Author's Notes: I don't own Sephiroth or some-such. Although THIS Sephiroth is a hypothetical clone that thinks he's the real deal... and the sister, Maya, is a creation of my beloved friend, Shannan, whom I've known for all my young roleplaying years. I wrote this in light of their history... sort of filling in what happened... I'll send this to her, see what she thinks. I know I tried starting something like it before, but since she's busy I figure I'll just write my own history.
It's rated due to blood, gore, and general insanity and emotional trauma. It... probably isn't most of my original fans' alley. It may include "clone-cest" in later chapters.
--Chapter 2--
Free
The sensation of being powerful - that was truly the best aspect of living. The power. The taste of it on his lips when the blood sprayed on his lips. The looks in the villagers' eyes, the passing glances they gave when he walked among them, a god in their eyes and an untouchable beauty in a few others. He smiled inside, knowing that, never in their darkest imagination, have they crafted such a nightmare as himself. Their unfathomable stupidity would lead them to the eventually dawning realization that they could never undo the damnation they wrought upon the world by simply bringing him into the world, just as his brethren didn't realize the unmatched sway they held over mankind.
That was why they all had to suffer. Such weaklings had no place in the world. He clenched his teeth and let the wet hot redness seep through his fingers as he reached into the gaping maw that he had cut with the katana which lay at his side, bloodied on the ground. He pushed apart the rubs and dug his fingers until he closed them around the thundering organ in his hands. His fingers pressed against the arteries, feeling their wild jumping movements as the fluid trembled and choked and sputtered. Ah, yes. God, this was what he was for. To feel life at its most powerful and crush it.
The blood sprayed everywhere and his prey died. He lifted the crushed heart out of the chest and looked at it, his lip curling as his tongue snaked out to lick the corner of his lips and tasting the blood there too. It was his own; he could tell as much from the exotic sweetness of it.
Blood of my blood; blood of my enemy.
He stood up, looking over his shoulder. He knew well enough that everything would be fine, that all of the usurpers had fallen to his great satisfaction. His sister was late, though. She had yet to emerge from the entry way - two large doors, card key locked with a computer system that was now totally destroyed due to a solitary slash of steel after he was tired of fidgeting with the complicated number key.
Time was running thin. He bit his lip to keep from screaming. He crushed the heart and it made a final, satisfying popping sound like a piece of bubble wrap. Then from some distant echo in his mind, like the call of a cat down a long hallway, meowing and then scurrying forth on velvety paws, he felt the touch of her mind. It was like the purest caress on his body, making him shiver, feeling himself become one with her mind, linking the two like a beautiful pair they made. He felt the blood on his fingers which became her fingers, his heartbeat hers, his, hers, theirs completely.
She walked purposefully around the corner, the distorted glass wall mottling her image like a Van Gogh painting, then turn into the door to the office. Her boots clicked loudly, and though she stepped behind he could feel here there like a pulsating sun, beating down with her radiance on his back. Their minds split like painful copulation, fracturing their connection slightly.
"What was that for?" he whined, standing up. Her arms came around, her pale thin hands clasping at the fingers against his belly where she hugged him. Tightly, crushing desperate arms. She didn't answer him, and it made him slightly frustrated. He could never tell what she was feeling or thinking when she blocked him out like that, he being the saner of the two, so it was like a personal insult. He reached down, gripping her hands in his, and pulled them apart by the wrists. Her breath gasped against his shoulder blade.
"Did you have fun?" she whispered as he turned around in the circle of her arms. Their eyes met, capturing him... he could never shake the feeling that he was her little fly, and she was his spider, and she could play with him but never eat him. He half-expected her to invite him for coffee in the lounge room across the hall.
The corpse-littered room felt slightly uncomfortable. He heard the unavailing agony of the dead, returning the Planet. He shuddered, letting her arms close again. Her perfect brow creased, her deep sky grey eyes lightening with Mako infusion. "Are you cold, big brother?" she continued, touching his face, leaving a faint fingerprint in blood on his cheek. She kissed his neck. "Let's go now, before the rest of them come. You look... tired! That's not right, how can you be tired?"
"I'm tired of this place," he corrected with a slight smile. "I could run forever."
"With me?"
"Yes. With you. Always." Their hands met, fingers clasping and tightening till their knuckles turned white. It was a bizarre, unyielding grasp that oozed blood in between. He wanted to wash his hands now. He felt sick to his stomach.
They fled the office, identical in every aspect so much that they're gait was almost the same, side by side, elbows bumping with swords ablaze. They turned corners, kicked down doors, and slaughtered where they saw oppression. The images burned in his mind, taking away the sickness and bringing power in his eyes again, feeling it pooling in his shoulders as he brought the sword down, clean and perfect, through bodies that massed in his path, hearing the similar sound like that of chopping wood as he hacked bone and flesh and sinew.
Flawless victory. They burst outdoors, and almost fell back again. The sunlight spilled in through the trees, birds chirping filled the air, the smell of pine filling his lungs. He exhaled, and looked at Maya. She looked like a wild cat who just stepped in water and was not unhappy but not quite knowing what to do with herself. He took her hand.
He came to the stunning conclusion that although she was skilled, she could kill, but she had never been outside before. He had been, on occasion, but this was a whole new playground.
He reached to take her hand but she pulled her hand away. "Don't touch me," she growled, and stepped forward. One foot in front of the other, before she started to run. He sprung after her with the compelling desire to throw back his head and howl like a wolf. The air felt so good on his face, through his hair. He tore off his jacket and let it fall behind him, vanishing once he breasted the next hill and followed his wild sister to the dark heart of the forest.
