Author's Note: Sephiroth's riddle. One passage was inspired by an actual website I visited, a site filled with strange encoded messages. I tried to duplicate that format but this site spat it out. Meh. That aside, please enjoy the chapter, fellow creepers.
CHAPTER 15: The Riddle
Dark, damped, and chilly, many Slum residents claimed the Library in Sector 6 was a haunted place. Flickering light-bulbs created ominous shadows throughout its long hallways while unstable power generators on the rooftop led to frequent outages. This not only caused an annoyance to library guests trying to read during evening hours, but also made it impossible to use computers – they sucked up too much juice and were easy targets for thieves. As a result, the library's two floors stayed dimly lit throughout operational hours and visitors resorted to power-friendly vintage equipment like microfilm readers and phonographs. An archaic indexed-filing system was located on the bottom floor to track down specific reading material.
With misaligned tiled flooring and paint-peeled walls, the Library was made of brick and stone. Donators and salvagers alike contributed to its humble collection. Like many places in the Slums, the Library reeked of sweet-scenting mold and damped cardboard. Books cluttered the wooden shelves. They were all discarded reading material from the Plate, mostly consisting of outdated editions, banned controversial content, badly-shaped paperbacks, and misprints. Pretty much anything that had been trashed from the sky city found a new home in the Slums' Library. Like the children of the underworld, the Library became a place for the discarded and forgotten.
On the Library's second floor, there were designated rooms for private study, big enough to house at least fifteen people. Each came equipped with tables and a chalkboard. Battery-run lamps served as back-up lightning during power outages. A fake plant often took residence in a corner somewhere – a desperate attempt to liven up the dreary, decayed place.
In Room 22, Cloud sat at the far back corner with his laptop in front of him. Small dust particles floated in the air. That funky aged smell of withered books made him sneeze from time to time. To the boy's left side, a large glass window showed the courtyard and children's playground outside. Cloud could hear kids squeal as they played. When the scraping sounds of skateboards reached his ears, he felt a serious need to work on his flip trips. Instead, he slumped back in his seat, bored out of his mind.
Nine other people sat with him in Room 22. Cloud's classmates were older than him. All had families, some even grandchildren. Those who attended class for their equivalency degree were either immigrants or sought a job on the Plate. Being the only youth present, Cloud felt awkward and out of place. Guys his age were busy getting laid or earning quick Gil on the streets. And yet here he was…
Ahead, Cloud's instructor stood in front of the chalkboard. Mr. Bugenhagen. A dim light cast over his wrinkled, aged shape as he wrote a word on the chalkboard and underlined it.
Balding at the top, Mr. Bugenhagen's white hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail by a feather. His slightly hunched body was covered in a blue-and-yellow woven robe. From what Cloud recalled, Mr. Bugenhagen hailed from Cosmo Canyon. He smelled of earth and cinnamon incense all the time. Donning round-rimmed spectacles, he was a peculiar man with a long white beard. Every day Mr. Bugenhagen sat cross-legged on a large green ball. He claimed it helped his back. Cloud highly suspected the quirky old man simply had too much fun sitting and bouncing on it. Weirdo.
"It is a fact: all life must die," Mr. Bugenhagen announced up ahead. Sitting on his ball, he lightly bounced on it. The word Lifestream had been underlined. Adding more words, he declared, "It is the natural order of the universe to die. But what happens when we do? Where does our consciousness go once the body turns to dust? Ho, ho, ho! It all returns to the source, of course! The spirits of every living creature merges with the Planet. Together, we roam, converge, and divide. That is the Lifestream."
Mr. Bugenhagen paused from his lecture when he heard the sounds of someone snoring. He twirled around on his big green ball and located the offending student who slept with his mouth opened.
A few people in the room chuckled, knowing full well the repercussions of sleeping or not paying attention in class. Swiftly, Mr. Bugenhagen reached into his robe and pulled out a yellow orb: a morph materia. It glowed yellow as it fused with his hand. Pointing a finger at his unsuspecting target, the elderly man cast a spell. The spell violently shook the student awake but it was already too late for him.
"Rippet! Rippet!" came the sound from the distressed student. Transformed into a frog, his tiny green shape repeatedly jumped up and down on the desk.
The class erupted in laughter.
"Ho, ho, ho! Looking livelier than ever, Mr. Sanders," Mr. Bugenhagen remarked above the ruckus. "And now that I have your full undivided attention, can we continue on with the lecture, mmm?"
"Rippet! Rippet!" The frog leapt faster, anxious.
"Ah, jolly good then, ho, ho, ho!" The instructor bounced on his big ball and returned to his chalkboard.
Shaking his head at his newly transformed classmate, Cloud knew Mr. Bugenhagen wouldn't return the student back to his original form until after class. That was the price to pay for being negligent. It could've been worse though. The last time an idiot slept during a lecture, the old man had summoned Titan at the library's court yard. It shook everyone in the building wide awake.
As the laughter in the room died down and the instructor resumed his lesson, Cloud idly chewed on the tip of his pen. Normally, he didn't have a problem paying attention. His instructor was an easy-going guy; well-versed on many subjects and languages. He made learning fun and engaging. But today Cloud couldn't stay focused. He was too distracted by another matter.
Cloud's laptop screen currently displayed the young Host's riddle. A dreadful countdown reminded him of how much time remained: 10:24:05… 10:24:04… 10:24:03… 10:24:02… 10:24:01…
A good chunk of last night had been spent figuring out the boy's name. Cloud still had ten hours left to solve it. Because there was an unlimited number for guesses, he attempted to bypass the clues altogether and input random names into the textbox instead. A process of trial-and-error would lead to quicker results. At least, that's what Cloud thought. How hard could it be to guess a boy's name anyway?
Apparently, very fucking hard.
All the names Cloud typed in yielded the same response: incorrect answer. He had visited every Common and Unusual Names website he could find and submitted those names into the textbox. No luck. At some point, out of frustration, Cloud put in whatever popped in his head. Silver. Incorrect answer. Jade. Incorrect answer. Host. Incorrect answer. Schoolboy. Incorrect answer. Cat Boy. Incorrect answer. Twerp. Incorrect answer. Little Shit. Incorrect answer. Fuck You. Incorrect answer.
Cloud's patience grew thin.
Glaring at his screen now, Cloud wondered if any of this was worth it. He should be paying attention, focused on passing this class. Yet, the boy he met last night occupied his mind along with his terrible daunting words – And to think, that delightful Happy Meal on your lap will be the only memory left of you. Cloud nearly bit off the tip of his pen as he scanned through the website's contents again.
A mixture of photographs, drawings, and written passages filled the page, some more bizarre than others. Cloud felt both uneasy and fascinated by it all. It was as if he'd caught a glimpse into the young boy's world, something that teetered between innocent curiosities and morbid impulses. At the core of the child's musings, though, was this strange beast:
'THE SACRED'
|I|
|9|
|J|O|U|R|N|E|Y|
|/|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|
|N|O|W|-|T|O|-|T|H|E|-|S|A|C|R|E|D|
|/|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|
|M|O|T|H|E|R|
|/|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|
|H|E|R|E|-|S|H|E|-|W|A|I|T|S|-|F|O|R|-|M|E|
|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|8|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|
|U|N|D|E|R|-|A|-|B|L|A|N|K|E|T|-|O|F|-|S|T|A|R|S|
|21|2+1|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|
|T|H|E|-|P|R|O|M|I|S|E|D|-|L|A|N|D|-|A|W|A|I|T|S|-|U|S|
|-|-|-|-|-|/|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|
|O|P|E|N|-|T|H|E|-|D|O|O|R|
|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|/|-|-|-|
|T|O|-|T|H|E|-|W|O|M|B|-|O|F|-|A|L|L-|C|R|E|A|T|I|O|N|
|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|/|-|-|-|-|
Cloud didn't know what to make of The Sacred. It sounded too deep to come from a child. A few letters were typed in bold with a slash mark underneath them. Some contained numbers below them as well. Those numbers likely had something to do with the boy's riddle.
Scrolling down the page, Cloud discovered a photograph entitled, Blessed Mother of Space Gods. It was taken at a run-down building with graffiti-riddled walls and no furniture. Sunlight filtered into the dark space from a cracked window. The subject of the photo was a nude woman with pale illuminating skin – the only immaculate presence in the room.
She wore five-inch-high silver platform heels and a white choker around her neck with a strange ten-circled symbol on it. Surrounded by disheveled bed sheets, she lay on a mattress that had been dumped on the filthy floor. The Blessed Mother leaned to one side; her long silvery hair draped over the right shoulder. A plumped nipple exposed a faint shade of blush.
Of everything on the site, this holy yet risqué figure caught Cloud's attention the most. Not only did this woman have the body of a fuckable Goddess... she also had no face. Digitally removed, it was nothing more than a montage of creepy green eyes. All seven stared at the camera. For Cloud, this surreal detail screwed with his senses – he couldn't decide whether to be turned on or off by the Blessed Mother.
With a freakishly long torso and legs, Cloud knew the woman was of ridiculous height, likely over six-feet-tall. Those glitzy platform heels added more inches. Her flat stomach, meanwhile, creased as she leaned to one side with one elongated leg bent and raised. A silver-painted fingernail teased at the fine strip of hair between slender shaped thighs. Cloud could see the moist slit of the Blessed Mother's sacred entry. Face or no face, he wanted to worship this Goddess's flesh.
As Cloud studied the photo, he realized the multi-eyed woman wasn't alone in the room. A tall standing mirror appeared at the corner of the photo. There, Cloud spotted the photographer's reflection; a naked muscular man with dark skin and dreadlocked hair. He glistened with sweat. By the look of his slimed half-spent member, they'd had unprotected sex just moments before the photo was taken.
Intangible, beautiful creatures like this woman had no right to exist, Cloud thought with a frown on his face. She did not belong in that disarray dirty room, filling herself up with another man's cock. Cloud found himself despising her for it.
'THE CHOSEN'
you Have awakened
you are the chosen
through me Salvation waits
In you is Hope
speak my name
walk and you may pass
The Path is Opening
Receive the message
the End came
follow the sequence
The passage Cloud had encountered from before now showed again. Looking over it, he wondered what the final words, follow the sequence, meant. Apparently, there was a sequence somewhere on this page. Two or more things were related to each other. Perhaps The Sacred was connected to The Chosen?
Below The Chosen, a saturated grainy photograph appeared. This photo showcased a porcelain doll. Entitled Abandoned Toy, the doll sat by itself in a low-lit corner. The lips were meticulously painted with a glossy raspberry-pink color; a soft rouge tone highlighted the cheeks. All of its hair had been ripped off, leaving behind a few strands of silver hair. A crown of cherry-black roses rested on the doll's bald head while a fishnet veil hung over its face. With long purple eyelashes, the doll's lifeless green eyes stared out through the veil.
For Cloud, the doll was a freak of nature; a demented object that had been discarded once its owner grew tired of the freakish experiments inflicted on it. The right arm had been replaced by a black wing that once belonged to an actual bird. To Cloud's dismay, he could see the rotten bits of flesh stick out from the seams. Other disturbing modifications were made on the doll. Everything below its waist had been swapped out for spider-like legs; they were made of straight razors. Across the doll's exposed chest, the breasts had been sanded off and carved words appeared: Am I Pretty, Daddy?
'THE DREAM'
In that place where night meets day
A dream came to me
Beloved Children
Builders of Worlds
The eternal moment draws near
End awaits all, but do not fear
Taste my blood, savor the skin
Let the transformation begin
All will be one, all will be one
Heaven's light, my will be done
For in that place where night meets day
A dream came to be
Now from one to nine, find the Divine
This final passage was followed by a beautifully rendered oil painting called Mundus. It contained an angel and demon fused together at the waist. The hybrid took on an androgynous appearance, lacking breasts and genitalia. It featured long limbs and a slender-like bone structure. A feathery white wing jetted out of the angel's left side while a large dark bat-like shape emerged from the demon's right. A ten-circled symbol showed on its chest; each circle connected to each other by an assortment of triangles. Like the Blessed Mother, the demon-angel had no face, only eyes. They stared in all directions. Surrounded by stars, the creature held a planet with blood-stained hands.
Cloud chewed more of his pen's tip, trying to figure out the connection. As disturbing as some of these images were, they also conveyed a spiritual metaphysical vibe – was the child a devout Gaia follower? All of this meant something. It all somehow related to the silver-haired boy. But how?
At this point, Mr. Bugenhagen's voice emerged. Cloud didn't realize the instructor had just called on his name until chuckles followed next. When the teen finally looked up, he found his classmates snickering and grinning back at him. Mr. Bugenhagen stared directly at Cloud.
"Gaia to Cloud, Gaia to Cloud…" the old man beckoned and still sat cross-legged on his giant ball. "Did you hear my question? Or was your head stuck in the clouds? Ho, ho, ho! Get it, Cloud? Stuck in the clouds – ho, ho, ho! A fitting name you have!"
Cloud's cheeks reddened in reaction to the instructor's lame joke – good grief. The laughs in the classroom grew louder. When Mr. Bugenhagen repeated his question, Cloud managed to redeem himself by answering it correctly. Scarcely avoiding a similar fate as the student who'd been turned into a frog, he paid better attention to the rest of the lecture. Thankfully, according to the clock on the wall, it wouldn't be long.
"Materia is the only way we can draw on the powers of the Lifestream," incited Mr. Bugenhagen, "However, a long time ago an ancient race known as the Cetra lived in this land and shared a deep relationship with the Planet. It was this relationship that allowed them to use magic without materia. Story goes, the Cetra held all the secrets of the Lifestream, including the path to the Promised Land."
Cloud froze in his seat at the mention of the instructor's last words. Promised Land? He reread the passage from The Sacred and discovered that same phrase there – the Promised Land awaits us. Recording those two words in his notebook, Cloud wondered if this was a reference to the same place Mr. Bugenhagen just mentioned or a mere coincidence.
"What happened to the Cetra?" a classmate one row ahead of Cloud asked; a man in his forties.
Mr. Bugenhagen bounced on his ball, moving away from the chalkboard. His eyes drifted from one student to the next. "A meteor fell from the sky thousands of years ago, forming the Northern Crater we see today. From that meteor, a plague emerged and swept across the land. It caused the extinction of the Cetra. Few historians refer to this tragedy as the Calamity from the Skies."
"I heard a group of archaeologists investigated the Northern Crater a long time ago," another student mentioned. "What caused the plague to finally stop?"
"The remaining Cetra managed to contain it before eventually going extinct themselves."
"W-will something similar happen to us in the future though?" inquired a student from a corner. Wide-eyed, she didn't blink. "The Cetra contained the plague, but w-what's to stop it from spreading again?"
The old man curled the tip of his beard with a finger as he pondered over the question. "Hmmm, that's a fine query. This actually relates to one of many apocalyptic scenarios proposed by Gaia cults. For instance, they believe the Calamity from the Skies will return – it is penance for the sins committed against the Planet, mainly of our ongoing mako consumption."
"S-so the end of the world will be caused by this… plague?" The female's face appeared drained of color.
"That's one theory. Other cult branches allege the Planet's wrath will give birth to a new harbinger of destruction instead, one different but equally devastating as the plague that killed the Cetra. According to these cult fractions, the new Harbinger will restore the universal balance by cleansing the world of its sinners through fire."
"That's terrible," a man of fifty-years old declared, "The Planet would never allow it…"
"Ah, but you forget, Mr. Sutherland," Mr. Bugenhagen countered, "The Planet is neither benevolent nor malevolent. To prove this point, two special materias exist here: Holy and the Black Materia. The Black Materia is worth noting because its sole function is to decimate all living creatures here. If the Planet truly desired to protect her children from a Calamity, why would it willingly manifest the Black Materia?"
All present students looked amongst themselves. No one could provide an answer.
"It is my belief the Black Materia acts as a fail-safe device," resumed Mr. Bugenhagen, "Planet suicide, if you will. Much like the rumored Weapons, it has taken measures to ensure a universal balance, even at the cost of its own destruction. If a new Harbinger does exist, it is because the Planet has willed it so."
"Then we're fucked?" one man colorfully blurted out.
"Ho, ho, ho! Very much. While cults adhere to the belief that only true Gaia followers will survive the purge and be led to the Promised Land, there's no guarantee anyone will be saved should these events occur." Mr. Bugenhagen shrugged his shoulders. "But who knows? Perhaps it is all the gibberish talks of crazed men and women. Or perhaps… a doomsday figure walks among us today. Ho, ho, ho! Terrifying thought, isn't it!"
The class went quiet. Mr. Bugenhagen had a terrible sense of humor.
Class ended shortly after. Everyone grabbed their belongings and started to leave. Cloud stayed behind; the laptop still opened. He was supposed to meet Jessie for his bike lesson today. However, he had thirty minutes to kill before their get-together. Determined to get somewhere with the child's riddle, he looked over the website's contents again, hoping to find something he may have missed.
"Cloud? Is everything okay?"
Cloud flinched in his seat when he noticed Mr. Bugenhagen abruptly appear next to him. The elderly man had a nasty habit of showing up out of nowhere with little warning.
"Uh, y-yeah." Cloud exhaled slowly. "I'm fine, sir. Why do you ask?"
Mr. Bugenhagen mindfully stroked his long beard. "Hmmm… How should I put this? You were off today. The lights were on but no one was home, ho, ho, ho."
"I'm all right…" Cloud muttered back. "I just got a lot on my plate."
"Oh? Anything I can do? I like helping myself to a plate. Ho, ho, ho!"
Great. Another bad joke. With a sigh, Cloud insisted, "It's actually stupid."
"Try me."
The teen paused. After contemplating over his issue, he didn't see the harm in finally admitting, "I have to figure out someone's name. It's a riddle."
"Really? Ho, ho, ho! Oh, how I love riddles! Let me see it, Cloud."
The boy stared at his instructor; bewildered. Cloud halfway expected the old man to leave. Instead, Mr. Bugenhagen bounced on his green ball and clapped his hands, eager for a challenge.
"Weeeeeeell?" pestered Mr. Bugenhagen. He repeatedly moved back and forth on his big ball.
Cloud wanted to kick himself for saying anything at all. Granted, Mr. Bugenhagen meant well. He never liked seeing his students in distress. But this was embarrassing. Solving riddles for the sake of meeting creepy-eyed schoolboys kinda verged toward perversion. And yet… if anyone could solve the boy's riddle it had to be Mr. Bugenhagen. The quirky old man possessed all the smarts in the world.
Cloud finally showed the instructor his laptop's screen. He waited for the old man to look over the images and written segments. Mr. Bugenhagen suddenly readjusted his glasses and cleared his throat when he came across the Blessed Mother's picture.
"Oh my…" the old man breathed out; wide-eyed.
Cloud sank in his seat. He wished he had remembered that raunchy photo before showing it to the old man, especially when said old man flushed brightly.
"Why are you visiting this site, Cloud?" Mr. Bugenhagen later pressed. His face formed prominent wrinkles across the forehead. "Do you… know this person?"
Cloud didn't know what to make of that last question. He grew more and more reluctant to tell Mr. Bugenhagen why he needed to solve this riddle though. Unable to meet the other man in the eyes, Cloud murmured, "It's for a friend. He wanted me to, uh, help him out with this."
"A friend…?"
Cloud nodded and kept his face down. Already, he felt terrible for lying to his instructor.
Thankfully, Mr. Bugenhagen said nothing else. He surveyed the information on the website. A long moment of silence dragged on until the instructor spoke again. "Ah! Ho, ho, ho! I got it."
Cloud waited for him to continue.
"Once you recognize the pattern," the old man started, "then it's a matter of finding the answers."
Cloud cocked a brow. "A pattern?"
"Indeed, there is one." Mr. Bugenhagen pointed at the passage entitled The Sacred. "There are numbers under certain letters in this passage. For example, below the letter I is the number nine."
"What about that?"
"I is the ninth letter in the alphabet. Ho, ho, ho!"
Cloud scoffed at himself, surprised he missed that. He checked the letter U with the number twenty-one below it next. Sure, enough, U was the twenty-first letter in the alphabet. After Cloud looked over the other bold-faced letters in the passage, he turned to his instructor. "So is that it?"
"Not quite." The old man stroked his beard again. "The letter U is the twenty-first letter in the alphabet. But it's a double digit number. U equals three, not twenty-one."
"Huh?" Cloud stared back at him, his mind ready to explode.
"For double digit numbers, we need to separate them into single digits. Then add those single digits together. For example, twenty-one becomes two plus one. Two plus one makes three; U equals three." A grin formed across Mr. Bugenhagen's lips. "Ho, ho, ho! Not so bright in the head, are you, Cloud?"
Cloud's half-slit eyes glared at the old man, but he said nothing.
"Once you've figured out the numbers to the other letters, apply the same method I showed you on any other double digit number you find." The old man nodded, sounding content. "Go on, try. I'll wait."
With a big smile on his face, Mr. Bugenhagen bounced on his big ball and quietly hummed to himself.
Ignoring his irritating humming sounds, Cloud grabbed his notebook and followed the old man's instructions. He rewrote the entire passage and figured out the alphabetical number to each bold letter. Afterward, for any number with double digits, he split the numbers apart and added them together.
|I|
|9|
|J|O|U|R|N|E|Y|
|10|1+0|-|-|-|-|-|
|N|O|W|-|T|O|-|T|H|E|-|S|A|C|R|E|D|
|14|1+4|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|
|M|O|T|H|E|R|
|13|1+3|-|-|-|-|
|H|E|R|E|-|S|H|E|-|W|A|I|T|S|-|F|O|R|-|M|E|
|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|8|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|
|U|N|D|E|R|-|A|-|B|L|A|N|K|E|T|-|O|F|-|S|T|A|R|S|
|21|2+1|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|
|T|H|E|-|P|R|O|M|I|S|E|D|-|L|A|N|D|-|A|W|A|I|T|S|-|U|S|
|-|-|-|-|-|16|1+6|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|
|O|P|E|N|-|T|H|E|-|D|O|O|R|
|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|15|1+5|
|T|O|-|T|H|E|-|W|O|M|B|-|O|F|-|A|L|L-|C|R|E|A|T|I|O|N|
|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|20|2+0|-|
From this point on, it was a matter of simple arithmetic. 9, 1, 5, 4, 8, 3, 7, 6, and 2… Those were the numbers Cloud ended up with. He jotted them down on his notebook. Nearby, Mr. Bugenhagen stretched his neck out to take a peek at his work. He clapped his hands.
"Ah, so there is hope for you yet, Cloud. Ho, ho, ho! Congratulations, we've acquired nine numbers."
Admittedly, Cloud felt proud of himself. He discovered the answers to The Sacred. It was a lot simpler than he thought. However, he couldn't decide what to do next. What did nine numbers have to do with the boy's name?
As if reading his mind, Mr. Bugenhagen pointed at The Chosen passage next. "Notice something pecuuuliar about this, Cloud? Hmm?"
Scanning The Chosen, Cloud knew what the instructor meant. He initially thought it was strange a few words were capitalized while others weren't. The incorrect use of capitalization also proved curious enough. The child Cloud met last night sounded educated – too mature for his age. He wouldn't make a careless mistake like that, would he? With his pen, Cloud wrote down all the capitalized words on his notebook: Have, Salvation, In, Hope, The, Path, Opening, Receive, and End.
"Nine letters for nine numbers," the instructor pointed out evenly. Mr. Bugenhagen grabbed Cloud's pen and circled the first letter of each word. "See?"
"H, S, I, H, T, P, O, R, and E," Cloud noted aloud.
"Follow the sequence…" Mr. Bugenhagen ordered with a nod. "Now from one to nine, find the Divine."
Cloud finally understood how all three passages related to each other. First, he needed to pair the numbers from The Sacred to the letters from The Chosen in the exact order they appeared. Then he had to rearrange those letters from one to nine, according to The Dream.
"I'll leave the rest to you." Sensing Cloud's resolution, Mr. Bugenhagen bounced on his ball and made his way out of Room 22. He paused at the door and glanced back though. "It's funny how something as simple as a name can inspire in us a collection of thoughts and emotions. As a name manifests itself during proper introductions or random conversation, it carries the potential of provoking a strong reaction. Ho, ho, ho! I wonder what kind of impact this new name will bring to you."
Mr. Bugenhagen smiled. Then he turned away. The old man looked hilarious, bouncing all the way out on his green ball. It was a miracle he didn't fall off.
Cloud kept to himself but considered his words. Mr. Bugenhagen was right: a name held a lot of weight. His own made him the topic of countless jokes. Seconds away from discovering the child's identity, Cloud wondered if he faced the same challenges he did every day. Was the boy's name a typical safe one like Bob and John? Or a colorful yet stupid one like Cloud?
With the instructor gone, Cloud paired the numbers with the letters. H equaled 9. S equaled 1. I equaled 5. H equaled 4. T equaled 8. P equaled 3. O equaled 7. R equaled 6. And E equaled 2. From that point, Cloud rearranged the letters from one to nine. S was first. E was second. P was third. H was fourth. I was fifth. R was sixth. O was seventh. T was eight. And H was last.
Finally, a name manifested itself. Cloud sat back in his seat. In his brief moment of silence, he realized there was no chance in hell he would've guessed this name.
"Sephiroth… Your name is, Sephiroth." Cloud spoke aloud in the empty room. The way the name slipped out of his mouth sounded both foreign and alluring. It was as if he'd just spoken a forbidden word.
This name didn't belong to a child.
Cloud took a deep breath as he came back to his senses and typed Sephiroth into its designated spot. To his relief, the timer on the website finally stopped and he was rewarded with a new message: correct answer. One second passed before he was automatically redirected to another part of the website. A new passage appeared dead-center of the screen.
Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess
We seek it thus, and take to the sky
Ripples form on the water's surface
The wandering soul knows no rest
Cloud recognized this passage. It came from a book he read as a child. LOVELESS. This fantasy involved three men on an adventure: a hero, traveler, and prisoner. The trio traveled to the great unknown in search for the gift of the Goddess but got separated during a battle. How their journey ended became a matter of serious debate, especially when the last chapter of LOVELESS was lost.
Cloud found it peculiar the Host club was named after the literary work. Then again, LOVELESS had garnered so much popularity lately due to the onslaught of modern-day plays, novels, and movies. Cloud remembered his date with Jessie tomorrow; they were going to see the play.
A submission form suddenly popped onscreen. Unable to access the site's navigation bar yet, Cloud was required to create a log-in name first and provide his PHS number, text ID, and email address. He wasn't too keen on giving out his personal information online but went along with it anyway. This was his chance to see the child again. Sephiroth had specifically requested for his participation.
After Cloud entered his personal information, the LOVELESS passage faded away and a menu appeared. Success. He now had full access to the Host club.
Composed of dark velvet colors and abstract imagery, the site conveyed a simple yet chic design. The navigation bar above listed five categories: Main, Information, Hosts, Blog, and Contact. Like a child granted admission to a new playpen, Cloud was eager to venture about. An abrupt ping sound caught his attention though. It was followed by the appearance of a gray chat box. It popped up on the bottom right of his browser window. A message greeted Cloud.
LOVELESS: Welcome to LOVELESS. My friend, your desire is the gift of the Goddess. I am your Host, Essai. Would you like a guided tour?
Cloud stared at the chat box. Chewing on his pen again, he wondered if this was an automated message or a personal invite. He'd only arrived ten seconds ago.
LOVELESS: I don't believe we've met before, Cloud.
Frowning, the teenager sat still in his seat. Cloud? The messenger knew his name.
LOVELESS: I see you were personally invited here by Sephiroth. Interesting. Not many are.
This definitely wasn't an automated message, Cloud realized. He removed the pen from his mouth. Essai must've looked over his personal information the moment he had submitted it in. But that was just ten seconds ago. Surprised, Cloud suspected this Host was in charge of surveying all online activity as well as monitoring the site's traffic flow. This nerved him though. He didn't like being spied on. Finally breaking away from his state of shock, Cloud replied under his online alias name in the chat box.
Omnislash: Is Sephiroth here?
LOVELESS: Not at the moment. But I will pass along your personal information to him. Expect Sephiroth to contact you within twenty-hour hours. In the meantime, I will go over a few house rules with you.
Cloud waited for Essai to continue.
LOVELESS: Basic etiquette applies. The sharing of information related to this site and our Hosts is strictly forbidden. Failure to comply with this will result in one warning. After that, you will be banned. Note: your IP address has been logged for future reference. Do you understand what I've explained so far?
Omnislash: Yea.
LOVELESS: Excellent. If you have any questions or require assistance, you will find the contact information posted on the site. I will be watching over you. Thank you for coming and enjoy your visit.
The chat box disappeared before Cloud got the chance to type a response.
I will be watching over you… That part didn't sit too well with him. But it wasn't like he could do anything about it. LOVELESS existed as an exclusive, secretive club. It had set up shop in the Hidden Gate to ensure its privacy. Only invited guests could gain access here. Essai had every right to monitor all of the site's visitors. Accepting this, Cloud set aside his feelings of annoyance and concern and proceeded into the site. He clicked on the navigation links.
The Information page brought up the club's regular business hours, basic rates, normal and VIP fees, special deals, and events coming up.
On the Blog page, Cloud found photos and the mad ramblings of a writer obsessed with the literary work. There was over a hundred pages worth of interpretations and theories related to LOVELESS. Cloud didn't understand much of it. The overuse of third-tiered words and long-winded sentences indicated the author was either an intellectual or a condescending ass-wipe. However, from the blogs Cloud learned the writer's obsession with LOVELESS influenced the Host club's architectural design.
Interior shots of the club revealed walls and furniture in the art-deco style –geometric shapes, symmetrical patterns, and highly saturated hues. Each floor was designated its own color and revealed a written passage from the literary work. A massive chandelier with a sunburst design hung over a blue-lit lounge. This area was consumed by reflective objects like mirrors, glass, and water wall fountains; all intended to portray the all-knowing, all-seeing Goddess. Above the lounge's entry were the words: She guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting. In a crimson-cast hallway, elongated columns stood tall while thousands of crystals and lights dangled from the ceiling. At another location – a purple-tinted space – abstract paintings of the three main LOVELESS characters hung against zigzag-patterned wallpaper.
Curiosity drove the teenager to check the profiles of the website next. This part of the website featured a series of squares with a single letter in each box. On the occasion two squares contained the same letter, another was added to distinguish the two. Cloud clicked on a random square: K.
This led him to the profile of a Host named Kunsel. A shaggy, brown-haired man in his twenties popped on screen. Clean-shaven, the Host sported a muscular and lean frame in his photos. It was clear he worked out and dedicated himself to a healthy diet of vegetables and high protein. Below his handsome mug-shot, Cloud read a paragraph's worth of personal facts. There were his business hours, the minimum amount he charged per hour, and telephone number. Kunsel apparently liked to read, socialize, and had a knack at remembering information. In the club, he was nicknamed the Informant.
As Cloud explored the other profiles he felt at odds with himself. With well-proportioned features and skin that glowed with radiance, these boys were a little too perfect. They didn't show blemishes, birthmarks, or unwanted pimples. Their hairstyles were so fashionable Cloud repeatedly ran a hand through his choppy own locks of hair– a vain attempt at tidying it. These pretty boys at LOVELESS belonged on the covers of magazines and movie posters. Yet, there was one unusual feature they all shared, something that instantly caught Cloud's attention.
Eerie, bright-blue eyes.
It was a color more intense than the brightest summer sky Cloud ever witnessed. Strangely enough, he'd seen those eyes before. The image of a young man with wild dark hair – Don't take this the wrong way, okay? But… I really hope we don't meet again – flashed in Cloud's mind for a brief second. That face faded away too fast to leave any permanent memory-imprint behind though.
Of the collection of Hosts Cloud came across, four letters required a password: A, G, S, and Z. The teen suspected the letter S belonged to the child, Sephiroth. It was strange a boy that young was allowed into the club. Pedophiles and other creeps likely called on his service. Of course, the child didn't act like other boys his age. The young Sephiroth carried a powerful aura around him. He was… different.
Typing in Sephiroth's name into the password box, Cloud pressed enter and was taken to his Host's page. White noise shrieked from the laptop's speakers while a collection of video clips flashed onscreen.
A group of white doves appeared first. Close-up shots showed each bird pinned to a wall by long needles. Trapped, their bloody wings helplessly fluttered until they became still. Beady black eyes stared back into the camera.
An interior shot of a low-lit dome chamber appeared next. Ten candelabras sat on a purple clothed table at the center; their green flames flickered against a breeze. In front of them was a large symbol spray-painted on the bricked wall. Composed of intricate lines and geometric shapes, it looked like a summon spell. Cloud had never seen it before in his textbooks.
As the video played, ten life-size statues, made of bronze, stood at full height. Metal spikes ran along their eerie humanoid shapes. They surrounded the altar table and stared up at a ceiling that depicted a holographic representation of the universe.
A slender figure soon walked into this chamber. Hidden by a long white veil that reached down to the feet, the tall shape both unsettled and intrigued Cloud. It reappeared on various video clips, sometimes holding a bloody dove. At one point, the virgin bride stood in the middle of a white room with a white bathtub. It was filled with milk. Scattered across the floor were white feathers. The veil gradually slid off and Cloud saw the backside of a fully nude woman. She had a thin waist with long arms and legs. Cloud instantly recognized her as the woman from the Blessed Mother of Space Gods photo.
This beautiful silver-haired angel never turned around as she stepped inside the tub and lowered herself. Her entire body submerged and disappeared. Seconds later, the video clip showed drops of blood surface across the pool of milk.
After the introduction video stopped, Cloud discovered more clips in Sephiroth's personal gallery section. The teen hoped to see the woman again and clicked on them. There were ten videos, each only fifteen seconds long. Cloud couldn't understand what was on his screen as he played them. A distorted nursery song played in the background while glimpses of squirming maggots, sperm swimming, and a live heart pumping flickered onscreen. In between shots there was a moist fleshy probe that repeatedly slid back and forth against the pulpy walls of a narrow slick tunnel. It thrust faster and faster.
The erotic yet disgusting images caused Cloud's stomach to recoil. He felt nauseous. If the child created these videos he was either a brilliant genius or of a disturbed mind.
Avoiding the other clips, the teen turned his attention to the beautiful oil paintings also posted in the gallery. He studied the silhouette of a lonely figure that floated at the center of a sunburst. Ten pillars of light surrounded it. Written words accompanied the painting: To the Promised Land…
Sephiroth's profile page was definitely different from the other Hosts. His face never appeared on a single video or picture. His personal tastes also ventured toward the bizarre and spiritual. Cloud could not understand how a child his tender age reached this level of complexity. But this wasn't the only thing that set Sephiroth apart. Discovering the Host's rates, Cloud found it was significantly higher than the others. Apparently, this boy was in high demand. He cost a whopping five thousand Gil per hour.
Cloud scoffed out loud. He didn't expect to pay that much during their meeting, especially when he was a broke-ass teen who worked at a fast-food restaurant. Sephiroth invited him anyway. There was no mention of charges. Or was there? Spotting an email address, Cloud was tempted to contact Sephiroth himself and iron out any confusion before they arranged a meeting. His PHS suddenly buzzed though.
TheMechanic (1:25PM): I'm outside the library, Cloud. I brought tacos! :)
Cloud spat out a curse word after he read the text message. It was Jessie.
Damn it, he'd nearly forgotten about today's bike lesson. Jessie was already waiting for him outside. Cloud quickly closed the browser and shut off his laptop. Stashing the device inside his backpack, he decided to deal with the Host's unworldly tastes and rates later. Learning how to get over his motion sickness and ride a bike was more important than meeting strange green-eyed boys anyway. Cloud hurried out of the room.