Disclaimer: Who owns the game, characters and etc. of FF7? SquareEnix, not ME! runs to a corner and sobs
Legend: 'italics'- mental telepathy-thingy. You know what I mean O.o
Italics – thoughts, but not in P.O.Vs
'The thing you must watch out for most is yourself'
Emerald Drake
Chapter 4: Wheel of Fate- part One
Sephiroth hissed as a jolt of pain ran up. He lifted up the source of it. A piece of rock, sharpened at one end. He threw the rock to the growing pile of sharpened stones in a corner. He winced as the spikes dug deeper into his flesh.
For what seemed like years after he was imprisoned in this godforsaken room, he still wasn't used to the sharp points that stabbed in every moved he took.
Neither was he immune to starvation and thirst and that searing pain that tore through his head every day, every hour. Never was he relieved of any kind of torturous, sadistic pain.
He leaned against an almost-smooth wall, as he raised his right hand, palm facing away from him. The ominous number is still etched there, its color as black as a night without moon. The tattoo's stark contrast against his pale white skin was almost beautiful; if it were not an obvious reminder have what he has been through.
He closed his eyes, hiding his glowing emerald-green orbs. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. He bit the underside of his lower lip, causing the tender flesh to break and bleed. The metallic taste of blood invaded his mouth.
Distorted images appeared in his mind, twisted and blurred, its familiarity disturbing. He saw a child with a mane of silver locks, Mako-green eyes half-hidden by the tendrils of hair in his face. The boy was sobbing quietly, holding a knife nearly too big for his delicate hands.
Then he saw blood. Blood everywhere. A shadow of man slaughtering townsfolk in the blazing heat of a fire.
An image of a figure of mutated flesh resembling a female flashed upon him, smiling eerily. 'We will rule the Planet together, my son.'
He observed a chestnut-haired woman, praying fervently on an altar. He watched as a man of black cloak leap down and impaled the delicate flower through her stomach.
Then he saw an angel of with seven wings, one wing entwined to his right shoulder.
Then he saw himself, bloody and gasping for breath, as he stood up to allow his arch-nemesis to impale his large sword through his chest, and he jerked back his blade, now tainted by his enemy's blood.
He gasped as he spat the red fluid out of his mouth, as he fell to his knees. He panted heavily, staring dimly at the gray stone floor. He coughed, sending rivulets of blood onto the floor.
What was that?
It was no 'ordinary' kind of torture the reapers create.
'Well, how are we doing today?' The reaper who introduced himself, -herself- Sephiroth noted, as Elias, who was deathly sarcastic and sadistic, was in charge of his torment.
'Well, you seemed to made a new kind of mental agony for me.'
There was a pause. Then she laughed darkly.
'It wasn't me, or any other reapers, Sephiroth.'
'Then who was it.' Sephiroth flatly said into his mind. It sounded more like a statement then a question.
'It was yourself.'
'What?'
'Yourself, fallen one, you and your own mind.' Her words were like the cutting edge of a sword.
Sephiroth fell silent, pondering on these words. His? His own mind was his own anguish?
'This is better than I thought,' Her voice once again cut into his thoughts. 'Not to mention easier.'
'Being you jail keeper is very entertaining, Sephiroth. Very entertaining.' Her words faded back into oblivion.
And left her prisoner into mind-racking reflections of newfound knowledge.
AN: Ahh…well I divided one chapter into two since it's better for the plot.
By the way, Elias is pronounced as eelias, long 'e' sound.
And thanks for the reviews! Keep 'em coming… It really inspires me. I already begun to write part two, but then I'm a notoriously slow writer -.-
Oh well… stay tuned…