Red Sky
Ten Thousand Thousand Stars
Reeve rubbed his knuckles into his eyes. He was so tired. He didn't think he'd ever been this tired before. His candle guttered briefly and he looked longingly towards the sleeping bag stretched out on the ground sheet of the tent.
But he couldn't sleep, not whilst the crowd of starving refugees swamped Kalm. He had to organise a plan: create systems to deal with waste, work out a way to make the distribution of water more efficient and more fair, find the materials to create shelters to keep off the rain, get food to the young and old who were already dying from the harsh conditions.
It wouldn't be so bad, if only he could get hold of some coffee. Any kind of coffee. But luxuries like that were in short supply. He wondered briefly what Cid would do when he ran out of cigarettes.
His carefully sketched schematic was blurring in front of his vision. He forced himself to focus on it, and began pencilling in distribution points.
"Reeve!" Cloud walked through the tent flap, sending the shadows skittering and leaping about excitedly. Reeve fancied for a moment that he could hear them shrieking in high pitched voices to each other.
"Cloud?" he said questioningly.
"I've got a plan to save everyone," Cloud said, scanning the inside of the tent automatically. His eyes glowed in the dim light. Were they almost as bright now as Sephiroth's had been? Reeve shook his head.
"You do?"
"Yes, but iI need you to help us come up with a scheme to rescue the Highwind from the swamp."
"You do?" Reeve said. How long would that take? Too long, he was sure. It would need levers of some kind, ropes, lots of workmen...
"Yes. I've been to Junon, and there's space there for at least a few thousand people. Food as well, in the shops."
"What about the Junoners?" Reeve asked.
Cloud hesitated, and then shrugged. "They're all dead. I don't know, maybe they killed each other. It's our only hope Reeve. We can't keep everyone here indefinitely, we'll trash the place."
"You're right... I know you're right. But if I don't keep them alive until we can move them somewhere else..." Reeve shook his head again. "I can't think straight."
Cloud frowned, examining Reeve more closely. His brown eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. Lines had creased his forehead into a permanent frown. His skin was sallow and his back hunched. The neat goatee and combed hair had grown out, and assumed a ragged appearance out of keeping with the man's fastidious nature. His hands were trembling, skinny fingers gripping the pencil he held in his right hand so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
"Reeve, you look like hell. Have you slept at all?"
Reeve put the pencil down carefully, and sat up straighter. A note of defiance sounded in his voice as he replied. "Not much, not for a while. I can handle it though. I need to look after these people, now I'm President."
"You're President?"
"Both Scarlet and Rufus said I should succeed. I'm the only person the revolutionaries and the Soldiers will listen to. We need to keep an organised system going, or everything will become anarchic! If Shinra... the remains of Shinra... fall apart now, we're done for."
"Okay," Cloud said, changing the subject. "Back to raising the Highwind. I'm going to get Cid to do most of the work, I think. But we'll need your input too, you're good at this sort of thing."
Reeve looked down at his schematic again. The lines were dancing circles. "If Cid comes up with any ideas, come and run them past me."
"Okay, that's fine. Did Cait find you? I have Vincent, Yuffie and Nanaki out hunting for food right now, I'll tell them to report in to you, let you know how it's going."
"Yes, Cait found me. I put him on auto, and sent him out again. I'm not sure what he's doing... telling fortunes probably."
"Yeah..." Cloud looked away, uncomfortably. The tent was stuffy, and small. Reeve was using a piece of planking as a drawing board, resting it against his knees as he sat cross legged on the floor. The candle guttered, before flaring up again.
"I have to go find Cid now," Cloud said. He felt that there should be something more to say, something to sum up the strange circumstances they were in, but he couldn't think of anything. "See ya later," he finished, and left the tent.
Outside, the night air was cold and damp. The Shinra Guards and Soldiers had set up either side of Reeve's tent, both claiming the privilege of protecting him. They glared at each other occasionally, tension running thick between the two camps. There was remarkably few of them left.
"Fucking hell, Cloud, where ya been? I been waiting fucking ages!" Cid's rasping voice interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to face the ex-pilot.
"Cid. Where's Barret?"
"Went to find Marlene," Cid grunted. "You wouldn't catch him fucking around this part of the shit hole, though. Won't even think about joining up with Shinra. I got these assholes together though." Cid waved towards a miscellany of toughs, their professions written all over them. Ex-bodyguards, pimps, bouncers and henchman from the slums slouched behind Cid. Untrained but experienced, uneducated, but cunning, needle tracks up their arms and noses that were mere bloody holes, but covered in stringy muscle and tough as leather.
"Great..." Cloud said, unenthusiastically.
"Hey man, these are the best fucking assholes you're gonna find." Cid stubbed out his cigarette and lit another one.
"You're probably right, but I feel like I'm running with a street gang. Still, they might be useful for this next job I have for you."
"Don't I get to fucking eat first?" Cid demanded.
"No. We need to raise the Highwind from the swamp. Think it can be done?"
Cid considered thoughtfully for a moment, and then frowned. "Shit. I don't bloody well know. It's a fucking big airship, and that swamp must be pretty deep to swallow it all. If we had some better equipment... I'm gonna go to Midgar."
"Why?" Cloud asked.
"There might be something salvageable. It can't all be fucked up."
"Going to take these guys?"
"Yeah, they might come in handy. Heavy lifting, or some such shit. Get movin' assholes! We're going to Midgar!"
"It's night time," Cloud pointed out.
"Yeah, well, I'm too damn hungry to sleep worth shit!"
-
Barret stood on the edge of Kalm, a little beyond the last yellow circle of firelight that marked the perimeter of the encampment. Marlene was asleep, cradled in his arms. She had cried, and her face was still damp where the tears had run.
He was not an observant man, and Yuffie and Vincent were almost on top of him before he noticed them. They dragged the carcass of a bloated bird by its long, stick like legs. They appeared to be arguing, Yuffie's voice shrill with annoyance, and Vincent's calm but unyielding. Barret frowned, and challenged them.
"What yer makin' all that noise for?"
"Barret!" exclaimed Yuffie. "You'll back me up on this! Didn't Wutai invent sandwich toasters? Waaay before anyone else, and definitely before Shinra!"
"Sandwich toasters?" Barret repeated "What'cha talkin' 'bout?"
"It was a long time ago, like fifty years... And Wutai invented them. Wutai invented everything worth being invented!"
"Wutai did not invent the sandwich toaster," Vincent said wearily. "Wutai didn't have leavened bread, until it began to be imported."
"Damnit, Vinny, that's not true! You don't know anything about anything. I've been using traditional Wutaian sandwich toasters since I was born!"
"... fine." Vincent said, shifting his grip on the dead poultry's leg. "I am not debating that point with you. But the initial invention came from Midgar, and the Wutaian's merely adapted it, making it smaller and more efficient."
"You don't know any of this Vinny, you spent the last hundred years in a box!"
"Both o' you shuddup." Barret said, "I ain't in t' mood fer this shit."
"What's the matter Barret, ya big poop-head?" Yuffie said.
"The matter?" snarled Barret. "Everyt'ing! Elmira let some dam' Turk help loo' af'er Marlene, and she decided he were a good guy! An assho' Turk!"
"Which one?" Yuffie asked. "Is he still there? We ran into a Turk too, while we were hunting. Vinny wussed out on me though, so I couldn't kill her."
"He's dead," grunted Barret. "Thank Bahamut. Was Tseng. I though' t' assho' died a lon' time back."
Vincent shifted slightly, frowning. "What happened?"
"I dunno. Elmira weren't making a whole lotta sense."
Marlene stirred slightly in Barret's arms, and let out a sigh. Vincent's eyes flicked briefly to her, before returning to Barret's face. Barret continued talking.
"I ain't sure what kinda shit he pulled on Elmira t' make her think he were t'be trusted. She always seemed like a sensible kinda woman t'me. Jest goes t' show what kinda cunning dam' slimy snakes they are! T' only good Turk is a dead Turk!"
"Hmm," Vincent said.
"Ain't the worst o' it though. He go' his lies into my li'l Marlene's head, and now she thinks he's a good guy too..."
"We'll soon teach her differently," Yuffie said. "Let's get this thing back to camp. It's freezing out here!"
She seized the bird again, and started to haul, stopping when she realised Vincent was standing, staring thoughtfully out to the dark horizon. "Hey! You lazy red-eyed freak! Give me a hand here! I ain't hauling this back by myself!"
Vincent sighed, and glanced at Barret. "Do you know how he died?"
"Eh. He jest died." Barret fell into step beside Yuffie, looking impatient.
"Hmm." Vincent turned and started walking away from Kalm, to Yuffie's surprise.
"Hey! Lug head! Where you going? The town's this way!"
Vincent vanished into the night.
"Vinny! Hey! HEY!" Yuffie shouted after him.
"Le' him go," Barret said. "If goth-boy wants t' stalk the darkness, more joy t' him."
Yuffie pulled a face. "Why would he do that? We were gonna have toasted sandwiches when we got back!"
"How?" Barret demanded. "There ain't no bread, le' alone shit to pu' in th' bread!"
"We got this overgrown Cocatolis don't we?" Yuffie indicated the dead bird.
"You can't toast that! You'd hafta roast it, probal'y fer hours!"
"You mean I gotta wait hours for dinner still? I'm starving! I'm starving now!"
"Yeah, well, deal with it," Barret said.
Vincent waited until their voices had faded into the distance before slowing his pace. His own reaction had surprised him, but the callousness in Barret's voice as he had spoken of Tseng's death had struck a nerve.
It was a cold, cloudless night. The stars were diamond bright, a thousand pin pricks against a black sky. A faint breeze whispered around Vincent as he walked across the grass plains. The Midgarian plains. How many times had he crossed them? Uncountable times, with the Turks, and latterly with Avalanche.
Was that how people had spoken of him, after Hojo had entombed him in the basement of the Shinra Mansion? Perhaps not even his fellow Turks - all dead now, he supposed - had missed him. He had become absorbed with Lucrecia - his beloved Lucrecia - and the messy situation that had arisen from that. In doing so, his professional relationship with the other Turks had faded to almost nothing.
They hadn't liked him anyway. A Wutaian who had been driven from his country, just before the end of the war. A kid, arrogant as all kids were, thinking he could survive in the alien world of Midgar.
Vincent paused, and looked behind him. The fire light from Kalm had faded to nothing. Nothing but darkness from where Midgar had once been.
He sat down with a sigh, and leaned back. The stars glittered. He held up his hand, blocking them out. He had lost the sky twice. Both times had marked periods of confusion, pain, loss and change.
Interlude One: When in Midgar
"We're fucked, Vince," Tai spoke calmly, her expression unreadable behind the sunglasses she wore. Vincent wore a similar pair, and was finding it difficult to see properly inside the smoky, dimly lit bar.
"And the blond hair does nothing for you," Tai added, turning her head to look at Vincent. He saw himself reflected in the lens of the sunglasses. She was right, and he ran a hand through his short, bleached hair with a grimace.
"It makes you look all washed out. Like a damn albino."
"Better an albino than a Wutain. And change languages," Vincent said in carefully precise Midgarian. "If you don't stop speaking Wutaian, we'll get noticed in no time."
"It's an ugly language," Tai spat. "I hate it. It's full of growls and pebbles, like an angry muddy rock fall. Wutain is much more beautiful, it is more like water."
"Right now, we have no choice."
"I know that!" Tai slumped further in her chair. She looked tired, and frustrated. Lines marred her small, oval shaped face, and her mouth was screwed up. He placed his fingers against her forehead, and slid it down to her lips, smoothing out the tension. He wished she wasn't so beautiful. Even with her hair chopped short and bleached to a strawberry blond, and her almond shaped eyes hidden by the dark lenses, she was stunning. Her skin was flawless, and each limb tiny but perfectly proportioned and balanced. Every movement she made was fluid, expressive and elegant.
She was as unlike the clumsy, stocky overbearing Midgarians as a bird was from a bull, and her use of the lilting Wutaian language just made it worse. Even when she spoke Midgarian, she couldn't rid herself of the accent that ran words together and slurred the harder sounds.
Vincent had picked the language and accent up fast. He was naturally tall, a product of his shameful parentage. Ironic, that a tainted half-breed had a better chance of survival than the beautiful pure blood woman beside him.
"What are we going to do Vincent? We have no money, no house, no friends or family to support us. This whole city hates us and would kill us if they could!"
"We will survive."
"How?"
Vincent surveyed the bar. It was a grungy, downtrodden place. The few drinkers were elderly, beaten down, with grizzled hair and blood shot, watery eyes. They stared into their drinks with single-minded focus.
Behind the bar a bald, flaccid man leant on bruised elbows. He had the fish-white skin of a perpetual slummer.
The slums. Cut off from the sky. Vincent scowled. It was unnatural, to deprive someone of sunlight, wind and rain. No wonder Midgarians were so deformed and pallid, with twisted greedy souls that sought only to consume everything around them.
And this was my father.
"I'll get a job," he said to Tai. "We'll find cheap accommodation
somewhere, and lay low for a while. After the war, when Wutai have...
have won, we'll figure out what we can become."
"Do you think we'll ever see Wutai again?" Tai's voice was quiet.
"Someday, we will."
"You shouldn't have come with me..." Tai hesitated. "It was me they exiled. Not you."
"I couldn't let a princess of the House of Kiseragi travel alone." Vincent said. "It is my duty to protect and serve you."
"I am not a princess any longer," Tai put her fingers to her temple. "My father disowned me. My country exiled me. I am a traitor in their eyes."
"You cannot be a traitor to your blood," Vincent surveyed the bar again. A grim faced man had just entered, and Vincent watched him furtively.
"Wutai will fall," Tai said, even more quietly than before. "Wutai will fall and Shin-Ra will turn it into a mockery of itself. We could have given them the right to enough land to build Mako fountains, and saved our strength. Saved the lives of our ninja, that get torn to pieces by the enhanced Soldiers. And Sephiroth."
"Leviathan will protect us," Vincent said automatically, his eyes following the grim faced man. The man had walked across to the bar and was ordering a whiskey. He kept shooting glances towards the two of them, with their sunglasses and bleached blond hair that was no disguise at all.
"We have to leave. Now."
"Why?" Tai looked up.
"Don't argue. Move."
They stood, and Tai lifted her leather coat from the back of the chair. Vincent gave her no time to put it on, grasping her wrist and pulling her towards the door.
"In a hurry?" the grim faced man had turned and was regarding them openly.
"Late for an appointment," Vincent said, his hand on the door handle.
"That's true. An appointment with me," the gun that appeared in his hand was small, and sleek. Vincent pushed Tai behind him. The rest of the bar's clientele scrambled for cover, instincts honed by this cruel place.
If I only had a weapon!
"Don't play games," the man said quietly. "I am an excellent shot. I would hate to have to shoot you down, Vincent Valentine, but I will if I need to."
"What do you want from us?" Tai demanded, her voice shrill. "We're just trying to - "
"Be quiet, Miss Kiseragi."
Vincent's fist clenched. Unarmed, unprepared. If Tai wasn't with him he could attempt to escape, but she was there, clinging to his arm.
"Who are you?"
"Come away from the door."
Vincent walked slowly to the middle of the room, Tai trailing him. He felt impotent, useless in the face of this one man who held all the cards.
"I am a Turk. My name is Drekanov."
Another man and a woman entered the bar, both holding guns. Drekanov nodded to them. "My partners. Richard, and Melissa. Richard, handcuff them."
"Sir."
The cold steel snapped shut around his wrists, taking with it the last hope of freedom. Tai's face was rigid, proud and cold, but he could feel her shaking.
"What do you want with us?"
"Information, Mr. Valentine. And then your life."
They took them to a utilitarian cell and left them there for two days. A guard, anonymous behind his face mask, brought them water and bread at infrequent intervals. Tai was silent, sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands folded in her lap. Her dark, almond eyes were downcast, staring at her hands.
When Drekanov returned it was with a simple message.
"You tell us everything you know about the Wutaian army: its plans, strategies, equipment, numbers, commanders and last known whereabouts. If you do not comply, we torture one or both of you until you do."
He left, and they sat in silence for a while. Tai spoke finally.
"I am not a traitor. My people labelled me as one, but I'm not."
Vincent said nothing. His mouth was dry, because he knew something of torture. Everyone had their breaking point. You could only hope that the person who tortured you was unskilled enough to let you die before you reached it.
"I will say nothing, whatever they do to me."
"Princess Kiseragi..."
"Do not betray our country, Vincent! Whatever they do to me, whatever they do to you. Stay silent."
They were left for another two days. This time, the guard brought them water but no bread. When Drekanov came again, they moved slowly to obey the guards who escorted them out of the cell. Tai looked empty eyed, her movements clumsy and without the grace she had once had.
They were taken to a larger cell, where the other two Turks waited, arms crossed, leaning against a wall. Vincent was handcuffed to the bars. The male Turk looked at him curiously.
"This one ain't a full Wute. Looks part Nibelheim to me."
"He grew up in Wutai, and that's all that matters to us." Drekanov turned to Vincent. "So. Going to give us the information voluntarily?"
Vincent felt Tai's eyes on him as he shook his head. No.
"Shame. This part of the job is messy." Drekanov walked over to Tai, placed his hands on her shoulders and threw her against the wall. Vincent flinched as he heard the crunch. Tai gasped, and slid to the floor.
Richard walked over, loose limbed, and kicked her in the ribs. It was a professional kick, well placed. He followed it up with three more, which was when Tai started crying.
"Stop it," Vincent said. Knowing it was pointless, even as he said it.
"Who are your commanders?"
Vincent said nothing, but yanked on the handcuff, feeling the solid resistance. No escape. No nearby weapons.
Richard reached down and hauled Tai up by the front of her shirt. With a slight grimace, he punched her in the face. Once. Twice. Tai's nose crunched and fountained blood that ran down her face, soaked into her shirt, and smeared onto his fingers.
"She is a princess of the Kiseragi House!" Vincent heard his voice echo around the room as he shouted. "You blaspheme against blood that can be traced back to Leviathan himself!"
"Wutai and its stupid snake Gods," Melissa sneered from the far wall. "Do you think anything can stand up to Shin-Ra, idiot?"
"Her blood's the same colour as everyone else's," Richard said dryly, switching his punch from Tai's face to her gut.
"She might piss blood for a while," Melissa said. "But she won't die, Vincent, so don't worry," she smiled. "We're pros."
Vincent yanked again against the handcuff. There was an art, a way of bending and twisting to free yourself from handcuffs, chains and ropes. He had never learned it. But there was a way.
Richard dropped Tai to the floor, where she curled up instinctively, sobbing against her hands.
"We can rape her, Drekanov said quietly. "We can disfigure her. We can remove her limbs and leave her a torso, helpless and immobile."
"I bet she's a virgin," Melissa said contemptuously. Vincent twisted his hand, feeling the edge of the cuff cut into his wrist. "Frigid little Wute princess, thinking her piece of shit country and its stuffy hypocritical frigid traditions are worth a damn." Melissa walked over to the shaking ball that was Tai, and rolled her over with her foot. Tai's wide-eyed, blood stained face stared up at Melissa.
"You know what you Kiseragi's do to prisoners of war?" Melissa asked, flexing her fingers. All the Turks wore black, fingerless gloves. Vincent twisted his wrist again, feeling the edge of the cuff score against the base of his thumb.
Tai cried, but didn't speak. She wasn't prepared for this, Vincent knew. She had been raised as a favoured child, delicate, beautiful, pure.
"Weak," Drekanov said by his ear. Vincent twisted to look at him. There was blood dripping down his hand. The cuff was still holding him tight.
"With the men, they slice off their balls," Melissa swished her hand sharply through the air. "With the women, they cut out their clit."
"If you give us the information," Drekanov whispered into his ear. "The war will be cut short. The ending is inevitable, we are winning, and will continue to win. But we can save many lives, Shin-Ra and Wutaian, if you give us the information to let us strike quickly and efficiently."
Melissa pulled out a knife. It was a narrow blade, and a long handle. A precision instrument.
"We are very efficient people, Mr. Valentine. We dislike wasting our time on uncooperative elements."
Vincent twisted, bringing his leg up sharply to slam into Drekanov, sending the Turk crashing against the bars of the cell. The Turk leader looked shocked for a second, but rolled sideways to dodge Vincent's second kick. Then Richard was on him, slamming him against the bars of the cell with a yell of rage. Vincent tried to fight back, but without his arms he was quickly disabled. He stood mute under the pounding.
"Enough," Drekanov said. He was straightening his tie, and looking thoughtfully at Vincent. Tai had sat up, her hands cupped over her nose. Her cries had faded to an indistinct whimpering.
His handcuffs were as tight as before. Only one way out.
Forgive me, Princess! I can't stand to see what they will do to you!
"The princes of the House of Kiseragi are the commanders," Vincent said. "Prince Han Kiseragi is in charge of infantry. He is currently in the south of Wutai, training merchants and fishermen into becoming soldiers. Prince Akira Kiseragi is the master of ninja, I do not know where he is currently located. Many of his ninja have been killed, and he may be regrouping. Prince - "
Drekanov was smiling. Richard had whipped out a dictaphone and was recording the litany. Melissa was holding the knife, looking vaguely disappointed.
Tai had her head bowed, her blood stained hands pressed against her face. Vincent looked away from her. He didn't want to see her eyes.
Cid contemplated the wreckage of Midgar, with the twenty or so scum bags he had managed to dig up at his back. Spitting out the butt of his cigarette, he reached into his pocket for another.
"Chuck one of those my way?" a thin, carnivorous looking man held out a hand, revealing the skinny wrist that accompanied it. Cid flipped him a cigarette, sighing as he eyed the track marks that suggested a nicotine fix was the least of the things the man would be needing.
"A'right, you fuckers. We want big ass metal poles, chains, the kind that they use on cranes and shit like that, wheels... everything that you think might fit into a pulley system, okay? In fact, shit, if you find a salvageable crane, that'd be fucking perfect. This is gonna be heavy, so I want four to a team, and everyone hauling ass. We're going to stick to sector one, but I want you to make a damn good sweep of it, so spread out. Got it?"
Various grunts, and a desultory pairing off ensured. Cid dragged hard on his cigarette, and pointed at three of the more intelligent looking ones.
"You. Come with me."
He pushed a twisted metal framework aside and stepped through the triangular shaped hole that was all that was left of the sector one gate.
It was oddly beautiful. Vines climbed over everything, their organic curves contrasting with the jagged edges of fallen buildings. Trees thrust up through smashed windows, their branches curling amongst broken train tracks. Little light penetrated this far down into the great mass, but here and there shafts of moonlight highlighted a single leaf, or the remains of a neon shop sign. Fallen leaves had made a thin layer of slimy mulch that slicked everything, and made progress dangerous and difficult. Fungi grew in this mulch, shadowy bulges that scattered tree trunks and grew in fairy rings on fallen debris from the plate.
Cid flicked on his torch, and shone it from side to side. Natural tunnels had been made where bits of debris had fallen diagonally against one another, standing up to the pressure of wreckage that had fallen on top of them. Other places looked less solid, struts and supports groaning under the weight from above, weakened by the insidious grip of ivy and undermined by tree roots.
"Be careful lads," Cid cautioned. "Any false move and the whole fucking lot'll come down on our heads, and that's the last thing we want."
"How're we supposed to remove anything without it bringing the house down?" demanded one of his group.
Cid considered. It was a valid point.
"We'll fucking well climb this shit heap then, won't we?"
So they climbed, monkey like, using trees and pipes indiscriminately. No harder than scaling scaffolding, Cid thought, inhaling cigarette smoke. He hauled himself through the gap in a giant fan, one of its blades snapped off.
There was more light up here, and it haloed the body, half crushed under concrete. Cid met the one eye hole left, the other shattered into oblivion, and cursed. Parchment skin still stretched here and there, but much of it had been eaten away by maggots. Maggots that still squirmed in what remained of his brain. The entire mess had splurged out from the broken skull and stained the concrete on which he stood.
"Fuck."
"Problem, boss?" The next man through glanced at the corpse with complete lack of interest.
Cid stubbed out his cigarette and flipped the butt into the darkness. "None at all. Let's keep a fucking move on."
More dead bodies showed up as they climbed, some mostly whole, others in pieces. The worst was a fall of bricks, dusty and old, with a tiny bone-white hand sticking up from it: a skeletal child grasping for freedom.
Finally they reached the surface, and Cid sighed with relief. It had been a long climb, and his breath was rattling in his lungs.
"You and you. See that pole sticking up there? Grab that fucker and toss it down the side of this shit heap. Anything that breaks was too flimsy for our purposes anyhow - we want tough shit. Got it?"
They moved to obey. Cid lit a cigarette, and smoked it slowly. It had taken them a good few hours to climb this far. The sun was rising. It streaked the sky with watermelon red and honey gold. Cid coughed. He should've brought some water with him - not that there was any water.
He'd read somewhere that in the past people had prayed for rain, cooking up elaborate rituals that involved dances and sacrifices. He wished that he could do something like that, instead of relying on cycles of evaporation and wind movement. They lived by the fucking ocean for Bahamut's sake! Shouldn't there be plenty of rain coming off that thing?
Speaking of Bahamut...
He swirled his spear over his head and examined the red materia set into its shaft. He wouldn't put it past any of the fuckers he had brought up here to mug him and run off with these rocks. Swap 'em for heroin or some such. He rubbed its surface thoughtfully. Shame he couldn't exchange it for a good rain storm.
...Call me...
The voice was deep bass, with gravel in it. Cid jerked in surprise and covered it with a cough. What the fuck?
...Call me!
"No fucking way!" he snarled in an undertone. "What bollocks is this, anyhow? Voices in my head? You little green men from Andromeda or what?"
I am Bahamut. Mortal, we aided you in your war, after your enemies sought to destroy the source of all life. Now you must aid us. Call me!
"You're Bahamut? I don't fucking be- "
The world stripped away from him. He staggered, gasping for breath as for a moment his stomach left his body and floated somewhere above his head. Then his legs twisted sideways and he fell down - smacking into the ground elbow first.
"Shit! You're supposed to transport me the fuck outta there before all the bloody ground shaking goes on! Don't you know this is a hazardous shit heap we're on? The whole fucker could landslide!"
Spare me your whines.
"Odin blast it!"
Odin is currently occupied.
Cid opened one eye and looked up. The great dragon spiralled lazily above him. Apparently Midgar had shifted and twisted around as Bahamut had emerged from whatever realm it was the Gods came from. Fresh cracks and rubble littered everything.
"Since when did summons start back chatting? I thought we were just meant to point you at someone and say bang!"
Be quiet, Mortal.
Cid spluttered into silence. His gang of junkies had vanished. He didn't really blame them. He glared around him for a moment, trying to find where his cigarette had rolled away to. No luck there.
"What the fuck d'ya want, anyhow?"
One of our brethren has decided to walk the world of Mortals once more. He poses immense danger to the children of the Lifestream. If his destructive force is left unbalanced and unbridled, the world could end.
"Great. Another evil psycho out to destroy the world."
Good and evil are irrelevant concepts. There is only balance. But it is not yet time for the world to end. Humans are not ready to go the way of the Ancients.
"Damn straight I ain't heading to the Promised Land anytime soon! So which one of you fuckers has decided to gate crash our party?"
You Mortals have called him Ryuu-hi, the Sun Dragon.
"Never heard of him."
His name has not been heard, even in oaths, for some three hundred years. Until a sect was revived fourteen years ago. They called him, but he had no channel into this realm. Finally he decided to use that of his one time mate, Leviathan, the Sea Serpent. He destroyed it in the process. Now Leviathan has no way through, and Ryuu-hi is trapped on the Mortal realm. If he dies, he will become part of the Lifestream. That is not a satisfactory arrangement.
"Why not? Sounds like this fucking hot head could use a session cooling down."
His energy would be absorbed and transmuted into other forms of life. This would leave our realm unbalanced. Leviathan would lose her one time mate. She would be unhappy with that.
"Huh. Don't want the Gods to cry, that ain't good. So what's the plan."
We find him, before he destroys the world. And before he is destroyed.
"What in Odin's name could destroy a God?"
There are many forces in this Universe that you remain unaware of, little human. Natural laws apply to Gods, as they apply to all things. We can manipulate them better than you can, that is all.
"Still, if it's God versus world, my money's on the fucking God. What do we do when we've found the asshole?"
We, little human?
"You said we had to bloody aid you!"
We need you to call us, that is all. You are the first. I cannot create a channel by myself. More Gods need to be brought into the world.
"We need to summon Gods?"
Yes.
"Well... lemme see... there's Shiva, Ifrit... Titan..."
There are many hundreds of Gods, Mortal. Some have never appeared on your realm before. Alexander. Siren. Gilgamesh. We need thirteen to create a channel. That is all.
"Well, damn. You came to the right guy. I know the people with the summons."
Call the other Gods. I will go to find my brother.
Bahamut flapped his wings, and the air current knocked Cid back to the ground. He groaned, rubbing his elbow, and watching the dot that had been a dragon shrink and vanish.
"Damn all Gods to Hell," he muttered to himself as he stood back up.
The sun had risen completely above the horizon, and only a streak of deep maroon fading into pale blue gave the sky shape. Midgar glittered, hard edged, in the morning sun.
"I'm never going to fucking get down from here," he groaned.
As he started down the side of the mountain that had once been a city, he noticed a body slumped in the uprooted triangle of a water pipe and a cross beam. He walked over.
No hair, no skin. A few charred strings of muscle still strung together some joints. The eye holes were a mess of maggots. A long skeleton, the hand still gripped around a slender weapon.
"I'll be fucked."
He bent down and picked up the ElectroMag Rod and twirled it a couple of times. Then he pressed the button.
"Fuck!"
He picked himself up again, cursing, and waited for his vision to come back into focus. Apparently the Turk had been quite happy to let his weapon short-circuit anyone who touched it. Cid stuck the thing next to his spear, and looked down at the grinning skull.
"Couldn't wipe that smirk off even now, could ya, you asshole?" Cid sighed. "Damn Turks. Look at this bloody world you left us with!"
The blank skeletal grin suggested no remorse. Cid shook his head and used his spear to dig out the support for the cross beam. It crashed down on top of the skeleton, in a cloud of dust and debris. The surface Cid was standing on vibrated ominously.
"I'll be seeing ya, kid."
He hopped over the edge and swung down from pipe to tree branch, indiscriminately.
Behind him, the dust settled gently.