AN: Well, here's some action. Now, action is not my forte. So my perspectives on things are a little... weird. But this signals the beginning of the end of this story. As in... I know how it ends. (gasp in horror!) I may change my mind a few times, but I have an idea. And thanks so much again for the support! Geez, nearly a hundred reviews... and for a sequel no less. Puts some pressure on me... but in a good way. Well, enjoy.
Chapter 20 – Acciaccatura
He didn't think that the evil he sought was also seeking him. Then again, such possibilities never did occur in his mind.
He'd forgotten just how ugly it had been, the slimy and deformed mockery of a woman. Now that he was looking at her again, she seemed even more worse for the wear. In fact, if he didn't already know it, he would be hard pressed to figure out that she was a female. Or a male even. She was just so distinctly...
Inhuman.
He also noticed how terribly cold outside it was, now that the sun was set and he was standing away from the fire. He didn't even know Winter had started...
Focus. Stop worrying about trivial things like the weather. Fight monster first. Think later.
It was Yuffie who struck the first blow. So impulsive, and with such a survival instinct. He would have cursed at her if he didn't already know that the monster before them had a deep set hatred against them, and would give them no chance to defend themselves. He was almost disappointed that his instincts were not timed so well. He hadn't trained hard in some time; luckily, his baser self was born to be a fighter.
One slimy tentacle whipped in front of his face, and his sword was soon in his hands, the upper muscles of his arms screaming with the strain. He'd forgotten how satisfying it was to fight something other than himself, and as he felt steel connect with pseudo organic flesh, every one of his senses sharpened and tingled...
"To your left!" Yuffie screeched at him, as another tenacle came towards him. She may not have been the strongest physical fighter, but she was quick, and that proved a boon to him many times. If only he had another person too... he'd take Vincent or Tifa any day...
But they aren't here. This is your fight.
Her shuriken whizzed by his ear, throwing him off guard for a moment. Some part of that ugly thing that is Jenova must have been closer than he anticipated. And his sight was becoming more reddish, as his eyes adjusted to the falling darkness...
Slice, lunge, step back, lunge again, avoid that damn tentacle, watch for the goo, slice, stab...
His thoughts were wild repetition and training. He was a machine, like so many had accused him of being. And he was loving it. There was no need to think, no need to grieve, no need to care or love or exist...
Yuffie glanced over at him strangely, the chance times she could see him between dodging and throwing. He didn't see her worried expression, didn't see the selfless fear in her eyes. She had told him something...
'...I'm too young to die...'
He had to protect her. The mechanics of his body was fighting the ethereal steel of his mind. Why were his shots deflecting Jenova's attacks in her direction? Why wasn't he wounding that horrendous monster more? Was he even trying?
Why would you kill the Messenger? Don't you want to know what she has for you....?
"Cloud!" Yuffie shouted, jumping up to catch her shuriken, "What the hell in going on?!" And that was all the acknowledgement he needed, with the strained but not entirely frightened tone of her voice. He glanced over, just in time to see one of the monster's tentacles, one that had grown something sharp, rear up to impale her.
"Yuffie! Move!" he shouted, but his legs were already moving, and he saw that she was half a second too slow...
Screeeech! The metal of his sword met the wholly inorganic spike that would have been lodged in Yuffie's chest. She stared at odd cross of monster and man, and then came to her senses. With a grit of her teeth, she sent her shuriken right for that arm that held the spike, cutting it cleanly.
And the monster howled, a sound that reverberated in the landscape and in his mind...
Pain, Cloud Strife. Is that what you fear? No, a warrior would not fear pain...
With a small cry, Yuffie clapped her hands over her ears, and fell to her knees.
...Perhaps, loss? Guilt... for I will be the judge of you...
She shut her eyes tightly, and strangely enough, the gnarled fingerlike tenacles of Jenova did not reach out to crush and tear at her. But somehow, he was more troubled seeing the state she was in, hunched over and holding back the tears like a child...
"Stop it! Leave her alone!" he shouted at the creature, charging at her full force. Though he could not distinguish any particular face, he thought he could see her snarl, an arrogant and self pleasing expression...
Did you never consider that I was a part of you too?
"I DON'T CARE!" he screeched, homicidally stabbing at it, flinging foul liquid and slime all over the place, "You can't have her too!" He hacked away blindly at it, his rage taking over his judgment.
Detach yourself from this human frivolty. You have transceded such sentimental notions... when you are judged, you must be judged cleanly, free of all that hinders you...
And he stared at it, at her, this monster he thought was something entirely alien and horrific and evil...
And he saw her face. All dark Wutain eyes, and dark hair tinged with green...
The sword clattered to the ground, as Cloud fell to his knees. Evil was supposed to be ugly, and horrible, and alien...
Why does she look like her? Is this some sort of trick?
"Cloud!"
He blinked, and she was still there. Staring at him with eyes that should have been kind and mischievious. Snarling with lips that should have been smiling. But even if she was totally wrong, corrupted as such... he couldn't attack her. He'd lost his will to fight it.
"What do you want?" he screamed at her, forgetting that Yuffie was next to him, waving her hands to get his attention.
"Cloud! It's me, Yuffie! Pick up your sword!"
What do you want?
My justice, Cloud Strife. Though it will probably mean your destruction.
"Cloud! Dammit Cloud! I'll kill it myself!"
As long as you leave her alone. I will do as you ask.
"Ah! It's ALIVE!"
Of course.
But she was destracted from fighting the newly animated monstrosity, for Cloud fell forward, as if dead.
"Cloud!" she screeched, nearly dropping her shuriken in the process, "What the hell did you do, you fucking alien freak?!"
"I know you too, Yuffie Kisargi," it spoke, a voice of acid and honey, like poison sweetened to taste, "Would you succumb to my judgement?"
"Like hell I would! Give Cloud back!" she replied, wished it had a face she could spit at. She gripped her shuriken tighter, ready to find the right soft spot to lodge it into. She was steeling her arm, ready to let Jenova have all that she was made of. For when Yuffie decided that something was worth all the trouble to save, she was going to destroy whatever threatened it.
But then there was a gunshot. She knew that gunshot.
"...Yuffie?"
Elsewhere, Earlier...
He had begun to doubt whose interests he had taken to heart when he decided to keep most of his research to himself. Judging solely from the expressions of her face, as her eyes scanned through the page he had handed her... she was worried.
But about who? That's what troubles you, isn't it, Valentine?
His research into matters were far from extensive, as it was already becoming evident that he may have made a mistake. Translation was such a long and hard process at times, for Tiveph fancied himself smart, which meant he used technical jargon and complex sentence structure. And that was just for his journal. He couldn't imagine what his technical notes looked like. No scientist anytime soon would decipher that mess.
Which was a relief in itself. From what he knew now, he had lost any faith in science that he may have had left.
Tiveph's notes about Jenova, or Ayin as he preferred to call her, were no real help. For such a scientific Cetra, he was freakishly idealistic about her.
You thought if you let her choose, then her attachment to Cloud would wane. That was all you were worried about, wasn't it?
Vincent had simply told her enough to keep her from going completely crazy. He assessed the situation a certain way, and he knew if she and Cloud dug further into their predicament, they would only further their "connection". Cloud would slip further into his schizoprenic delusions, and Tifa...
He didn't want to imagine what would have happened to her. He had to hold onto this little bit of a hopeful attitude. Pessimism wouldn't do any good.
"...Vincent?" Tifa asked, looking up from the paper, "...Why?" She wasn't on the edge of crying, like he'd almost become used to. She had a steely resolve hidden in the depths of her face, pooling into eyes that looked almost bloody for the moment.
"Because I believe people should make their own redemption," Vincent replied, no quite knowing what he was saying, "They have to figure out what they're living for. No one can choose that for them."
No, Tifa, you are not my redemption. You are my life.
"I just want to be forgiven," she replied, looking down at the table, "...We're not going to save him. But we do owe Cloud and Yuffie our support. I can't help but feel..."
"That there is a great evil heading straight for them," he finished, and she looked up, smiling a quick smile at him. Then she frowned.
"...No...it's" she stuttered, and then started flipping through the pages of her book frantically, "...Already here." She found the page, and handed it to him silently.
"The old prophesies and hearsay of troubled men were broken,
For they sought answers in the dark, in fields, in the open,
Years after the terrible battle waged, and the Angel fell,
Their minds had forgotten the meaning of Heaven or Hell.
But the Messenger still lives, hidden in their minds,
Year after year, a circle unbroken, where the warrior finds,
That which betrays, leaves a shallow wound,
Yet he should be wary, lest his ignorance be his tomb.
For to forget is one tool, the Messenger uses
To bring about the destruction, of whoever she chooses."
"Do you think...?" he asked, looking up from what he read. She shook her head.
"All that poetic dribble," she replied, smirking a little, "I never really understood it. But you said something about a Messenger, and I remembered reading that passage once." He sat still for a moment, collecting his thoughts.
To forget... if only I knew the other meaning of that...
"Vincent, if there's something you know that would help," she spoke, a gentle forcefulness in her tone, "Then please tell me. If not, we should get going."
"We?" he asked, pulling his eyes from the book, "What do you mean?" She flashed him a terribly endearing smile.
"I'm not going to look for them alone," she replied, letting her fingertips brush his cheek, "I need you to be with me. Wouldn't want to you think that I'm leaving you."
You know me better than I know myself... clever girl.
He could see that she was surprised, as he smiled broadly at her. This quickly faded at he pulled her out of her chair, setting her on his lap. Now there was a slight embarrassment, coloring her cheeks with a rosy red.
"I would have it that we never have to part," he whispered in her ear, "Lest death consume either of us." She leaned her head on his shoulder, fitting nicely at the side of his neck.
"I'd like that," she replied, talking towards his collarbone, "But if either of us dies..."
"Then I will wait," he answered, and shifted their positions, "...We can talk about this later. We should get going now." He started to let her slid off, in an attempt to stand up. But her arms suddenly grasped his neck, prompting him to stay for a few more moments.
"I will wait too," she whispered, as she moved so that her face was right in front of his, "...But be careful." He felt that he was still grinning madly at her, he could never tell when he stopped anymore. Her presence begged him to smile, once in a while.
You be careful too. I never said how long I would wait...
And with that, she kissed him, and they stopped worrying for the all too short moment it lasted.
When they got up to make the necessary arrangements to leave, they were focused, determined. They didn't notice the little shadow of a girl that had been standing in the hallway, listening and watching their brief interlude before they launched headlong into their mission.
The little girl who was silently crying as she watched Vincent pass by.
"I'm not losing my family again," she whispered in the soft and inaudible manner that was common for her. She then turned on her heel, slinking carefully back towards the children's room.
"You won't even notice me, I'll follow you so quietly..."
Theme Songs: Touch Vast, Thinking of You A Perfect Circle, Bury Me Val Emmich and J-E-N-O-V-A The Black Mages (that's an obvious song, if ever I've seen one...)
AN: So now you kinda know why Vincent's been keeping things to himself. And what the "thing" is. I've gotten to the entire reason I started these two crazy stories in the first place: Jenova. If there was something you didn't catch... don't worry. I write so that it can be interpreted in a number of ways. So if you really feel one way, then stay with it.
My muse is going crazy. Check out Chorophobia to see what I mean!