in his search so long ago. 'I should have known…' he thought sourly, his blue eyes bright as ever, staring down the dark chasm into which his unnamed foe had disappeared, a sub-tunnel of the Ice Cavern itself. 'Darkness doesn't let itself be used and abandoned. I though I could use the darkness, but I lost my way… and I couldn't find the light. And it seems I still haven't found it. Very well then, if the darkness is the only thing I can count on to get my friends back, than I'll go on using it—or being used BY it. It doesn't matter, as long as in the end, I know she's safe, and I know that they've been saved.' Taking a deep breath, not willing to let himself rest even after the battle that had lasted well over an hour, Cloud once again began his trek up the mountain—as of yet, undefeated and still the ultimate warrior. 'Vincent, Barret—I'm coming.'