Chapter 30 – Beast

The first wave had been easy. The second and third, however, were not.

Sephiroth ducked under the arm of a makinoid swiping for his head and brought his sword straight up to slice through its torso. The creature howled in response, loud, right against his ear, before collapsing onto the metal platform in a pile of twitching, bleeding limbs. Dead, or at least it would be in a few moments, but that fact failed to bring any respite. Because just as it had been for the last hour (or was it longer? It had become impossible to tell), as soon as one went down, another two were there to take its place, and it would take every ounce of strength and training that Sephiroth possessed to counter, to parry, to fight, to live. This moment was no different: he could barely take a breath, reset the grip on his sword, before another monster began bounding at him, and the next round promptly commenced.

"Move!"

Suddenly, from a few feet behind him, a clap of thunder resounded, and Sephiroth could feel the air on his arms rising up to the call of a powerful lightning spell. The electric spears whizzed past his shoulder and pierced through the makinoid in front of him, igniting the glow of its eyes (green, just the like the ones that stared at him from the mirror, and it was an odd blessing that he could not think about exactly what that implied). Immediately, the monsters fell, seizing as their corpses faded away, and in the brief reprieve that their deaths had managed to buy, Sephiroth turned toward the source of the magic – to spikes of black hair, to bright mako eyes. Zack had lowered his hand, though the telltale sparks were still sizzling from his fingertips, crackling in the air. Before, in the old life, the young man might have flashed a grin, in a small sign of victory. Now, however, no such smile stretched those lips, because there was nothing left to smile about.

"You okay?" asked Zack.

Sephiroth nodded. He would have said something else, but four more monsters had surrounded them, and they no longer had the time to spare.

This was the cycle that had been repeating over and over, like a riptide that refused to let them go until they drowned. But even through the onslaught, in between the flashes of his blade, Sephiroth could see the other signs, the little changes that signaled the coming of the final act. There was Zack's lack of energy, the steady increase in the number of tears blossoming on his clothes. There was the gradual lengthening of the seconds between the rounds fired from Vincent's pistol. There was the growing quiver in Barret's gunarm, coupled with the crescendo of his curses. There was the way that Tifa had begun favoring her left leg, ignoring the blood dripping from the wound in her thigh. And of course, there was Aerith in her glass cage, watching them through tear-stained eyes. Somewhere along the way, the girl had lost the strength to stand and had fallen to her knees – perhaps to beg, to plead, to pray, but most likely in solemn surrender.

She knew what he did, and in hindsight, Sephiroth supposed that he should have expected this. Hojo was not a stupid man, and if the scientist believed these makinoids were capable of destroying the weapon that he had spent years creating, then the chances of their survival were going to be slim.

And yet, the sheer brutality still surprised Sephiroth, if only because it contrasted so sharply to what he had felt mere hours ago. When he had walked into this Tower, climbed those stairs, looked out the windows at the sprawling lights of the city, he had held more hope than he had in years. He was not alone. He had people willing to stand beside him. Together, they were going to rescue Aerith and Cloud, and the despair that had darkened Sephiroth's world would at last begin to lift. That bright promise had been right there, obscuring his judgment, and the slip of concentration would be all that it took to condemn him, condemn them all, to this terrible end.

It was just like Hojo said. Sentiment. That always had been his weakness.

But it was too late to turn back now. Sephiroth continued to shift, swing, block, fight. Severed limbs and heads dropped around his feet, and he lost track of the bodies, the creatures, the time. Beside him, there was Zack, the glint of the Buster Sword capturing the tiny specks of light filtering through the dimness of the room. Behind him, there was Vincent, a swirl of crimson and gold.

And somewhere to his left –

"Fuck!"

"Barret!"

Tifa's scream cut through the air, followed by a sickening crunch. In the next second, Barret was down on the floor, a makinoid sinking its teeth into the flesh of his left arm, with a large talon raised and ready to sever his head.

This was it. The start of the fall.

"Shit! No!"

Sephiroth did not know what happened, could not see through the flurry of fangs and claws, though the specifics no longer mattered, not anymore. What did matter was that Barret was going to die, and neither he nor Zack had any hope of crossing the platform on time to make a difference. There was only Vincent, pivoting to provide cover fire, and Tifa, smashing her boot against the skull of the creature to dislodge its bite. But they were not going to be enough – cut off one head, and two others would take its place – and the other makinoids knew it. Multitudes of monsters sensed blood in the water and had begun moving fast, circling like hunters around their prey. Against this next wave, the only option was retreat. Tifa locked her arms underneath Barret's, struggled to lift the man to his feet and drag him to safety. Vincent continued to reload and fire, stepping backward with every shot. Through the chaos, the three of them managed to break through the trap and escape behind a row of empty pods, the wall of shattered glass and metal now becoming the single precarious barrier standing between them and the very end.

"Fuck, fuck!" swore Zack. He tried powering up a second lightning spell, but was halted by another round of monsters, their snarls close enough to ghost steam against his skin. "We can't – Seph – we have to do something. We need to do something!"

He was right, except what could they do? Sephiroth could see it in Zack's eyes, the desperation, the fear. Zack was looking for the hero that had once saved him in Wutai, the figure that Shinra had advertised as capable of bringing an entire nation to its knees. But that person was a lie, and the great Silver General was actually a broken boy who had grown up fearing a lonely death in this very laboratory. Tonight, it seemed that the fear was about to become a reality, but in a cruel twist, Sephiroth realized that he would not actually be suffering this fate alone.

Because if things continued like this, the makinoids would close in on Barret and Tifa and Vincent and tear them apart. Then, just before it became too much, Zack would succumb to his grief and exhaustion. Their screams would be the last thing that Sephiroth would get to hear, their demise the last thing that he would get to witness. And when it was finally his turn, when the darkness came for his final breath, Sephiroth would then have no choice but to accept the truth.

That he never should have brought them here.

That this was all his fault.

That he really was always meant to be alone.

It was the truth that swept through his entire existence, the thread that carried him from birth into adulthood. It was why Hojo warned him against attachments, why his own birth mother had left without looking back. No matter what, no matter where, Sephiroth was supposed to be alone. He should have known better. Every good thing he had ever had in his life, Hojo had some hand in taking away. A favorite book. A beloved toy. A fellow pet trapped in a cage. Gast. Ilfana. Angeal. Genesis. Cloud. And now –

No.

No.

No!

The decision was made, as naturally as breathing, and before the thought fully sank into his mind, Sephiroth's body moved to execute the plan. The first step was to create the distance, minimize the number of creatures the rest would have to deal with, so he switched his grip on Masamune and swiped across in a single broad stroke. A gust of wind magic flew from his blade, sending the line of makinoids before him soaring backward several meters. A breath. A space. The first step was now complete. There were still some monsters left on the platform behind him, but the others were more than capable of dispatching the remainder.

Especially if he gave them enough time.

"Wait!" Zack called. His eyes were wide, with recognition. He knew. They had fought alongside each other for long enough now that he had to know. "Sephiroth, wait!"

But Sephiroth did not listen, could not afford to if he wanted to finish what he started. Like the SOLDIER he was once programmed to be, he pushed out the noise, the doubt, and proceeded with the next step. Into the brief opening, Sephiroth dashed forward and followed up with a wave of fire. A whole ring of flame, a tsunami of orange and yellows and reds, burst from his fingers, forming a large barrier behind him, and cutting the platform in two. On one side of the wall, there was Zack and Aerith and Tifa and Barret and Vincent, all breathing and still alive.

And on the other side, there was the makinoids and him. Alone. As Sephiroth was always meant to be.

Zack tried once more. "Stop! Seph! Stop!"

Again, Sephiroth ignored him. He could tell that Zack was testing the fire, could hear him yelping out in pain from the heat sparking against his gloves. But the silver-haired man did not glance over his shoulder to look. Instead, Sephiroth faced forward, readied his stance, and prepared himself for the finale that he would now write with his sword.

(And though he dared not look, he knew that somewhere above, Hojo was watching, with that same impassive stare).

Zack had begun screaming. "What the hell do you think you are doing!? We aren't leaving you behind! Sephiroth!"

The words hurt more than Sephiroth could possibly express. Just the sound of the voice, the reminder that he had been cared for, was enough. And it was poetic, in its own bitter way. After years of experiencing continual loneliness and abandonment, Sephiroth was now demanding to be left behind, and by some terrible irony, the person he was asking was refusing to go. It was a gift he thought that he would never deserve, one that he never dreamed that he would have. It was absurd. It was brutal. It was wonderful.

All the more reason that this was the right call.

Sephiroth replied, "You have to."

Zack fired back, "What about Cloud?"

That was the one question that he did not want to think about. Because Zack was right. By making this choice, he was guaranteeing that he would never get to see those blue eyes again. But somehow, that was okay. As long as Zack and the others could rescue Cloud, as long as Cloud would be free to live again, it would be okay. After all, two years ago, in Nibelheim, it was Sephiroth who was supposed to have died in the reactor and Cloud who was supposed to have survived. This was just rebalancing the scales.

Through the darkness, the glowing eyes of the makinoids were pointing at him, like sniper marks. They were ready to welcome him back home.

He was ready now, too.

"Tell him that I loved him," Sephiroth said.

Then, before Zack could protest again, he brandished Masamune and charged.

It was not fair.

That was all Zack could think, even as his forced his body to turn around, turn away from the fire, to move back and fight through the few makinoids left on his half of the platform. The mechanical nature was becoming an instinct for him: shut off the mind, shut out the loss, survive, survive, survive. There was still a job he had to do, people he had to save. They still had to break Aerith out of her cage, find Cloud, and make their way out of the Tower. Yet again, for yet another night, Zack could not afford to think too much on who he was losing, on who he was leaving behind.

It just was not fair.

The last of the creatures on their side of the wall were easily dispatched with. Vincent's gun had done the deed. The crack of the recoil and the spark of the gunpowder led Zack to the area where the sharpshooter and the others had been hiding, huddled behind a cluster of broken mako pods. There, Tifa was kneeling, her brow furrowed in concentration, as she pressed a cloth into Barret's bleeding arm (it was red, torn off from one of the tattered edges of Vincent's cape). Barret himself was holding up a brave face, trying not to grimace in pain, though once he spotted Zack rounding the corner, he could not hide his surprise.

"The hell you doing here, SOLDIER boy?"

Zack stooped down, firing up the healing magic in his palm. "Let me," he said.

Tifa shifted aside. Her expression was as resolute as ever, but there was a slight tremor in her hand. A detail that Zack decided not to comment on, lest he give into his own emotions. Instead, he focused and allowed the warm waves of the magic to flow from his fingertips. He watched as the bite marks started to stitch closed, listened as Barret's breathing began to even out. When another second passed, when he was certain that it would be enough, Zack stopped. Good. Not even a scar left behind.

Barret looked down at his arm and exhaled. "Thanks."

Silence followed. It was eerily quiet, the howls and the chaos strangely too far away. Zack did not want to think about why that was, but he knew that in about a second, he would have no choice.

As if on que, Vincent asked the question, his eyes like sharp daggers, digging deep.

"Where is Sephiroth?"

Zack did not answer, at least not directly. He merely turned his head, glanced toward the wall of fire. If he squinted, he could make out the movements of dark shadows, and a flash of silver, like starlight, like the dance of the universe.

He said, "We have to move. Come on."

With no other distractions, destroying the machines that stood guard in front of Aerith's cage and shattering the glass that held her turned out to be simple work. But for some reason, even as the relief of being able to hold her again flooded through him, Zack found it hard to meet Aerith's eyes. He knew that from her vantage point, she would have seen what had happened – would have seen Sephiroth and the choice that he had made. She would have thought the same thing that he had been thinking – that even though they could feel each other's warmth, that they had each other back, it had once again come at such great cost.

It was not fair.

It just was not fair.

Aerith burrowed her face into his chest, and he could feel the dampness of her tears through his shirt. "Zack," she breathed. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I thought – I thought this was the only thing I could do."

Zack squeezed her, tight. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many feelings still jumbled in his chest. Relief. Pain. Happiness. Guilt. But now was not the time.

"We have to go, Aerith," he said, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. A single moment of tenderness, that he hoped would say what he could not. "We need to go, now."

A pause. Brief. Hesitant. Green eyes flickered, to Tifa, Barret, and Vincent standing behind him, and then over to fire. Sephiroth had taken them this far. Now, it was their turn. They had to make the sacrifice worth it.

Aerith looked back up at him. "I know where Cloud is," she said. "Follow me."

Zack nodded. He stepped aside and motioned for the others to follow.

"Wait."

The tenor of Vincent's voice rang like a deep bell in the night, loud enough to startle them all. Zack was caught flat-footed at the sound, and he turned to face the former Turk in search of an explanation. But of course, the red wraith offered none. Instead, Vincent just moved, fast, in the blink of an eye, stopping only when he stood right in front of that wall of flame.

Barret yelled out first. "The hell are you doing?"

Tifa was next. "Wait, Vincent!"

And once again, the man said nothing in reply. He kept facing the fire, the shine of his armor bright against the colors. Zack was about to say something else – stop, we have to go, we have to save Cloud for him – until what happened next silenced his words, squeezed out his breath. Suddenly, there was no longer any more time to argue, to protest, to question.

Because then, the transformation began.

Dark magic swallowed Vincent, and despite the conflagration, the air grew as cold as ice. Time and space slowed, falling into the gravity of the shadows, and the golds and reds that made up Vincent's form vanished, consumed by dark purples and blacks. That wild mane of black hair grew into long, tangled fur, and the arms stretched into claws that were fully audible in their sharpness. In one moment, there had been a mysterious sharpshooter standing in a flowing red cape. And in the next, there was a new beast, larger than any they had faced this night, and whose only resemblance to the man it had replaced was those familiar, glowing, crimson eyes.

"Oh, Gaia," Aerith said.

"What the fuck?" Barret exclaimed.

Zack did not even have anything to add to that.

The beast – Vincent – roared. Its body cut through the wall of fire without even a flinch and then it did not waste any time jumping into the horde. Above the tips of the flames, Zack could see the resulting chaos: the makinoids rushing the new target; Sephiroth, absolutely stunned, stepping back and stopping in the middle of his sword motion out of confusion, out of shock. Mere minutes passed before the blood began pouring, spilling out all over the metal platform, as Vincent tore off limbs, clawed off heads, crushed bodies. At that point, there was nothing that any of them could do, except to stand by and watch. The first wave of creatures fell readily. So, too, did the second. And the third, as if bowing to the new apex predator in their midst, simply started to slither away.

In the silence that followed, Sephiroth lowered his sword. He had only a single comment.

He said, rather uncharacteristically: "Holy shit."

Zack took that as his cue. "Sephiroth!" he called, running to the wall. "Sephiroth, are you alright?"

Jade green turned toward his direction. With a wave of his hand, Sephiroth dispelled the remains of the fire, let it fizzle out into the darkness. That was when, in spite of the distance of several yards between them, Zack could spot the cracks in the man's usually immaculate appearance – the small cut at the side of the leather jacket, the tiny gash marring the left side of the forehead. But at the very least, Sephiroth was still standing, still breathing. That was more than enough for Zack to feel relieved.

Unfortunately for them all, the relief would be short-lived.

Sephiroth was looking at them, scanning them, saw Zack, saw Tifa, saw Barret, saw Aerith. The recognition came immediately. The silver-haired head spun around, faced the beast, which was still digging its teeth into the flesh of the last creature, now writhing listlessly on the floor.

"Vincent?" he asked.

That turned out to be a mistake. The beast responded, raised its head, blood dripping from the sides of its mouth. Those wild red eyes were now narrowing sharply in on Sephiroth, the closest living being (prey) available.

Immediately, Zack's heartbeat flew up a thousand notches. It was beginning to dawn on him why Vincent had not chosen to share this power of his earlier, why the man had kept this secret right up until he felt he could not anymore. This was not a blessing of strength, but a monstrous curse – one came with a hefty price.

He can't control it. He can't. He's gonna – oh, Gaia.

"Sephiroth!" Zack yelled.

Too late.

The beast leapt forward, and Sephiroth could only raise his arm in a futile attempt to stop the blow.

But then, somehow, everything stopped.

The beast stumbled, falling from the air and skidding to the ground right before Sephiroth. Clawed hands lifted to clutch at its head, and a howl, forlorn, sorrowful, loud, flew from its mouth. The cry kept going, like a broken record, starting and stopping, and all the while, Vincent jerked left to right, forward and backward, as if thrashing against an invisible enemy. It took more than a moment for Zack to recognize what was happening – a painful reversal, a winding back of the clock. Bone cracked, muscle and skin unraveled, and the dark magic returned, like the whipping of the wind. When the shadowy wisps finally faded from view, there was no longer a beast, but a man, swaddled in a cape as red as blood.

For his part, Sephiroth recovered quickly. "Vincent!" he called, rushing forward, fingers fumbling against the other man's neck for a pulse. A sigh of relief escaped him as soon as he found one, though a worried expression continued to weigh on his brow. "Vincent, can you hear me?"

"What the fuck?" said Barret, again, throwing his hands in the air. "What the fuck just happened?"

Zack honestly had no idea. He could barely corral his own thoughts into words. A nausea was starting to overcome him, the signs of an adrenaline overdose settling deep in his core. The only thing keeping him steady right now was Aerith, her fingers slipping in between his own. The touch was a reminder: they were still here. Somehow, despite the hopelessness that had consumed them mere minutes earlier, they were here. Aerith was out of her cage. Barret's arm was okay. Sephiroth was still alive. So, too, apparently, was Vincent. They had won. They survived. Barely, but they had.

Except there was still one obstacle remaining.

"Interesting. Absolutely interesting."

Ugh. Hojo. That voice had beamed from the intercom, and even through the static, Zack could sense the morbid curiosity coloring those tones. He glanced upward, watched as Hojo stepped closer to the window of his observatory, eyes almost bug-like behind his frames. The scientist added, "Actual control over the transformation? I will admit that I did not think such a feat would have been possible."

Tifa glared, her fingers curling against her palms. "I really hate this guy," she muttered.

"Join the club. I'll make T-shirts," said Aerith.

Sephiroth, however, was not willing to be as glib. After he checked Vincent's vitals, he turned his gaze toward the observatory, green eyes focused and bright.

"Enough," he said, in a voice just as sharp as his blade. Then, with a look that Zack thought made him look both older and younger, like a wise warrior and a hopeful child, like a boy-now-man looking his father square in the eye without any reservation or restraint, Sephiroth continued, "Enough. Have you not had enough?"

Just as it had before Hojo had unleashed his horde, something too complicated to name passed between the two men. But one thing was obvious – the surprise. Hojo clearly had not expected his former ward to address him so directly, so pointedly, with such openness, and it was enough to make the scientist, pause, settle, still. Those eyes darkened again, face settling into a quiet, sorrowful expression. It reminded Zack a lot of how the doctor looked at Nibelheim, staring at Sephiroth from across the square. Back then, Hojo had ordered, shoot him, as if it were nothing, and in all the days afterward, Zack had assumed that what had motivated the man was cruelty – because what other reason could there be for killing the child that you had raised from birth?

Now, he realized that perhaps he had been wrong. That perhaps, in some strange, twisted way, Hojo did care, and he was simply showing his own brand of mercy.

"You are right," Hojo said, with a dip of his head. He reached back into his pocket and pulled out the tablet again. Zack caught the glimmer of another large button glowing on the screen, and the alarm bells began ringing between his ears. "This has been more than enough."

He pressed down. Immediately, the whirring began, and a massive anti-personnel machine, embossed with dark armor and as quick as lightning, slid forth from the wall to the right. The sights of its large gun wasted no time at all and were directly angled at Sephiroth and Vincent.

The words left Zack before he could register them. "No, wait!"

The familiar sinking feeling, the same one that had ate him from the inside when he left Cloud in the reactor, left Jessie to the hailstorm of bullets, left Sephiroth to the fangs of the makinoids, returned in full force, yet another wave crashing against a sinking ship. But once again, Zack could only stand by and watch, frozen from the exhaustion and the shock. He watched, as Sephiroth braced his body over Vincent's sleeping form, and continued to stare defiantly at Hojo. He watched, as Barret yelled something out, as Tifa covered her face with her hands, as Aerith screamed. He watched, and waited, just like he had at Nibelheim, because there was never anything else he could do. He could not help Sephiroth. He could not save his friend. He never could.

It was not fair.

No no no no no no –

Hojo said, "Give my regards to Lucrecia."

Sephiroth did not flinch.

And then, the machine fired.

Something red darted through the air.

Sephiroth almost did not see it. But he heard the impact, loud and clear, felt it reverberate through the air and his body. The flying object collided with the mechanized sentry, sent its barrel pointing away from his and Vincent's position and toward a completely different direction – the window of Hojo's observatory. At that point, everything happened so fast. The heat blasted from the gun, and Sephiroth could not tell if Hojo managed to rush out of the space in time. The only things he could sense were the pieces of the aftermath, the shattered metal of the machine now collapsed on the platform, the melted concrete and broken glass of the destroyed observatory, and the fact that he was still breathing (still, still, even though that was arguably the third time in the last ten minutes that he faced certain death) and had not been blown to dust.

But the most important and most fascinating detail of them all was this: the cat-like creature with a glowing red tail (was this the thing that saved them?), gazing at him with a slow, blinking stare.

Then, the cat said, "Hello."

A pause. Followed by:

"What the –" began Zack.

"Again, what in the hell is happening?" Barret asked.

"Did it just talk!?" Tifa exclaimed.

It did. It really did. To be honest, however, Sephiroth did not really care (in terms of the wildest things that have happened tonight, a talking cat ranked quite low on the list). He let the others sort through their astonishment and returned his attention on the body lying quietly beside him on the platform. Vincent's eyes were flickering open, and after another second or two, that red gaze locked straight on Sephiroth, like a drowning man trying to latch to a familiar lifeline. Except Sephiroth knew that it was not truly him that Vincent was seeing, just as it had not been truly him that had stopped the beast inside Vincent from tearing through his skull.

(What a strange concept, to be grateful for the resemblance to someone he had never met, to the woman who had scarred him before he had even been born?)

"Are you alright?" Sephiroth asked.

Vincent stirred, blinked once, twice. Finally, he gave his usual, short response.

"Yes."

For once, Sephiroth could not find it in him to be annoyed at the lack of verbosity. He offered his arm and helped to pull Vincent upright. After sparing a moment just to ensure that there were no other obvious signs of injury (and there were none, no broken bones, no tears on the skin, everything perfectly healed, which was yet another note to add to the increasingly growing list of questions), Sephiroth turned back to look at the others. They had moved closer, crossing into his half of the platform, but not toward him and Vincent. Instead, Tifa, Barret, Zack and Aerith were all peering warily at the red cat, their confusion and disbelief as plain as day. Interestingly, the cat remained unperturbed by the scrutiny.

"So…uh…what are you?" Barret asked.

The cat looked up. It sat straight on his legs, yellow eyes glowing, a tell-tale sign of mako exposure. It occurred to Sephiroth then that they had seen this beast before, in one of the containers on the floor below. But unlike the other creatures, this one appeared to be more than sentient, even intelligent – as evidenced by the way it chose to respond to Barret's inquiry.

"A fascinating question," the cat replied, with a flick of its ear. "I am what you see before you, and nothing more. I would appreciate it if we left it at that."

How cryptic. But that did not deter the group from trying to dig for more information. In fact, Tifa leaned in, catching a glimpse of the black tattoos embossed all over the fur. She focused on one of them in particular. "Thirteen?" she whispered.

It almost looked like the cat was frowning. It replied, "Red XIII. The designation given to me by Hojo."

"Then," pressed Aerith, "You must have some other name?"

Silence. The cat – Red XIII – looked away, eyes wandering over to the floor above, to the hollowed-out shell that had once been the observatory. They all saw what Red saw: that there was no body slumped amongst the rubble, that there was nothing of Hojo except for a broken tablet that had fallen amongst the debris.

"He got away, didn't he?," Zack said.

Barret clenched his fist. "Well, let's go get that son of a bitch."

"No," Sephiroth interjected. As appealing the idea was, there was something else that was far more important. Even the recent distractions – being almost killed by a swarm of monsters, by a magical beast, by a giant cannon, and encountering a talking cat – were not enough to deter him from his goal. He could only hope that those were the last of the obstacles standing between him and the reunion to come. "Forget about Hojo. We came here for a reason, and we need to see it through."

Aerith nodded. Without further ado, she started moving to the elevator.

"Follow me."

The journey was relatively short. Up the elevator, down another nondescript hallway, a turn to the right here, a shift to the left there. No other guards or monsters awaited them, no machines or security, just the hum of the laboratory equipment running behind the walls. Aerith ran fast, her boots tapping sharply against the floor, and in spite of his eidetic memory, Sephiroth would have been hard-pressed to recall the route that she carved. He was too busy moving, too busy thinking. How would Cloud be? What had happened to him? Would he be okay? Two years in a hell like this was two years too many. If Cloud was hurt in anyway, if Cloud was lost –

No, Sephiroth thought. One thing at a time. First, he would get the blond out of here. Then, he would worry about what came after.

Finally, at the end of one corridor, Aerith stopped in front of a large metal door. A keypad was placed to the right, green lights blinking in welcome. It turned out, however, that Sephiroth did not need Aerith's signal to know that they had arrived at the right place. As soon as he stepped closer, he could sense it, the song of Cloud Cloud Cloud crawling underneath his skin. The rebirth of their old connection felt both foreign and familiar, like an intrusion and a completion, like a sweet-tasting poison. In the two years of emptiness, Sephiroth had almost forgotten what it was like to feel this other person as part of his own soul. The sensation was enough to weaken his knees and make his hands start to shake.

But perhaps this was a good thing, a chance to reach out. Through the connection, Sephiroth sent his first message.

I'm here. Cloud, I'm here.

No reply, not yet. He held his breath.

It was now time. Aerith pulled out her staff and jammed the end of it straight into the keypad. The wiring gave way with a loud crunch, and then, at last, the door opened.

The name left Sephiroth's lips immediately.

"Cloud!"

He could hardly believe what he was seeing, and Sephiroth was not sure which feeling was stronger: the relief or the horror. Because there the blond was, dressed only in a hospital gown, floating in the center of a large mako tank. His hair was a bit longer, his form a bit thinner, but those were not the details of concern, and those were not the only things that had changed. First was the dark wound at the center of his chest, a deep and blackened scar that stood in such stark contrast to the paleness of his skin.

And the second was the single wing of white feathers, sprawling out from left side of Cloud's back.

"Oh, Gaia," Zack said, his mouth hanging wide open. "Spike, what the hell did they do to you?"

They rushed forward – Sephiroth first, Zack and Tifa two steps behind him. The two moved to the panel beside the tank, began fumbling with the buttons, searching for a way to safely drain the mako. Meanwhile, Sephiroth waited in front of the tank and focused on looking at Cloud. Besides the wound (a terrifying reminder of Nibelheim) and the protrusion of the wing (what did that mean, what had Hojo done?), there appeared to be no open scars, no other injuries. But that hardly mattered in a place like this. How many times had Sephiroth himself been cut open, only to find no evidence of the trauma on his body? His mind would always remember, however, and the memories would always come back in the form of nightmares.

And now, Cloud would have those nightmares, too.

Stop. Focus. He had to stay strong. For Cloud.

Sephiroth grazed his fingers against the glass. Cloud, can you hear me? I am here now. I came for you.

Again, no response. He swallowed down the despair.

A loud buzz broke through the reverie. Tifa and Zack had managed to find the right mechanism and the mako in the tank had begun to drain. Immediately, Sephiroth shrugged his jacket off. He did not even wait for the green to dissipate fully, did not care if the liquid sloshed over his shirt and his boots. Once the door slid open, he reached forward and pulled Cloud out, tucking in the wing and wrapping that smaller body inside the shelter of his jacket. Then, he stepped out of the puddle of mako, moved to the center of the room, and dropped down to lay the blond gently on the floor.

"Is the kid still alive?" Barret asked.

Vincent offered a more specific question. "Vitals?"

Meanwhile, Red stood by, his tail swishing curiously.

Sephiroth reached for the right wrist. It felt so delicate in his hands. But he knew from experience the amount of steel Cloud carried in his body. There was no one stronger, no one more defiant. He could only hope that some of that strength was still in there now.

"There is a pulse," Sephiroth said, mostly for himself.

Tifa breathed out a sigh of relief.

But it was not over yet. Cloud's heart may be beating, but the alterations to his body and to his mind – those were the bigger questions. Sephiroth glanced at Zack, saw the furrowed brow, the chewed lip. He knew exactly what the other man was thinking, the very same thought that Sephiroth had been afraid to contemplate. The signs, however, were all there, and they both were part of the SOLDIER program long enough to know what they meant. The unresponsiveness, the cold touch to the skin, the green tint of the complexion. Sometimes, after a series of mako injections, there were men that went to sleep only to never wake up again. After all, mako poisoning had no known cure.

Were they too late?

Zack knelt down. "Hey, buddy," he said, reaching for a hand. "We're here. Can you hear us? Give me a squeeze if you can."

Sephiroth, too, leaned closer, pressed his forehead against the blond's. Cloud. Please. Please. Say something. Anything at all.

Still nothing. Nothing at all. Tifa had begun to cry and Barret had looked away with a solemn shake of his head.

No. No, please.

Cloud. Cloud.

Come back.

Come back to me.

The silence was deafening. Sephiroth did not know how many times a heart could break before it would stop beating, but he had a feeling that this was it. Everything had suddenly come crashing down, the makeshift scaffolding that had been precariously holding him together crumbling to dust. Because for two years, Sephiroth had believed he had lost Cloud. Then, for about a week, something like hope had been revived. And now, the reality that that hope had been a lie, a sick cosmic joke by the Planet, by destiny, was beginning to burrow deep. There was no longer anymore doubt. There was no longer any more uncertainty. If he lost Cloud here, fully and truly, then Sephiroth would not be able to survive it. This would be the end of him.

Then, suddenly, like a stream of sunlight through a dark storm, a small hand landed on his shoulder. Sephiroth turned to see green eyes.

"Can I try?" Aerith asked. Her grip on her staff was steady. Somehow, underneath the laboratory lights, she resembled both Gast and Ilfana, the former's determined tones, the latter's gentle expressions.

Sephiroth nodded. Zack then shifted aside, let Aerith take his place. They all watched as the girl closed her eyes. At first, there was nothing but more silence, and Sephiroth almost thought that the sadness would kill him on the spot.

But then, something happened. A song, subtle and soft, whispering in the air. Light spread out from the tips of Aerith's fingers, pooling in bright circles around them and through them, like the warmth of a summer day. It should have been welcoming, soothing, calming, but for some reason, a piece of Sephiroth continued to feel unsettled, even afraid. He knew exactly what part of him that was, what it meant, the work he still had to do.

But that was a problem for a different day.

A minute passed, maybe two. The light faded away, the song quieted. When it was all over, the scar on Cloud's chest had faded into a single dark line, and Aerith put her staff down and opened her eyes.

"Aerith, what was that?" Zack asked.

The girl shook her head. "I – I don't know. I just heard something. It told me what I had to do. To save him. To save us all."

"It? The Planet?"

She opened her mouth to respond.

But then, Sephiroth felt something.

It was Cloud, stirring in his grasp.

His heartbeat spiked. Cloud, Sephiroth called, tugging at the threads of their connection. For good measure, he repeated, aloud, "Cloud. Cloud, can you hear us? Wake up. Wake up, please."

More motion, more movement, though there were still no words spoken, no thoughts echoing through their minds. But Cloud's breathing was starting to come alive. There was real warmth to the skin, and the eyelids were fluttering, and all signals were pointing toward an inevitable, wonderful conclusion. Sephiroth could hardly believe it. Cloud really was waking up. He was coming back. He was coming back to him. Soon, they would be together again.

He reached out again. "Cloud. I'm here. Cloud. Cloud."

Slowly, a hand, Cloud's right, started snaking upwards, the fingertips brushing against Sephiroth's jawline, his lower lip. The feeling was so soft, so achingly familiar, and reminiscent of the last night they had spent together, when Sephiroth had decided that he belonged to Cloud and Cloud only. I'm yours, he had said. Truly. Yours. Now, he would get the chance to fulfill that promise. Sephiroth stayed perfectly still, waited. The blond's touch started to travel south, stroking against the skin of his neck in gentle patterns. There, it remained, as Cloud's head turned to face him – and as those eyes, finally, fully, opened.

In that moment, all hope vanished.

"Cloud," Sephiroth said. "Your eyes –"

He did not get a chance to finish.

Because then, that hand around his neck tightened, and Sephiroth found that he could no longer breathe.