Disclaimers: Final Fantasy VII © under Square-Enix, as well all other Final Fantasy references. Everything else under their respective owners.


Through Forest and Grove

Jason M. Lee

Chapter 10: That Which I React...


Once outside the bright hospital, Reno made a beeline toward the Sister Ray, never minding that it would take him some time to reach his target. Passing through the twisting, winding, and maze-like streets of Sector 1 was necessary. He didn't mind; he had all the time on the Planet.

Those that knew his reputation wouldn't dare bother the seemingly possessed Turk, word through the grapevine spreading quickly. Those that did earned themselves temporary beds on the cold and wet ground.

More than once, he wanted to give in to the boiling fury raging within him.

No more worries, no sense of fear, no obligations. Just the simple knowledge of being able to conquer almost anything with ease.

Yet, he held it back, part of his mind desperately grasping onto a single image for stability. Fear of loosing control and never returning wavered on a shaky leash.

Not that the many voices tempting the Turk helped any better.

'Shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! I don't need to be like Spike or fucking Sephiroth, hearing voices out of nowhere!'

Reno shook his head to clear the maddening cacophony, a bit relieved that it abated somewhat. However, the temptation was still there, mixing alongside other emotions.

It seemed that the closer he got to the Sister Ray, the louder and persuasive they got. Already, pyreflies were appearing little by little, some taking shape before their deaths. Many of them carried despondent looks, the majority directing glares at the passing Turk.

As per usual, Reno ignored them.

'Little bastard hurt Yuffie... Nobody gets away with it.'

A low growl, resembling something less than human.

'NOBODY.'

An echoing consent.

"PUNISH."

Possessiveness.

"PROTECT."

A descant.

"MINE."

Anger.

"GO."

Had he looked at a nearby window, cat-like gold eyes would glare back.

x x x x x x x

"Fucking idiot!" Cloud grumbled to himself. Another jump got him easily across a gap almost three streets wide. "He could've at least left his radio on, but noooo! He either freaking turned it off or left it somewhere else! Now I'm chasing after his ass just so that he doesn't kill the moron who shot Yuffie (and I have a REALLY good idea who it is)! At least I know where that ahou is going... and I have a very bad feeling about this..."

The younger man paused, skidding to a stop on a rooftop. Through his rant, the blonde hadn't really noticed that he had made it halfway across the mid-range part of Sector 1 with amazing time.

Normally, it would've taken a 1st Class almost nine hours to cover twice that distance at a brisk pace through the main streets. For a Turk, short cuts through back alleys took up three-quarters the time if they were in top shape or fast enough. Anyone with a motor mobile could make it in about two hours, especially on bikes.

It took the ex-mercenary only thirty minutes to cover midway through.

"Huh, interesting. Well, at least I don't have to worry about traffic anymore."

A quick thought.

"Then again, I'd rather avoid getting stares all the time."

A quick run and a leap brought the dilapidated Sister Ray into full view. Even though it was nothing more than bad memories, it still lingered like a sinister ghost of two years earlier.

"Hey, is that you Strife?"

Looking down, Cloud was surprised to see one of his former cadet mate.

"Tropol, the heck are you doing here?"

"Saw the Turk headin' toward the Mako cannon with an attitude like a Behemoth with a stick up its arse. Had to warn me boys from doing anythin' stupid. Word is that Nente got Savai's girl and the man's royally pissed off so all of us are hidin'."

"Oh, great..."

He spat out the toothpick he was chewing on, then whipped out a pack. "Red's put the fear of the Big Man in practically everybody, 'specially them top dogs. Several of the doofballs earned 'emselves appointments with the docs for even being in his way."

That was saying much. Tropol was the first cadet Cloud had encountered upon the blonde's arrival tothe Academy and one of the smartest in some aspects. At first, neither got along too well, each one wanting to outdo the other in almost everything. They pretty much had forgotten the whole thing when Cloud was sent on to the Nibelheim Mission with another 3rd Class. After Meteo, the older ex-SOLDIER trainee had left for the Slums and started up a gang that very much broke the stereotypical mold. Reputation named Tropol as one of the strongest in the Slums, next to Don Corneo, if not one of the oddest leaders.

"How long ago?"

A glowing tip, crediting to an intact awning. "Ya just missed him by fifteen to twenty and he was jus' walkin'. I took a good look at the guy. Holy, I wouldn't want to be in the moron's shoes with the itchy trigger finger. You shoulda seen the mess Red left behind."

Cloud leapt down and landed gracefully like a cat falling from five stories. "What happened?"

Dark eyes blinked in surprise at the performance but shrugged. A thumb jerked toward the main street, showing a path of glass, wires, and sparks.

"Crapload o' lamps and displays went crazy, as if Morse 'imself was taking out the entire bar. Half the streetlights blew their bulbs after gettin' real bright. A couple signs also went kaput, scarin' some of the shopkeeps."

Deep blue with flickering bright yellow narrowed, reigning in frustration. Emotions going haywire plus power not fully understood equaling this rang alarm bells.

Loud ones.

"TROUBLE."

"Any idea how long till I catch up with him?"

A wave of the tobacco. One small boy scampered up to the rough man, whispering through the rain before vanishing.

"You jes got lucky. Keep goin' toward the Cannon from here and you'll catch up in no time. Put in one for me on Worden, wilya?"

"I'll see about it. By the way, if a woman with a long, dark brown/black ponytail drives by, don't touch her. If she's with a guy in red, don't even think about it. They ask, tell."

A jade eyebrow rose but he nodded. "Gotcha. One more warnin': Red looks possessed, so watch yer step."

Cloud nodded before leaping straight back onto the roof and continuing his trip. At the same time trying to ignore the continuingly nagging voices inside his head.

Tropol sighed, blowing smoke through his nostrils before fading into the alleys himself. Would be pointless if he didn't at least helped kept the injury list to a minimum.

x x x x x x x

"Yo, boss, how long are we gonna be stuck in this pile of shit?"

Worden shot his eyes at the man who spoke up, causing him to flinch. A police scanner nearby crackled noisily, drawing back his attention and to a map. "When this storm lets up, and shut up about it."

"Sorry, boss." A nervous glance toward the surroundings. "It's just dat... dis place is giving me da creeps."

Another shivered but not from the cold. "We're pretty near Sector 7, to boot. I've been hearing rumors about ghosts comin' about."

"You too? There's been stuff going that some folks who got too close start hearin' crazy shit until they leave the area."

"Get out! Ain't no such thing as ghosts!"

"Then what about those you encounter in the Train Graveyard?"

"...er..."

"Toldja!"

'Buffoons. I am surrounded by buffoons.' Another burst of static was able to spit out /"...Turk... ...Sister Ray... ...caution..."/ before going through snow again.

Anxious looks were exchanged.

"Shouldn't ya be worried, boss?"

"Why should I?" Worden questioned back smoothly, patting the Winchester nearby. "We outnumber and outgun that little Turk. Oh, wait, is he still a Turk? I thought they fell alongside with ShinRa."

"Well, yeah, but he's got AVALANCHE and the MPD with him."

"Ha! As if AVALANCHE would take on us without risking their necks for the Turks. Much less the MPD, they're absolutely pathetic."

"I dunno, boss," one muttered, wishing comfort from his SH-WP5. "If AVALANCHE went against SOLDIER 1st Class AND 2nd without any trouble, and den go beat Sephi--"

"Ah, yes, the stunt that saved the Planet," Don's ex-second spoke with contempt. "Did they want anything after that? Nothing! All that power they had and none of them even used it properly."

"Really," a low voice drawled lazily.

Whipping their heads to see who it was, most of the newer recruits nearly lost control of themselves in sheer fear. The slightly more experienced ones were also rattled but pointed their firearms at where the sound came from, bravado and survival warring for attention. Even Worden looked shocked until he covered up his surprise with a frown.

Being completely drenched didn't take away the aura of pure anger emanating from Reno, darkening his navy suit to near coal. Soaked bangs cast a shadow over his eyes, hiding any form of emotion. None missed the tautness on the man's frame, like a coiled whip ready to unleash. His blood splattered clothes added further to the menacing image, no further than a vengeful wraith.

One hired thug tried sneaking behind Reno, rifle butt stock up high aimed for the neck.

A twitch was the only reaction before a back fist caught the idiot in the face, sending him flying into a pike of junk.

His head moved to look around slowly.

"So, this is where you've been hiding all this time."

The soft words immediately chilled those with lesser nerves.

Quiet strength.

Danger.

Predatory.

Like a hidden dragon.

Waiting.

"Made yourself quite a home, hm?"

Fingerless gloves twirled a fully extended two-and-half foot EMR as if was just a baton, connected to his wrist by a leather strap. Nervous eyes warily watched the weapon, many having heard the redhead's unnatural affinity with electricity.

"Ya know," Reno started, his boots clicking one step at a time, "you could've done a much better job than this whole mess." It was an agonizing pace, creating even more tension.

"And whose fault you think is that!" Worden snapped, spitting to the side. "If you freakin' redhead didn't trash the Hyenas back then, do you think I'd be working under the Don? 'Go get me some more exotic girls!' 'Make sure the customers are happy!' Do this, do that! I'm nobody's lapdog!"

A leveled Winchester, safety switching off.

"I'm sick of this shit! I would be very happy to see your guts splattered all over the place!"

Crimson strands slid as he cocked his head.

"Izzat so?"

A pulse.

Dark whispering.

"KILL."

'Shush, I'm not done playing with the little turd yet.'

The presence settled, but stayed tense.

"Any grand plans in that noggin of yours, Turk? Cuz if ya don't, then I appreciate it if you gave Hades my regards!" the ex-convict said, eyes brimming near madness.

Past humiliation from being beaten by a newly inducted fifteen-year old Turk and time spent under Corneo's hands didn't do well to Worden's already unstable mentality. Also hailing from Sector 4, he was abandoned at the steps of an orphanage that was more of a boot camp and prison. Unlike Yuffie's fiancée who at least had a mother, the redhead knew and experienced both sides of the emotional spectrum. The older man only knew the unpleasant end.

Echoing clicks surrounding Reno, the other men somewhat emboldened by the fact that their leader seemed fearless before a person who had quite a reputation. Then again, maybe it was because the silly lot felt reassured with heavy ammunition in their hands.

Although the thought of a single rod that could easily stun or kill all of them considering the amount of water did weighed on their thoughts.

It was a standoff.

Possibility of being a vegetable or death by electrocution.

Death by Mako poisoning and internal injuries or forever handicapped.

"Three chances," Reno spoke quietly.

A glare.

"One."

The guns wavered a little.

"No."

Tightened fingers on triggers.

"Two."

Sneering.

"I'm not fucking going back."

An eerie smile.

"Who ever said you were going back?"

Glimpse of sharp teeth.

"Three," came out as a whisper.

Madness danced wildly, the digit pull--

Back roundhouse took care of three from behind, a leg sweep downing two more before anyone could even blink. Grabbing a hand, one man was flipped forward and landed onto several others, crashing into several supply crates. Five found themselves trapped in and pounding uselessly on gold colored pyramids in surprise and frustration. One received a Turk-issued boot right in the jaw, dislocating it very quickly and knocking him unconscious. Several wound up being frozen in place up to their necks or with multiple lacerations by airborne shards from a mastered Ice3. Worden got one solid punch to the gut and then two more to his face, knocking loose several teeth and a broken nose.

Those that were hiding in shadows immediately covered Reno with an attempt for a pile-on.

Wrenching his nose back for easier breathing, the ex-convict spat out a tooth.

"You hit a lot harder than the last time, I'll give you that much," Nente muttered, rubbing his sore jaw and feeling a blooming bruise. At least he could breathe a little easier, despite the flowing blood.

Just as he said that, the pile was flung apart like an exploding mine beneath sand. One knocked the offender back onto the steel, his Winchester sliding away to rest near the edge.

Looking up to see what had just happened, Don Corneo's former second-in-command froze.

For the first time in his life, Worden Nente felt the full bite of fear. Oh, he had been surprised before but never truly frightened beyond his wits.

Pure sun orbs bore into the now shaking man, giving some lighting to the shadows.

Pupils no longer round but similar to the late Sephiroth's.

No, it wasn't just the eyes that terrified Worden.

It was the unadulterated savagery and hatred emanating from Reno.

"I'LL be giving you more than that."

Smooth words carrying a sharp edge.

One steel-toed boot slammed into Worden's chin, sending him back several feet. That resulted in more loose teeth and another quickly swelling bruise. Staggering, the older man felt another fist plow right beneath his breastbone, knocking the wind out of him. Metal slammed into one leg, immediately breaking both left fibula and tibia with a snap. What felt like a Cosmo Canyon burn, Worden realized it was his right arm also broken. Three swift, snap kicks landed into his face and chest again, crashing him against another nearby support and just about splitting the back of his skull. Several ribs cracked from the kicks and from the impact.

Just when the ex-convict thought it was over, he found himself being slammed into the pillar again.

This time, Reno was holding him up by the throat with ease.

The one eye that wasn't swollen tried to focus on the redhead. Difficult, with his air supply being cut off and blackness was creeping in along the edges.

"W-why?" came out in a choke.

"Why?" the crimson-haired Turk echoed lowly.

A weak nod.

Quiet, angry laced words.

"You have been giving my boss enough headaches that would've driven any other man insane."

/...exhausted honey orbs, head held between hands.../

Elongated canines bore in an visage that was beyond infuriating.

"For something you did nearly seventeen years ago."

/...sad smile as carmine fell, almost creating a curtain.../

Blood locks seemed to grow even wilder, as if not hampered by water.

"Because it's my job and lifestyle."

/...emotionless turquoise as one fell to his end.../

The air surrounding the redhead flickered.

"And YOU shot someone I considered VERY important to me."

/...iron intermingling with jasmine.../

A harsh whisper, almost face to face.

"That's why."

Another pulse, a heartbeat.

"MINE!"

Steel fingers began tightening...

"RENO!"

Raging gold met with equally burning yellow.

Cloud took in a deep breath, feeling his older sibling's turbulent emotions coming off in continuous and uneven waves. The pressure was immense, evident by the few conscious men laying about; to them, it was like being seen as food by a Dark Dragon. To the ex-SOLDIER, it felt a lot stronger than being almost crushed by Demi3 or having several hundred pounds press on you from above. Gloved fingers itched to go for the Ultima Weapon resting on his back but he kept them in tight fists.

"Don't interfere, Strife."

"MY PREY!"

A fang peeked out, the younger biting his lip.

Time. He knew the oldest of their group was coming.

He just didn't know what might happen if he stalled far too long.

"Is he worth it?"

"DON'T."

"You want to know?"

"HURT!"

"Is he worth it?" Cloud repeated strongly.

"BESEECH."

Worden fell onto the ground, now unconscious and forgotten for the time being.

Reno paused.

Was it? For what? Revenge? Righteous anger? Because he had become attached? Getting too close to people often meant death, scars eternally etched inside. Reeve had once mentioned that he was only a Turk for barely six months until he had lost someone important to him. A simple silver chain with a scratched ring starting the question one night at a bar. A mission gone wrong, the body bearing a hole the size of an orange through the chest, the surviving partner forever carrying regret. Cait's creator was later transferred to Urban Development, Rufus' father realizing the potential on expanding Midgar from Reeve's "discarded" blueprints. That's why Turks weren't supposed to have any sort of attachments, much less romantic ones. Yet, didn't he do just that in barely one year's time? To someone who was supposedly his enemy?

Enemy?

No, she wasn't the enemy any longer. She became something more, much more.

Annoying she seemed to be, but she held qualities that somehow complimented him. Her constantly moving about when he wasn't in motion as often. Her talking a mile on important matters whereas he joked on the same topic. Her passion for almost everything compared with his indifference to the trivial.

Somehow, that little slip of a female ninja had wormed her way into his heart.

Something he thought impossible since his mother's death.

/...laughing smile, lilac eyes twinkling.../

In that aspect, Yuffie Kisaragi earned his admiration.

"FOR HER."

"Yes."

Cloud said nothing, except looked at Reno.

Reno stared back.

As if reluctantly, the blonde slowly reached for the white-magenta blade. With the slow gracefulness of a seasoned swordsman, he pointed the Ultima Weapon at his half-brother, sword held vertical.

"Let him live."

A charged EMR crackled with electrical energy, Reno directing his aim at the younger man. Evident blue flashes danced from puddle to puddle, shocking those that were too close and sending them scrambling.

"No."

Muscles held taut, waiting for one or other to make the first move.

One wanting to take a man's life.

One wanting to spare a man's life.

Blue and red parks flickered, the visible energy dancing between them.

Then...

Weapons spun, flashing in the dim light. Twisting the rod to deflect, blade nearly cutting skin. Fists exchanged, bruises fading as easily created not hidden by clothes. Head snapping back, ducking a high kick from a metal-plated boot. Red flashes scattering along the floor before disappearing into the darkness. Powerful spells cast virtually instantaneous and without materia, mainly dodged, negated or just ignored. Had anyone been there, all they would see were blurs of mainly incensed blue/red and heated indigo/yellow.

One strike.

Tifa had scarcely reached the same floor just to find a large shape whistling straight toward her. Only her instincts as a martial artist left the large sword pinned to a pillar directly behind the barkeeper. There was enough force to penetrate a good foot before it came to a rest, still vibrating.

Turning her head back, she saw both Cloud and Reno grappling each other. The EMR laid further away, stuck in a wooden crate and still emitting deadly sparks as its frayed leash dangled. The looks on their faces was exceedingly furious, terrifying Tifa with their intensity. She had never seen the blonde with such a startling expression. Not even towards Sephiroth.

Neither men noticed the danger.

And then...

"NO!"

A calloused hand prevented Tifa from also falling over the edge, sable hair shaking in negative against the unspoken want. Red and brown eyes turned to peer down at the murkiness, worry and hope warring in her heart.

An eruption of bright light suddenly pierced through the darkness with blinding intensity, causing the two to shield their sight.

Blinking spots away, all they saw were two fading streaks and echoing roars flying over Sector 8 from the scaffolding.

"Vincent..."

"...no."

"We have to go there."

"Would that be wise?"

Gloved digits clenched. "It'd be necessary."

"... As you wish."

A hand over her heart, eyes closing. "I still have some regrets to place to rest."

Glowing crimson blinked at the tenderness, coal and deep blood wings slowly spreading. "We all do."

Both had heard the hint of sadness and questioning behind the feralness.


A/N: Fight scenes frustrating, that they are. Well, at least improvisation from watching too many Jackie Chan films and what I could get from the Advent Children trailers. -makes a face- I could never bring myself to write fighting scenes that are 6 paragraphs long; I'd go crazy.

The whole timing thing on how long it takes to cross a Sector, whether by the middle or by near the ShinRa Tower route was mainly guesswork and a bit of math. When you live in the greater Los Angeles areafor nearly your entire life, containing some of the craziest freeway/street systems in the world, you get a real good idea how traffic flows. I was making do with whatever screenshots of Midgar I could find and I doubt I came even close. Of course, Tropol is homage to LA, short for "metropolitan."

On the last chapter, Nando the RPS King noted that the whole "getting shot in leg and dying from shockwave" scenario is an urban legend. This, I'll concede to, as dying by blood loss is the most common worst-case scenario; the femoral artery in your leg is one of the biggest in the human body and one of the WORST place to be severely injured, especially the thigh.