Author's Note:
Time for the rotation to get totally fugged up. Now we have … Vincent! Sort of. More like Dweir, one of the three Yenta Pree. But Vincent's kicking his ass! I don't own Final Fantasy. A sued Tyramir is a sad Tyramir.
Chapter Sixty Two
Flee the Demon
Dweir rocketed through the sky, propelled forward by a stream of lightning. It was a trick he'd mastered a while back, pooling Ephain's control of lightning and using it as a form of flight.
Blast that Veishan! This had been his own project, carefully manipulating the Planet's champion, Cloud Strife. Illusion had always been his strongest talent, and he preferred to use it to bring his foes down. But Veishan and his clumsiness and his need to boss the other Yenta Pree around had brought about Dweir's downfall. He hadn't wanted to go and reinforce the manipulations on Strife. And he most certainly hadn't wanted to go near that Demon with its shining blade, the one he had identified as Vincent Valentine.
Damn you, Veishan! he screamed through the Link.
Once more the other man didn't reply. He was up to something, and he was keeping it hidden. Could he have found a working reactor? Could he be a step ahead of Dweir and Ephain?
Blast him. It would be just like Veishan to grab at power while the other two were doing the dirty work. All Veishan had to do so far was kill Strife, and he'd blown that completely.
What's happening? Ephain asked through the Link.
I have a Demon chasing me! Strife knows I was trying to manipulate him, and Veishan's off trying to grab power for himself! Can you help me?
Sorry. I'm on the wrong continent to help you. I'm trying to mould Rufus into a useful tool. But he's filled with questions. He keeps asking us what our plans are, and he keeps telling me than Jenova's dead. I keep feigning surprise and disbelief every time he mentions it.
Never mind Rufus! I. Have. A. Demon. Chasing. Me.
That's your problem.
No, it's our problem. I think he's one of the enemies mentioned in the prophecies! How does it go again? What do I have to do?
A pause. As I recall, the prophecies said 'Flee the Demon.'
I'm doing that now! It's not helping! He looked back, and gulped. Valentine was only thirty feet away from him, an expression of calm on his face, his sword readied to strike. It had already been proven that the blade could easily penetrate whatever energy shield he cast about himself.
He raised up a hand and conjured up a spear of ice, sending it hurtling towards the man. Valentine gave a small shift, and easily dodged it. Dweir swore.
Dweir screamed across the Link, You have Jenova's writings! Look up her prophecies! There has to be something in there that can help!
Just a moment.
Dweir almost sent a nasty retort through the Link, but decided not to. He yelped as a sword blade came swinging at him and nearly connected. He had dodged just in time to avoid being skewered. Another swing managed to nick his arm, and he countered with a small fireball, drawn from Veishan's powers. Valentine deflected the fireball with his sword, and Dweir swore.
Hurry!
I'm busy translating. I'm only so good with Ancient Cetra.
Dweir's heart hammered in his chest as he was forced to dodge another sword stroke and sent a blast of lightning at his opponent in response. He wasn't good in combat! He was made for manipulation and controlling other people. He'd never really had to fight before. This was insanity!
Found it! came Ephain's triumphant call.
That's nice. What does it say?
'No blade shall cut the Demon, No spear will pierce his flesh, No weapon will ever harm him, Only in health will he die.
Only in health will he die? Dweir asked incredulously, pouring on some extra power to his flight to escape Vincent's next slash. What in Mother's name is that supposed to mean? Accursed prophetic garbage!
Calm down. Think it through. You're supposed to be the smart one out of us.
Calm down? I have a bat-wing psychopath with a two hundred foot long sword coming after me! I'd like to see you stay calm in similar circumstances!
You've been spying on Strife's party ever since Mother originally called for our help. When her precious son failed to protect her.
Out of the three Yenta Pree, Ephain had been the most offended by Mother choosing Sephiroth over them. Veishan had been upset that they hadn't been allowed to share in her glory and grab potential power, but Ephain had felt rejected, as if Mother had abandoned them entirely in favour of her son.
She continued, What do you know of this Vincent Valentine?
For one, he doesn't normally have wings or that damnable sword! It can slice through my shields like they're not even there! He wouldn't even be able to wield it properly if not for his flight!
Wait. This demonic form is not his own?
From the way I understand it, he's some sort of shapeshifter. He moves between forms, one being a bat-winged Demon. He should be either a full man or a full Demon! I do not understand!
He must be stuck between forms, Ephain mused. 'Only in health will he die.' You must cure him, you fool! Change him back to fully human!
Just like that. The answer was that easy. He nearly stopped in mid-flight as he marvelled at the simplicity of it. He turned about, cast both his hands forward, and concentrated on curing the man, calling forth all the white magic he possessed. He had never dabbled too much in curative magic, never quite relying on it or seeing a real purpose for it, preferring instead to concentrate on illusion and subterfuge. But now, he pooled all the power he had while Ephain slammed as much knowledge of white magic as she could through the Link, giving him a crash course in what he needed to know.
The spell was complex, and he barely understood any of it as it leaped from his hands, an invisible net of energy that wrapped around Valentine. A glow surrounded him for a second, and the man screamed.
And then he was two.
To one side was a bat-winged Demon, howling in fury, and to the other was a man, complete with sword and black clothes, still hurtling through the air due to momentum. Dweir paused in mid-flight as he marvelled at it.
It worked!
And then he realized in horror that Vincent was still hurtling forward from his own momentum, one arm out-stretched. Before he could charge his own lightnings to rocket away, Vincent had grabbed him with his clawed hand, digging his metal fingers into flesh. Dweir yelped in pain, and the sudden weight began to pull him down.
What's happening? Ephain asked.
Dweir didn't answer her, instead yelling at Vincent, "Let go! I can't fly with your weight! You'll kill us both!"
"Fair enough."