Chapter 18 – Atropos, Part One

It was strange how a name could carry so much weight. Yet, there it was, emblazoned above the chamber door, hanging heavy like a guillotine blade.

Jenova.

The things Sephiroth had imagined. When he was younger, he had always pictured a woman like Ilfana, beautiful, gracious, and kind. Except instead of brown hair, it would be silver like his own, and instead of leaving him to spend time with Gast or tend to her flowers, his mother would stay. Sephiroth would envision her humming lullabies and reading him fairytales, would imagine her cradling him in her arms whenever he was hurt or scared. His mother would be all the warmth that Hojo was not, all the light that the scientist often snuffed out in his calculated cruelty. She would be what he needed, and he would never have to be alone again.

But as Sephiroth aged, the reality of his mother's absence began to crush that childish fantasy. The narrative shifted – she had left him, she had abandoned him, she had betrayed him. He should hate her. And for a time, out there on the war ravaged lands of Wutai, he did. He grew angry. He grew bitter. He grew sad. And yet, no matter how deep those emotions cut, no matter how sound the logic, the thread that tied Sephiroth to his mother, to this woman he had never even met, endured. Sephiroth had come to recognize that there would always be a part of him that yearned for her, just as he did as boy hiding his tears in the fabric of his pillowcase. The years that had passed, the training he had underwent, and the battles he had fought would never change the truth: that to him, the lack of her would forever be an open and seeping wound.

This was his weakness, and he knew it.

"Seph, are you ready?"

Behind him, there was Zack, watching, knowing, caring. On his back, the young man carried that legendary sword, and despite the weight of its legacy, his shoulders stayed straight, and his stance remained sturdy and strong. Somehow, in the glinting metallic light of the reactor, Zack appeared a little taller than usual. A little older. A little wiser. A little like Angeal, though not in the manner that used to make Sephiroth's heart twist. No, the feeling was something else: a calm presence, a warm welcome, a gentle reminder of the bonds Sephiroth once shared, and the new ones he carried with him now.

"We don't have to do this. We can go back. Whatever you decide, we're here."

Then, beside him, there was Cloud. Determined, steely, stubborn, beautiful Cloud. There were no words to describe all that he meant, all that he was. Those blue eyes were a sky that stretched endlessly into a vast and open world, terrifying and liberating all at once. They held freedom, promise, and love – all things Sephiroth had once been denied, all things he had assumed he would never be able to possess. And yet, by some stroke of luck or fate, he had found them. He had found Cloud, and Cloud had freely and wonderfully given him all that he wished for, and so much more.

Zack and Cloud. Friendship and love. They were here. In the end, they had stayed.

Somehow, he was not alone.

Sephiroth braced himself with a slow and careful breath. He lifted a hand and let the magic unfurl. "No. Let us finish this."

The metal door creaked underneath the pull of his gravity spell, pulsing and then crushing in on itself with a loud, terrible clamor. When the bolts and the steel finally gave way, an eerie silence began to leak out of the open chamber. It swallowed everything, even the whirring of the reactor machinery that surrounded it, and the strange quiet left Sephiroth feeling colder than the mountain air outside. The foreboding aura, the chill sinking into his skin, the sudden burst of tightness in his chest – they were all warnings. This was it. This was the point of no return. But retreat was not an option, and in some ways, in all ways, it never was. Now, standing underneath the entryway that bore his mother's name, Sephiroth could feel it.

This was inevitable.

Sephiroth crossed the threshold, followed by closely Zack and Cloud. Now inside the chamber, his senses were immediately consumed by two things. The first was the burning stench, sourced from the bubbling pools of mako below them. It made the space feel like the center of an active volcano, steel in place of rock, green in place of red. But as overwhelming as the heat was, the second detail that caught his vision was by far more arresting, so much so that Sephiroth was nearly afraid it would consume him. It loomed in the center of the room, irradiated by the mako glow, cradled by the wires and tubing that looped around the ceiling and the walls. Everything in the chamber fed into it – the light, the sounds, the air – as if the room itself was simply a shrine constructed to worship this glorious idol. Here it was at last. The endgame. The truth. A statue of titanium, protruding from the far end of the platform, with hollow eyes and silver wings.

A dark angel.

"Is that…her?" asked Zack.

Sephiroth did not reply. He let the voice he knew would be calling answer instead.

My son. You have come for me.

It crashed, like a broken orchestra. The nightmares, the images, all washed over Sephiroth in flashes and in waves. An endless fire. A falling meteor. A dead girl. A dark plague. A yawning void. A swirling nebula. An unmatched power. But when the cycle ended and the scene played all the way through, Sephiroth knew what would be left, and that would be nothing. Nothing at all. An emptiness. A hollow. He would own that vast and open world that had been denied him, but it would be a wasteland. He would have the freedom he wanted, but it would be a false, bitter, and lonely kind.

No, that is not true, my son. You will have me. You will not be alone. I will be all you need.

Jenova's voice sounded as sweet as the lullabies Sephiroth once imagined as a child. It sang all the right notes, struck the all the right chords. The thread that had always been there, that tied Sephiroth to her, tugged and ached at the sound. Oh, he could have believed her. Once upon a time, Sephiroth would have believed her. He knew he was destined to believe her.

But did he have to believe her now?

And then, like the switch of a projector reel, images of a different kind of life. A warm fireplace. Empty coffee mugs. Sunflower blond hair. Sky blue eyes. Sweet pink lips. A promise, sealed with a perfect kiss. I love you's, entangled in soft, quilted blankets. Sephiroth knew what he believed in, and it was not this false goddess. Sephiroth knew who his heart belonged to, and it was not Jenova. But it would not be as simple as making the choice – for he already knew what path he would take. No, this was a fight for something much more fundamental, for something that he never had as a boy locked in a white laboratory, as a teenager sent to war, as a man trapped in the remains of his wrecked mind and his broken heart.

The right to decide his own fate.

No, my son. No. No.

Sephiroth moved, and with every step, the insistent pressure grew, drumming between his temples. But he ignored it, the woman's cries, the jolts of pain, and continued to push through the air that became so thick it felt like breathing underwater. Some part of his mind heard Zack and Cloud behind him, their worry, their concern, but he could not give in, not now, not if he wanted to be able to turn around and see them again, today, tonight, tomorrow, and all the days afterward. He moved and moved, one foot in front of the other, and after seconds that felt like hours, Sephiroth arrived at the base of the statue, and looked up at the angel staring down at him with its black eyes.

You must not betray me. Do not betray me.

Bracing his leg against the landing, he reached forward with both arms and pulled with all his strength against the wiring holding the structure together. The wings came tumbling, the façade collapsing into the mako pools below. And finally, no longer covered by that carefully constructed and sanitized steel, there stood the ugly, twisted, terrible truth.

"Oh, Gaia," Cloud breathed.

The woman – the creature – that floated in the middle of the glass cylinder was not human, not even close. Its blue and purple skin looked like a collection of unhealed bruises, and from its central torso wound out a cord that connected to a large, red, beating heart. And yet, in its unnatural appearance, it was oddly beautifully, and altogether too familiar. Because in some ways, the long and silver hair, the knowing and fond gaze, the sweet and loving smile, Jenova was exactly what Sephiroth had been expecting, exactly the picture that he had drawn up in his childish imagination.

Exactly what you deserve.

"That's—" Zack began, but then stopped. If Sephiroth had turned, he would have seen the flicker of horror cross the man's face. But it lasted only for a moment and vanished quickly beneath a determined expression. "What do you want to do, Seph? What do you need?"

Your mother. You need me.

He did. That was his truth. He had always needed her, that want filling the dark corners of his mind. Perhaps there would always be that part of him that would forever wonder – because if things had been different, Sephiroth would have accepted Jenova without a second thought. But the reality was that things were different, and it rendered the price Jenova asked for too steep. And though Sephiroth knew that, knew what he would have to give up to fall to her, knew that he could not – still, her voice was like a siren call, tugging at every cell in his body, digging hooks into his head. It would just be a matter of time before he lost it all. Before he would make the nightmares she had sent him real.

Which meant there was only one option.

Sephiroth extended his left hand, summoned his trusted blade, felt a frission of needed and familiar strength at the touch.

You will regret this. You will.

He narrowed his eyes, readied his stance, focused, inhaled.

It was time. This was time.

You cannot escape your fate.

"Sephiroth!"

Cloud's voice cut through the haze like a sharp wind. But it was the roar that followed the blond's call that actually startled Sephiroth, that made him stumble mid-motion, that forced him to turn his head back toward the entrance of the chamber.

There they were, tearing through the entryway, the monsters, the makinoids, like the one Genesis had unintentionally freed. Three of the deadly creatures had hatched from their pods and were marching toward them now, all horns and teeth and talons and legs and limbs – each portion of their bodies a mutated mixture of beast and human. Their eyes were glowing with unnatural mako, their fangs were glinting like tips of sharpened knives, and each step they took forward frighteningly rumbled the steel walkway they all stood on. And yet, any fear of the floor collapsing and sweeping them all into the burning green pools below remained utterly absent. The monsters had one focus, one intent, one singular purpose. They were abominations now heeding their mother's call.

Zack drew his sword. He let out a single word that perfectly encapsulated the chaos that awaited: "Fuck."

With a flick of his wrist, Sephiroth charged the fastest fire spell he could muster. But before he could release the flames, before he had a chance to blink, Jenova made her move.

It happened so fast, he had hardly sensed it. From behind him, the twisted angel shattered through her glass enclosure and wrapped her tentacles around Sephiroth's body in a suffocating embrace. Masamune slipped from his grasp, clattered to the ground, and the magic died on his fingers, along with the last of his breath. Immediately, pain bubbled through each point of contact, his arms, his back, his throat, his legs. Every muscle and bone felt as if it were being crushed, and his lungs burned as the final wisps of air were squeezed straight out of him.

"Oh, Gaia. Sephiroth!"

It hurt. Terribly, more than any physical pain he had experienced before. Sephiroth could not think or see or hear or sense anything through the agony. Nothing at all, except for her. Her tortuous touch. Her relentless assault. Her haunting voice, whipping between sweetly false condolences and harrowing chastisements (a mother wrangling an ungrateful child). No matter how hard Sephiroth gasped or thrashed, Jenova would not give. She had been calling all this time, and now she had him – and he realized she would never let go.

"Sephiroth! Sephiroth!"

In the final flickers of his consciousness, Sephiroth managed to register the shouting. He also felt the sudden loss of ground, the shifting of gravity, the rush of air – and, last, the heat of the mako. As the world flew past his darkening vision, as he fell, he could piece out from the blur the edges of Zack's shocked expression and the light of Cloud's blue eyes, wide and glowing and wild with fear.

(You will regret this. You will.)

"Sephiroth!" Cloud called again and again.

But there was nothing Sephiroth could do. The monsters charged. Zack cursed. Cloud screamed.

And Sephiroth let the green swallow him whole.

When he had opened his eyes that morning, Cloud could not escape it – the odd conflict of emotions that pulsed beneath his skin. There was the night before, the memory of the touches, the kisses, the heat, and how the tenderness expanded his heart to such lengths that he could hardly comprehend it. It made him think about a conversation he once had with his mother, about love, about how he would know when he had it. She had said, when your heart feels so full, it grows and grows and grows, and never stops, even after you think you cannot take it.

She was right. When Sephiroth had laid him down, stripped him bare, tasted all he had to offer, and gave himself fully in return, Cloud had felt so full that he thought he would break. But he did not, because the man held him close, held him together. Those strong arms kept him centered and protected, providing all that Cloud needed for his heart to grow and grow and grow. Cloud had been sure of what he felt for Sephiroth before that night, but in the morning, when he woke up and saw his peaceful expression, lighted just so from the sun filtering through the cracks of the barn walls – his chest ached so strongly that he became more than certain of it. The feeling had transformed into a basic tenant of his existence, a core code of his own being and structure and soul.

He loved Sephiroth. He loved him.

And yet, Cloud could not shake the nagging thought that somehow, someway, this was just too good to be true.

He should have listened to it, listened to the small voice that said to take Sephiroth and go far away. But even if that was what Cloud had wanted, he knew Sephiroth. The man was determined to see this through, for both himself and for him. So, they marched back up the mountain as if pulled by some invisible threads of fate. It seemed there was no stopping gravity, no stopping the boulder once it started down the hill.

No stopping the angel from falling without his wings.

"Sephiroth!"

There was little time to register what was happening. In one moment, Sephiroth was there, standing before the woman-like creature in the glass cannister (Jenova, all the signs seemed to indicate), ready to close this chapter with a resounding flourish of his sword. And in the next, hell itself had crawled forth into the reactor. In the small and frenzied space of the inner chamber, the chaos felt entirely too large. Cloud hardly knew what to focus on: Sephiroth, Zack, Jenova, or the makinoids charging toward them. He had picked the latter, readied his sword, powered up his materia – and then instantly regretted his decision.

Because then, Jenova took Sephiroth and they fell, and Cloud's heart fell with them.

The reaction was immediate. Whatever connection Hojo had implanted now hissed and cracked between them, the band pulling and pulling and pulling so taut, the snap of the tension threatened knock the sense and strength out of him. But Cloud could not let go, refused to, kept hold of the rope, grasped tightly on that tie to Sephiroth in hopes that it would prevent the man from completely drowning, even as he tried to push the sensation to the back of his mind to concentrate on the threat in front of him now.

Luckily, the blond was not alone. Zack was there, moving like a wraith, strength channeled in powerful precision. The gentle puppy had vanished, replaced by a trained predator, and in Zack's hands, the Buster Sword sang. He rushed at the closest monster, each connection of metal with claw sounding like chaotic cymbals. One blow, and then another. A rush of lightning, the sparks of purple lingering in the air, to push back the other two creatures closer to the door. As he moved, Zack's face was grim, focused, and utterly lacking the casual ease with which he carried himself during spars or most missions. To Cloud, that was the first sign. But the second was far more sinister: the small bruises blossoming on the other man's arms, from attacks not so cleanly blocked, from onslaughts unavoidable.

It was clear: these were not just ordinary monsters. They moved with the intelligence of a human and the speed of the quickest of beasts. They were elevated, they were higher, they were powerful, and they were dangerous. In all that and in their jade green eyes, they were familiar, in a haunting and terrible way.

But there was no time to dwell on precisely what that meant. Cloud took a breath, drew his own sword, and charged. His sword connected with the torso of the closest makinoid, which cried out and swung a large and heavy arm back at him in reply. Zack cursed again, elbowed Cloud out of the way, and just about barely ducked the counterattack. But still, Cloud was not deterred. He moved again, sliced again, and again. The stakes were too high and too great to stop. It did not help that the blond felt an unbearable pressure to end this quickly, to rescue Sephiroth. Cloud tried to keep his heart from beating straight out of his chest, tried to keep his vision from blurring in his desperation, tried to maintain enough wits to choose the correct maneuvers, but with every motion, every parry, every slice, every dodge, the fear continued to spike. He needed to do something, and he needed to do it fast.

"Cloud, watch out!"

Something was coming toward him, a claw, a foot, a mouth, the blond was not sure. It was too fast for him to recognize, too fast for him to react. But suddenly, Cloud was yanked backward by the fabric of his SOLDIER uniform, his back hitting the cool steel platform. The attacking monster (it had been so close, so close) stumbled at the lack of its target, now overextended, now open, and that was when Zack moved.

The black-haired First rolled around the makinoid and swiped upward, slicing the reaching limb clean off in a fierce and fluid motion. He followed the attack with another flurry of lightning spells, and as the electricity hummed through the rough hide of flesh, the magic began to push the monster off-balance. Its steps were inching teasingly close to the edge. Now was their chance. From his position on the floor, Cloud responded to the opportunity by swinging a swift kick to those faltering legs. At last, the makinoid fell, a slow and terrible fall, its screeching howl completely consumed by the endless green void below.

Zack exhaled and said, "One down, two to go."

A year ago, Cloud would have sat back in pure awe at the dark-haired SOLDIER's abilities, just as he had in Modeoheim. But at that time, he had been an unenhanced, unremarkable trooper, a nameless face hidden underneath a standard Shinra helmet. Cloud was none of those things now, not anymore.

The blond stood and picked up his sword. There were still two monsters awaiting them farther down the walkway, their yellow and sharp teeth jutting outward from open, snarling mouths. Looking at them now, Cloud felt a terrifying rage, blooming from deep in his core. These were the things keeping him separated from Sephiroth, that were preventing him from saving the man that he loved. For that unspeakable sin, they needed to die. He concentrated on that anger, channeled it into magic. Fire began dancing in Cloud's fingertips like a snake charmed by a song. Quickly and decisively, he combined the flames with a tornado of wind spells and blasted back the makinoids straight through the door.

But Cloud did not stop there. He bolted forward, brandishing his blade, his attacks carrying him through the threshold, back into the main room, and down the central staircase. It did not matter that there were two sets of claws, of teeth, coming at him in quick and relentless staccato. It did not matter that they welted bruises and cut thin red lines into his skin. They were fast, but Cloud knew their speed, knew it well, had been taught by the very man who possessed it. It was only a matter of time. And when the opening came, an exposed jugular, an open core, he took it without hesitation.

The second creature fell, too, its body decorated with an artwork of slices and burns.

But where was the third?

"Cloud!" Zack called. He was standing at the top of the stairs, his own blue eyes blown wide.

The blond whipped his head up. Zack was pointing, down the lines of eight pods that stacked up the four levels of the chamber.

Pods that were all supposed to be closed, that were supposed to keep their demons sealed and asleep.

Pods that were now all open, like cracked eggshells, metal and glass strewn all over the floor.

Pods that were now all empty, their monsters now free.

The realization wretched in Cloud's gut. From the corner of his eye, he could see it – the door to reactor, to the world outside, torn apart. If he had gone to look, he would have spotted the large footsteps tracking down the dirt path, down the mountain. Eventually, they would be marking their assault through the surrounding forest.

And into to the village below.

"Oh, Gaia…" Cloud said, voice shaking. His soul felt torn. Down there was his mother, Tifa, everyone he had known since birth, all lambs waiting for the wolves to come and raid and slaughter. And in here, drowning in a sea of green, held captive by something they had yet to understand, was the love of his life. It was a fear almost too surreal to comprehend, the reality that he could lose nearly everything and everyone he had ever cared about, in the span of a single day. All because of those monsters.

All because of her.

The anger that had erupted inside Cloud earlier now burned hotter than the mako from any of his injections. It was petrifying, suffocating, breaking, threatening to melt away the metal of his backbone, the steel of his eyes.

But once again, Zack was there, moving forward, his Buster Sword at the ready. "I'll go," he said, already halfway out of the reactor. "You get Sephiroth."

"There's too many of them for you! You'll—"

"No buts," the Lieutenant interjected. His voice was calm, without uncertainty. "Seph needs you. And I can't have you stealing all the thunder, not again, can I?"

They hardly had a second, but Cloud spared one anyway, just to look at his friend, to see him. In some ways, Zack was still the same as when they had first met – all optimism, all hope, in a figure so full of friendliness and warmth. The fact that he had retained much of those qualities, even after everything, made him all the more admirable. But there were also some key differences too – a darkening of those blue eyes that signified a greater wisdom, a keen understanding, a fire-forged honor. The others had called Zack the heart and soul of SOLDIER for a reason. And right now, Cloud saw exactly why.

Cloud knew he loved Sephiroth, had always respected him. But from the start, Zack was Cloud's friend. And more than that, Zack was Cloud's hero.

"Okay," the blond relented, starting to step backwards up the stairs. "See you later."

Zack shot a grin over his shoulder. Somehow, despite the strain at the edge of his lips, it looked like he meant it. "Yep. See you later."

And with that promise, they both turned, Cloud to the chamber, Zack to the mountain, and went their separate ways.

The night Zack left Midgar, Aerith had slept over. It was a rare occurrence, given that Elmyra was somewhat still on the fence about their relationship (though that had less to do with Zack and more to do with his employer) and the fact that Aerith was a young woman and mothers naturally had issues with those sorts of things. But Zack loved Aerith, always made it a point to be gentle, to be careful. For she was not just someone he had fun with, not one of those quick encounters he had dabbled in as a dashing, young, and promising SOLDIER. She was the one. He had known that the moment he accidentally punched a hole through her church roof with his awkwardly falling body.

The morning after, as he was packing his bag and getting dressed, Aerith had watched him from bed, her green eyes sparkling in the rising sunlight.

"Did I tell you about my wishes?" she had asked.

Zack had been folding another shirt. "No. Can you tell me now?"

"Sure. There's twenty-three of them, though."

"Twenty-three? Babe, you know, my memory isn't the best."

She laughed. "I know. That's why put them all together in one."

He tucked the clothes into his bag. "Alright, what is it?"

"I'd like to spend more time with you."

The words had come out so softly, so strangely. It was enough to cause Zack to pause, turn his attention away from his packing and toward Aerith and her downcast gaze. Her fingers were tightly curled around his bedsheets, as if desperately clinging onto something – something she was afraid she was going to lose.

Zack had moved over to the bedside and kissed her fiercely. "I'll come back," he said, looking straight into her eyes. "I'll come back. I promise."

He had meant it. He generally meant all the promises he made. That was what honorable men did, and Zack had been taught that honor was the key to making a great SOLDIER.

(A great hero.)

But now, standing at the edge of a town falling apart, seeing rooftops collapsed, corpses of animals and humans half-eaten and crushed, hearing the screams, Zack could not stop the goosebumps, the doubt, from rising on his skin.

He had run as fast has he could, conjured up the specter of those training sessions with Sephiroth in Wutai ("One strike. Kill it in only one strike.") to make quick work of whatever ordinary monsters he encountered along the way. But the makinoids had sped forward so quickly, driven by their long-brewing hunger and by an order etched deep into their cells. Zack had only managed to catch one straggler, and after a battle that had taken far too long, that had led to an injury on his left shoulder which continued to smart with every movement, its corpse had finally faded to green somewhere amongst the trees of the mountain forest.

In the meantime, the other four had slipped away during the fight.

But there was no time to dwell on past failures, not right now. Zack moved into Nibelheim, mind running faster than his body had been moments earlier. The first priority was getting the civilians out, the second was stopping the monsters. However, the problem that currently rang alarms in Zack's head was that he would not be able accomplish the first, at least not by himself (he was not ready to think about whether he was capable of the second). He needed some back-up, and he needed it quick.

"Zack! Zack! Over here!"

And just like she had been a few days ago, Tifa Lockhart was a godsend. The girl was waving from behind a brick building, still placed near the outskirts of the town. There were smudge marks from dirt coloring her knees and her cheeks, as if she had fallen somewhere and sometime earlier. But her crimson eyes were still determined, still strong, still blazing, and were more than a welcome sight.

Quickly, Zack bounded toward her. "Tifa! We have to get the townsfolk out of here."

"You think?" she shot back, her voice thick. It was then Zack noticed something else, the lines of dried tears streaking down her face, and he was reminded of the fact that she must have been around Aerith's age, still so amazingly young. "Those monsters – they're the same as the one from the reactor. What's going on?"

Zack was not sure how to fully explain it, could not even begin to, so he settled for the simplified version in an effort to keep the focus tight. "The rest of them escaped. You need to get as many villagers as you can out of the town. I'll stay behind and deal with them."

"You? Where's Cloud? Where's the General?"

On any other day, Zack would have found it in himself to be just a little insulted, but not today. Not this time. The Lieutenant inhaled, to try and steady both himself and Tifa. "They're in the reactor, dealing with the source of the monsters," he said, because it was technically the truth. And then, a possible fib, because even though Zack wanted to believe, the uncertainty had already made a home in his heart. "They'll be here. But we might not be, if we don't move."

Tifa narrowed her eyes, questioning, curious, suspicious. She had been like that when they had first encountered her, her distrust in Shinra obvious. And that distrust only grew more and more following the events she inadvertently witnessed in the reactor. Cloud had managed to convince her to keep quiet about what she had seen, about the monsters, about Genesis, about Sephiroth, on the promise that he would explain once they had completed their mission, and it was only because of her clear fondness for the blond that she agreed. Now though, he could see that not even Cloud would be able to steer her away.

Not that Zack would want him to. After today, she deserved more than just an explanation.

But regardless of that fact, of her mistrust, Tifa replied, "Alright." She balled her hands into tight fists, kept them stable at her sides. "Most of the villagers have been running to one of the paths in the mountain. It's fastest way to the nearest town. I'll keep trying to get others to safety. But you need to go to the square. Master Zangan and some of the men – they're trying to hold the monsters there, but they won't stand a chance."

Zack nodded, though he kept the curl in his stomach from showing on his face. He did not want to think about what he would see when he got to the center part of town but judging from the handful of bodies that had had already encountered, it was going to be a gruesome picture.

"Thank you. Just get out of here."

Instead of moving right away, the girl fixed him with a knowing stare. She asked, quietly, "This is Shinra's fault, isn't it?"

There was only one answer to that question: the truth. But Zack was not prepared to give it. He reached out, put a soft hand on Tifa's shoulder, squeezed gently. "Go. Go now."

In response, Tifa let out a breath. She lifted a hand, squeezed his fingers back. "Okay."

He waited only for a few seconds, to watch Tifa duck into one of the houses and pull out a frightened and elderly woman and her two cats. As soon as he saw them start walking the path toward the mountain, Zack turned around. He began dashing to the square, legs marking quick and long strides, eyes following the sight of the water tower jutting upward from the destruction. The fingers of his right hand remained close to the hilt of the Buster Sword, and with each step he took forward, his muscles coiled tighter, ready to spring out at a moment's notice. At his pace, it only took him a few seconds to reach his destination, and as much as he wished he hadn't been, it turned out that he was right.

It was gruesome.

There must have been at least fifteen or twenty men, their guns and their farming tools all scattered and broken across the dirt. But even more disturbing were the limbs and the blood, blotching over the brown like an uneven painting. It had been a methodical slaughter, rapid sacrifices for the sake of buying some brief moments of time for the rest of the town. The only consolation was that it had worked. All four of the remaining creatures were still in the square, three sating their hunger on bodies that had been ripped apart and torn to pieces. But one was adjacent to the water tower, howling in hunger, swinging its limbs as it danced with the last of the food –a greying man, with gritted teeth and tattered clothing. Though the man's thigh had been cut cleanly open, blood dripping down to the ground, he continued to artfully dodge in the spaces between the monster's teeth and claws, determined to hold out until the very end.

Not if Zack could help it. He fired up a Stop spell and used it to momentarily incapacitate the three makinoids currently distracted by their meal. Next, he leapt up and bore down all his strength to behead the monster attacking the last man. Despite the advantage of surprise, all Zack managed was a solid hit, enough to slice a third of the way through the neck and force the demon to its knees. The contact jolted up his injured arm, made him wince, both out of pain and out of disappointment. But still, he would take it, if it meant saving a life. That would be more than enough.

"Run!" Zack called.

And yet, the man the creature had been targeting did not leave; instead, he used his good leg to deliver a powerful, trained kick to the injured monster's core. The force pulled Zack's blade further into the flesh and drove the beast into the ground. Immediately and for good measure, the Lieutenant cast fire over the large, twisted body, and only once the skin took the flame and the makinoid's eyes glazed over with death, did he turn to regard the person who had stayed behind.

"I'm guessing you are Master Zangan?" asked Zack. And then, by way of introduction. "I'm Zack. Tifa sent me."

The man turned, his red cape and grey beard flittering in the subtle breeze. His breaths came out in sharp and pained pants. "Zack. You're a SOLDIER, I presume?"

The Lieutenant was about to respond, when the gurgling from the other three monsters started up in earnest. One had its eyes locked straight at him, pupils dilated in abject concentration. The other two began thrashing against the bindings of the magic, the silver wisps of the Stop spell shattering away.

Zack shifted, readied his stance. "Get out of here. I'll handle this."

"Those three killed twenty good men. And fast. You can't fight them alone."

"All due respect, sir. It's my job to."

Zangan looked him, cautious and sorrowful. But he understood, knew, could probably sense the truth as keenly as the throbbing injury on his thigh. The man stepped back, nodding in assent. "Well then, Zack. You are a good man. You have my gratitude."

Zack did not reply, nor watch him leave. He waited until the limping footsteps faded far enough to cast another fire spell and cut off all exits to the square. It was now just him versus them. The three makinoids now shaking themselves out of their stupor, now growling with intent at their final piece of prey. Three on one. He could do this. He could ignore the fatigue from the earlier fights, from the sprint down the mountain and through the town. He could disregard the ache of his shoulder, the flickers of nausea in his stomach that signified mana depletion. He could push down the anxiety over what was happening to Cloud, to Sephiroth. He could bury the fear building in his chest over whether he was going to be able to keep his promise to Aerith.

He could focus. He could protect the rest of the villagers. He could win.

At the very least, he could give a raging good fight.

Zack lifted his sword, pointed it skyward, pressed its cool metal to his forehead. Angeal's familiar mantra filtered through the touch, like a solemn prayer. Embrace your dreams. And, whatever happens protect your honor as SOLDIER.

One monster howled in challenge. Zack accepted with a swing of his blade.

"Come and get it!"

The first thing that Cloud did once the monsters were dealt with and Zack left the reactor was reach for the tether in his mind. It was faint, but it was there, like a lightning bolt of energy, buzzing faintly at the back of his skull. Relief flooded him the instant he sensed it, the moment he could feel Sephiroth, far away, but still present, still there. He latched onto that sense, clutched at what he could feel, kept his eyes and his focus fixed on that point, like a sailor lost at sea would to the North Star.

Now, all that was left was for Cloud to dive into the green ocean and pray that he would not drown.

For just a moment, standing above the glimmering pools of mako, he hesitated. It was odd, the way the light struck the liquid, the way the metal of the reactor seemed to amplify its eerie glow. The shine reminded Cloud so keenly of Sephiroth's eyes – how sharp, how intelligent, how powerful that man's gaze was. How had he not noticed that resemblance before?

No. No matter. If Cloud wanted to look into those eyes again, he knew what he needed to do.

When the mako touched him, swallowed him, it began to fully sear through his senses. There was nothing but green, nothing but the burn, nothing but the pungent smell, the bitter taste, the soundless void. It took everything Cloud had to keep himself held together, to stop from losing his body and his mind wholly to the hollowness. He fought against the overwhelming sensations by focusing on what was most important, grasped at it, kept the threads tight in his fingers, following the vibrations of his cells and the pulsing of his heart, as it pointed him toward its owner.

Sephiroth! Sephiroth!

And there he was, floating in the wasteland, bound and silenced by the parasite that had wrapped around him. The man's eyes were open and empty, his body limp and lifeless, as if the very soul had been stolen from it. But more than that, Sephiroth looked so alone, more so than Cloud had seen him before. More than the first time he had spotted a younger version of the man on television. More than the time they had met in the training room. This was someone who was drowning in the loneliness, breaking under the strain. Someone who believed that no one would be coming for him. That he was unloved and nothing, once more.

No!

With all the strength he could muster, Cloud launched himself forward. He drew his sword as he charged, readied the blow, angled it just so. In a single motion, he cleaved the tentacles off, and ignored the resounding howl that Jenova gave in response. Quickly, his arms seized Sephiroth, yanking him out of the remaining vestiges of the dark angel's hold. But even freed from her embrace, the man still did not move. Why wasn't he moving? Why wasn't he breathing? Cloud pushed past the hammering of his heart, and shook that beautiful head over and over again, desperate for any response.

Sephiroth! I'm here for you. I'm here!

No answer. Instead, all Cloud heard was her. Her voice. Sickly sweet, like soured maple syrup. Stinging, distorted, twisted, and haunting.

He does not belong to you.

Cloud saw her coming, saw her dark and poisonous magic reaching out, staining the surrounding green a terrible, disturbing black. He could sense what that touch was meant to accomplish, could feel the anger and the rage and the hunger radiating from Jenova's core. She was going to kill them. She was going to kill them both. Because if she could not possess her son in life, then she would have him in death.

Only Cloud was not about to let that happen.

He does not belong to you either!

In the split second that followed, he twisted, placed his body between Sephiroth and that monster, and summoned the last of his mana to his fingers. Cloud met the black with a blaze of red fire, the heat and the power surging through him and out of his hands. He did not have to look to see that he hit his target, only needed to hear Jenova's chilling cries echoing loud as she finally sank away in the empty, floating space.

And that was enough. Cloud turned, grasped at Sephiroth, began the arduous ascent back to reality. It hurt, so badly. The mako burned in his lungs, itched his skin. His muscles ached, under the strain of Sephiroth's weight, under the heavy exertion of the fight with those monsters, with Jenova. But he kept going, concentrating on the light glimmering above, narrowing his eyes and his concentration, reaching for it with everything he had. He had to make it. He had to. For Sephiroth. For the both of them.

It was not until he burst through the surface and hauled both his and Sephiroth's body back onto the metal floor that he registered it.

The pain, from the remnants of one of Jenova's long and sickled tentacles, piercing Cloud straight through the center of his chest.