By Ktrenal
Chapter Eight - Mist, Magic And Mayhem
Mist drifted eerily across his vision, silver light glistening as the swirls moved in a slow, almost hypnotic manner. The source of the light illuminating the dancing clouds of mist was impossible to determine, since it seemed to come from all directions, and yet none at all, for he could easily sense that beyond the mist was only darkness. Here and there patches of a bluish purple were visible, perhaps something hidden within the mist, or perhaps the mist itself, or even the inevitable darkness that lay beyond the silvered shrouds.
And yet, despite this, as he looked down at his feet, the solid surface on which he stood was easy enough to see. A flat surface of roughly lain concrete, stained deep brown from the unimaginable grime that could occur only in a city, a large one such as Midgar or Junon. Only a place populated by vast numbers of people, and dominated by a Mako Reactor or eight could produce enough dirt and pollution to thus stain hard stone. But in comparison, and against all odds it would seem, the mist gave his surroundings an almost clean feel.
No, that wasn't quite the right word, he reflected as the mist cleared in a few isolated patches, revealing empty streets and the hauntingly dead buildings. Pure, or perhaps innocent, were far more appropriate words. As if the silvery grey clouds that swirled around him were somehow cleansing, renewing the subtle impurity of the city. Even as it did so, the most primal of his instincts suggested, almost hesitantly, that although it cleansed, the mist was also in some way the source of the natural evil of his surroundings.
In the corner of his eye, he detected a shape, moving towards him in a manner that could only be described as chaotic, dancing from side to side, and in the face of the eerily silent world around him, its course seemed almost silly. Turning to look at the shape, he recognised it instantly; how could he not? Although it was large, and coloured in silver and purple, there was no mistaking the familiar shape of a butterfly fluttering haphazardly towards him. He watched it as it came closer still, and hovered for a moment in front of him, barely a few inches beyond the tip of his nose, before beginning to fly away, heading into the depths of the shining silver mist.
"Hey! Wait!" he called after it, and took a step forward to follow the butterfly, knowing that it intended to lead him to something important. But he couldn't help but shy away from the mist as a few tendrils extended in his direction. The mist was evil, he knew, and he was reluctant to allow it to touch him. But the butterfly seemed to call to him, drawing him forward.
With a pang, he wished Tseng was around to guide him, to tell him he was being stupid, because he suspected he probably was. His former superior would tell him he was letting his beliefs pull him into unnecessary danger, following the butterfly into the mist despite what his instincts told him. Or he would point out that the mist was not entirely evil, but a balance of both, for it was pure and evidently shining with its own light, while at the same time remaining undeniably evil. And if the mist was not evil, and was unlikely to harm him, he should follow the butterfly's lead, and not let an irrational fear stand in his way.
The dark Wutaian's wisdom was definitely a double-edged sword, he realised with a little irritation. Too much wisdom, so that any amount of it could be applied in any given situation. Not really a lot of help at the present moment, and neither was the other option, the old fallback of his training. In a world of strange mists and even stranger butterflies, Turk training was about as useful as Tseng's wisdom; don't rush into a situation without first knowing what he was up against; don't allow personal feelings and philosophies to interfere with the mission immediate survival; don't submit to fear, even the fear of the unknown; never follow your instincts alone, because they are usually incorrect, or at least blinded by ignorance.
Equal arguments for both staying and going, and so it came down finally to one thing, and one thing alone: what the hell, take a risk! What was the worst that could happen, in the grand scheme of things? He'd be devoured, or whatever it was that evil, malevolent, ominous mists did, but that would happen regardless, sooner or later. The butterfly was calling to him, leading him onwards, and so he followed.
He plunged into the mist, and fought against the urge to recoil as the strangely cold tendrils touched him, ignoring the clothes covering his body, and even his skin. It was the kind of cold that went straight to his heart, and with dull realisation, he understood that the mist knew him.
It knew the most evil depths of his soul, the parts of him that had made him such a fantastic Turk. That dark part of him that reveled in violence and destruction, that had given him the strength to take down the Sector Seven Pillar, to fight and kill without remorse, and to leap into battle against opponents he knew to be too powerful for him.
But there were the heights of his soul as well, and the mist touched upon those as well. The light-hearted, playful young man that would fight and kill to protect those things that meant most to him, that would follow those he respected into hell and every step of the way back, that still retained a touch of whimsical innocence despite the things he'd seen.
The mist knew, and it swirled around him, through him perhaps, and he struggled to keep moving onwards. It would engulf him entirely if it could, this silver embodiment of both good and evil, or life and death. Moving became increasingly difficult, and yet he still pushed onwards, forcing his way through the mist towards the silver and purple butterfly dancing at the edge of vision. It seemed unaffected by the mist, or was perhaps part of it.
Just as he'd begun to feel that the mist would prove too powerful for him to continue to struggle against, it released him into the clear air beyond. The butterfly fluttered onwards, evidently oblivious to his presence, or to the sleek, dark form of the shadow that moved towards it.
He couldn't quite make out the shape of the shadow; it was long and sinuous, almost serpentine, and yet its form seemed to be constantly shifting and changing, so that it was quite impossible to detect what it truly looked like. But then, this seemed to be what the shadow was trying to convey to him, constant changing and flowing as it began to pursue the butterfly. And so began a chase, the butterfly circling around, staying just out of reach of the shadow's jaws, and he couldn't help but feel that the butterfly was taunting the thing pursuing it. The shadow slid forwards once more, its movements smooth and effortless as its powerful jaws opened and snapped at the butterfly.
The silver butterfly danced away, fluttering higher and out of the shadow's reach, but the sleek jaws of the dark beast closed about something else. For that single moment, just as its jaws snapped down onto the tip of its tail, the shadow appeared as a long serpent, glistening in the light that filtered eerily down to its sleek form. There was a long howl of pain, more of a blood curdling shriek that filled the entire world, ringing painfully in his ears...
Reno woke with a start, jumping immediately to the defensive and reaching instinctively for the mag-rod, or a gun, or perhaps even his alarm clock. Miscalculating where the edge of his bed should be, he found himself for a moment suspended in the air, before hitting the floor with a thump and a soft exhalation of breath. Now lying flat on his back on the cold concrete floor, he took the time to take stock of his situation. He was not in his bedroom, waking to the persistent sound of his alarm clock. He was not under attack, although it certainly felt as if he was. The ringing in his ears remained though, and it took a few more seconds to come to the conclusion that his first guess of an alarm had been the most accurate.
Well, this was a pleasant way for them to wake him up. What had happened to simply rattling the bars of the cell to get his attention, as was common in the police stations of his time? He knew he hadn't been sleeping that deeply; he never did, thanks to years of training that allowed him to be ready for anything, including attacks during the night. They probably could have just called his name, and that would have been enough.
But no, they had to set off the alarms to the whole place in an apparent attempt to deafen him. This was exceptionally cruel treatment, even by the standards Reno had come to accept, and expect from the handling of prisoners. He rolled over onto his side, and put one hand beneath to push himself up into a casual sitting position. "Alright! I'm awake!" he shouted over the constant ringing of the alarm.
"Hey! Come on! What you trying to do? Deafen me?" Reno shouted again when there was no immediate response in the way of turning off loud and ear piercing alarms. He waited for another moment, before deciding that while patience could be considered a virtue, the ability to act quickly was a greater one when the continued ability to hear was at stake. "If you don't turn that off right now, I'll do it myself!" he called warningly.
Still nothing. Fine, if they wanted to be like that, then Reno would just have to educate them into the reasons why nobody pissed off a Turk. "Neo-Turk Light!" he yelled into the din, mentally targeting the magic into the office beyond the cell. Materia or no, Reno was still capable of using his own personal abilities. The electricity exploded through the open plan office, easily destroying the desks and the paperwork they carried, and causing the doors of the lockers to burst open. And the spell hit something else too, illuminating the form that crept through the office, and soon striking it with enough force to send it flying back against the wall, unconscious.
The electricity dissipated, and Reno noted with some satisfaction that the alarm had also been terminated by the magic. Score for the Turk! He grinned, and climbed back onto the bed, shuffling around until he found a mostly comfortable position, and then closed his eyes in an attempt to return to sleep. If they wanted him to get up, they'd have to do so in a more civilised manner than blasting his senses with an alarm. Well, and they'd have to regain consciousness too.
"Whoa... what happened in here?" an all too familiar voice asked, accompanied by the soft chime that signaled the opening of the front door.
"You pissed me off," Reno responded, opening his eyes and looking across the destruction to the form of Bob at the door of the office. Next to the huge mountain of man was a smaller individual, who even in the dark Reno could recognise as the leader of the squad that had captured him.
"What, exactly, did we do?" this man asked, stepping forward to survey the carnage more closely.
"I object to being woken with alarms. Simply calling my name would have sufficed," the red-head responded, moving to sit on the edge of the hard shelf-like bed, idly watching as the man picked his way across the room and occasionally nudged the remains of furniture with his foot.
"That wasn't us. Those were the motion detection alarms. Ah, and here we have our escapee," the man remarked as he came to the unconscious form of the figure that had been on the receiving end of Reno's magic. "Badly burned, by the looks of it, but not life-threatening. And you say you did this, Fletcher? Or should I call you Turk?"
"Either is fine. And yes, I did that. I don't appreciate being deprived of my much-needed sleep," Reno replied testily, not liking the man's tone of voice, not in the least.
"It wasn't intentional. The alarms are triggered by movement outside of the cells during the night. It seems our other prisoner had plans on escaping, which you seem to have foiled. Impressive, although I have to wonder..." the man trailed off, and turned his gaze over to Bob. "Go and find Dr. Thomas; this man will be needing medical attention. I think I need to have words with our other captive."
Bob nodded, and responded with an affirmative 'yes, sir', before leaving the building through the doorway he'd been standing in. Once they were alone, Bob's superior moved across the office, occasionally having to climb over the ruined remains of the furniture, before coming to stand at the bars of Reno's cell. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Daverrison Black, commander of all police forces in this area. I believe you had a deal you wished to make?"
"Yeah. Like I said to Bob, I'll deal with your monster problem, if you let me go," Reno replied simply; there wasn't any need to complicate this any further.
"You... you think you can deal with a dragon?" Daverrison asked simply, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the cell.
"Sure. No problem. What colour?" the Turk responded, his tone of voice casual and relaxed, as if killing dragons was an every day occurrence for him.
"What does the colour matter?" Daverrison asked with a frown. From the tone of his voice, it seemed he disapproved of the prisoner's casual attitude, especially towards dragons.
"Well, a red dragon is going to be immune to fire, for example, and a white dragon will be immune to ice. My lightning magic, which so effectively destroyed your office here, is going to be useless against a blue dragon, and the claws of a green dragon are likely to be poisonous. And so on and so forth. I'd like to know what it is that I'm up against before I go charging in and get myself killed." Reno said this in a manner that conveyed only a smug intelligence, knowing full well that his knowledge exceeded that of Daverrison.
"It's a black dragon, from what I've heard," the other man said. "I hope you know how to deal with that."
Reno paled slightly, now that he knew what he'd let himself in for. A black dragon, or a dark dragon as he knew it, was vulnerable to only one type of magic, and that was the one type the red-head had never carried with him. Holy magic, the power of healing, had always been Rude's department. And in fighting dragons, it was the magic that gave the edge needed to defeat it.
"I gather you don't know how to deal with a black dragon, then?" Daverrison asked, his tone of voice almost suggesting that Reno was trying to back out of this deal, now that it actually came to the crunch of it.
"I know how to kill a black dragon. They're called dark dragons where I come from," Reno answered, beginning to look somewhat worried now. He was going to have to rely entirely on physical attacks, the mag-rod and his gun. Normally, against any other opponent, he wouldn't have worried too much, since the power of his weapons was more than enough to deal with anything he might encounter. Except dragons, that had tough hide and scales, able to turn aside all but the most powerful of blows; magic was by far more effective.
"So what's the problem? That lightning thing you did was pretty impressive. I've never seen anyone else able to do anything like it. To tell the truth, I didn't really believe in magic, despite those things the traders sell in the market," Daverrison told him.
"Those things aren't magic, what they sell. The problem with dark dragons is they're mostly immune to many types of magic, with the exception of holy magic... that is healing magic. The lightning and fire and such will work, but not as well," Reno said, being careful at the words he chose, simply because he couldn't let the people here know about the power of materia. Instead, they would have to think that it was a power of Reno's own. Neo-Turk Light and Pyramid were, at least.
He flashed a grin at Daverrison. "I'm pretty good with magic all around, but I've never been able to do any healing magic at all. Always had my buddy Rude for that. Man, I wish he was here right now."
"Can you still manage the dragon?" the man asked, obviously oblivious to the momentary sadness in the red-head's voice as he spoke of his friend.
"Yeah, I got a few tricks up my sleeve yet. But first I need my weapons back, and some fresh clothes. Oh, and my coloured stones. They're my good luck charms. I never go anywhere without them," Reno said, grinning as he pulled himself to his feet and walked to the door of the cell. There was no question now that he wouldn't be released.
Daverrison took the keys from the metal ring hanging from his belt, fumbling for a moment until he found the right one, and then unlocking the cell and pulling the door open, allowing Reno to exit. Then he went to the remains of his desk, searching through the wreckage until he came to the pile of belongings confiscated from Reno. These items he returned to the red-head, who looked a little at a loss about what to do with them for the moment.
"I'm gonna need some clothes before I get kitted up," Reno remarked, although despite this he strapped the mag-rod's holster around his hips, over the top of his boxers. He realised it must look an odd sight, because Daverrison snickered softly.
"You can borrow some of my clothes, although they're going to be a bit big for you," the man commented, moving now to the metal storage lockers. He prodded the open door, and glanced back at Reno, as if guessing the reason for this. And then, pulling the door open a little further, he retrieved a bag from within, tossing it to the now freed prisoner. "Help yourself. I always keep a few changes of clothes around here."
Reno rummaged through the bag, turfing clothes out and onto the floor until he found something close to what he was looking for. Considering Daverrison's greater height and mass, he felt it would be a good idea to keep as many of his own clothes as he could. His t-shirt and jacket could stay, definitely, and a belt would remedy any issues he'd have with the pair of jeans borrowed from Daverrison.
He kicked off his boots and removed the mag-rod and its holster from his waist, before quickly pulling the jeans on. Finding a belt, he threaded the thick leather through the belt hoops, and tightened it to the point where there was no risk of the pants falling down around his ankles. That would be far more humiliating than continuing to wander around in his underwear.
Once again, he strapped the mag-rod's holster around his waist, tightening that too as added insurance to keep the loose clothing in place. His gun he tucked into its usual place in his belt; he'd never been one to be carrying two holsters, since that many straps ended up impeding his movement somewhat. For a Turk who'd relied very heavily on his natural agility, allowing such a thing could easily prove lethal to him.
The 'coloured stones' were mostly dropped into various pockets; some in the deep pockets of the jeans he was now wearing, and others in both the internal and external jacket pockets. He made careful note of which ones were in what pocket, so he could find them easily at a moment's notice. Knowing he was facing a dark dragon, he found himself wishing he carried some armour, so his Destruct materia could be placed in a defensive slot to allow him some defense against the dragon's death magic. He would just have to cope the best he could, since it was unlikely any armour with the ability to carry materia would be available here.
As Reno prepared himself in this manner, he realised his leg was still very sore; while Mako enhancements gave his body much greater ability to naturally heal itself, he would still have appreciated some curative magic to take away the worst of the injury. He'd be lucky to get so much as a potion in this place, and he idly wished he could remember how those were made, so he'd know whether they were likely to exist here. Somehow, it seemed doubtful they would.
There was a way around this, he knew. A way to heal himself without using potions, or healing magic. He just couldn't remember how to do it. It had been an obscure technique he'd been shown just once, although now the method eluded him. It hadn't been too complex, but certainly not very obvious. He'd have to think on it.
"Hey, Dave, do I get breakfast before we go?" he asked, noticing the man wince at the contraction of his name.
"No, you don't. You get breakfast afterwards, if you survive. You sure you can do this? You are limping, you know," Daverrison replied.
"So long as you don't make me walk to wherever this dragon is, I'll be fine," Reno replied. He was more than used to ignoring pain and injuries for short lengths of time in order to fight. This would be the first time in a while that he'd actually entered a fight already injured, however, not to mention a little tired. If he died, he decided, he would make a special effort to make Daverrison and Bob miserable for their rest of their lives. A persistent butterfly could drive anyone insane, and there was no doubt about where Reno's spirit would be going when he died.
"It's quite a distance, so we'll be riding. You do know how to ride a chocobo, don't you?" Daverrison asked.
The Turk couldn't help but smirk at the man, tossing his head in a distinctly cocky and arrogant manner. "Of course I do."
"I wasn't sure. Not many do, because there are so few tame chocobos," Daverrison commented, looking a little annoyed at Reno's attitude.
"You should have realised already that I just know everything," Reno responded, including another cocky, lop-sided smirk.
"Indeed. You should know that we're leaving, then." With this statement, Daverrison picked his way across the ruins of the office, pausing at the doorway to look back at the red-head.
"Course I do. Let's get this over with so I can have breakfast," Reno said, following the officer over the disaster the area outside the cells had become, moving with significantly more difficulty than Daverrison had done. His leg seemed unwilling to bear his weight for any length of time, and it was only his quick reflexes that kept him from tripping, falling, or otherwise maiming himself as he crossed the room. He'd be alright once the adrenaline of a battle was pounding through him.
Disclaimer - Reno and Final Fantasy VII aren't mine. Bob, Daverrison, the plot, and Reno's weird dreams are mine however.
Author's Notes - I promised Midgar in this chapter, didn't I? I'm sorry... Next chapter, okay? Or maybe the chapter afterwards. It depends how much I manage to write in the next chapter. I'm not good with action scenes, so we might well see Midgar by the end of next chapter. At the very least, there will be the dragon! I know not a vast amount really happened in this chapter, but despite that, I still kinda like it. It was fun to write.
Tijuana Pirate: Check it out! We have butterflies in this chapter! There will definitely be more revelations about Shinra later on, although I'm not saying what. I probably gave too much away, even there. I think I may have to check out that book you saw reference to. I would explain my use of Ouroboros more, but it would ruin my plot and stuff.
Sabriel41: You like my settings then? I worry I'm far too overly descriptive and wordy at times, but it just never seems right unless I describe everything just as I see it in my head; possibly this says something about my imagination, but still. For the butterflies, they're the by-product of another story, and just had to be included in this one...
WrexSoul: I can well believe that perfectionism is a writer's worst enemy. It's difficult to put a chapter down and say 'no more adjustments'. Still, I will trust the opinions of my reviewers and Beta-readers, and very grateful for them I am too. This is definitely going to be a long story, I think.
Reviews are always welcome, as usual, and so too is poking. Feel free to poke me by email or AIM as well, if you wish. My Beta-readers do not poke half as often as they should, although for the moment, my own inspiration will cause me to begin the next chapter.