Chapter 16 – Monster
The Nibelheim Reactor.
Like a gargoyle perched on a dark ledge, it sat nestled between the jagged rockface, a cathedral of steel and metal and greed. Its spires jutted upward into a beautiful and clear sky, while its tubes rooted below into the dull and gray earth. Around the structure, the air buzzed incessantly, but not with a sense of life; instead, it smelled of acid, tasted of corrosion, felt like the slow and arduous push of a dying man's final breath. There was no avoiding the truth: this place was a parasite. It was an abomination. The reactor was an unnatural atrocity forced into the natural mountain landscape, and therefore, an oddly appropriate setting for the confrontation to come.
(Because no matter what Sephiroth hoped for, he had the distinct feeling that all that awaited them behind those metal doors would be just that – a confrontation.)
That feeling became even more pronounced, as Sephiroth walked to the base of the stairs leading up to the reactor entrance. There seemed to be nothing that could dissuade it, not the weight of his trusted nodachi within his fist, nor Zack's stalwart presence standing beside him. The apprehension had been building all throughout their climb up Mt. Nibel, despite the relative ease of the journey: the mayor's daughter, Tifa, had offered to guide them through the quickest route, and in the process, she had not slowed them down a single beat. She even displayed an impressive degree of martial arts prowess in the handful of monster encounters that had occurred. But whether it was his earlier dream, or the image of Claudia's tear stricken face, or the way Tifa's demeanor resembled another Nibelheim native with a stubborn streak – every second, every sight and scent and taste and touch and sound and thought and emotion of the day, all seemed perfectly designed to curl into the tender cracks of his mind, to render Sephiroth's fear into sharp and painful focus.
The fear of what he would find. The fear of what Genesis had done and would do next. The fear of losing Cloud…and the fear of losing control as a result.
But Sephiroth could not retreat, could not turn away. Forward was the only option. After all, since the events of the prior evening, since that wondrous kiss, since that soft promise, he knew there was nothing of himself that he would not give to ensure Cloud's happiness and safety. Even his own life. Even his own sanity. Even his own soul.
Still, that did not mean that he was going to allow another civilian to be caught up in the crossfire. Sephiroth turned his head, glanced back over his shoulder. "Ms. Lockhart," he stated, baritone cutting through the air. "Thank you for your assistance. But I must ask you to remain here."
Tifa protested, "I'm coming with you."
He had expected as much. Ordering her to stay put would be futile. So, instead of adopting his usual expression, the composed, aloof face he put on in front of his troops, in front of the world, Sephiroth opted for a more honest approach: "The man waiting for us in there – he will have no qualms about killing an innocent bystander. You are Cloud's friend. You have already done so much. I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to get hurt. Do you understand?"
Again, the girl opened her mouth, but once her eyes met his and comprehension seeped into those crimson irises, she stopped. Momentarily, she let her gaze flicker to Zack, who simply nodded in response to affirm Sephiroth's words. At that, finally, she relented.
"Alright," said Tifa. "But if I hear any trouble, I'm coming right in."
"You Nibelheim kids all this crazy?" Zack asked, his brow quirked in playful exasperation.
"Oh, you have no idea."
There was a light laugh that followed, though hollow and tense. Zack shook his head, half-grinned. Tifa managed a small smile. Sephiroth silently nodded. But despite the tiny exchanges of reassurance, the young woman's eyes remained ever watchful, ever worried, even as she stepped away to allow the two men to ascend up the reactor stairs.
Just before they reached the door, Zack said, "Do we have a plan?"
It was a good question, one Sephiroth normally would have asked himself. But this time, he did not even bother. All throughout the last year, they had had plans – tactics, mission parameters, instructions, orders, and in the end, none of it had done them any good. Though, if he were being honest with himself, that fact was not what compelled Sephiroth to throw caution to the wind and push through the entrance without another word. He could feel his reason (or lack thereof) the moment he stepped past the threshold: something shifted inside him, the curling anger in his chest, the fire budding beneath the anxiety that had been bleeding out since the three of them had begun their mad rush up the mountain. It was a crashing wave, an inescapable riptide, and there was nothing Sephiroth could do but succumb to it.
His body moved by impulse, his right hand lifting and blasting a powerful lightning spell forward into the main chamber of the reactor. It was an attack purposely engineered with enough speed that Sephiroth knew there would only be a handful of people alive that would possess the ability to counter.
Of course, the man that was his target was one of them. In the split second that followed, Genesis summoned a barrier spell, and Sephiroth's magic kissed futilely against the blue wall, the fizzling sparks highlighting the smirk on the redhead's face.
"A little eager there, aren't you?" Genesis retorted, rising from his perch in the center of the staircase. "I would have expected such behavior from the rambunctious puppy, but not from you."
At the insult, Zack attempted to approach, but Sephiroth lifted a hand to stop him. He did not look back, however, as his focus was entirely on Genesis: at the grey streaking through the normally vibrant auburn locks, at the rot and disarray of his attire, at the wing, with feathers tattered and broken and falling. He was dying. Genesis was dying. It was so obvious, and it was so heartbreaking. This was desperation, this was fear, this was anger, and this was pain, at its very nadir. Once he recognized the sight for what it was, Sephiroth could feel his earlier recklessness and rage begin to smooth down, to fade into a familiar, dull, and aching guilt.
But then, he heard something else. The banging, the muffled screams. Sephiroth turned his eyes away from Genesis and to the mako pod at his friend's right. At its base lay a giant creature, with human limbs and inhuman everything else, but there was no time to question what it was or why it was there. Because inside the pod itself, there was Cloud, peering through the small glass window with beautiful blue eyes blown out wide – and with mako bubbling up to his shoulders.
Like a wayward spark, the wildfire was reignited, and the fury returned.
"Let him go," Sephiroth said.
The chuckle that his former friend let out nearly set Sephiroth's blood alight. Genesis took one step down, but otherwise maintained his vantage point, both in front of and above them. "Oh, don't worry about him," he stated with a dismissive shrug. "The blond still has a few minutes. You could spare one, actually, by being a bit more observant."
Sephiroth did not want to look away, did not want to follow his friend's uplifted hand, did not want to indulge the game. But inexplicably, he could not help it. His eyes travelled upward, above the other man's outstretched arm, above the top of the metal staircase that cleaved the chamber in two, above the door situated at the highest landing, until they finally rested on the single word emblazoned over the arch.
Jenova.
"Mother?"
The second the word left Sephiroth, it was like a different type of magic had been cast. Something like a whisper, like a call, began to resound in him, deep in his bones. The feeling from his dreams, of floating, of soaring high, of being lost among the nebulas and the stars – it returned then, echoing within him, as if his body and mind were threatening to slip back into that subconscious world and sever him from the reality. A part of Sephiroth tried to shake through, stake a foot into the ground and into the present moment, but like a wrecked ship battered by a storm, it felt like there was nothing he could do, nothing he could grasp, nothing he could say, to stop the inevitable, the sinking, the drowning.
Sephiroth's face faltered.
That was enough, for Genesis to take another step forward, to push on. "Yes," he confirmed, his voice sharp and clear. "Your mother. What you've been looking for. The very source of the experiments, of the disease, of the rot. And of you and me and Angeal and it." At the last syllable, the former SOLIDER lifted his sword, pointing the tip downward to the monstrosity lying on the steel platform beside him, to the twisted and corrupted creature that had once been human but instead had simply been left behind.
To the monster.
Jenova. Mother. Monster.
There was a crack, the first break, somewhere deep inside Sephiroth's head. "You – you're –," he tried, he fumbled. But the words remained lodged in his throat, as if his body and his very cells were working to embrace the something that his mind was still struggling to comprehend.
Genesis's lips turned. "Come now, Sephiroth. I would not lie to you about this. After all, you've always known the truth."
The cracks turned into fissures, spidering through the edges of the precarious scaffoldings that Sephiroth had been forced to build in his own mind. He had tried so hard to craft something solid, protective, passable, something close to sanity, something close to humanity. Somewhere along the way, he thought he had done it. But now, all it would take was a single blow, and the wall would come tumbling down.
And Genesis did not hold back: "You are a monster."
Everything shattered. It took all of Sephiroth's strength to stay standing, to keep his knees locked, but even then, when the weight of it all crashed onto his shoulders, he stumbled, his head bowed and falling into his hands.
"Sephiroth!" Zack called, moving immediately.
The Lieutenant tried to reach for Sephiroth's arms and shoulders, to lend support, to hold him upright. But the sparks of another spell erupted in Zack's path, forcing a wall of fire between the two Firsts and sending the younger man tumbling aside. In the chaos, Zack cursed – and Genesis laughed – and the clamor and screaming within the metal pod intensified. But Sephiroth could not perceive any of it. His own mind and his own senses were suffocating in the onslaught, and like a sailor desperate to escape the hurricane, he clung to the words Genesis continued to speak, even though he knew the mocking tones were a deadly siren song, luring him to a final crash.
Genesis moved again, took another step. "You, Sephiroth, were the greatest monster created by the Jenova Project."
Jenova. Mother.
"The Jenova Project was the term used for all experiments relating to the use of Jenova cells."
Mother. Cells.
Zack's voice sounded like a faraway foghorn, almost imperceptible, almost gone. But there was a small part of Sephiroth that managed to register the mounting alarm, the undeniable fear. "Genesis, shut up! I'm warning you."
"Poor little Sephiroth," said Genesis. He shifted even closer, standing the bottom of the stairs, just a few feet away from him. "You've never actually met your mother, have you? You've only been told her name. Well. I don't know what images you've conjured in your head, but—"
Something crashed. It sounded like bone against metal. If Sephiroth would have glanced in the direction of the noise, he would have seen Cloud, ramming his fists over and over into the glass window of his container. The mako was at his neck now, the blond craning his head up above the line to buy himself more air, more time. But even though his heart lurched, yearned to reach out, to rescue, to protect, a powerful force continued to lock Sephiroth's limbs and block his comprehension. In that moment, Sephiroth suddenly could not remember why he cared. His headspace swirled, the memories like a tornado, rapidly whipping around and around and around, until he could hardy recall what he was doing, where he was, why he was here. The was only one thing that remained clear, only one thing that mattered, only one thought that he seemed capable of retaining: Jenova, Jenova, Jenova.
Mother.
Genesis continued: "Jenova was a life form excavated from a two-thousand year-old rock layer. A monster. Just like you. Just like this one here. Just like each and every one of the creatures housed inside these cages." At that, the man spread his arms and his wing wide, gestured to the pods lining the floors of the reactor. His lips were turning upward, in triumph, in victory.
And Sephiroth's hands were shaking, in fear, in defeat.
There was more thudding, more screaming. Cloud kept thrashing.
Zack tried again. "Shut up!"
But once again, Genesis did not relent. Instead, the redhead smiled and cast his curse, "Welcome to your reunion, Sephiroth."
Reunion. Jenova. Mother. Reunion. Jenova. Mother. Reunion. It was calling Sephiroth, reaching for him, trying to hook itself back into the chambers of his heart. He felt a shuddering warmth rise from within, swallowing him in a tight embrace. Sephiroth closed his eyes, tried to breathe, tried to think, tried to fight against the straitjacket that threatened to trap him in his own mind. But the mantra continued – Reunion. Jenova. Mother – each word scarring deeper in his skin, each syllable burrowing deeper in his soul.
Was it true?
Was it real?
Was this all that he was?
Sephiroth exhaled slowly, shakily, like a man fearful that the next breath would be his last.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, in a voice that sounded nothing like who he once was, who he probably never would be again.
Genesis closed the distance, stood in front of Sephiroth. He reached into his jacket and pulled something out, unfurling the grip with his signature flourish. There, in his palm, was the calling card: a dumbapple.
"Join me, Sephiroth," he said, in a tone oddly gentle, like they were sitting side-by-side sharing a campfire in the jungles of Wutai. "Help me. Your cells can cure the degradation. And then, we can do exactly what we were created to do."
In that moment, Sephiroth saw it, reflected in the purple hues of the forbidden fruit. The same image from his dream, coiling in his skin like a memory of a life lived long ago. An unrelenting, blazing fire, crashing down on the Planet. The earth scorched, the air suffocated, the souls snuffed out in the deadly wind. The meteor, shattering Gaia's surface, ripping through its core, its heart, its soul. The wasteland, the edge of absolutely nothing, that would be left behind.
You are a monster.
Was this the only way?
Was this his destiny? To take a bite of the apple and fall?
Did he have a choice?
Was this what he wanted?
Was this all he would feel?
And then, suddenly, quietly, like a lilting lullaby breaking through the fear of the night, a whispered promise underneath a starry sky, a gentle reminder.
I promise you. I'll never leave you.
No.
He knew what he wanted. He knew what he felt. Monsters did not feel this way. Monsters did not wake up to soft sunflower locks and bright blue eyes. They did not fall asleep to lazy kisses and whispered sweet nothings. The did not get nervous over meeting nice mothers who crafted even nicer homecooked meals. They did not roll their eyes at idiotic pranks or silly quips or mountains of paperwork. They did not experience heartbreak at the sight of lost friends.
And they certainly did not think about trying again to save them.
Sephiroth opened his eyes, pinned Genesis down with his stare. Slowly, he took the fruit out of Genesis's hands, turning it over in his palm. The last time he had held a dumbapple was in Angeal's apartment, when the man himself had recruited him in an effort to make fresh cider. Sephiroth remembered how plump the fruits felt in his hands as he peeled the skins, remembered how sweet the juice bubbling on the stove had tasted. It was supposed to be a surprise for Genesis's birthday; they had bottled their creation and hid it in the back of Sephiroth's fridge. But they never got the chance to share it, because a few days later, Genesis's shoulder was injured, and the wheel of fate turned painfully on.
Yet, it was here. A chance, however small, to break the cycle.
"Alright," Sephiroth said, the words leaving him almost before he could fully register their sound. "I'll help you find a cure. But on two conditions. First, you release Cloud."
There was a flicker in Genesis's eyes then, genuine surprise, as if he had not expected Sephiroth to be so calm, so composed. The man recoiled backward, suspicious, uncertain, though his pride prevented such notions from directly showing on his face. "That was a given. Fine. But tell me, what is your second?"
Sephiroth fixed his gaze, kept it steady, kept it level.
"End this pursuit of revenge. Join me instead. Make a different choice."
Whatever spell the dangerous man had cast before was now broken. The line of fire cutting through the platform, separating Sephiroth from Zack, began to fade. Around them, the darkness invading the atmosphere dissipated, and clarity started to settle. There was only one source of tension, one pressure point, one thread pulled taut and tight. Genesis shifted his eyes downward, closed them, bowed his head, and in that motion, Sephiroth saw the vestiges of a great man, one that had been beaten down by the lies that he had been told, by the loss of his strength, by the death of his closest friend. He saw the suffering they had all shared, the injustice, the greed, the cruelty. He saw the understandable rage, and the wish for something to change, for something to end.
Maybe, just maybe, Genesis could see that there could be hope for something better. There just had to be a world left for that hope to remain real.
Finally, the man lifted his head and looked at Sephiroth, directly and inscrutably. "I see now. You've changed," Genesis whispered, as he stepped backward, once, twice, three times, the distancing growing, yearning, pulling, intensifying. When he returned to where he had started, standing next to the pod Cloud was caged in, Genesis stopped, paused, and raised his hand to the lever controlling the mako input on the side, allowed his fingertips to ghost over the metal.
Sephiroth inhaled. Waited. Hoped. Prayed.
And then, it all broke apart.
"If it takes this sacrifice for you to see the truth, then so be it."
It happened fast, before either Sephiroth or Zack could even react. In one moment, Genesis broke the handle at its base, permanently securing the setting and sending more and more mako gushing into the pod. And in the next, his fiery fist welded down the container's lock, sealing the metal egg shut and keeping its victim trapped helplessly inside. As if on cue, the liquid surged upward, fully engulfing a terrified Cloud in its burning grasp. Those blue eyes locked on Sephiroth's green through the small window, and when Sephiroth saw the despair, the plea, the tears, his heart shattered completely.
There it was, the evidence, the proof, that he had tried once more, and he had failed. He had failed to heed his training, Hojo's warning. He had let his sentiment get the better of him.
Now, Cloud was paying the price for his mistake.
It was enough to destroy the logic, the discipline, the restraint, the control, to awaken the anger that had been simmering inside, the destruction that Sephiroth had once only wielded only in his mind. Whatever wisdom he had drawn from, whatever platitudes he had recited to himself – they all broke, scattering in his skull like piercing edges of broken glass. What use did he have for them now? What good had being merciful and human brought him?
No. No more. There was nothing but the rage, nothing but the fury. Nothing but the hunger to kill.
When he looked into Genesis's eyes next, his vision had turned completely red.
(Perhaps he was a monster after all).
"Indeed. So be it," Sephiroth said. Then, he brandished his blade and charged.
Zack was never the smartest guy in the room, but he had enough wits to be able to tell when he was way over his head. That feeling had started to sink in, all throughout Genesis's barrage of words at Sephiroth, as he watched the General sway and stumble, desperately cradle his head in his hands. But it did not hit home until Sephiroth's last ditch attempt to get Genesis to reconsider went up in literal flames, until the man flipped a switch and transformed from calculating, cautious tactician to straight up feral warrior.
He had never seen Sephiroth fight like that before. Usually, the man fought with his head, sought the quickest and most efficient route, the one or two blows that would end the battle. But what Zack witnessed instead was true rage, the slices of that terrifying sword flying through the air, over and over, all erratic, all unpredictable. There was no precision, no thought. Sephiroth did not just want to kill Genesis. He wanted to destroy him.
The shock of it, of Sephiroth charging through the air, of him and Genesis crashing together, smashing through the rightmost wall and into another area of the reactor, was nearly enough to make Zack forget what he needed to do right now. But it only took him a second to remember. And when he did, he sprinted to the pod, scanned the metal structure for something, anything, that would break the thing open. Unfortunately, Genesis had been thorough, in trashing both the mako-control and welding the steel lock closed. There was no finesse that would free his friend, no trick up his sleeve that would magically save the day.
If that was the case, then Zack would resort to brute force, even if it resulted in shattering every bone in his hand.
Inside, he could see Cloud panicking. The blond had his palms pressed against the glass window, and his brows were knitted together in desperation. Zack lifted the Buster Sword, readied his stance. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a memory flashed, of him on the ground in the middle of a Wutai base, of Angeal cutting down an anti-SOLDIER monster with a single slice, of his mentor's reassuring smile and kind words.
("You're a little more important than my sword. But just a little.")
He tried his best to mimic that smile now. "Okay, Cloud. Help is on the way."
But instead of gratitude, or hope, Cloud's eyes only widened in more fear. The index finger of one of those hands extended, to jab at the glass, to point, to warn. And though Zack registered the motion, he still would have missed the message, had it not been for the hot, wet breath of something against the back of his neck. He caught the reflection in the glass. A green-eyed, twisted creature. Large, looming, human and inhuman. The monster, that had been laying on the platform. Except, it was not dead. It was very much alive.
And it was also very, very hungry.
The claw that swiped at him, that sent him flying to the other side of the room, was bigger than his torso. Zack felt his back hit the metal wall, heard his bones crack at the contact, and the pain of the impact was almost too much that he nearly lost consciousness. Somewhere along the way, the Buster Sword had fallen, clattering to the ground at the foot of the stairs. But that was a minor detail at the moment. Particularly now that the monster had set its roaring gaze on him once more, crossing over the platform toward him, like an apex predator stepping to its trapped, doomed prey.
Ah shit, Zack's brain worthlessly supplied. Are you seriously going to go down like this?
After everything – the mission in Wutai, Banora, falling through the Sector Five plate, Aerith, Modeoheim, Angeal, Cloud, Junon, Sephiroth – was this what his life would boil down to? Another friend that he would fail to save?
He had once declared, to Lazard (another man on his ever-growing list of dead people) that his dream was to become a hero. He had been so hopeful, so optimistic, so naïve then.
And now…and now…
"Zack!" someone called, from the entrance of the reactor. He could barely turn his head, but he saw it, the flash of dark hair, the crimson eyes. There was Tifa, attempting to lift the Buster Sword in her two small hands, defying everything about her gender, her stature, her unenhanced state. Once again, Zack could not help but wonder if there was something special in the Nibelheim water that made these kids something awesome to behold. But more than that, it reminded him that people of Gongagan stock were not something to scoff at either. At the very least, for the pride of his family and his hometown, he could not let himself be shown up like this.
The Lieutenant focused all his energy to the materia in his bracer, let the lightning build up in strength, until it started to crackle the very air around him. Then, he let go, the shock barreling through the monster, piercing through the tough hide of its upper body, and summoning a horrendous howl of pain in response. The creature jerked backward, clutching the gaping wound blossoming on its shoulder as it crashed to the ground and spasmed in the shockwave.
Almost. But not quite.
In the brief reprieve, Zack forced himself to rise. He yelled, "Use the sword. Get Cloud. Go."
The girl's eyes flickered to the pod, to Cloud, and she did not need to be told twice. With a grunt, Tifa lifted the blade and charged up the stairs, slamming the sharp end of the sword into the metal. It gave way, but only slightly, and Zack could see the vibrations of the blow jolting pain straight up her arm. But Tifa did not let go; instead, without another second of hesitation, she swung her arms back and tried again and again. The third time, the contact cut through, enough for a small gash to start forming, enough for the mako to begin squeezing out of the pod and onto the platform below.
Finally. A literally tiny bit of hope. Zack would have yelped out in joy if he were not supposed to be focused on something else right now.
Across the way, the monster began to regain itself, scrambling back up and growling all the while. When it opened its eyes, the pupils immediately dilated and fixed on Zack, the rage, the focus, the hunger, the anger, all clear, all evident, all unavoidable now. The beast howled its intent, its cries echoing off the steel walls of the chamber, shaking the ground beneath them like an earthquake. And then, without another warning, it darted forward in a gangly, ugly mess of bitter blood and marled limbs and screeching noises.
Once upon a time, Zack Fair was a nobody from a nowhere village, who was wet behind the ears and hardly knew his ass from his face. In some ways, he was still that boy, that puppy, staring up at the steel plate with absolute awe and belief. But things had changed. Happy things. Sorrowful things. He had grown up. He had survived. Every challenge he had been thrown, every chaotic situation he had landed in, every time he had been way over his head, he found a way to make it through.
Because that was what heroes were supposed to do.
Zack stepped forward. He lifted one hand, another lightning spell dancing in his fingertips, a smirk on his lips. "Alright, buddy. Let's dance."
For a moment, Cloud was floating, boneless and unfeeling. Or was he maybe flying, listless and empty. Or perhaps this was what drowning was supposed to feel like. Whatever the truth, when he felt the liquid seep through his lips, up his nose, into his body, the mako seemed to do more than just steal his breath. It broke down the sharp pangs of anxiety that had been attacking his heart. It collapsed his limbs and made his muscles feel heavy and numb. There was no control and there was none of the panic. Suddenly, as if Cloud had just blinked, there was nothing but a weirdly suffocating sense of peace.
But then, the feeling vanished. The next thing Cloud knew, he was on his hands and knees atop the metal floor of the reactor, spitting out green liquid that had been trapped in his throat. A hand was rubbing soothing circles against his back, whispering words and offering a calm and wonderfully familiar presence.
"Tifa?" he managed to garble out, in between coughs.
Tifa smiled, her relief painfully evident. She pulled her touch away, and Cloud could see now how much her arms were shaking. "Oh," she whispered, breathless and soft. And then, with the crises now averted, she added in a voice much more determined, sharper, "You know, I thought you promised that you'd be rescuing me and not the other way around."
He could have laughed, almost did. Instead, Cloud looked down at the mako that was pooling around him, and tried to focus, tried to regain feeling again, tried to reorient to the situation. His mind shuffled through the key pieces – waking up at the reactor, Genesis and his threats, Sephiroth and his breaking point, Zack and his attack.
Oh, Gaia. Zack.
"A little help over here, please!"
Lightning blasted through the air, raising the hair on Cloud's arms. Quickly, he and Tifa turned their attention toward the source of the magic. On the level below them, Zack was still there, still fighting, still dancing around the monster's limbs. The Lieutenant was sporting a large cut on his shoulder and his skin was slightly ashen in a telltale sign of mana exhaustion. But despite Zack's state, it appeared that the monster was the one worse off, with its burning and cracked flesh, with its gaping and growing wounds. It was running out of energy, running out of time. It only needed one final push, one final encouragement, to bring it to its end.
And Cloud would be happy to oblige. He reached behind Tifa, for the Buster Sword she had dropped, and channeled all of his frustration about the day, about his kidnapping, about Genesis, about being nearly drowned in mako, into the muscles of his legs and arms. Then, quickly, decisively, he jumped.
The sound the blade made when it crushed the skill was like a crack of a whip, the steel slicing through the hard bone and into the brain matter underneath. In that instant, the monster released another shriek, so loud and so deep, it trembled through the metal, through Cloud's arms, through his chest. But the blond kept pushing down, willing the sword's edge to carve deeper and deeper. It was only when the creature shuddered its last breath that he relented, pulling up on the sword and flipping backward to stand beside Zack, to watch with his friend as the monster's corpse finally collapsed to the ground.
A beat, as they stared at the beast, cautious, breathless. Around them, the havoc and the creaking steel of the reactor began to quiet, swallowed by the mountain wind. Somehow, in the course of the morning, the main chamber had transformed from an orderly row of mako containers into a disorderly scene of calamity – damaged metal, exposed wiring, ruptured walls, broken stairs. More than a few of the pods had also been dented, though they mercifully did not spill open their contents. It was as if a tornado and a lightning storm had burst through the space, dueling each other and wrecking all that they could, before suddenly vanishing and leaving nothing behind but their signature, their destruction.
Well, Cloud bitterly noted, the reactor was in need of repairs now.
Beside him, Zack sank down to the ground, a hand on his chest to help steady his breathing. "Let's never do that again," he said, with an exaggerated groan of relief.
"Agreed," Cloud replied. He stooped down and released his grip on the Buster Sword, placing the blade next to its owner. "Thank you," he added, quietly, softly.
Zack smiled. "Honestly, we both know who saved our asses today, and it wasn't me."
At that, Cloud looked over to Tifa, who remained seated on the level above them. Though her expression portrayed calm, portrayed composure, he could see that her hands were shaking. Still, she offered him a smile, which Cloud returned easily, gratefully.
Thank you, he mouthed.
She nodded. You're welcome.
It was a rare, good moment. But the respite was short-lived. From some floor beneath their feet, the echo of clashing blades resounded, the singing of powerful magic ricocheting up the pipelines of the reactor. Immediately, Cloud to recognize the source, and it was not because of any logic. He simply could sense it through that tether in his mind – the sheer anger, the bitter betrayal, the terrible rage. He could feel Sephiroth, and instead of all the warmth that surged through Cloud whenever he thought of the man, there was an unsettling, unrelenting chill. It made every hair on his skin stand up on edge, made his stomach turn, made his chest tighten. It made his blood freeze, his bones turn to ice, even more so than the cold air that was sweeping into the reactor chamber from the open door. It felt so familiar and so foreign, so real and so much like a nightmare. It was Sephiroth, but it wasn't Sephiroth. At the very least, it was not the same man that held his hand when he needed it. That kissed him so lovingly. That had forgiven him so easily.
No, wherever that Sephiroth was, Cloud needed to find him. To save him.
He did not look back, began sprinting up the stairs, to follow the trail of destruction. As he moved, he heard Tifa and Zack call his name, but Cloud ignored them, ignored the way his bare feet felt numb, how his wet pajamas clung and itched, how his muscles ached, and how his chest throbbed. Quickly, Cloud climbed through the gash in the right wall to a second room, hopped the platform beneath him and rushed down a flight of stairs toward another entryway. It was there that Cloud finally heard them clearly – their swords, their voices. He pushed aside the wrecked metal door and ran forward.
"Sephiroth!" he called. His heartbeat seemed louder, more frantic. But that was because Cloud knew that nothing – not even drowning in a mako pod, not even the prospect of his own impending death – could frighten him more than this sight.
In the room that opened before him like a steel stage, there was the silver-haired man, with green eyes slitted in terrifying focus (like that monster's, but Cloud swiftly nipped the thought before it could take full root). The edge of Sephiroth's sword was stained with blood, the liquid dripping to the ground in a slow, inexorable beat, as the man (demon) stalked toward his target. And at the other end of the stage was the prey, broken and unarmed. Genesis's wing had nearly torn to shreds, his right leg was bent in a jarring and unnatural manner, and the tatters of his coat were painted a fresher red. And yet, somehow, the former SOLDIER was still smirking, almost laughing. An actor, ready to deliver his last lines, ready to take his triumphant final bow.
Cloud's breath hitched. "Sephiroth!" he tried again.
Whether either party heard him, there was no indication. Once again, Genesis spoke, casting another curse. "My friend," he began, forcing himself to sit upright, to meet his destiny (to seal Sephiroth's), "The fates are cruel."
Sephiroth took one step and another. He said nothing, mouth pressed into a tight line.
"Please, stop!" Cloud cried out.
Genesis pressed onward, grinned defiantly, even as a line of blood dribbled from the corner of his lips. "There are no dreams. No honor remains."
Masamune was in the air, glinting green from the light of the mako bubbling all around them.
"Sephiroth!"
"The arrow has left the bow of the goddess."
The seconds that followed were quick and imprecise, so much so that Cloud would be hard pressed to remember what happened at all. All he knew in that moment was that he conjured up every last bit of energy, all of his speed, into his legs, and charged. He had expected pain, the tearing of his flesh, the kind of relentless death that only a sword like Masamune could bring. He had hoped for the mercy of a fast end.
But nothing came.
Cloud peeled open his eyes, blinked away the panic. There was a slight stinging in his neck, like a papercut, a nick from something sharp. He lifted his hand to the source of the pain, and his fingers came away with a slight sheen of red. He was hurt. He had been hurt. But he wasn't dead. And neither was Genesis, who was still at his feet, his mouth twisted in a frown. Grim-faced. Disappointed. Which meant that –
He turned around. Sephiroth was on his knees before him, his hands empty and trembling. Masamune had vanished, and the air, once thick with magic and rage, had thinned into wisps of regret. The man's face was shielded by the curtain of his long hair, but Cloud did not need to see his expression to know what Sephiroth was feeling. It was there, in the tears that were dropping onto the black leather gloves. It was there, reverberating through their mysterious connection with so much force that it made Cloud's chest tighten, nearly made him buckle to the ground.
But he could not give, not now.
"Cloud! Cloud!"
Once again, the blond ignored the voices of Zack and Tifa, the two now rushing down to join them from the corridor. There was only one person Cloud cared about, and he knelt down to move closer to him.
"Sephiroth, it's okay," Cloud said, and then reached forward.
But his hand only brushed the man's shoulder before Sephiroth flinched away, his green eyes glowing with something that Cloud had never seen before. It was not just fear. It was not just sorrow. It was not just regret. This was far more sinister, and far more heartbreaking.
It was hopelessness.
No, Cloud thought. He lifted his other hand, tried to cradle that face that he cared for so deeply, tried to push back the rising tide, but Sephiroth only kept pulling back, pulling away. Each second of distance, each lack of touch, it threatened to feed into the torment that Cloud knew was budding in the man's mind. Because those eyes (a monster's eyes) foretold of a destiny that they had feared, of a world on fire, of an endless destruction, of a truth they had tried to run away from, of a fate they had attempted to escape. Only now, edging in the green, was a sense of desperate resignation, of abject despair, of dire acceptance.
And if that were true –
("You cut me down, and you set me free.")
"Now you finally see, old friend," murmured Genesis. With a muffled grunt, the redhead rose from the floor, his wing beating once, beating twice, in the solemn air. "If you seek more truth, go to the manor."
Zack began to rush forward, to intercept. "No, wait!"
But Genesis was off again, in a scatter of red and black, darting over them and through the cracks and crevices of the broken reactor. Cloud did not watch him go. The blond pushed away the chaos, pushed away Zack's commentary and Tifa's confusion, pushed away his own anxiety. He tried to focus, tried to think of what to say, what to do, to stop what he feared would be the inevitable.
("Did you find me to kill you? Is that why you trained me? To make me your murderer?"
"I don't know.")
"Sephiroth," Cloud said again, his blue eyes bright with unshed tears. "Please look at me. Please."
But the man did not. Instead, in the deafening silence, Cloud watched as Sephiroth buried his broken face into his blood-stained hands.