Chapter 6
Through the Eyes of a Killer
La, la, la-la-la, la, la, la, la-la, la...
He, he, he...Ha, ha, ha...
Fog rolled up as unquiet spirits, childish singing accentuating the darkness with an adolescent vileness. Silly, that. For what epitomized innocence more than the carefree call of a child?
"Ow...that hurt. You hurt me."
La, la, la-la-la, la, la, la, la-la, la...
"Stop, that really hurts! Stop NOW!"
The not-so-innocent chanting wound itself about the endless space, creating a backdrop of noise. As if a person blew lightly, the mist parted ever so slowly, revealing a scene of commonplace. A circle of six boys entrapping a younger, smaller child of silver hair. At first, they'd tossed his hat counter-clock wise several times, but it transformed into a stone. Many stones. All hurled at the little boy who crouched to deflect them.
One struck his shoulder. Blood trickled down. Another. Still another. "Stop this now!" he screamed to no avail.
The half-laughter, half-chant intensified. Like wolves sensing the tiring of a maimed deer, the group of boys tossed an endless stream of stones. His shriek tore the void of nothingness open, ripping a vortex in the air. A weapon. He needed a weapon...or a knife...or a sword...
From the vortex the young boy withdrew a shiny blade of diamond hilt and mako-steel. Eskallinalina...How he knew the name, could not be told. Its miraculous appearance meant nothing now. The silver-haired lad had a weapon and the hatred with which to use it.
Like decapitated candlesticks, the boys fell to their former victim's smooth slashes. But even as they exploded into gruesome displays of guts, their bodies reanimated into blue-scaled creatures. That prompted the boy to scream, unleashing magic inherent to the blade. It had not occurred to him that he'd matured rapidly—a young man of steel-colored hair and gleaming green eyes. The flames, hot-as-hell, consumed the mako-twisted beasts on impact.
Yet, even that did not deter them for long. After the fire died down, the remaining charred appendages coalesced into one massive creature. An eight-legged monstrosity as a gargoyle at night. Its eyes snared the young man—its gaze seemed to drain his life-force.
A scream—his scream—erupted as the creature gave chase. His thoughts alone of escape, the young man fled through the nothingness. Ran and yet moved not at all. The air slowed his movement, made him sluggish, incapable of mere walking. In his haste, he slipped and fell on his sword, blade plunging his chest. Blood gushed. Ah, the pain...
...The pain...What pain?...
...No pain...
Some pain. Just a little. A tug into his side. Grunting, Sephiroth awoke. He grimaced at the book he'd unintentionally used as pillow that now lodged into his gut. Irritably, the silver-haired general shoved it aside. His strength always beyond normal parameters, the book crashed into a pile of primers, destroying it like a collapsed house of cards.
Then Sephiroth cursed himself for his stupidity. After all, the Midgarian had spent the better part of an hour assembling that pile.
Two gloved hands rubbed his face in exhaustion. His back ached, his legs needed a good stretch—his entire body suffered from the neglect. No exercise for days. Neither did he take food or water. The self-abuse affected his features, rending them wan and bony. Not that it mattered. No, the young war veteran no longer cared for his appearance...not like anyone would see him inside these walls, anyway.
His great need to know the answers to his past imprisoned Sephiroth within these gray, bookshelf lined walls. Truthfully, he could depart at any time that suited his fancy. Yet, here Sephiroth was constrained by means beyond normal mortal comprehension. A fierce desire blazed within. No more lies. No more secrets. The truth, here, now.
Shivering from the dampness of the cold stone floor, Sephiroth hauled his ebony cloak about his person, beautiful starlight shaded hair falling over his shoulders. His emerald eyes squinted shut.
A few days ago the master materia-wielder journeyed with his subordinates for an inspection of a mako reactor. A simple, insignificant task. Yet, that mission had initiated this very search—the search for his identity. Why did he know so much of everything, everyone and yet nothing of himself? Why such mystery to simple questions: his father's name and whereabouts, his mother's fate, his creation? The mission had been completed successfully, yet had left him shattered.
The experience had left him wanting—left him with more questions than answers. Like a wound that festered over rather than healed the problem lurked in the back of his mind. Now like that fester burst open, the blood flowed, and with it, the curiosity of his origins. So long without answers and now here they were, concealed among manuscripts. Many mounds of manuscripts. If only he could find it...
With a despaired sigh, the black-cloaked general rose to his feet and paced about the cramped room, coming to a stop beside the late Gast's desk. The professor's concept of tidiness left much to be desired with a number of Midgar Telegram clippings and an assortment of multi-colored pens scattered on the wood. From the looks of it, he'd attempted some semblance of organization with the bookshelves only to abandon the venture less than a row later on. His failure to continue lead to Sephiroth's ceaseless frustration.
I could spend the rest of my days here and not find the answers that I seek...
Had he been able, Sephiroth might have shed a few tears. But that emotion was dead, lying in the ruins of his past abuse, war and suffering. Now all that remained was lump of cold steel, a tool...a weapon...
"...A soulless assassin..."
"No," he whispered, hands tightly clenched. "I am something more. I am a human being. I do have a soul. More's the pity for those who can not see it." Despite his status as a public icon pursued mercilessly by the Midgar Press, the outside world observed only a superficial Sephiroth, never allowed within the true confines of his mind.
Selecting a random brown-spine book from the dismantled pile, Sephiroth scanned it with alarming speed. Nothing of value. Another. Still, worthless. In his building frustration the SOLDIER hurled a dozen primers off a decrepit bookcase, sending them crashing to the floor.
Violence always afforded the general the release his wrenched heart desperately sought. Another reason few ever witnessed the true Sephiroth—they would never live to tell about it.
After another fruitless hour, he slumped into Gast's chair. Was the general never to have the answer he so sought? Due to a seven-year old Sephiroth's persistence, the professor considered expounding on the boy's history. He'd held off before, insisting that the truth might shatter him. Hojo claimed a heart attack befell the professor but the situation seemed suspicious since Gast planned to tell Sephiroth his origins that same day. Nor would Hojo relinquish any information. The general knew better than to try.
His face dropped into his hands. Despaired. Stop. There's no reason any more. I must simply resign myself to the cold hard fact that I will never know. Perhaps I'm not even meant to know. I should leave now and forget this place...
Indeed, such was the general's intention. Gathering his belongings—cloak and sword—Sephiroth hurried from the private library, stepping into the connecting hallway. Along these walls, too, Gast had erected bookshelves and bookcases, occupied by a disproportionate amount of manuscripts, small and large. To be away from his mission brought mixed relief and disgust. Quitting was not the general's foray but only a fool continues on with no reprieve in sight.
His walk was cut short. A book, jammed on a shelf containing more than its share of primers, fell directly in his path. With a sigh, Sephiroth snatched it from the floor and began to prop it against its kin. Then his eyes grazed the cover, freezing his blood with the single word inscribed upon it.
J.E.N.O.V.A.
"...Mother?" Sephiroth gasped.
Yes. Read my son.
"Yes, mother."
Entranced like the fly in the proverbial spider's web, the young war veteran retreated to Gast's private study and sat down at his desk. Part of him longed to tear the pages apart to suck the vital information out. The analytical part of his brain cautioned wisdom, to relax and digest the text slowly. He mustn't read too fast and overlook any significant detail.
Details did not make themselves readily evident. A man of action, Sephiroth abhorred to remain seated. And in this moment of frantic need, he climbed to his feet again. Balancing the book with a single hand, the general circled the room, unconscious steps eating up the perimeter of the ill-lit inner library as his mind feasted on the information.
So absorbed, Sephiroth didn't even notice a blue-garbed guard peer in, hovering by the door. In fact, the entire world might have vanished beneath him for all the Wutai war-hero knew. First, he spoke the text only in his head, then as the general continued reading, those thoughts flooded from his lips, a surge of emotion.
"...An organism, Jenova..."
Jenova...my mother?
"...Year 2561, Month 4, Day 5...Jenova confirmed to be an Ancient..."
Ancient...A Cetra?
"...Year 2561, Month 7, Day 6...Jenova project approved. The use of Mako Reactor 1 approved for use..."
...Jenova...Ancient...Mako Reactor...
Was there some common denominator?
Sephiroth's heart hammered almost threatening to rip free of his chest. His pace became more fevered with each word that passed by the warrior's lovely green eyes. Coming to an abrupt halt, Sephiroth raised a hand to his face, sick with all the rampaging thoughts. Then his otherworldly eyes lifted to the ceiling, as if mako inherent to them was as acid to burn away the brick and into the sky.
"My mother's name is Jenova. Jenova Project. Is this just a coincidence?"
His beautiful gaze floated to the stone floor, strewn with books. Softly Sephiroth's voice echoed as if through the end of time. "Professor Gast...Why didn't you tell me anything? Why did you die?"
Shuffle...scuttle...
Like a hawk, Sephiroth snapped to attention. Someone invaded his privacy and had monitored his progress. It reminded the general vividly and horrifically, of a childhood full of cruel watchful eyes. Straps to restrain. Drugs to subdue. One-way doors to imprison him. Even now, Sephiroth felt them observing him, smothering him. Others had called him paranoid. But what did they know? What did any of them know?
Read on, my son.
Jolted awake as if from the affects of cold water, the silver-haired warrior returned to his personal mission. No need to bother with the insects. He would deal with them later. With a hurried air, Sephiroth flipped through the scientific jargon and cut to the meat of the matter. Jenova. Cetra. Mako. Materia. Project SOLDIER. Specimen Sephiroth. Mako-Enhanced. Jenova-Cells...
Jaw unhinged, Sephiroth reread the section concerning his name. What he read filled him with unspeakable rage, horror and grief.
Professor Gast, Shin-ra Science Department: Due to the creature's inability to reproduce naturally the team has opted to manufacture a tube in which to artificially produce an organism through only her cells...This creation process is the first of its kind....Approved by the Shin-ra. We now have the funding to proceed...With the Cetra blood and extensive Mako infusions the specimen will have enhanced statistics...Project successful...We have a specimen that bears a striking resemblance to its 'mother'...and the one that was produced was called—
"—Sephiroth," the warrior whispered, speaking as he read.
His initial reaction was to stumble to his knees, the book crashing to the stone floor. The second prompted him to tremble, far beyond that of his anxiety attack at the Nibel Mako Reactor. Within mere minutes the proud, revered war hero and most feared man on the Planet screamed viciously. It tore from his throat as a live animal struggling to escape and it lasted a godly long time.
When the distraught general looked up his eyes glowed: hate, insanity, fear, pain...murder...
"Those worthless creatures, those miserable humans!" His voice shook from rage. Climbing to his weary feet, Sephiroth slumped against a wall. That voice broke, broken shards of despair, "Why? Why me! What have I done to be treated in such a manner! Am I really a soulless assassin, a man with no destiny? Will I be cast aside, string's cut, when I've outlived my usefulness?"
Devastated, the master materia-wielder slid down as if from under the weight of his discovery. Gast had been right. The knowledge had tore his world asunder. "Am I not even a person!? Am I the same as all these jars of god-knows-what? The same as all those...monsters...at the reactor...?"
That thought, of kinship to the blue-scaled creatures, was singularly horrifying.
A voice droned in his head, the one that had been with him all these many lonely years. Yes, my beloved son. They used you. They used me. Our race was annihilated while the humans sat back and stole our Planet! You are the last. Rescue me from these evil, pitiful humans. Together, we'll take back the Planet for the Cetra. And, you my son, Sephiroth...You and I will rule over the Promised Land...
The horror vanished. In its place, a sweet serenity poured into his soul. As with the moment of claiming the Masemune, Sephiroth experienced belonging, fulfillment. Of course...it all made sense now. He was created for their...experiment. They slaughtered his race then forced him into existence and servitude. The fury burned the general's chest. One hand tightened around Eskallanilna's hilt as his lifestream-green eyes glittered.
They tried to keep you down, to make you their puppet. Cut the strings! Show them the puppet they created has a mind of its own...
Like an inebriated man drowning in the rapture of power, Sephiroth surrendered to the wonderful voice and her love. They said he talked to walls, to himself. They thought knew everything. Pitiful humans! They know nothing! I will take back the planet, mother! Akin shattering glass, his beautiful voice rose in victorious laughter. A shrieking, joyous sound. A sound that had the usually stoic general bent over the table in the mirth of the moment hinted with madness. His sides hurt damnably. Gasping for breath, Sephiroth sat down.
Despite his maniacal laughter and distracted condition, the Midgarian easily heard when one of his SOLDIERs entered. Human. Humph. What did he expect? His mako eyes clouded over, smoldering with anger. "Who is it!?" he demanded, hand lingering over the Masemune.
Zack. Sephiroth could see him quite clearly now. The young Gongaga recruit cast a glance about as if expecting to be attacked. Would serve him right, thought Sephiroth. Still, the young boy was nothing more than a pawn, a fool in the human's game of playing with life. Hardly worthy of his anger. That would come, later. "Humph. Traitor."
As a salmon trapped on a line, the black-haired man shook. "Traitor?"
With a superior air, Sephiroth rose loftily from the chair to face the wall. Hatred rushed in his blood. His voice cold as winter winds, the general spoke, "You ignorant traitor. I'll tell you." Why should I even bother telling him? Clearly it is beyond his limited worldly experiences. He just sleeps under the blanket of freedom the Cetra provided him, neither knowing nor caring about their tragedy. But the general feared he might erupt should he retain the secret any longer.
"This planet originally belonged to the Cetra. The Cetra were an itinerant race. They would migrate in, settle a planet, then move on..."
Having surrendered to the urge, the young war veteran lost all thoughts of his audience. Swept away in a past that was not even his...Ah, but that would soon be rectified...
"At the end of their harsh, hard journey they would find the Promised Land and supreme happiness."
Slowly, methodically, the general pivoted to stare coldly at Zack. His face radiated a fire that cut through the SOLDIER. "But, those that disliked the journey appeared. Those who stopped their migrations built shelters and elected to lead an easier life."
Hate building up in him, Sephiroth slammed a fist on the table. Gast's prodigious mess became even more chaotic as a dozen pens and pencils rained on the floor. "They took that which the Cetra and the Planet had made without giving one whit in return!"
He stabbed a finger at the young man. "Those were your ancestors."
Shaken to the core, Zack attempted to stem the tide of fury he witnessed boiling within his superior. "Sephiroth..." he murmured.
He needn't have bothered. Eyes drifting to the floor, Sephiroth continued, whispering, "Long ago, disaster struck the planet." Slowly those glowing green orbs floated up to lock on Zacks'. "Your ancestors escaped...They survived because they hid.
"The Planet was saved by sacrificing the Cetra. After that, your ancestors continued to increase. Now all that's left of the Cetra is in these reports." His gloved fingers casually leafed the manuscripts strewn on Gast's desk.
"What does that have to do with you?"
His lips slit to a thin line. "Don't you get it?"
Zack indicated negative with a shake of his head.
Sighing, the Midgarian native gazed down the rows of books in the interconnected hallway. Books. So many books. Knowledge. Knowledge kept from him since childhood. That only served to fuel his rage. His voice trailed on. "An Ancient named Jenova was found in the geological stratum of 2000 years ago."
A hand lifted to stroke his chin, deeply troubled, sick of the tragedy that was the forgotten shard of history. "The Jenova project...The Jenova project wanted to produce people with the powers of the Ancients—No, Cetra."
Like a dying man's hand, Sephiroth's dropped.
"...I am the one that was produced."
"Pr...Produced?" gasped Zack.
Produced. Unloved. A puppet of the humans. Designed as their war machine. Their killing shadow. "Yes," he hissed. "Professor Gast, leader of the Jenova project and genius scientist produced me."
Come to me, my son. Come...
Yes, mother.
Exterminate the vermin. Heal the Planet by destroying the parasites that infest it. Quickly! There isn't much time. Soon they will find you, and your discovery. Please son, I love you...
I love you. Such simple words. It takes so little to utter it and yet no one had ever made the effort to shower him with any affection. Why not? Why the hell not?
He took one step. Then another. A slow march down the dim hallway. Behind him, the SOLDIER sputtered, "How...how did he...?"
"Sephiroth...?"
For a breath's span, the general halted. Halted long enough to whisper, "Out of my way—I'm going to see my mother."
Night muted the natural colors of mother earth to a somber tone of navy-black. Many stars shone this night, casting shadows upon the walls of the town's shabby housing. Leaves swirled as mini-tempests wreathing the gates of the Shin-ra Mansion, the winds picking up the cape of its single warden, a demon-angel observing a scene from his nightmares.
Here, humans lived and loved, not concerned with the welfare of a long-dead race or the crimes committed in their midst. Here, a circle of boys taunted a smaller child, throwing his hat out of reach just as he made a leap for it. The malicious game had the child in tears and yet that did not deter them. In fact, it served only to spur their cruelty.
The law of the strong devouring the weak. So his dream had come alive. He equated the scene with that of an imaginary image of the Cetra treated thusly. Badly outnumbered and debilitated the gentle race had been vanquished by humans even as they fought to save the world both inhabited. The humans stole the Planet and flaunted it, leaving the Cetra to die.
Yes, it is tragic, my son. They thought themselves so clever, those humans did. They waited until the Cetra expended all their energy to salvage the world then pounced, taking it from them. Ah, but they made one fatal flaw. They made you. Show them the puppet has cut his strings!
He gulped in the crisp cold air, eyes shimmering as pools of emerald rage. Hatred surged in his blood as Sephiroth lifted Masemune and stalked the...evil...boys. Like molten silver his hair flowed like his midnight-black cape making him appear as a fiend sent from the underworld. They stood no chance whatsoever. One. Two. Three. They all fell down.
Including the 'innocent' child.
Sephiroth halted, breathing heavily. Having been so focussed on purging the guilty he'd eliminated the innocent, too. Never before had the general murdered anyone not warranting it. Always the reason had been self-defense or the unfortunate wages of war.
Don't waste your time on a human emotion like guilt! No human is innocent. All of them have sinned against us to some degree. Don't think, just kill! Look, here comes another to stop you!
His mother spoke truly. Angered by the murder of their children, mothers flocked from their brick homes to sweep up the broken bodies or wept over them. Some screamed incoherently. Others sought to confront him, seeming as banshees with their tore clothes and broken voices.
One broke from the pack, directly intercepting him and leveling a hand to slap the general. Easily, Sephiroth snatched it mid-air and twisted the arm, shattering and rending it useless. She shrieked and struggled to strike him with her other hand. That, too, he disabled, disdaining to subdue her. Clearly the distraught woman meant him harm but damned would he be before Sephiroth let anyone stop him.
Whipping out Eskallinalna, the master swordsman plunged the blade into her chest, the tip erupting from her back. As crimson water, lifefluid spilt onto the cobblestone street as a stain that years itself could not erase. It was odd, but Sephiroth felt no shame or disgust, only a mild satisfaction as he dropped the body to lay next to that of her child.
In a systematic fashion, he wade through the throng of townsfolk, as more awoke from their homes to the awful screeching. Husbands. Wives. Children. Pets. It made no difference. All Sephiroth saw now was humans; evil, weak, pitiful humans. Foolishly they kept on coming, as insects challenging a god. Still, they beheld the shine of blood on his sword as testimony to his crimes as one they could not ignore. Soon, they too would become evidence as crimson upon the steel of the deadly Masemune.
Rapture. Sheer rapture. Sephiroth tossed back his wild head of molten hair in laughter. The fools, the humans. So stupid. In their avarice for power, they had bred him to near god-like status not realizing that one day he might lash out as his slavers with the very tools they'd crafted him to possess.
What goes around comes around and it was time the humans got theirs.
Eyes glittering, Sephiroth touched an emerald materia orb attached to the blade's hilt. With a shout the general unleashed the strongest fire spell he knew on the roofs of several nearby houses. Instantly, they caught aflame, enveloped in crimson rage, gleaming as the blood that ran through Nibelhiem's streets.
The citizens of Nibelhiem screamed and died. Some thought to hide but if the blade didn't reach them, the fires did. Others opted to stem the tide of flame with water from the town's well, but that only prompted Sephiroth to set the well itself ablaze. That made them yell louder, cursing and crying at the destruction.
Absorbed in the euphoria of his revenge, the screams barely registered in his mind. One of the townsfolk stupidly sought to take advantage of the carnage by looting a body. By the expression on his face, his head didn't know when it had separated from the neck. Another citizen morbidly decided to photograph the scene. Sephiroth recognized him as the same man who'd taken his picture earlier. Not that that small affiliation mattered. His abominable venture earned his place impaled on the general's sword.
A night of terror. A night of revenge.
Estuans...Interius ...Ira...Vehementi...
Ils eblade. Nae-lai de lai kaonration, Sephiroth...
Excellent, purred his mother. No, wait, don't kill them all. Leave some as a reminder to the humans of your power. Let them shake in their fear like the cowards they truly are. Now come to me. Let none who opposes you stay your holy course!
Lifted up into another world even as he burned this one, Sephiroth cut down two town guards dispatched to suppress him. The flamelight highlighted one side of his face while the other remained chill in shadow. He calmly surveyed the damage he'd wrecked, nodded his head in satisfaction and pivoted smoothly to walk straight through the flames.
The fires didn't touch him. They knew one of their own.
A voice, amidst the chaos, "Sephiroth...this is too terrible..."
His laughter haunted them all.
"Mother, I'm coming."
A distance that normally required days of travel, Sephiroth covered in a matter of hours. Having explored it earlier on his fateful quest to the reactor, the general's photographic memory served him well, detailing the swiftest routes in the minimal of time. He sidestepped the bridge, even though repairs had been attempted, since he would risk no second fall. Besides, the native of Midgar found other trails more satisfactory.
In no time at all, the odd shape of the reactor loomed, cutting out the moonlight and appearing as a dark and terrible fortress. Closer examination proved otherwise, of course, but Sephiroth treated the edifice as it were. Here, his search had begun. Here, it would end.
The sign of Shin-ra looked more careworn than ever, the paint barely lasting. A dozen pipes driven into the frozen ground continued to pump the life force out of the Planet, energy the humans taxed for their greed. A travesty he would rectify, as well.
Still, as Masemune's wielder gazed upon the structure, his thoughts drifted from a fortress strong to a beautiful temple. Within Sephiroth suffered his trials but as ore thrust into the blazing heat of tragedy he had emerged as sword, deadlier and stronger than ever.
A religious revival was at hand.
When he reached the reactor, Sephiroth hurried up the ramp. Tears of joy shined in his lifestream-green eyes. No, he could not surrender to them just now. Swallowing, the general thrust open the doors to the reactor and stepped in. Immediately, the orchestra of gears clicking, pipes groaning and the various apparatus functioning assaulted his ears, yet he might have been deaf. The stench of mako was nearly overwhelming to most, and still with Sephiroth it didn't register. Nor did the Wutain veteran see the platform beneath or the paint-chipped walls of the reactor.
His mind was blur. He heard nothing, smelt nothing, saw, felt, knew naught else.
Naught else but his mission.
"Hey, you, why the hell did you do that to the town!?"
Sephiroth ignored him.
"I knew you would bring disaster to our town! Why couldn't you stay away!?"
Sephiroth stopped, breathing heavily. Masemune's bloodied hilt glinted in the light.
"What the--! What kinda monster are--!"
The blade slicing a second mouth in his throat cut off whatever else the man had to say. Sephiroth watched morbidly as the body held suspended on his sword. Blood gushed onto the steel railing. Slowly, he perished but not before the general whispered, eyes glowing from the fluorescent ceiling light:
"I am the mortal enemy to the humans. I am Sephiroth, the heir to the Planet."
Waste no more time, my beloved child! Come!
The last word shrieked in the general's ear, prompting him drop the man in the sword and proceed to the chamber containing the pods. The man had an air of passing familiarity. The guide's...father? No matter. As a human, he deserved no better. All of them would be slain, to rise again and serve his mother. Yes, that sounded good, 'twas...justice.
Inside the inner chamber, the general felt he'd misplaced something. Well, if it didn't readily come to him, it couldn't be of too much importance. Flicking back his molten silver hair, Sephiroth dismissed it.
As before, blood-shade colored the walls, making it appear as if the general had wrecked his havoc here. With the exception of the one imploded pod, nothing had changed. And yet, for Sephiroth, it seemed he viewed the chamber for the first time. Shadows fell at different angles, light spilled where none had before...
J.E.N.O.V.A.
Anticipating washing over him, Sephiroth climbed the stairs. When he tugged at the handle to the door, however, it remained inaccessible. The general lifted his hands, imploring, "Mother, I'm here to see you. Please, open the door."
"How could you do that to the papa and the townspeople?!"
That certainly wasn't Mother!
No, not Mother. A young woman, about fifteen, raced up the stairs. Tifa, his former guide, he noted. Seeing the blade in her hand, Sephiroth realized what he'd forgotten—Eskallanilna. With a cry of rage, Tifa swung the blade directly at the general, intent on severing the head from his body.
The attack went wide. The girl's coffee-brown eyes widened with it, as the weapon defied her attempts to wield it. Foolish girl. The Cetra spirit inherent in the blade knows one of its own. Easily, Sephiroth wrenched Eskallanilna from her grip, reversing the stroke for a killing blow against her.
Tifa made little sound as the metal tore through her tiny frame. It shattered her sternum, blood gushing out as he whipped it around for a second shot, this sending her tumbling down the stairs. The body landed on the lowest platform.
A smile split his lips. Just one less human the Planet has to worry about.
After kissing the bloody hilt reverently, Sephiroth resumed his efforts to open the door. This time, he met no resistance. It fell silently back, allowing the bizarre light of the chamber beyond to flood into the present room. Trembling with expectation, he forced himself to step past the threshold and look upon the face of his mother for the first time.
Mother...
The creature known as Jenova was quite a sight. Encased in a glass upright coffin, she floated in blue plasma up to her torso, wherein the rest had been concealed by an angelic-hybrid armor and a mask-helmet. Assembled in the shape of wings, blue-white fans spread out from her body and shining skull. And above her, stamped on a plague the name, her name, Jenova.
Overwhelmed, Sephiroth nearly sank to his knees. Shaking his head, the general forced himself to remain on his feet, utilizing Masemune as a crutch. He mustn't lose control now even as the tears still threatened to fall. A glance upward told him that the only way to reach his mother happened to be a very unstable red cord. No matter. He happily sheathed his weapon and ascended.
Like a newborn staring at the world for the first time, Sephiroth gazed into her metallic face. His voice shivering with delight, he whispered, "Mother, let's take back the Planet together.
"I've thought of a great idea. Let's go to the Promised Land."
The sound of someone entering, of a murmured word, "Sephiroth..."
Watch out, my son!
Forewarned, Sephiroth dodged a blade leveled to impale his back. The sidestep confused his attacker, a young man with wild black hair, who fully expected to take the general by surprise. Sephiroth had mere moments to realize it was Zack, his former subordinate.
Correction, dead former subordinate, thought the Master swordsman as he gutted the SOLDIER. Zack heroically tried to retaliate but he was far outmatched, taking another stab to his ribs, the sheer power of Sephiroth sending him spinning into the room beyond. Even as the SOLDIER vanished, a Shin-ra guard entered. Shaken to the core at having to face this pillar of strength, the guard took a moment to gather his wits about him, ripping the helmet from his head to wipe the sweat from his brow.
"My family! My hometown! How could you do this to them!?"
Had Sephiroth so desired, the guard would be spitted on his sword. But the general didn't bother. Such a lowborn specimen didn't deserve his illustrious attention and thus Sephiroth ignored him. It did amuse Shin-ra's Head of SOLDIER however, that yet another human would seek to do him harm. An endless string of humans come to stop him and his quest. Together he and his mother had declared a holy war against the humans, those that would oppose the Cetra. Now, they again sought to strike him down. As he laughed, the general's shoulders shook. "They've come again, Mother."
Without looking behind to see who it was, Sephiroth raised his hands to touch her face. The tears shone fiercer now, brimming, almost escaping. "With her superior power, knowledge, and magic, Mother was destined to become ruler of this Planet.
"But they...those worthless creatures...are stealing the planet from Mother...But I'm here with you now...so don't worry..."
Now his hands slid over to the plates connecting the armor to the structure. With a fell swoop, Sephiroth tore the upper half off, snapping wires and intricate machinery. After taking a moment to catch his breath and stamina, his head rose to examine the creature. The sight drew a gasp.
Tears, already brimming his beautiful eyes, did flow, slowly and gracefully. Before him, the image of his beloved mother. The body of blue-white flesh seemed to be frozen for centuries, as indicated by Gast's records. She had no legs to speak of. Veins, violet and green, lined her torso and even traced into her hairless head.
To anyone else it was the face of a monster; to him, the face of an angel.
Like honeyed wine, her voice dripped into his mind, refreshing and calming:
You are the first...and the last. You are our heir, our survivor. Ave, Ils ebla Formostamsa, your ascension is at hand. Gloriousa, generosa. Come take me to the Promised Land!
Though Sephiroth had dealt mercy instead of slaughter, the annoyance, known as Cloud, persisted. "What about MY sadness!? My family...my friends...The sadness of having my hometown taken from me!? It's the same as your sadness!"
Sadness? Sadness? The laughter arched his back, stirring his obsidian cloak. Sephiroth had to bite down on the amusement, lifting Eskallanilna in warning. "...my sadness? What do I have to be sad about? I am the chosen one. I have been chosen to be the leader of this Planet.
"I have orders to take back this Planet from you stupid people for the Cetra. What am I suppose to be sad about?"
Silly humans and their emotions. Even if I had a reason to weep—and I don't, do I?—the only tears I'd shed shall be for joy now. How can a Cetra feel sorrow or pain? For so many years I've pondered why I was so apathetic to it all...and now I know. Why should I feel sadness when I am of a superior race? When I am destined to rule?
Despaired, Cloud staggered back as if from under the weight of the revelation that Sephiroth was quite beyond reasoning, beyond mad. The chamber's pipes concealed his face beneath shadow. "Sephiroth...I trusted you..." His voice broke. Drawing upon inner fortitude, the guard raised his blade, looking like a kitchen knife in comparison to the majesty that was the Masemune. "No, you're not the Sephiroth I use to know!"
You are so right about that, pitiful human. I am no longer a pawn. Come, let us end this charade! A smile slipped into his lips. Gracefully, the master swordsman vaulted Masemune in the air, light dancing off the surface. Cloud shivered then lifted his own weapon. Their eyes, mako-green to sky-blue, absorbed each other, blurring and bending the image of reality.
When the Shin-ra guard attacked, Sephiroth was more than ready for him. Ducking the blow artfully, the general twisted on his feet, whipping out his blade to strike his opponent at the shoulder with the flat. The series of events flooded by so swiftly, poor Cloud barely knew what hit him.
Disgusted at the lack of challenge, which the general considered no more than swatting flies, Sephiroth returned to his moment of reunite with his beloved mother. So many humans determined to hold him down, to force slavery and heave insult upon him. The blood raged in his veins at the sheer thought of the audacity.
What...? What was his mother saying...? The mystical warrior had let himself become distracted...A warning...
And that warning came too little, too late. Sephiroth gagged as the blade entered his body, erupting from his mid-section. In his mind, Jenova shrieked at the travesty. The sword, Cloud's, felt as ice tearing in him, then as fire as the guard ripped it free. Masemune fell from nerveless hands, spilling onto the lower platform. Blood poured from the wound, and in an instant, the general knew it as the heart's life flooding out. If he didn't leave to nurse it, Sephiroth would die.
Stumbling down the platform, Sephiroth reclaimed his sword. He ignored Cloud completely—what revenge he'd thought to wreck delegated to secondary. Survival was paramount. Whispering a prayer and an apology to his mother, the warrior rushed from the chamber as fast as he could, each step leaving a bloody footprint.
No, no, no, no...How could a lowly human defeat a superior such as himself? He had not been paying attention and had paid with his indiscretion in the coinage of blood. A moan escaped Sephiroth's lips as he stumbled down the steel stairs, eyes burning with tears...tears of rage and pain. The hatred helped force his feet to proceed even when the bloodloss prompted dizziness and a bout of nausea.
The general reached the pod chamber's door and no farther. Here, the warrior must make his stand. Here, he might very well perish. Ah, the ultimate irony—to at long last unearth the question of his life, the nature of his origins, only to die within the hour of the discovery. After all, what good would knowledge do should he succumb to his injuries?
One hand drifted to that wound, attempting to stanch the flow of his life while the other clenched Eskallanlina tightly. His attempts did little good as blood continued its deadly rage, trickling into the mako-pool beneath the platform. Instantly the drops shriveled to nothingness long before striking the steaming liquid below.
"Mother, will I...Will I die?"
No answer...
"Mother...?"
No, my son. Fight back! Get up and kill that bastard worm!
"Mother, I'm so...tired...I'm sleepy..."
NO! Get up you damn idiot!
Her words shocked the materia-user like lightning to a tree and he obeyed immediately, rising to a semi-crouch. The intensity of the voice startled Sephiroth who noted none of the creature's usual warmth and affection. For the briefest of moments, the general wondered if he'd fallen from the frying pan and into the fire. Was a mother supposed to scream at a child like that? But how was he to know, having never had a matriarch figure in his life...Maybe that was quite normal...
Listen, my precious...The human approaches. He thinks you are beyond retaliation, too weak to resist his assault. Let that misconception be his downfall. Act as if you don't notice him and I'll warn you when he makes the attempt—then cut him in two!
The moment of doubt vanished. Of course, she served his best interests. How could he think otherwise? Sephiroth forcefully relaxed his breathing, going limp with his swordarm. Let the insect come...Closer...Closer...Closer...
Now, strike!
Rushing forward like a wave, Sephiroth surged with his blade like it was an extension of his arm. With madness driven by fear and anger, he lodged the blade in Cloud's lower stomach. Shocked, the guard dropped his sword with a scream. This time, the materia-warrior did not withdraw the weapon, rather forcing it further into his victim's body. Oddly enough, little blood flowed. But that would change once Sephiroth freed the blade and dumped Cloud into the searing liquid.
But 'twas not Cloud who fell into the mako pit. Blinded by his victory, Sephiroth was a moment too late in realizing that his attack didn't kill. And when realization hit it was too late.
In a moment of sheer impossibility, a simple Shin-ra guard flipped the greatest general that had ever lived over the steel railing. Sephiroth's scream seemed born of hell, the thing of a child's nightmare. In a half-arc he whirled down the metal shafts, missing every one of them. He flailed his arms and found no purchase. His spells failed, his mind deserted him.
Mother, please, help me!
But even Jenova could not help Sephiroth now.
Hitting the mako with a terrific crash that sent waves of liquid shooting in the air, the Head of SOLDIER plummeted within the folds of the steaming waters. The agony was unthinkable but Sephiroth couldn't scream, barely held onto the threads of awareness as it was. The general felt it eat away at his clothes and skin. Eat away at his thoughts, his consciousness...
Mother...Mother...Mother...
Two otherworldly emerald eyes shut.
Then everything vanished in a flash of white light...
"Oh, boy, that was ugly..." Luke slumped down on the coffin as he balanced the book in a single hand. He looked up suddenly. "He went nuts, didn't he?"
Vincent perched on the edge, his face shadowed by the murky lamplight. He'd allowed no artificial light, such as that produced by mako electricity, in the chamber. Determined to appease his last contact, Luke had relented. Now the scientist nearly regretted it, since the poor lighting afforded the former-Turk a most menacing appearance.
"Nuts...? What strange euphemisms you people use in these times." His good hand lifted to scratch his chin. "Mentally unstable is more accurate. The realization of his origins—or falsehoods of his origins, rather—clearly opened a door in which Jenova could step through. It is a shame that so much death and destruction could be traced back to a simple word in a book."
"His name, you mean? Reading about how he was an experiment?"
"Yes. And a greater misfortune lies in the lost opportunity to redeem him at the critical moment. Had someone tried to sway Sephiroth when he read Hojo's books, perhaps you'd have no tale to write about, dear reporter."
Luke flushed. "A sad tale, indeed. Do you think that fate would allow such a thing? That Sephiroth could have avoided the dark path he walked?"
Vincent appeared amused. Appeared. Luke could never tell. "Possibility. Yet another thing we shall never now know."