"How in the hells did you…?" Hottori sputtered, reaching for the sheathed katana that lay on the tent floor next to him.
"Ah ah," the newcomer scolded. "I don't think you'll be wanting to use that."
The guard tensed at the warning, and moved to bar the path to his commander, undaunted even when he found a rifle's muzzle at his heart.
Hottori's hand lingered above the katana, but he didn't withdraw it. "What exactly do you think you're doing, you Shinra hound?" he demanded with angry defiance.
"Call off your little guard dog here and I'll tell you."
After a moment's hesitation, Hottori nodded brusquely at the young guard, who reluctantly backed out of the way.
"That's better. I'd hate to have to cause a problem my first day with my new…cause." At Hottori's quizzical look, the man lowered his weapon and added with an amused chuckle, "What, you're never seen a defector?"
Hottori stiffened. "Excuse me?"
"Look, I know you people are about as interested in talking and negotiation as the Company, so I'll cut to the chase." A malicious grin curled the soldier's lips. "SOLDIER just got a new leader. He is a young, arrogant, murdering son of a bitch, and there is no way in heaven or hell or anything in between that I will take orders from him. Take me in, and if he gets too close, I'll see to it he gets a nice little bullet right between those freaky green eyes of his."
Hottori's hand finally came to rest on the katana's handle. "What kind of a fool do you take me for? You actually expect me to believe trash like that?" he snapped. "Not a one of you pigs can be trusted, so why should I find you the exception?"
"How many of us 'pigs' have no desire to leave here?"
The Commander said nothing. The guard was visibly taken aback. This man…this SOLDIER…speaking things like that with such finality…
"Are you insane? What kind of talk is that?" Hottori scoffed.
"Oh, I'm perfectly sane," the SOLDIER replied, going dead sober. "I'm just not going to waste energy anymore trying to get back home to a place I don't believe in anymore. I've got nothing worth going back to…enough's enough, y'know?" he added with a wry quirk of his mouth. He shrugged. "So…if you don't want to risk it and trust me…hey, what the hell. I may just have to put a bullet between your eyes, too…but what the hell. I just figured since neither of us are all that fond of Shinra, Inc. anymore, I may as well do both of us a favor…and reap the benefits of a little Shinobi hospitality 'til its over."
Hottori remained silent, mentally warring between common sense and old military instinct. Common sense screamed at him that this one would turn out no differently than any other turncoat, despite his…morbid…claim; it could end up being nothing short of disastrous. Military instinct, however, found this a subtle, yet potentially invaluable opportunity. And not once had he seen someone so resolute about not going home…that couldn't be something easily feigned.
And if this SOLDIER did act out of line, or even lasted until the end of the war…it certainly didn't sound like he'd terribly mind a swift death…
He was with Shinra, though…
"So? What do you think of that? Protection until the end of the war for an elite hired gun?"
Hottori glanced down at the katana…and slowly removed his hand from it. "I think…" He paused, a ghost of a smile brushing across his features. "…You are most welcome here…Burkell."
--------------------
The walk back to the commanders' tent was a quiet one. Cressmore was deep in serious thought, and Reyburn had enough respect for him not to disturb that reverie. Halfway there, however, the Major's pace slowed, and the First Lieutenant followed suit, even stopping, when he realized his superior was about to say something.
"Reyburn," the blonde began tentatively, "do you think…maybe…there's any kind of chance that Burkell was right about the General?" He looked up at the taller man to gauge his expression. "That maybe…him killing Bailey…wasn't entirely out of self-defense?"
Reyburn's russet brows arched in mild surprise. "You're joking, right? You're not actually considering taking that crackpot's tirade as gospel, are you?" He crossed his arms over his broad chest and shifted to one foot as he regarded Cressmore with guarded incredulity. "C'mon, we know Bailey and Burkell were friends…how couldn't they be? I mean, Burkell probably had an idea Bailey had a hand in his own demise, but admitting that your friend's got murderous tendencies and knowingly pissed off someone who could rightfully do something about it -- to someone much younger than and who outclassed both of them -- isn't something he'd likely do."
The blonde frowned. "Yeah," he sighed, "but I mean…well, not taking Burkell's assumption as truth, but doesn't it just seem like there's something…different about the General?" He, too, folded his arms. "People can do some pretty strange things if there's a strong enough influence, and…I don't know…it just seems like in his case…it could be there, you know? And not just Mako or anything."
The perplexed look on the First Lieutenant's face answered for him.
Cressmore shrugged and threw up his hands in defeat. "Ah, never mind," he said, shaking his head and offering a transparent smile. "It's…probably nothing. I'm just tired or something; it's been a strange day."
"Sure, it's nothing," Reyburn snorted softly. "You are one shitty liar, you know that?"
Cressmore went solemn. "Say…I'm…gonna go check on something." It was as if Reyburn hadn't spoken at all. "Go on back. I'll be there in a couple minutes."
The brunette uncrossed his arms.
The Major smiled again, and this one appeared a shade truer. "I'm sure you can entertain the General by yourself for a bit."
"Oh, you bet," Reyburn nodded, letting the conversation shift where the blonde led it. "Maybe we can wax philosophically about the meaning of life. Quantum physics would work, too."
Cressmore got a genuine chuckle out of that. "Sounds good to me."
Reyburn watched as Cressmore turned and walked back the way they'd come from, shortly disappearing among the rows of tents and their pitch shadows. He remained a moment after he could no longer see him, trying to divine a reason for this sudden doubt about General Sephiroth…who the blonde had seemed to latch onto right away. It wasn't odd for him to do that…latch onto someone, that is…but to suddenly take another's incredible accusation into serious account about that someone…that just wasn't like him at all.
Not unless there really was…
"Oh, whatever," he huffed, continuing for the tent. "I'm not even taking my own advice. He'll spill it if he thinks I should know what the hell he's talking about." He forced his mind off the subject and onto working out a suitable compliment for the General; already tallying kills, and he hadn't even been here a day…that warranted some kind of praise. He didn't rehearse much beyond that, though, because it thus far didn't appear like the young man was much of a conversationalist.
Arriving at the tent, he swept aside the entrance flap, the comment poised on his lips…
…But he wasn't there.
"Huh." Reyburn slipped the pistol from his belt and set it on the crate. He swatted aside the tent's divider, thinking the General might have retired for the night; a second's perusal told him he wasn't there, and hadn't been any time recently. "I wonder where the hell else he would have gone. It's not like…the mess tent or anything would be offering anything anymore," he mused. "I suppose…he could demand something, but it doesn't look like he eats a whole lot, anyway."
He walked back outside, habitually retrieving the handgun as he passed it. Re-holstering it on his belt, he turned to one of the guards. "Say…did the General come back here at all?"
The guard snapped a truncated salute. "No, Sir," he replied, "but I did see him coming this way. It's strange, Sir…he stopped just out there…only for a moment, like he was thinking about something…then went that way instead." He pointed toward the northeast.
The northeast? There wasn't anything special there. The bluffs…but there wasn't exactly a lot to see this time of night. That was where the Shinobi had come from earlier…why would he go back there, though?
The Shinobi…
"Oh, damn," Reyburn hissed, starting for the bluffs. "Why am I thinking this is gonna be some weird shit again…?"
--------------------
"You've got to be kidding," Cressmore murmured in disbelief, his strides quickening as he neared the northeast edge of the camp. "In half? What in Ramuh's name would possess him to do that? Shiva…I don't know…now I think I am beginning to wonder."
He passed the last row of tents…and stopped short. Sephiroth, his back to him, stood some distance away, the Masamune bare in one hand, its ebon sheath in the other. Several dark, shapeless forms lay on the ground before him.
The Shinobi from the raid.
Finding it odd that the General hadn't gone back to the commanders' tent -- and fervently wishing he had -- Cressmore resumed his trek, halting quietly a respectable distance behind his superior. "Sir," he said, "what are you doing out here?" An uneasy ache instantly arose, gnawing at the back of his mind; uncertain what was provoking such a pang, he quickly tried to force it aside.
Sephiroth didn't answer right away; he didn't even acknowledge the Major's presence. A long, uneasy silence passed before he finally replied, in a low, emotionless voice, "Am I not free to go where I choose?"
The unorthodox reply -- and the tone in which it was spoken -- caught the blonde off guard. "Well, of course, Sir. I was just…curious."
"Curiosity can be dangerous, Major."
Cressmore had to mull over that one a moment, trying to figure out where such odd words had come from. He ultimately chose to disregard them; he'd decided he needed to ask the new leader something -- unwise as he was beginning to feel it was -- and now was as opportune a time as any. He couldn't let a cryptic barb like that deter him.
Despite the uncertainty that now wouldn't seem to leave him alone, he really wanted to trust the General…but there was just something…he had to know.
Cressmore settled back into a proper resting stance, hands clasped loosely behind his back. "If you don't mind, Sir…I'd like to ask you something."
Sephiroth cocked his head, but still didn't turn to face him. He seemed content to gaze at the form, the body, at his feet -- the one, Cressmore now noticed with an ill turn of his stomach, that had had his head cleaved in two. "Go right ahead."
There was that same chill…not right…timbre.
"Was this Shinobi…killed this way…in anger? And was Bailey…killed in anger as well? Not just self-defense?"
Now Sephiroth slowly turned and looked the Major square in the eye. The luster in his jade orbs played dangerously at cruel, untainted…insanity. The expression on his face was eerily flat -- not cold, or solemn, or even irritated.
There was just nothing there.
Cressmore paled. That unsettling weight he'd tried to push aside…was truth. There was something seriously wrong with the situation. No…there was something seriously wrong with the General.
It wasn't…him.
"I don't care for what you're implying, Major," Sephiroth answered at last.
The blonde swallowed hard. "I don't mean to imply anything, Sir. I'm just…concerned, that's all. I shouldn't have…"
"Concern indeed," Sephiroth sneered. "You believe that…fool, don't you?"
Cressmore opened his mouth to refute that, but the hostile glare that flared in those Mako eyes told him that hadn't truly been meant as a question.
A strange grin curled Sephiroth's lips. He motioned down to the Shinobi at his feet. "Tell me…is this how you'd like to die?"
Visibly unfazed by the threat -- why, he wasn't even sure, Cressmore held fast the General's gaze. "You won't kill me, Sir," he declared; as defiant as he intended to sound, he couldn't suppress an unnerved waver from thinning his voice. "You don't…want to kill me."
"No?" The sheath clattered to the dirt; he took the Masamune in both hands. "I believe I do."
His voice lilting in a…mad…singsong, Sephiroth deftly swept the great blade up…but he didn't strike.
"General!"
Cressmore vaguely heard Reyburn's call, but he made no indication of it. He could only watch, his faint alarm rapidly fading, as the General…realized what he was about to do.
Sephiroth somberly lowered the Masamune; his emerald eyes regained their cool, familiar light.
Reyburn, who'd gotten to the camp's edge just in time to see the sword raised to strike and shouted for its wielder, now ran for his two superiors. He clumsily returned the gun -- which he'd drawn just in case -- to his belt.
"Holy shit!" he exclaimed when got to them. "What's going on here?"
The Major remained silent. In fact, he barely heard his fellow officer. He was too enraptured in trying to read what was going on in the General's mind, and though the younger man was doing a spectacular job of not displaying it, two emotions were stirring violently behind those Mako eyes -- not that brief jag of madness, but subtle, barely discernable bewilderment…and fury.
"Cressmore, what's…"
His movement composed despite his obvious ire, Sephiroth knelt to retrieve the sheath, snapped the katana in its place, and rose. Without a word to either of them, he spun sharply on his heel, and nimbly sidestepping his brutal kill, started walking toward the bluffs.
And much to Reyburn's shock, even knowing the blonde's nature, Cressmore hurried after him.
"Sir!"
Sephiroth reluctantly slowed his pace, but didn't stop. "What?" he barked, harsher than he'd even intended.
Cressmore continued a fair length behind him for a moment, hoping the General would stop and look at him. Not that he wanted to try and put Sephiroth on a guilt trip, if indeed he could…no, he only wanted to see if that malicious…alien…glow was still absent from his eyes. When Sephiroth made no indication of complying with his unspoken wish, he addressed him as he was.
"Sir, are you okay?"
Sephiroth said nothing at first, giving only a bitter chuckle. "I just came within seconds of killing you…and you ask if I'm okay?"
The blonde's brows furrowed, but he didn't say anything.
"I assure you, Major, I am perfectly fine," he insisted, a harsh steel edge to his voice.
"No offense, but you're a poor liar, Sir," the Major softly replied.
/You're a poor liar, Sephiroth./
Now Sephiroth abruptly halted and angrily wheeled to face him. He was irate, apparently over the meager criticism, but the rage that shone in his verdant orbs was different from before. This ferocity…was his own.
Cressmore frowned. "I apologize, Sir, for asking you what I did. I shouldn't have doubted you in the first place, and…I won't bring it up again."
Sephiroth's grip on the Masamune's bound handle tightened; beneath the black leather of his glove, his knuckles were dead white. He didn't even try to mask the vexation…the disgust…in his response. "Don't patronize me," he spat.
And without allowing the blonde any further words…he continued toward the bluffs.
It didn't take long for even his moonsilver hair to be lost beneath their lightless stature.
The Major didn't follow this time.
"Ifrit's flaming ass!" Reyburn shouted, running to join Cressmore. "Are you okay? Is he okay? What the hell…?"
Cressmore slowly shook his head. "I'm fine," he said. "And so is the General. About all that got hurt was his pride…I think."
--------------------
Sephiroth stopped just after rounding the cliff base, where he could plainly hear the steady rush of the ocean and see its silver and cerulean glimmer.
Not that he cared.
"What…in the hell was I doing?" he murmured in incensed disbelief. His free hand curled into a painfully taut fist; he raised it to strike the stone beside him, but realizing what attention that might draw, reasoned against it and instead forced his fingers loose.
"That…would have ruined everything I have…" he mused, gazing with an inexplicable curiosity at his now open hand, "…and I don't even know why I…"
He trailed off as his fury intensified and the searing rage pinched his features into a savage snarl.
She…it…that voice…was laughing.
At him.
(That was you, she-demon, wasn't it?) he demanded.
Oh, my…you command me to shut up and order me to leave you alone, and now you call for me? A fickle child, aren't you?
(Don't toy with me, whatever the hell you are! You…made me do that, didn't you?)
I didn't make you do anything. she coyly replied. Am I to blame that you have a penchant for gruesome killing and homicidal temper swings?
(I wasn't even mad, you…bitch.) he growled. (And don't you dare accuse me of being proud of that!)
Her response was an unpleasant cacophony of ear-splitting shrill and nerve-grating hiss. You wretched brat!
(Don't you ever intrude like that again! I won't allow you to ruin everything I'm finally getting!)
Who do you think you're commanding, boy? And how exactly do you think you got this far?
(I am commanding you to get the hell out of my mind, so I can continue to get the things I deserve by my own hand!)
She laughed again, this time with scornful amusement, and what Sephiroth could have sworn was a twinge of pity. …It's almost a shame…hmm… She fell silent a moment, as if contemplating his demand. Fine…you want your way so badly, you naïve child, then you shall have it. But I promise you this…you are a fool if you think I will ever just disappear. Mercilessness not unlike Hojo's chilled her tone. That fool scientist isn't the only one you'll never be rid of.
/See this? This…is my blood./
/And this is your blood. Our blood is one and the same. That is why../
/…you will never, ever be rid of me. Not in life, and never in death. Do you understand that?/
"We'll see about that." Hatred for both Hojo…and her…clenched his fist and his chest. "Once I get back to Midgar, that conniving bastard will explain this…or I will relieve him of his head. And," he added with a cold smirk, "I'd like to hear him laugh after that."
--------------------
"He bested Lieutenant General Merser's rank by rights of a duel…why wouldn't he be fit to be here? I mean, who am I to judge his behavior? Everyone freaks out once in awhile, for one reason or another…"
Cressmore was back in the commanders' tent, perched on his stool, his arms loosely crossed over the edge of the crate. He started blankly at a heavily marked map of northern Wutai…not that he could see much anyway, because the batteries in the lone lamp were failing, and thus so was its light. He was far too deep in though -- and needless to say, too concerned about the General -- to even consider going to bed. Reyburn had turned in a short time ago, and was already snoring like a small Behemoth.
Reyburn…he'd never been one to lose a lot of sleep over much of anything, and this time, considering he didn't know what this particular ' anything' was -- and hadn't badgered for an explanation more concrete than 'my question got answered' -- he certainly had no reason to.
The Major swept both hands through his golden hair and heaved a profound sigh. "Oh, hell," he huffed, "I'm getting way too analytical with all this. I know now Burkell was wrong…and the General didn't kill me. He realized what he was doing…something I'd like to believe wasn't entirely voluntary, and stopped himself. That says something, I think. I don't know what happened with Sergeant Bailey, or that Shinobi, but…"
"The Sergeant hated me because he knew I was already something he had failed to become."
Startled, Cressmore clambered to his feet to find himself face-to-face with his Mako-eyed General. "Shiva, you're quiet, Sir! How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough." Sephiroth walked past him, as if he meant to leave it at that and go to the back to sleep. He paused, though, not quite there, and turned to squarely face the Major. "You asked what I was doing out there," he said, his words even, if not a shade austere. "I'd like to ask the same."
Even though that question had never really been answered, Cressmore wasn't going to remind him of it or argue. "I was a bit curious, Sir, after seeing those assassins you took care of, so I went and questioned the troopers I had sent for you earlier. They hadn't seen you fight, but said it looked like you'd…lost your temper…with one of the Shinobi. I wasn't really sure if I should believe them, so I was coming out there…" He lowered his eyes. "…I wanted to prove to myself they were just telling me a story…and that Burkell was just being a bullheaded ass."
He gave a feeble laugh. "As good a SOLDIER as he is…was…he was always good at that." He looked up at Sephiroth again. "Well, I know the Shinobi wasn't a story, but…I guess I really have no reason not to believe what Lieutenant General Merser told us about Sergeant Bailey's death. Even after wondering if Burkell might have been right for once…I'd still trust the Lieutenant General over him any day."
"I see."
"Well, if it means anything, Sir…the troopers were quite impressed with how you took care of those Shinobi. The last one especially, they said. ' It was nasty, Sir, but if the General keeps that up, not only will we slaughter the Shinobi, but we'll have the ones that are left pissing themselves!'" He tried a grim smirk. "Something along those lines, I believe."
(The worst one. The one…she…must have had a hand in…and that's what most impresses them.)
Sephiroth didn't respond to his halfhearted attempt at black humor; in fact, it almost appeared to rekindle the anger he'd walked off with before.
"I wouldn't make a whole lot of that, Sir," Cressmore explained on a more serious note. "A lot of these troopers have been here too long…and that's the only kind of humor they can find in all of this."
"Then I think it's about time I won this war," Sephiroth answered, stoicism settling back on his features.
"I hope so, Sir," the Major smiled.
(And since I'm apparently such a terrible liar…)
His jaw clenched as if it was difficult for him to say, Sephiroth continued, "And…that…will never happen again."
"Of course not, Sir." Cressmore didn't even have to consider what he was referring to. Quite frankly, he didn't care.
He believed him.
--------------------
"So, tell me…" Hottori flipped to the page depicting the Demon Sword, then turned the book so Burkell could get a look. "…This silver-haired youth…does this look like the blade he wields?"
He stole a quick peek at the illustration. "Sure," he shrugged, unconcerned. "What the hell does it matter?"
Hottori blanched and very deliberately shut the ancient tome. "What does it matter? This blade…is one that can only be wielded by the kin of one of the most malignant devils ever to curse existence! It is a cursed oni's blade!"
Burkell blinked. A slow smile melted onto his lips. "Yeah," he snorted. "Sure thing." He tugged the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and slipped one out of it. "About all he is…is a freak-of-nature bastard with a weapon as tall as he is and an attitude that should have gotten him killed a long time ago." Without even asking the Shinobi officer if he minded, he whipped his lighter out, lit the cigarette, and took a long draw off of it. "He's no devil."
Hottori set the book aside. "For my people's sake, SOLDIER, I pray to all the gods you are right."
"Sure as hell I'm right," Burkell insisted. He gave the rifle, which he'd set beside him on the tent floor, a pat. "Next time he crosses me," he began with a fiendish grin, "you'll see just how non-demonic…and killable…he is."
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A/N: Good @*&$^! grief! It's certainly been long enough, hasn't it? That wasn't a chapter of monumental length, but I hope the quality's still there. I had this ready to post yesterday, but of course my computer had to freak out on me. O_o;
Yeah…anyway, thanks for reading -- and for the feedback, of course! ^_^