A/N: I was feeling a little depressed writing this chap, listening to Advent Children soundtrack, -Aeris's theme and One Winged Angel in particular- and getting a tad morbid, but I thought the story needed a little more angst-boost, so here it is ladies and gents, chapter nine. I hope it doesn't disappoint, and again, I seem to have successfully defeated the sneaky cliffhanger-monster too. And last but not least thank you so much for all the reviews, you are all champs!

Disclaimer: Square Enix owns everything. Duh.

"Sors immanis, Et inanis
Noli manare, manare in memoria.
Sephiroth, Sephiroth."

"Fate, monstrous and empty
Refuse to remain, remain in memory.
Sephiroth, Sephiroth."

-One Winged Angel-

………………..

"I want for nothing, I live for nothing
I am waiting to die but I am afraid of dying…"

-Anathema "Crestfallen"

………………….

Hours passed in the bitter company of solitude, silence draped room ill-lighted and cold. Green eyes only caught emptiness wherever they turned in penitence, a world of distortion and misery, a fate too hideous for words awaiting its failed thrall on a single broken black wing.

Hope was dead to his soul, as the Planet was dead to his sight, withered and torn, ever-widening cracks along its decayed surface filled with the putrescent reminders of his corruption, his bitter defeat, of ruined, failed Reunion.

Pain was his master now, useless tears long dried; fierce green eyes dulled and subdued to the ashen shade of perdition, his weak, plagued spirit torn and bleeding, bearing the scars of his ultimate betrayal.

Yet he felt nothing.

He was nothing.

Time did not lessen his suffering, the amber radiance of dawn outside his window did not touch the darkness of his room, and the song of birds on wind-swept trees did not penetrate the opaque silence in which he bled alone.

All alone, the hollow heart endured its infinite torment.

He only lay on the mattress, his arms at his sides, the black leather clad length of his lean body stiff, cold and pale like a cadaver ready for burial. He stared at the white blankness of the ceiling, fragmented images drifting across his deadened sight, gazing into the blank canvas of life and its deceitful beauty, visions ravaged by the wrath of the One Winged Angel.

The merry laughter of children playing outside somehow pierced this lightless prism and reached his ear, and he wondered….

He did not retain any memories of childhood with his brothers.

He had never been a child.

He had been denied everything except servitude in thrall of the Vengeful Angel and his Calamitous Goddess in search of the Promised Land.

No sound of laughter…There was only the wrathful song of the burning angel reverberating in his ear, burning all it touched except memories of a brief young life still clinging to the soft hand that sought to dispel the fear and taint from his heart.

He was burning…burning deep inside, wishing for death…

Death too a black angel that turned away from him in disgust…

…………………….

A shroud-like silence echoed all around in the house; but life went on in Seventh Heaven, Marlene and Denzel playing outside the front, customers as usual flocking to the bar, some to get a good drink or get a glimpse of the attractive tender, some to escape from their personal limbo, some to find a shelter, unaware of the sacrifices made to save the Planet.

Footsteps crept toward the room, a solemn Strife watched with his friends at his side, watching the remnant of a seraphic incarnation banished once more, by none other than the rebellious, wayward avatar himself, his burning despair transcending that of Sephiroth's far greater powers, sending him back in defeat to the flamed shores of perdition.

The weak little remnant they had doubted, and reviled had proved them wrong.

The little remnant had triumphed; all by himself, he had stood defiant, and defeated the silver-crowned angel.

Did Kadaj know the enormity of that moment he refused to bow down to Sephiroth and kill Cloud? Did he know the Planet would always remember his sacrifice?

But at what cost…

A soul was lost, dragged down into the madness and darkness of a fallen, semi-winged angel's stygian dominion.

Sephiroth had taken Kadaj with him.

Cloud knew this even as he had held Kadaj close to him upon that carpet of blood stained, shattered glass, pulling him into his tight embrace to shield him from Sephiroth's malice and anger.

He had known that Kadaj was gone, his mind shattered and deafened to all, his soul nothing but a desolate, hollow shadow slowly fading, waiting to disappear, waiting to die...

Maybe it was for the wrong reasons that Kadaj had refused to surrender to Sephiroth, but in the end the outcome was the same. Kadaj was left half-dead and life continued its usual course uninterrupted.

Cloud was furious and upset, his palm pressed to his frown-marred forehead, unable look at Kadaj, not willing to remember those hellish days in Mideel.

Sephiroth had been the last to laugh; knowing human heart and its weaknesses, its capacity to love and mourn for the loss of life. That's why he had not killed Kadaj, but instead had been satisfied with just leaving the empty shell behind like a cast away, tarnished trophy, the wounded soul his for the taking.

"I can't believe I'm saying this but…I think I actually feel sorry for him." Tifa spoke softly, her deep brown gaze locked on Kadaj's still shape, her hand reaching for Cloud's and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Damn yeah, the boy was trouble'n an emotional fruit basket'n all but hey… in the end…." Barret mumbled, his voice dissipating into forlorn silence, turning his back to the group to hide the rueful crease upon his brow.

Yuffie tilted her head down to glare at Nanaki, who was gently lashing her legs with his crimson furred tail in the hope of cheering up the sulky girl. She just sighed and looked over at Vincent. He must feel right at home in this morbid gloom, she thought, as his expression was only white emptiness, like the hard walls that surrounded them.

"He is still here." He said all of a sudden, drawing curious eyes to his direction.

"You mean Sephiroth???" Yuffie blinked.

"Kadaj…" Tifa said tremulously.

"Oh…" Yuffie pouted. "Then Sephiroth too…" She broke off sadly.

Vincent's eyes were cold and glassy, and for an instant Yuffie thought she saw the shadow of sorrow darken those unique, blood-tinted eyes, but was gone immediately.

"You guys get downstairs. I'll stay with him for a while." Cloud said.

"No, you go. I'll stay."

Blue eyes caught Tifa's in silence, then the blonde head nodded faintly, turning without a word to leave.

"We'll be downstairs if you need anything, just holler okay?" Yuffie smiled slightly, patting Tifa's bare, ribboned arm and followed the others down to the bar area.

Vincent stayed a moment longer, and took Tifa's hand in his larger one. Tifa flinched slightly; his touch was pure ice, but soft and comforting.

"One must not turn away from the dark in fear of the unknown. You might just find light in its blackest depths, and hope in the deadest heart of despair." Vincent's voice was softly pitched, and Tifa only recalled him speaking like this right after Aeris's death.

"You gotta get published, Vincent." Tifa teased, her lips stained with a half smile, waiting for some explanation. But Vincent offered none, and dropped her hand.

"Maybe I will do that." There was a faint, waning outline of a somber smile across his gaunt face as the dusky haired gunman turned around with a flourish of his crimson cape. "In the meantime, you make sure our friend doesn't turn from the dark." The enigmatic voice dissipated along with the soft footsteps toward the bar, and a puzzled Tifa wondered what Vincent exactly meant by those strange words.

It was impossible to try to understand him, but she was content with the small comfort his words brought.

Her eyes adjusting to the dimness, Tifa crossed the room and drew the curtains across the glassless window.

Yellow and white lilies were withering in their vase upon the table, waiting to be thrown away, the water to be changed for a new, fresh bouquet.

She walked toward the bed, pausing at the foot of it, peering at Kadaj.

Green eyes were open, staring listlessly, staring lifelessly up at the ceiling, all senses deteriorated and deadened to the world around him. The regal contours of his young face were frozen in terrible stillness, his otherworldly beauty muted by signs of weariness and suffering. He was still alive, though bound in chains of mind's paralysis.

Tifa quietly slid onto the bed next to him, resting her head onto his shoulder, smelling leather, smelling old blood, smelling memories...

Hours lost in mournful contemplation, hours squandered hating Sephiroth melted away, replaced by hours spent in prayer, a never-ending plight.

She didn't want him to die.

She didn't want him to fade with her spiteful, bitter words carved into his heart.

Tifa closed her eyes after a while, feeling shadows lengthen at the corners where daylight began to subside and night's black velvet advent to flow into the room.

Still rested the bleak hope, trapped in unseen captivity, lamenting for release…Soft fingers laced with rigid ones, coaxing warmth into the frost-cold skin in vain…

Unsure of her feelings, remnants of a tear perhaps salted her lip, dying and drying there like a droplet of spilled blood.

And her body nestled next to Kadaj, Tifa dreamed only of a ghost with radiant silver-spun hair flowing to his waist, standing over the fallen bodies and crushed flowers, forever vigilant and monstrously smiling in cruel victory…