It felt like an eternity since the Highwind had touched down and let everyone off. Either on foot or by chocobo, they'd all gone their separate directions – ashes to the wind. Cid alone remained on the airship when it eased off the ground just outside of Gongaga. The already destroyed city laid in ruins at the bottom of a bowl where the Mako drilling had left empty space. The Impact was too much for the already weakened earth to support itself any longer. Zack's hometown was no more.
It took Red several mako-twilit hours skirting the new coastline before he found a way to cross the newly made inlets. He'd been lucky to find the scrap of plywood licking gently at the jungle foliage. Until recently, it'd been someone's wall. Carefully, the beast climbed onto the floral-printed debris and cast off from the tangled roots. It was a slow, dark journey across what was once red desert. Red spent much of the time staring down into the luminescent depths and at the footpaths far below. So many animals littered the water, poisoned by the toxic lifestream; it made the canyon's guardian sick with guilt. He'd promised that he'd protect the Planet like his father before, but he failed.
The tiny vessel skidded aganst a stairway cut directly into the side of the canyon. Red nearly drowned himself as he struggled onto the soaked stones. The climb was depressingly short before he'd passed through the gates announcing Cosmo Canyon. Here, he was no longer the Professor's specimen Red XIII but instead Nanaki, son of the warrior Seto. Son of the brave soul who'd stood alone against the entire Gi tribe as they attempted to cross into the canyon. Single handedly he'd fought them back, even as his limbs stiffened with their poison. His lungs burned as they fought to take air into their petrified hollows. His eyes grew fuzzy then blind as his oxygen-starved brain succumbed to the wicked arrows prickling through his blood-soaked mane. Finally, as the world grew dark, Seto had promised to protect this canyon until long after his petrified body turned to dust. This was the legacy Nanaki promised to live up to, and failed. It felt as if his own heart had turned to stone, every beat pained him so deeply. There was a part of him that wished that he'd been the one to die down there in the Crater, a part that wanted to be buried so unceremoniously beneath the earth. For one selfish moment, he dreamed that it was he who'd died instead of Cloud, that it was Cloud who was returning to his home a failure.
But that thought stung like a burr in his already aching heart.
It had already happened. And Nanaki was still alive with his shame.
He heaved a tremendous sigh and trudged further into the town, his head hanging low and his single good eye staring at his paws as they stirred the red dust with every heavy step. It was those feet that took him directly to his place of comforting, up two steps to the low mesa in the center of the town's square. Something was wrong and Nanaki knew it even before he raised his golden eye. The Cosmo Candle had been extinguished. There was a moment where he just stood there before the tremendous sickening realization tumbled down upon him. With hackles raised, a sharp gasp, and a shaking breath; he backed away from the scattered ashes. Even in the darkest times, the bright burning of the Candle had given him hope. It was to the Candle that his mind had wandered on that night before they descended into Crater. It was the Candle that calmed and reassured him when his grandfather passed away. If nothing changed even though the world was stood on its head, the Candle was eternal. Now eternally dark.
There was a cry building in his throat that threatened to consume him. Before he could succumb to its dark howling, the already unstable Planet shook in its violent death throes. Sand and stone exploded from the canyon in a rusty smoke. Buildings so permanent and sure in his youth toppled down like cards. That cry burst forth in a feral yell, deafening the sounds of his friends and family as they crashed to the blood red stones below. The heavens threw a chartreuse net across the black skies, casting crimson ghosts against Nanaki's closed eye. Tears poured down against the electric storm: tears for his family, his town, but most of all for this failure. He could not protect this town.
In a numb silence, Nanaki drifted like a firey ghost through the ruins. He eventually stopped looking for survivors, having found none alive. Even the Planet was strangely silent as though it, too, was already dead. Maybe it was and this was all just a passing dream. Elder Bugah and Hargo weren't broken dolls beneath what was once a wall. His grandfather's observatory wasn't a heap of rubble and broken glass. The world wasn't really broken. Those silent and heavy feet once again took him down deep beneath the dead village. Deep, deep below, the sulphuric scent of raw mako – lots of it – reached his sensitive nose and cleared his mind of the roaring silence. The moon had been shining the last time he'd exited these caves, the bright silver light spilling over his father's petrified body like a message from the heavens. Tonight, the sickly green light mocked the memory from so long ago. Nanaki climbed up the side of the cliff to where Seto stood like a statue. Every line etched in the stone was the very symbol of bravery and protection. Shame cut deep. "I –" he began, but choked on that all-consuming cry. His voice wavered, "I have failed you, Father." He didn't know which was more painful: "failed" or "Father". "You died for nothing. I wasn't strong enough to continue. I am not worthy to be called the 'Son of Seto'." Bitter tears drew bright lines against his furry cheeks. "How do you save a world already lost?" That howl tore free, blotting out his mind in pure animal rage and all too human guilt. Nanaki's voice filled the canyon even as the ground opened up beneath them.
The Highwind landed in a spray of fine muddy mist just outside Rocket Town. The once dry grassland was covered in shallow waters transforming it into a marsh almost overnight. The airship's gleaming aluminum body once shone like a beacon in the sunlight, but now, rather than reflecting impossibly blue skies, it was draped in darkness from a black canvas celing. A sickly absinthe glow was the only remaining light, flickering through the cloudy ankle deep water. Olive shadows shifted in a myriad of personalities.
Three metal fingers shone dimly in the darkness and fog - the joints and tendons bereft of flesh – reaching to grasp the ever unattainable heavens. They were all that remained of Rocket Town's namesake. Now, the once prosperous town was a mere shadow of itself, torn apart by looters and desperate families abandoning their home for nearby shelters.
Cid's slate blue eyes took in the damage the only way the Captain could: by noting absolutely everything. Every broken window, every misplaced brick, the broken fence, the trees and shrubs torn up by their roots. The image blasted like a discordant note until it was too much to take in any longer. There should've been a wall here, and a fence and a gate. The door would've been here, wide open, with Shera standing just inside. A cup of her tea, Cid's best kept secret, would be sitting on the table just steaming away. Just as he reached out for the porcelain cup, the dream dissolved into a chartreuse haze.
The Captain's comfortable smile melted away as he faced the ruin that was his home. His memory still painted that beautiful sunlit image of Shera seated across the table over the harsh black reality. There was nothing left alive here, not after everyone abandoned the town. That lit a small flame of hope within Cid's heart. Maybe she wasn't dead, after all. There was no proof that could affirm or deny the possibility, and that idea made that hope grow stronger. Kneeling down into the shallow water, he began shifting through the rubble that had once been his kitchen counter and wall. At first there was nothing except for the thump thump rhythm that masked the sound of shifting rubble, that was so loud that it couldn't possibly be his own heartbeat. The lingering, pessimistic voice whispered at the back of his mind saying that she was dead, that she'd been dead this whole time and he was alone. Cid refused to listen and redoubled his efforts to clear the kitchen.
It wasn't long before his efforts were rewarded. A single, drowned paper fluttered its white corner in the light breeze. Carefully, oh so carefully, the pilot lifted the delicate paper from the water and peeled the wet page open. There was only one line scrawled out in a hasty hand; the pencil was almost entirely washed away. "No…" he murmured through clenched teeth as he read the message. "No, please…"
'To Midgar for supplies. Be back soon. S'
All he had to read were the first two words. "To Midgar" she'd said. The other five words didn't matter at that point. Just the name of that city was enough to take the strength from his legs. There he sat with the water creeping unnoticed up his pants as he read and reread the last message from Shera. Those words ceased to be letters on a page and became her voice whispering in his ear until his maimed heart wrung out one mournful cry through the dead silence. For all his yelling and curses, for all the things he said about her, Cid loved Shera. His strength tumbled down like the matchstick houses surrounding him. Guilt and sorrow came up swiftly in the darkness; his thoughts reminding him that he never could say those three little words. He pressed that little paper note to his chest as though embracing her as he should have so many times before. The Captain remained there, rocking back and forth in the muck, until exhaustion stole over him and threw him into a restless sleep.
Innumerable hours passed with the sun hidden behind black skies when Cid woke, the cold and wet forgotten by his burning rage. His precious letter was tucked into his inner jacket pocket – close to his heart – when he stormed out of the ruin of a house and onto the road. The pilot tripped over the rubble so many times, each one making him angrier than the last, until finally he took the stone and pitched it into the sky. "Damn it!" Another rock flew into the heavens. "GOD!" he challenged. "Where are ya?! You killed her, didn't ya?" The upward rain of rocks continued. "Turned yer damned back on us, that's what ya did! Left us to… to THIS!" He spat on the ground and turned his stormy eyes to the void. Silence was his only answer. The anger drained away almost as swiftly as it had come. "No answer," he scoffed, unsurprised. He turned back to his town. No, this wasn't his town. That one was alive, filled with people and productivity and Shera. This one was a shell. Cid's heart ached like a bruise as he thought about what was lost. His hand found its way to the note in his pocket. His thumb caressed the frayed paper gently and thoughtfully.
Seemingly in response to the pilot's blasphemy, the rocks threw Cid into the air where he arced and tumbled back to the ground like a doll. Cracks splinted from already brilliant green fissures in a spider's web, like a rock through a pane of glass. The tremor passed quickly, leaving the pilot there smoothing a crumpled paper as though soothing mousy brown hair and tear filled eyes. With a weary sigh, he turned to his airship to leave this ghost town. Shifting soil against the already weakened earth failed against the man's weight and dissolved like sand in an hourglass. The once solid ground turned to liquid beneath his feet and dragged him helplessly into the chasm growing like mouth opening to swallow him whole. The pilot slid into that great maw, the dark sky devoid of any tiny lights blotted out his vison. The note slipped away from his fingers and fluttere away despite his efforts to grasp it. "Shera," he whispered into the darkness, "did you get to see the stars?"
Vincent spent hours walking along this fissure in the ground. A bubble of Lifestream spilled over the lip and nearly onto his boots. Ghostly hands reached out from the ooze, but none touched the man. None wanted to. They could feel the darkness in his mind, the thoughts, the musings of death and oblivion. His red eyes fixed themselves firmly on the ground in front of him; the metal claw at his side dragged him down – a reminder of who he was and who lived inside of him. The gunman stopped to gaze over the ruin of the landscape he once knew so well. No remorse touched his heart over the Planet's death throes, just the heavy burden of guilt for sins committed years ago. This was merely another line on the long list of crimes against humanity.
That thought brought a grim half-smile to Vincent's lips. Only now, at the end of all things, did the great misanthrope finally care about the rest of the world? Not really, but it struck Vincent as ironic and he chuckled, dry and empty, only to have the sound carried by the wind across the boiling crevice and into the hazy twilight. He silenced, sobered by how much Lucretia would hate his moping and whining.
Near the lip of the crevice, a form struggled to reach the surface, first a slender arm luminescent with mako green then a face. Her brown hair hung wetly in her face and over her askew glasses. Vincent knew her, knew every detail of Lucretia's face; and that face was struggling to stay above the surface. Diving forward, he stretched across the Lifestream lake, his claw sunk deep into the earth and his fingers just inches from the luminescent specter. The woman splashed around feebly, seemingly exhausted from her struggle against death, but she finally brushed against Vincent's fingertips. She smiled – slow, sad, but somehow at peace – and disappeared beneath the chartreuse waves. Unthinking in his brief glimpse at forgiveness, the gunman thrust his hand into the Lifestream to try and catch her. In the moment of contact, he began to separate spirit from body. Sheer animal instinct made him pull his hand back though he would have gladly dove in after her.
Vincent sat back away from the edge, collecting himself. He had just seen his angel reach to him from the Lifestream. Had she refused to dissolve in death just to see him once again? Did she forgive him? As he sat there, he realized that a terrible burden had been taken from his shoulders. The idea that she had forgiven him after all these years no longer sounded improbable, no, in fact, he smiled genuinely for the first time in over thirty years. Only now, at the end of the world, Vincent could laugh for the sheer feeling that he was alive. And forgiven. He couldn't help but laugh out loud at the thought, a wish finally granted. Surely, if any of the others saw him, they would think him finally mad.
But they were dead, weren't they? Vincent sat back on the ground now sober, overlooking the Lifestream, wondering if this was all in vain. If there was still time, he would find Tifa and console her. If there was still time, he'd show her that there could be forgiveness for being the survivor. But there wasn't time and this absolution came just for him to notice and appreciate before the whole world dissipated into nothing.
A large bubble burst in the viscous ooze, larger than the rest that had been gently simmering all day. Vincent's head jerked up out of his musings at the sound. An arm the color of rotting meat reached out from the mako lake, skin like sandpaper and ice pick claws that the gunman knew so well. He stared in disbelief as Chaos pulled itself out of the Lifestream. It screamed with all the rage and hate that Vincent had ever felt, embodying the very sins he had just shed. He whipped out Quicksilver, the three shots flying straight past the darting demon. It was all he could do to lash out viciously with his claw. Chaos grinned, fangs dripping foam, and snatched the metal arm mid-swing. Its berserk strength tossed Vincent across the field like nothing, the gunman crashing into some earthquake debris. He pulled himself to his knees, shaking the incredible blow from his head, never seeing the demon fly forward. It grabbed him by his hair and lifted him into the air. Chaos flew straight up for a little while, the gunman held captive by his long hair, hissed a mirthful laugh, and dropped him straight down. Years of combat took over and Vincent fell into a practiced roll, placing him firmly on his feet as the doppelgänger dove forward. His gun had dropped somewhere in the first blow, so he readied the bronze weapon attached to his arm. The claws caught Chaos between his ribs, gashing deep and long as he flew past.
The demon's momentum took him past Vincent and the wide turn it had to make gave him enough time to collect his thoughts. As it came past once again, he leaped onto the demon's back and smashed his elbow into the tender joint of wing to back. Now furious, Chaos screamed and spiraled, dumping Vincent to the dirt. It got back to its feet and took off running at the man, slashing wildly at any point he could reach.
The gunman stumbled back, bloodied and torn, unlatched his heavy cloak and rearranged the cloth holding his thick hair back. Chaos growled and reached for the now lame wing. The demon was the first to break forward, claws bared. Just as the daggers neared their mark, Vincent dodged to one side and took the gash in the shoulder instead. Falling forward, the gunman gouged the point of his reinforced boot deep into Chaos's diaphragm. He came around with his bronze claw in a heavy blow to the back of its head. Though it was enough to knock a man senseless, the demon managed to grab his free hand. The sandpapery skin tore the bare flesh of Vincent's right wrist, leaving it dripping blood. The gunman broke away, breathing heavily and peering through the loose folds of cloth that he hadn't tied properly and now couldn't tie at all. Chaos, on the other hand, leaped to its feet and once again rushed Vincent. Seeing it coming this time, the gunman braced himself and caught the demon in the stomach with the sharp metal claw. He attempted to catch Chaos's flailing arms, but missed miserably with his injured wrist. Instead, the demon tore across Vincent's face with his own claws, one handful after the other, grabbed his shirt and flung him across the field. The man spun across the rocks in a daze and landed in a heap on the flat of his back.
Vincent opened the one eye not filled with blood and dirt and saw Quicksilver glittering there in the chartreuse twilight. Chaos was coming with all the rage and bloodlust that hatred could muster, ready to finish him. The gunman remained there, waiting, then kicked both reinforced boots into the demon's chin, grabbed the gun, and found his footing in one trained move. The creature took its turn in the dirt with the gunman pressing one metal plated boot into its chest. One well placed shot landed directly between glaring red eyes.
Chaos screamed in fury and pain, then laid still. Its body lost substance, once more a construct of dust and Lifestream, and faded like a bad dream. Vincent crashed to his knees then fell forward to his hands in exhaustion. His raven hair fell loose around his face when the strip of crimson cloth finally gave up and fell in a puddle of fabric at his fingertips. He ached all over, in places that Chaos hadn't reached and in the places it had. Suddenly weak, he fell to the ground and shut his eyes against the spinning horizon. He reached to his stomach and felt blood seeping through unmarred cloth. "Lucretia, I have atoned," he whispered into the now hazy twilight. "He is dead and now… I am free." Heavy lids lowered over now empty eyes staring into the heart of the Lifestream.
Reeve heard the radio static in his headset followed shortly after by a voice. The MP speaking was stationed at the top of the Junon elevator. It still displayed Rufus' red banners – now turned the color of old blood in the Mako twilight. "The next ship's approaching, sir," he said in crisp military tones. Even though the soldier couldn't see him, the new President nodded and stepped out into the middle of the street. The remaining hundred plus citizens were lined up behind the concrete barricades that stretched across the main road. At least half of those were off-duty soldiers themselves, and all were loyal to ShinRa. Nevertheless, Reeve had several MPs armed and ready.
"Alright, I've just been notified that the next transport will be here in fifteen minutes," Reeve called into the crowd. Their hushed voices fell away to hear what the President had to say. "Be sure you have all of your belongings and double check that all of your family is accounted for. You will be staying at the Gold Saucer until a more permanent residence can be secured. Remember that even in these dark times, you are fortunate. Unlike many of the other cities, you were able to gather important possessions and your family. But above all, you are alive, and one day we will see the sun rise again."
The President nodded to one of the guards and stepped out into the throng. Each family had separated off like oil in water, forming little huddles in the lime-tinged light. He stopped for a moment at one circle, recognizing the father. Reeve couldn't place his name, but his face reminded him of one day at ShinRa HQ, in the rec room, staring at the vending machine that had just stolen his last gil. "Is everything alright here?" the President asked. He couldn't help but notice the two little girls clinging to their father. The elder just stared at him with a wary look, but the younger managed to squeak out a watery smile.
The off-duty MP dislodged his hand long enough to salute. "Everything's fine, Mr. President. Everyone's here."
"And that's all that matters now." Reeve started to turn away after the father nodded in agreement, but paused. A half grin crept out as he mentioned over his shoulder, "We got that vending machine working, though." The man looked stunned for a moment, then thought of that day in the rec room.
Reeve, on the other hand, remembered that it was his order that killed a city and he had no right to be joking about a mere vending machine. He continued his trek through the milling and impatient crowd, thinking about those who had died. These dark, accusing thoughts followed him to the end of the crowd, to the group of children whose parents had been under the Plate when Meteor fell. He didn't have to see their condemning looks to know their feelings. He didn't have to hear the poisonous whispers that stopped just before he approached. Reeve did a good enough job at self-damnation to make these merely icing on the cake.
The President cleared his throat as he approached the orphans, defenseless against their sharp glares. "Do you have everything?"
"What do you think?" one boy said, indignant.
"Clothing? Valuables?" Reeve offered.
"I seem to be missing something," a girl sneered. "I can't find my mom. Have you seen her, mister?"
Reeve bit off the words that he was about to say and closed his mouth with a soft click. Who was he fooling? he asked himself. He had just started to leave and return to the barricade when a small fluff of dandelion hair and a blue jumper attached herself to his leg. The president glanced down at the child, and into her dusty face. Tears had left trails in the grime and her blue eyes were drowning. "Please, Papa, just one more time," she said as she buried her face in his jacket, never mind that he wasn't her Papa. She couldn't be more than six, and somehow this drove guilt deeper into Reeve's heart than the hateful words from the older children. He picked her up and held her for a little while, the world forgotten, as she clung to his neck and he stroked the fine platinum pigtails. The child cried once, quietly, and then released him. The president set her down and smiled reassuringly at her. She giggled a little and reached up to brush his face, a little mark of wet he hadn't noticed fall from his eye. With a renewed hope in the future, he ruffled the girl's hair and walked back to the barricade.
"Mr. President, sir, the ship has arrived," came the garbled voice through his headset once again. He was able to take a couple running steps forward before the ground lurched in an aftershock. There had been several throughout the day, but this was the worst. Reeve stumbled and fell to the ground, but rolled to his feet an instant later. He braced himself against the rolling earth.
"Everyone! Stay calm! The tremor will pass in a moment!" This time, Reeve's words were swallowed in the din of human panic. "Please! Everyone! Stay away from the water! Remember, Mako is leaking and has poisoned the area," he said to deaf ears. It was all he could do to watch families cluster together and scream. First seconds, then minutes passed, and finally the quake passed. "Is everyone alright?" Reeve found that sobbing was easier to speak over than screams. Besides shaken nerves, everyone seemed to be together and in one piece. There were a few "affirmatives" piping up along the road and a couple "we're alrights" joined.
Then the groaning began. It wasn't from human mouths, but from beneath their feet. Everyone looked about at the street in confusion, but it was only Reeve who checked on the orphans. A fissure a hand's breadth chiseled across the road like forking lightning. There was a grinding and groaning as rock struggled to pull reinforced steel cables out from concrete. There were screams in a haunting chorus from the children's mouths. And there was Reeve, shucking off his jacket and tie as he raced forward. Dress shoes skidded on the pavement as he dove forward, catching a snapped steel bar with one hand and reaching out over the widening crevice with the other.
"Don't worry. I've got you." Reeve stretched his fingers until the tendons screamed in agony, but even that wasn't close enough. He whipped off his belt and looped it around the bar, slid his hand down to the end, and reached out again. For a moment, he was struck with something he had said what felt like a lifetime ago, as Cait Sith, in the Gold Saucer. "You don't get paid. You don't get praised. Yet, you still risk your lives and continue on your journey. Seeing that makes me... It just makes me think about my life."
But rather than mature eyes watching him, these were the eyes of children placing all of their trust in the man who killed their parents. Reeve thrust his hand out one more time, catching the small hand of a child – the one who called him Papa. Strength found its way into the President as he hauled up first the girl, then the boy who had been mocking him. He was reaching for the third when he felt a jolt on his anchor. The rough edge of the cable had worn down the fine leather of his belt. One tear, a slip, and finally the leather snapped. Reeve lost his balance and fell over the edge and onto the sliding rock. Two pairs of eyes followed him down from higher, unable to save him. He could feel the ground crumble beneath his dress shoes, then finally dissolve.
Reeve fell for a moment that stretched from horizon to horizon, falling next to the children he had tried to save. They were the hope of the future. They were supposed to see the sun rise again. But in their eyes will only shine this artificial twilight.
Had Tifa been herself, she would have first wondered why her feet had taken her to Mideel. She would have taken a quick look around and known that this had become the SOLDIER refuge, but more importantly, this was where she found Cloud the last time he had been lost to the Lifestream. Tifa was not herself, though, and besides, lightning never strikes twice. Instead, she wandered in a mute daze around the tents and men huddled around their small fires. She was barely hanging on to a half remembered dream of finding someone, someone terribly important to her that she somehow lost.
One SOLDIER made to stand and help her. "Lady, is there something we can help you with?" His voice was honest, not taking in her ragged and torn miniskirt but instead noticing the hopeless and lost look on her face. It was the haggard strands of hair and the dark circles that got the Second Classer's attention, the redness of her eyes alone told her story.
He was half risen when his buddy reached out and grasped his wrist. "Listen, man. Don't. She's had enough heartbreak, she doesn't need you to meddle." The younger Second Classer watched as Tifa passed in a haze, having not even noticed his approach.
"What can do that to a person?"
The elder SOLDIER sighed. "The end of the world, man. Someone she loved died. See, I remember her, back in Midgar, following that First Class kid. You know," he gestured over his head, "the spikey blonde one."
"Right. That guy."
Their voices faded as Tifa stumbled out to the edge of the Lifestream, watching unseeing as waves broke upon the shore. Her thoughts were far away, playing out the ghosts of the past, watching herself and Cloud emerge from this very lake, coughing and sputtering, but as though it was happening to someone wholly different, like a mildly interesting movie. She stood there for a moment, then turned away. It was there, growing on the banks, a single yellow flower winking in the livid absinthe light and utter darkness. She took a step towards it, then another. Tifa was breathing heavily through her chapped and bleeding lips, but her thoughts were back in Seventh Heaven when Cloud had given her that flower. In her daze, she stumbled over her own feet, face down in the dirt. The flower was still there. She reached for it, fingertips just barely out of reach, but still she reached. That flower was the only thing in the world; no more pain, no more death, no more memory. All would be better if she could just reach it. But she couldn't reach, no matter how hard she tried.
A hand reached out and grasped Tifa's wrist: a woman's hand. For a second, she remained there confused, staring at the gold bangle around the woman's wrist. "It's alright, Tifa," the stranger said, her voice familiar. "Everything's ok now. I'll show you."
Tifa looked up toward the other woman whose voice was so familiar, her dark eyes meeting clear green. She had knelt down in the dirt next to her and the hem of her pink dress was in a puddle. Aerith gave Tifa's wrist a little bit of a tug and smiled reassuringly. Although they had been rivals for Cloud's affections, and Aerith often seemed to be in the lead, Tifa sniffed once and dissolved into tears she had thought run dry. The older girl was only just able to keep her balance as Tifa fell against her and sobbed into her shoulder.
Aerith waited until Tifa's sobs quieted before giving her a quick squeeze then a gentle rap on her head. "You remind me of Cloud," she said with a giggle. Tifa looked up in shock, her eyes still liquid and wavering. "I told you everything's alright. Now will you follow me?" Aerith got a better grip on her hand and helped her to her feet. They skirted the Lifestream lake and went around to the far side; this time none of the SOLDIERs even looked up. Not once did Tifa wonder why Aerith had come for her, or how she could be there when she was dead. In this world of twilight shadows and absinthe mist, in a world where heroes die, little things like ghosts of friends didn't trouble her much. Aerith was talking again, "You two are really alike, you know? You're all he's been able to talk about for days." She laughed as she dodged some creepers. They were pretty far into the jungle by now; the SOLDIERs' campfires lost in the trees, and the trail they'd been following had long since run out and forced Aerith into concentrated silence. Tifa was left to her guilt and sorrow-saturated thoughts that would inevitably cycle back into memories of Crater, darkness, and death.
Quite a while passed as Aerith led Tifa further into the jungle, lit only by the Lifestream shining through fissures in the ground and lightning that was steadily approaching. The girl in pink held up her hand and peeked through the underbrush, then nodded to herself. "He loved you best, no matter what," she said, avoiding Tifa's eyes, then turned and held the leaves back and gestured for her to enter.
There were two dimly lit figures across the clearing, Tifa could tell they were male, one had his arm around the smaller's shoulders and was giving him a vigorous noogie. Their shouts filled the hollow; it was a wonder that the girls hadn't heard them from far off.
"Come on, man! Get off of me," the smaller one was saying.
The other was laughing, "I haven't seen you in ages! Besides, you were hitting on my girlfriend. I gotta pay you back for that."
Aerith had followed Tifa into the clearing and was laughing along with them. "How about you give him a moment, Zack. I'm sure he'd like to talk to her alone" The younger woman had been watching the two with little to no interest, offended that they could be having such a good time when Cloud was dead; shouldn't the whole world mourn him? Aerith and the larger man, Zack, moved away and left them there in the clearing. Tifa had built a wall of her sorrow and a great fissure of her guilt of which the smaller man was on the far side.
"Tifa," he started, disbelieving, and rushed to gather her up in his arms. He held her there for only a moment before he had to step back from her clammy reception. "Tifa, look at me, please." There was a note of urgency to his voice as he cupped her chin and turned her dispondant face to his.
Lightning flashed above, the storm having finally reached the clearing. Clean white light illumined his face and Tifa was able to see two clear Mako-blue eyes and unkempt blonde spikes. She took a couple steps back, eyes wide with disbelief. There was Cloud, smile spreading across his face as he saw recognition dawn in her eyes. Tifa took a couple shaky breaths and tried to speak; the only thing that came out was a choking sob. "It's good to see you again, too," Cloud said as he stood there, a very beacon of strength. The woman moved to embrace him once again as the world misted and she could no longer see.
The first raindrops fell onto Tifa's outstretched hand and into her vacantly staring eyes. Mideel's campfires flickered fitfully on the lifeless body laying in a crumpled heap, reaching for a single wilting yellow flower.
The gale swirling around Crater was almost too much for Sephiroth to bear. The sheer energy that coursed through his body was in and of itself more than he had hoped for, but the knowledge that came with absorbing the Lifestream made the young god smile savagely at the world. "You see, Mother! We've done it!" His laughter echoed over the screaming winds. Those insects could never have hoped to destroy him, not with their pitiful weapons. He floated there at the center of the maelstrom, reveling at his sweet victory. Cloud may have defeated him once, long ago, but that was before Mother had stepped in and lent her aid for their cause. Now those buzzing flies had been swatted away and the Planet would soon know this god's vengence.
One by one, the souls swirled around in the Lifestream and came through into his mind. They all told their stories, down to the instant that they died. More and more they came, staring at that magnificent Meteor the god had summoned. At least half of them had come from Midgar, and those were the sweetest ones. Some of them were brave souls, sheltering loved ones with their own bodies; while others were cowards, hiding or crying or wetting themselves like babies. Those weak ones left a bad taste in Sephiroth's mouth whenever they came.
After several thousand souls, they began to blur together and the god ceased to pay attention to them. Instead he turned to the bodies littering the bottom of the crater. With a gesture, he raised them to his level. The first one he addressed was Barret, frozen solid. "Mr. Wallace. You were such a fool, leaving your daughter behind. Thought to protect her, hmm?" The body didn't respond. "Well, you failed. She's dead now and so are you." With a sneer, Sephiroth threw the body far out of his sight. He turned to the stuffed cat creature. "Oh, Reeve. You I remember. What would the Head of Urban Development be doing, playing with dolls and pretending at being some great hero. Useless, Mr. Cat. I'm sure even Cloud would agree with me," he said and threw the doll away. "Ah, and the mayor's daughter, Miss Kisaragi. You resented me for destroying Wutai, didn't you? That was before you were born, little girl, a world you only dreamed about. You wasted your life for a place that never existed. Thank me for extinguishing that false dream and showing you reality." Then Yuffie, too, was tossed aside.
Sephiroth descended from the center of the malestrom to where the battle took place just days before. He retraced the battlegrounds, shadowing the rough booted footprints where Cloud had left his last mark. There it was, one two three, where he dove to protect that girl from Nibelheim at the sacrifice of his own life. If there was any regret the god had, it was that Cloud's body had been swept away in the Lifestream's currents. For a while he stood at the crevice the body had fallen into. "Who did you think you were to challenge me? Once you got lucky, but once alone. Just masquerading as a SOLDIER, using that sword you stole, wouldn't make you strong enough to defeat me. No, you truly were the failure." The god laughed a little at Cloud's expense then turned to leave.
The heart of the malestrom had formed quite the concentration of Mako energy without Sephiroth to absorb it. He honestly looked forward to cracking it open and flew directly into the vivid light. The current was once again established and that raw power filled his body until it felt it would burst. The souls came quickly now, one flash of a life after another like flipping the pages in a book caught in this unbearable wind. He was drunk on his own power, blinded by his own arrogance, and so never noticed the few souls collecting off to one side until they addressed him.
"Sephiroth!" The voice rang clarion through the winds, a challenge. The god ignored it. Another, female, called out. "Sephiroth!" Again, he ignored it. A third voice: "Sephiroth!" Another six chimed in. "Sephiroth!" they shouted in chorus. Finally, he turned, irritated.
Several figures floated just outside of the current that surrounded the god, glowing chartreuse from the Lifestream. At its head was Cloud and Tifa at his side. Just next to them were Zack and Aerith, then Barret holding Marlene and they were surrounded by Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie. Reeve wasn't far behind, cradling the discarded Cait doll in one arm. Cid and Nanaki stood nearby, the pilot taking a drag on his cigarette and cradling his spear. Yuffie remained next to Godo, idly caressing her shuriken. Aside, Vincent held Lucretia, protecting her from her own son's madness. One by one, the souls diverted from their course and collected behind Cloud, every one of them directly wronged by the mad god. "Sephiroth!" Cloud shouted, once again.
The god began laughing, tears of mirth streaming down his face. "You! Once again, you challenge me! Such a fool to defy your destiny." He suddenly sobered. "I killed you all! You belong to me now!"
Cloud took the sword from where it rested against his shoulder and idly fingered the blade as though testing the phantom edge's sharpness. "So we do." His veiled eyes snapped up, blue as the depths of a flame, and he took a flying leap at the god. At contact, the ghostly figure vanished like all of the other souls. But then, the memories came:
Bullied by the village kids, unrequited love, staring at a hero, a night beneath the stars at the well, leaving home, denied SOLDIER. Nibelheim, burning. An anger even hotter. Five years with Hojo, the shame of being the first clone, the failed clone. Losing memories, chasing the black caped man. Right down to falling, dieing, into the Lifestream.
The god staggered, the memory too clear and edged with so much hatred. It was like a poision. Motion caught his eye and Tifa came flying at him with a cry, fist first, then vanished.
Lonliness at the death of her mother, unconscious for five days, Cloud leaving to join SOLDIER, two years of wondering and worrying. Nibelheim, burning. Her father, dead by the Masamune. Wielding the blade against the mad General, unhealable wounds, finding Cloud by the train. Watching a dear friend and later love battle for his sanity. Finally, death in Mideel, mad with grief, reaching for the wilting flower.
For the first time in his life, Sephiroth began to feel the cold blade of panic slip silently beneath the skin. Aerith walked up to him, slowly unbuttoning the center two buttons on her dress. "Your gift to me," she said, revealing the long, narrow scar just above her navel. "My gift to you." She reached out her hand and was gone.
Growing up in Hojo's shadow, never knowing her father, losing her mother, living with Elmyra, hiding from the Turks. Cloud crashing down into her church. Seeing Zack in the young soldier, following him to the ends of the Planet. Feeling his brutal fist in the Temple's foundation, leaving to pray for Holy. Cold steel burning through her body, laughter even colder in her ears.
These memories were too much, dragging the god further down. Vincent and Lucretia stepped up, but it was Lucretia who spoke. "My son. It is my sin that I never got the chance to raise you. My sin that I never held you, that I didn't protect you from the Professor. I could have saved this world had I only just spoken up. I could have saved you, my dear child, but I didn't and that is my sin." She moved forward and wrapped her arms around Sephiroth's body.
First meeting a young, ambitious Hojo. Volunteering for the Jenova Project, being chosen. Traveling to Nibelheim, meeting Vincent Valentine the Turk, the affair that followed. Burning Jenova cells entering her body, slowly being poisioned by the creature growing in her womb. Denying Vincent's love and abandoning herself in her work. Being torn apart from the inside during childbirth. Finally, death and halflife beneath the waterfall for thirty years.
The number of sins finally counted up in Sephiroth's mind, a certain clairity as he looked from face to face. His madness burned away beneath the power of the Lifestream flowing through his body, and the knowledge of so many injustices pressed heavily upon him, driving him to his knees. Hope blossomed in his eyes as Zack walked up. "Now you know what happened, Seph," the SOLDIER said, kneeling to look into the god's face. "All of these lives you destroyed so that you could do what? Revenge for that Mother of yours? Gain power? Bullshit," he spat. Sephiroth turned his eyes away from his second-in-command. "And, you know what? You ruined my life, too." The whisper was swallowed in the wind as the remaining souls leaped forward at once, drowning the god in their memories. Every last one of them died by his hand, directly or indirectly. No longer was he the one standing strong against the current, no, now he was being swept up by it. Reflexively, Sephiroth reached out to try and find something to cling to but there was nothing.
When the absinthe glow diminished, there was nothing more than a few specks remaining to float there, a few resiliant cells. A blood red spectre appeared from those handful of cells, a throaty, sultry laughter filling the now silent cavern. Jenova collected those specks with a glowing hand. All around her, there was nothing but darkness and the far off sound of rocks shattering. Looking up to the blackened sky, the phantom sped away from the Planet, leaving the dead and lifeless rock behind.
Epilouge
The two girls sat watching the Game Over screen for quite some time, listening to the cascading crystalline notes roll over and over each other. The elder sister couldn't stand the bitter taste of defeat. The younger, auburn haired sister threw her controller halfway across the bedroom. "Well, fuck. I told you I wasn't strong enough yet," she said with a huff and hung her head on her knees.
The elder sister closed the stragety guide and shook her head. "It was worth a shot, though, wasn't it?" she asked from her perch on the bed.
The girl on the floor scoffed. "Not really. I told you Sephiroth was too strong."
"You going to level up some, then?"
"After I get something to drink." With that, the younger sister left the room, leaving the music to play. The blonde sister flipped back through the book thoughtfully then closed it again. That drink idea sounded good, so she, too got up to leave. On the way out, she knelt down by her Playstation and pressed Restart.
Thank you for reading! This is my first successful fanfic (fourth failure), and I appreciate you all for reading all of the way through. I'm sorry it got so emo-depressing there towards the end. Then again, who here expected an actual happy ending? I know I kind of threw a curve ball there, what with destroying Seph and bringing out Jenova as the puppetmaster. Jenova's such an underrated and ignored villainess. I've felt very strongly through the years that she was the one behind all of this. Sephiroth was not her little puppet, however. He did things of his own twisted will. Jen might've planted the ideas in his little silver head, but he was the one who ultimately made the decision.
For those of you interested, "Bizarro Sephiroth" is not the correct name. It was originally "Reverse Sephiroth". This playes into the Kabbalah and the Sephirot (sep-hir'-ot), that there are two paths: one is the way to godhood, union with god, etc. The other is the Reverse and takes a person to the Dark Side and ultimately nonexistance. Therefore, Sephiroth could never become a god. He made sure of that when he believed in the untruth of his birth.
Alas, I'm standing on my soapbox again. For those few of you interested, yes, there is a good bit of symbolism. There's also some rather... unconventional methods utilized with the creation of this piece. For example, I used a dice roller program set on 2d6 combined with a chart in a D&D 2nd Edition player manual for the fight between Vincent and Chaos.
Speaking of, I'd like to mention that I wrote all of this before Compilation was more than a whisper of a 20 minute movie. Please view this strictly from the original game. There's no other Turks besides Reno and them, no Deep Ground SOLDIERs, Genesis, or Remnants. Vincent's weapons are Quicksilver and Death Penalty, not Cerberus. I don't believe in writing Mary Sues, so I refuse to put other people's fancharas into my fics - mine, my sister's, or Nomura's.
I believe that's all this author has to say. Again, thank you for sticking with me this long, especially after my heavy opinions here at the end. I love Kadaj as much as any fangirl, I promise. Please read and review! I can't wait to hear your comments! Be as harsh as you'd like; that's the only way I can improve .
-AR