Chapter 1
Blood of the Innocent
Tiny crystalline flakes, like soft breaths, inundated the whole of Midgar. As if the vast industrial city were but a snowglobe, each sliver of winter swirled around and around to finally determine a place that might be considered 'home'. Howls, feral howls, found ears in the metropolis' higher grounds. Those unfortunate enough to occupy lower residence received little respite from winter's bitter chill.
That chill wind knifed him. He snorted, annoyed. Nearly January and some fool had thought to open the window. A second snort, though not directed at that temerity. Rather, the source of his vexation stood but a few feet from him, grinning like the madman he was.
Grinning, that is, until another particularly valuable jar promptly shattered on the floor, a victim of the storm.
"God dammit!" cursed Hojo as he snaked out a hand in a futile effort. He snarled, "This blasted storm disrupts my concentration." The beady black eyes of Hojo narrowed on him, a tall dark man against the far wall, in cruel scrutiny but if the gaze annoyed him any he guardedly exhibited no indication of it.
After all, a Turk has no emotions, no feelings...and yet...I do, don't I?
"Nurse!" Hojo barked. A young woman, about mid-twenties, hastily made herself available. Previously, she'd been attending the only other occupant of the room, another woman with long brown hair, bed-ridden. But she would stir no wrath in Hojo and came to his side at once.
Wringing her hands, the nurse sputtered, "Ah, yes?"
"Shut that damnable window before it blows me to hell!"
Not such a terrible thing...
More howls, like that of the damned soul, tore through outside as savage gusts billowed the cream-colored shroud in stunning regularity. Briefly the winds would die down, fooling you into thinking they'd vanished, then another powerful winter scream proved you wrong. Snow clung to the glass pane. It slid down in patterns, either in resisting chunks or slivering strings. Such was the tenacity of the winds, in fact, that it succeeded in agitating a number of the chamber's fragile vials.
"Yes, Hojo." Immediately, the white-cloaked nurse skittered to the offending object. With a forceful jerk and she slammed it shut. Still, the wind rattled all within.
Her pale blue eyes flickered over at Hojo in anticipation of another order. No order was forthcoming so she returned to her duties as midwife. The scientist didn't command respect, and even less reverence, but he did inspire fear. Hojo–a man not to be crossed.
Nevertheless, I have defied him. No trepidation, or regret, accompanied that inner thought. It was a statement and one he would never regret. Still, he would have to tread carefully. You can walk over broken glass but you better be damn careful about it. Only a fool strode through fire blind.
And who thought this? The dark figure leaning against a nondescript wall. His hooded, detached navy eyes absorbed the scene but, like a one-sided mirror, reflected little in return. A powerful gun lingered perpetually at his side appropriately known as Death Penalty. As his occupation dictated, that of a Turk, the man donned a crisp dark blue suit. Soot-black hair dangled before a cool visage as he rested a chin in his hand.
Vincent Valentine.
Vincent's eyes of china blue roamed the scene, masking his repulsion and frustration as benefiting his station as Turk. Himself, the half-brilliant, half-lunatic Hojo, the anxious-to-please nurse and her charge were the only ones remaining in the room. The scientist had screamed all others out. He would have rid the chamber of Vincent, too, had he been able. But the Valentine had stated, in no uncertain terms, that Shin-ra decreed his movements and not Hojo. He would no sooner leave the room than permit the stars to fall from the sky.
No, not room, laboratory. Long selves lined the plain ivory walls, crammed with jars, glass vials, and containers. Hojo currently hunched over a desk recording the progress of the labor. Mutterings came from his corner. His small inhuman eyes skimmed over Vincent as if examing an insect beneath a microscope but the Turk was disciplined enough only to return a cold glare. He hated Hojo and the scientist returned the aversion in kind.
It was an amusing but deadly game. Since Hojo tasks were of a scientific nature that demanded close guarding, Vincent was assigned to watch over the weasely man. At first, Vincent abhorred the duty. He'd rather shoot himself in the mouth than spend more than a moment in the wicked man's presence. But then, he met Lucrecia...
"Ugh! I–I think he's coming!" shrieked the woman inhabiting the bed. Sweat beaded her brow. Her gasps came thin. "Hojo! He's coming!"
Vincent stiffened as the witnessed the woman's struggles. Yes, his beloved, beautiful, gold-hearted Lucrecia was reduced to that miserable cot. It sickened him to watch the drama unravel. Hojo spun one-eighty to stoop by Lucrecia, an avarice grin on his lips. The nurse instantly attended her, mopping her forehead. It was happening. It was actually happening.
Of course, it's happening. She's been pregnant for months now. The baby's due, over due.
Still, hearing the wicked cries of the wind, the Turk couldn't repress a shudder.
Lucrecia. The sole light in the darkness of his humanity. The sweaty, death-hued, hair-frayed woman on the bed. The angel that brought such warmth and love to the cold, loveless, unloved, heart of Vincent Valentine.
Vincent had never thought he could be loved. He didn't know his father; knew little more of his mother. As a youth, the homeless teen had been lured to the bloodstained employment of a Turk. Despicable as it was, it was all he had.
Then he met Lucrecia. Hojo had introduced the two, ironically enough, since Vincent was also duty-bound to protect the members of the Jenova project–Hojo, Lucrecia, and the leader of the operation, astute Gast. Because Hojo's and Gast's duties made them indisposed for a lengthy time, Vincent and Lucrecia were frequently left together...And the lovely, lonely scientist and he drew close...very close...
Then he learned she was married...to Hojo.
Screams shattered that black train of thought. Vincent swallowed his odd mixture of concern and disgust. Hojo, needle in hand, probed Lucrecia, collecting his damnable research. The decidedly flustered nurse encouraged the pained woman. And all the while the winds continued with the screeching procession, surging the curtains like the waves of a virulent sea.
Lucrecia screamed. Vincent winced.
He was helpless. He could nothing.
And on she screamed.
The Turk had learned she was wed to, of all the men in Midgar, Hojo. It enraged him, saddened him to be used in such a nefarious manner as 'the other man'. But it was too late to shut the facet off of the emotion of love now–he was in too deep. And, truthfully, he didn't blame Lucrecia. All the anger was directed at himself, and Hojo. They had torn her in the middle, playing such a dirty game of a triangle. And so, he remained her private lover, the two trysting in secret blissful moments while Hojo was busy with experiments. Oh, it was a deadly game they played. If Hojo ever found them out...
But he must never know.
Carefully, the Turk folded the emotions into neat little piles like one might do to cloth and schooled his expression into neutral. The ideal tactic was to act as if nothing were out of the norm. And still, his every nerve screamed, as Lucrecia, herself, screamed. Oh, how he longed to swallowed the distance between them and take her into his arms. But he could not. Dare not.
Rivulets of blood crimsoned the blankets as Lucrecia pushed. More sweat crawled her face, making it seem drenched in seawater, her eyes cast about in a daze. Hojo snapped at her to speed up the process, anxious to perform his abominable experiments on the child. The nurse just rushed back from the rattling window to the young woman and generally made a nuisance of herself. At length, Hojo irritably dismissed her.
That alarmed Vincent. Though his face was as cold and smooth as an ice-block his mind swirled. What is he doing? Is he planning on delivering the infant himself? That's madness!
Madness defined Hojo.
Vincent learned that fact when he discovered the wicked man's awful schemes. Hojo devised a plan to impregnate his wife and experiment on their child with 'powers of the Ancients'. Years ago the Shin-ra Science Department uncovered a frozen entity they believed to be one of the long-lost Cetra, or Ancient, and they named it Jenova. Since then, Hojo experimented on animals, installing them with the creature's cells, to determine the effects.
The effects were stunning. Every being injected with the cells became both physically and mentally more proficient. So, Hojo decided to test it on a human–his own child. Against Vincent's impassioned protests, Lucrecia agreed to conceive a child with Hojo and to have that child implanted with Jenova cells. The Turk never did understand why; that is, until he learned that Hojo sugarcoated the whole matter, claiming that the infant would save their marriage and guarantee their scientific success.
Yes, madness defined Hojo. Madness and ruthlessness.
"Push, dammit! Push!" Hojo howled at Lucrecia. He thrust his hands under the drenched blankets. More blood gushed out, disturbing Vincent all that much more. Hojo was hardly a suitable midwife. Still, he remained inactive. If he were to express his unique interest in her welfare then the secret would be out.
And God help him if it did come out–because only God could.
"PUSH!"
All Lucrecia did was wail in return.
Then the window shattered.
The child had finally arrived.
Hojo withdrew from the bloody folds, carrying a filthy baby boy. Lucrecia cried out, overjoyed for both the release of her pain and the emergence of her child. Even Vincent, who'd stayed physically unmoved by the situation, couldn't help a relieved sigh. As for the broken window, it allowed admittance for more sheet and wind than ever before.
"Victory," hissed Hojo. His eyes glittered vilely. "Sweet victory."
Vincent gritted his teeth at the declaration. The scientist had little concern for Lucrecia's well being. He had eyes only for the infant and his accursed scientific success. It made him ill.
Worse yet, Hojo's answers to Lucrecia incited fury.
"Oh, Hojo, he's beautiful! Let me hold him!" She extended her hands eagerly.
Hojo pulled the child away. His face hardened. "I think not, Lucrecia. The boy still has many more experiments to go through. I must inject him with more Jenova cells and Mako now so, as he grows, he will be the strongest man alive. My child–my victory."
Still ignoring the pleas, the scientist lifted the baby boy onto a table and promptly jammed needles into the child's arms, legs, and torso. The baby wailed hideously. Lucrecia answered the cries with those of her own. Hojo continued with his malicious work, producing an instrument and jabbing it on the back of the infant's hand, tattooing a number 'one' on him. Another horrible cry, harsher than the window's untimely demise and sure to melt the blackest heart.
It did not melt Hojo's.
It did melt Vincent's.
"What are you doing to that poor child, Hojo? Give him to his mother."
"Shut up, Turk! This is not your affair."
The child wailed as blood streamed his knuckles. In response, Hojo slapped the child's cheek harshly. "You shut up, too! From now on, brat, I own you. You'll do as you're commanded. I created you–I can break you."
His navy eyes ablaze, Vincent turned to the fainting Lucrecia. He almost went into cardiac arrest as he observed the crimson life streaking the coarse fabric. Her lips tinted bluish-white. Her face was ashened. Her eyes dilated. She looked as one dead.
And she might be, real soon.
Dismissing the child's plight from his mind temporarily, the Turk wrapped Lucrecia in the blankets, attempting to stanch the blood flow. He made her as comfortable as possible. Then Vincent flung open the door and called out to any medical officials in the vicinity. All the while, Hojo scorned him, proceeding with his sadistic testing.
One doctor appeared, aghast at the sight. He immediately set to task to decrease the blood hemorrhaging. Vincent, placing the gun on a stool, aided him to the best of his abilities, which wasn't much. Outside, the wind slashed relentlessly.
After being assured of Lucrecia's condition, the doctor left. He had instructed Vincent to watch over the woman and to notify him if the situation changed. The Turk pledged faithfully to do so. Vincent's heart thundered in his ears and his blood boiled.
Tossing his obsidian bangs aside, the Turk growled, "What about Lucrecia?! Can't you damn well let her see her child at least once?"
Hojo turned his wicked eyes on Vincent. The Turk gasped. Those pupils flashed like two windows into the gates of hell. "Mind your business, Turk! I'm warning you!"
Rage exploded within Vincent. This abominable man had pushed him too far. He had treated the woman Vincent loved like an insect. He experimented ruthlessly, with no concern for human life. Now, he denied a poor ailing woman, his own wife for God's sake, the opportunity to hold her own son.
"No, you bastard! You've gone far. Someone should have stopped your cruelty long before this!" With that, Vincent grabbed the baby boy and backed away, nearer Lucrecia. He intended to give the woman her son and to put Hojo in his place.
The scientist attempted to stop him but was too late. Long had Vincent practiced the art of agility, as it was a must in his pernicious profession. Hojo stepped forward, face twisted in hate, demanded the return of his son. But Vincent refused.
In a flash movement, Hojo snared up a weapon and aimed it at Lucrecia. The Turk was stunned when he realized what it was–Death penalty, his weapon.
And the wind howled cruelly.
"Give the child to me, Turk and no one gets hurt."
Vincent's eyebrows lifted dramatically. "You'd shoot your own wife!"
The laughter was inhuman. "She matters little to me now. She bore me a child–that's the extent of her usefulness to me."
Stunned and repulsed, the Turk turned to look at his love. Lucrecia lay on the blankets, too exhausted to move. Her caramel curls spilled onto the modest white pillow as she was coiled in more pearly blankets. Seeing her now, in her fragile loveliness, Vincent knew he could never let Lucrecia go.
Forgive me, child, for your blood is on my hands like so many others...
He passed the baby boy over to Hojo.
Cradling the infant with one hand and the weapon with the other, the scientist backed off. He flanked the laboratory table, beady eyes on Vincent. "You may take your whore, Vincent!"
A hitch snagged Vincent's breath. Was Hojo insinuating that he knew of the affair? The Turk searched Hojo's expression...Yes! Yes, he was!
Chilled, Vincent immediately turned to Lucrecia and prepared to lift her up in his arms. He would leave this dreadful place and take his love with him. Her protection from this madman's schemes were paramount. Maybe Vincent could kidnap the baby, later...
"Oh, Vincent."
The Turk revolved his head.
"I lied." Leveling the gun at the Valentine's head, Hojo fired.
In self-preservation, Vincent flung a hand at his forehead. The bullet struck flesh at his wrist, cleanly ripping it off. The appendage sailed to the wall and dropped with a sickening thud to the floor. Blood splattered over the infant and he screamed in horror. Vincent, himself, stared in morbid fascination at the gush of blood that spurted out of his maimed stump.
The agony was inconceivable; it was like a hundred knives. Vincent stifled a scream. Clutching the limb to his chest, he steadfastly remained in front of Lucrecia. Blackness swam up to greet his vision.
Another shot, and another. Like a fallen bookcase, the Turk collapsed to the hardwood floor. The coppery tang of blood flittered his nostrils. His sight faded into nonexistent black. Still, he struggled to right himself. Lucrecia needed him; the child needed him.
But, try as he might, Vincent lost consciousness.
The wind howled to a supreme cord that rippled to the soul.
Before he faded from reality words, dreadful words, filled his ears.
"My child, I name you Sephiroth–the creation of destruction."
Luke gasped. "Oh, my God, that Hojo was a beastly fellow, wasn't he?"
"Yes, he was. Human life held no meaning for him–he valued it only so much as how it advanced his scientific research. Once something lived up to its usefulness, he discarded it. His cruelty knew no bounds."
"And that's no exaggeration. So what happened then?"
Vincent, closing his eyes, sighed. "Hojo imprisoned us both. When he was ready, the bastard took Lucrecia and myself, accompanied by the Turks of that time, to a waterfall cave. There he made me watch as he shot Lucrecia off a cliff with my own gun. Laughing, he tossed Death Penalty into the waters and confined me to his laboratory..."
Leaning forward, Luke whispered, "What did he do then?"
Vincent's face crawled as if a man in the grips of old haunts. "He tortured me. He experimented on me. Said I might as well serve some purpose. Hojo sawed off my arm and lodged this–" The former-Turk indicated his golden claw. "–onto it. The amount of drugs he used on me I will never accurately remember. But I do remember one thing."
"What? What?"
"My intense hatred of him. I swore I would make him suffer full measure of the torment he inflicted on Lucrecia. He laughed and claimed I could do nothing. Then, I despaired that he was right. He wrenched away my humanity, gave my soul over to a monster against my will and locked me in a coffin at the bottom of the Shin-ra mansion. And all the while I dreamed and wept...but there's one thing I forgot."
Anticipation filled the silence.
"I forgot...about Sephiroth..."