A/N: I hate formatting documents.
Requiem
Chapter 1: Surreal
"Did you hear?"
"What?"
"They say President ShinRa is getting a new general!"
"Whoa! What?—"
"Yeah! I know! I couldn't believe it either! We're going to have two generals now! And guess what! They say the new one is only sixteen or something!"
General Sephiroth, pride and glory of the SOLDIER department of the ShinRa Company, ignored the barely concealed whispers and the hastily averted gazes as he passed through the cadet training fields towards the viewing benches. He nodded at his second-in-command, Lieutenant Zack (or "Zachary", as he preferred), before sitting down briskly and stiffly into his designated chair. Zack grinned when he saw the nonplussed expression on the general's normally expressionless face.
"Heard the rumors, eh?" grinned Zack as he leaned back comfortably into his chair.
"They, unfortunately, are not rumors," supplied Sephiroth truthfully as he frowned, watching the training supervisor roar out orders for the scrawny gang of boys to run several laps around the dirt track.
"The general part or the kid general part?" asked Zack curiously as he mentally processed which of the boys would easily be weeded out before the basic training program ended and which ones might have a chance of surviving the SOLDIER entrance examination.
"Both, probably," replied the tall man as he deemed every single one of the cadets as completely useless should they be put upon the battlefield.
"Shit! Really? I thought the kid part was just a joke!" Zack's wide-eyed expression nearly softened the edge Sephiroth had been feeling all day.
"Just what I need…a psychopathic child wanting to play war. I thought that had ended when I became general," muttered Sephiroth under his breath, so softly that Zack, if he had not been infused with more MAKO than most others, would probably have missed the comment. His glowing amethyst eyes flickered over the cadets as he calculated how to get the general off that particular train of thought.
"At least there shouldn't be another situation where kids will be sent to war, right, Seph? The Wutaian War is probably the end of that." Zack mentally performed a victory dance as he saw the calm expression slip over Sephiroth's glowing emerald eyes. As the general's (only) friend and second-in-command, he had learned early on, through what was dubbed "Sephiroth watching", that the calm expression means the general had stopped recalling the painful days of his childhood.
"So! I think most of these boys will probably fail the exam! I just don't think they have what it takes, you know? I mean…that one's too cute—he should get a boyfriend—that one looks like he's still weaning—what? It's true!" Zack pouted as Sephiroth sent him a glare. Zack laughed softly before continuing to fill the silence with his comments. Some of them had Sephiroth gazing at his second-in-command as if the latter is insane—even if he had been subjected to that sort of idiocy and oddity for a few years now.
Just as most of the cadets were finishing about the twenty third lap of their fifty lap total for starters, Sephiroth turned his eyes on the most unusual sight he had laid eyes on in quite a long time. A lone boy, dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt and equally black pants, adjusted the black cotton scarf wrapped loosely around his neck before walking nonchalantly towards the SOLDIER barracks. Despite the fact that most of the boy's face remained covered by the scarf, Sephiroth saw glowing sapphire eyes adorning a youthful face, topped with a mess of long blond hair tied in a pony tail at the back.
"Hey…Is that a cadet trying to get out of practice?" questioned Zack as he furrowed his eyes at the sight of the black-clad boy wandering silently across the training field. Before any certainties can be made, the training supervisor had caught sight of the teen and stomped over with an enraged look on his face.
"Uh oh. Looks like trouble! Better mosey!" grinned Zack as he hopped off his seat and marched enthusiastically over to where the oblivious teen stood blinking his fathomless eyes innocently, towered over by the training supervisor.
After a few exchanged comments, Zack winced at the sudden outburst on the near purple-faced man. "Are you trying to make me look like a fool, cadet?! SOLDIER is not a joke! Neither is showing up nearly an hour and a half late for training!" roared the training instructor, whose name tag displayed the words 'Michael Cross'.
Zack noted that the boy stood stock still, and wondered briefly if the instructor had traumatized the boy with all his loud shouting.
"Hey!" greeted Zack as he casually sauntered up to the incongruous pair that had been effectively gathering the attention of all on the field. "What's the problem here, gentlemen?"
The instructor saluted quickly and sharply as he turned to look at the man who had addressed him. "Nothing, Lieutenant! This cadet seems to have forgotten his training schedule and decided to show up late without a valid excuse!" reported Michael nastily as he grinned smugly at the cadet, thinking that the first-class SOLDIER would surely expel the boy for not taking basic training seriously.
"Is this true, cadet?" grinned Zack playfully as he leaned in to examine the boy's pretty, but covered, face.
"I can assure you…" murmured the boy as he turned his gaze downwards towards the ground, "that I am no cadet."
Zack had caught the look of surprise and confusion flicker through those brilliant blue eyes before the gaze was averted.
"No? Then whacha doing on the cadet training grounds?" Zack smiled brighter as the blue eyes turned themselves back to gaze into the purple ones, as if the boy was searching for some sort of scheme behind his interrogator's careless questions.
"I am here by appointment," replied the boy after a moment's contemplation, and Zack's grin faded a little as he realized how much calculations went through the boy's head at a simple, friendly inquiry.
"What's your name?" Zack nearly jumped a mile into the air before spinning around to glare accusingly at his superior for startling him like that. Ignoring the presence of the instructor (who hastily attempted to present himself valiantly and respectfully to the great general), Sephiroth shot Zack an amused glance before turning his serious eyes on the boy who had turned to examine the general.
"Strife. General Strife," came the automatic response. Zack blinked for a minute and Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, observing the boy closely for any sign of lying, before the training instructor exploded angrily at the boy's response.
"General?! What do you think you're playing at, boy! Just because there are rumors of a new general coming does not mean you can make a joke of the position in front of your superiors!" The man's tirade would have continued if Sephiroth had not held up a hand to silence the man.
"Instructor, attend to your cadets," ordered Sephiroth, frowning as the boy showed no outward signs of mirth. The instructor huffed a little and then straightened himself into a quick salute before stalking over to where his cadets remained gawking at the unfamiliar boy that seemed so composed in the intimidating and overwhelming presence of the general. A quick shout and a few insults later and the boys were back on their feet, performing push-ups and sit-ups with barely suppressed groans of disappointment.
"You look rather…indisposed to be a general, Strife," murmured Sephiroth softly as he gave the boy another quick once-over. The boy, especially underneath those loose clothing, looked slender to the point of having a womanly figure—hardly the muscled figure of a general that would inspire fear into his enemies at a single glance. Even the childlike innocence glimmering in those wide blue eyes seemed to speak of a boy who had yet to grow out of depending on his parents, much less kill a battalion of enemies without thought.
But the only response to the insult was a slight squinting of the eyes, as if the boy was smiling brightly at the comment. Coldness and deadliness suddenly slipped into those fathomless eyes, and Sephiroth felt as if he was no longer looking at a boy, but at an ancient being who had experienced many life times over.
"Looks can be deceiving, General," bantered the boy, the supposed 'General Strife'. Out of the corner of his eye, Sephiroth saw that Zack was having an equally hard time figuring out this anonymous boy claiming to be the rumored general.
"Well! It's just that you look so scrawny, ya know," grinned Zack as he attempted to approach the boy with a more friendly method, hoping that he can extract hidden information by catching the boy off guard. "I mean Sephiroth here was probably way taller and meaner looking than you when he became general, but hey! I like looking at pretty things like you once in a while though."
The boy looked amused, as his eyes remained upturned slightly as he smiled, and made no move whatsoever to stop the black-haired SOLDIER from stopping his rant—in which some of the exaggerated gestures nearly made him laugh—any time soon. However, he suddenly stiffened and the mirth dropped from his eyes. Zack similarly stilled and all conversation stopped between the three. A moment later, Professor Hojo and President ShinRa appeared through the doors of the SOLDIER barracks, leisurely approaching the trio.
"Ah! Strife! You're here! Perfect!" called the fat walrus of a man as he waddled over the short distance to the three potentially most powerful men in the world. Professor Hojo had an equally nasty but gleeful grin on his face as he took in the appearance of his three most prized subjects.
"How was the trip, Strife?" asked Hojo as he peered over the top of his glasses at the teen, easily the shortest and scrawniest looking of the group.
"Fine, sir," replied Strife. The boy's expressionless face seemed to please the professor immensely, almost as if satisfied with the fact that the boy behaved exactly like he wanted him to.
"Good, good. Now then, I suppose I should present you with your little welcoming 'present'," questioned Hojo expectantly. Sephiroth and Zack were slightly apprehensive of the fact that Hojo continued to ignore them, especially when in the past, Hojo had all but resorted to the violence of the Turks to drag them to their "appointments". At the word 'present', the two men had felt rising suspicion—confirmed by the barely noticeable wince that appeared in the boy's eyes—and then experienced anger boiling deep underneath their skin at the thought that Hojo had once again done the inhuman thing of experimenting on another child.
"Of course, Doctor. Your 'presents' are always pleasurable, as always," murmured the boy without hesitation, watching the professor's gleeful face turn downright exhilarated.
"This one won't hurt, since you must be so tired from your travels," promised Hojo, who looked away from the group of men temporarily as he spotted the gates the SOLDIER complex open to allow two trucks through. "But first, I've ordered your weapons, compliments of President ShinRa."
So that was what Hojo wanted the SOLDIERs for? To play delivery man for a boy that looks barely sixteen? Sephiroth frowned thoughtfully as he watched the group of seven or so SOLDIERs hop off the back of the truck, present a quick salute, and then proceed to drag a few wooden boxes off the truck and onto the ground. At a quick nod from Sephiroth, the SOLDIERs gratefully dismissed themselves into the barracks to rest after a lengthy one-week mission to Mideel.
One by one, Strife knelt down and opened the boxes, revealing to the group the beautifully crafted broad swords that lay wrapped amidst a coffin of red velvet and silk. The extravagance was not lost on the general, and his mind turned to process the reasons as to why President ShinRa would agree to spend such a wealth on these swords. The last time any sort of excessiveness was expended was when he himself had been presented with the Masamune, and that had been at least a good decade ago.
"What do you think of them, Strife?" laughed President ShinRa boisterously, as if trying to hide how much spending money on these weapons hurt him.
There was true and pure joy within the boy's eyes, and Sephiroth held his breath unconsciously when he saw how beautiful the boy's eyes lit up at the sight of the swords. He quickly berated himself for his thoughts.
"They're wonderful, sir," thanked Strife as he gingerly picked up each sword with ease and slid them effortlessly into the weapons-holder strapped around his torso, rotating his shoulders as he became accustomed to the weight. Even though Sephiroth felt surprised at the fact that such a small and skinny boy managed to withstand the weight of seven broad swords—much less manipulate them so easily—he prevented himself from showing his shock. He noted, however, that Zack, the self-proclaimed expert on all broad swords, and President ShinRa gaped openly at the boy's ability to carry and wield not one, but seven, swords. It took at least a well-built SOLDIER to carry each of the boxes.(1)
"Excellent, let's hurry to the lab then," beamed Hojo almost impatiently as he gestured for Strife to follow him. The boy shot a longing look at Zack and Sephiroth before nodding his head and quietly following the professor into the darkness of the SOLDIER barracks. The two SOLDIERs missed the sly glance Hojo shot them before departing with Strife.
"Well!" coughed President ShinRa as he tried to blink away his astonishment. "I better get going! Good day, General, Lieutenant!"
As the overweight man ambled away, Zack's eyes had suddenly turned into seriousness, especially when he noticed that the cadets were gawking with equal surprise that the sixteen-year-old boy—built even less than they are—managed to perform such a feat. He chuckled softly, though the mirth was absent from his voice.
"There is something seriously wrong with this picture," grinned Zack as he kindly reminded the instructor that the cadets will never pass the examinations if they continue to gape instead of train.
The afternoon had gone by in a flash of blurred memories as Strife laid completely still in his new bed, all thoughts of moving completely gone from his mind for the irrational fear of triggering a deeper pain than the ones inflicted by Hojo in the laboratory. He stared up at the ceiling, the only source of light in the entire room coming from the intense glow shinning through his eyes. The MAKO burning through his bloodstream had temporarily rendered him blind and deaf, if not completely immobile for the next few hours.
He could not understand his surroundings anymore. Hadn't…hadn't it only been last night that he had been lying in his own bed, reflecting on the conversation he had that afternoon with Red XIII, when he had fallen asleep? Yet, whenever he tried to recall all that occurred within the past few years of his life, he had been presented with a dual stream of memories, one of traveling alone and purposeless throughout the world, and the other of residing within a laboratory deep within the confines of a rather familiar old mansion. He contemplated the possibility that this situation he is in is merely an illusion conjured by that female monstrosity he had seen last night before the green lights surrounding him shut down his mind. Yet, the pain he had felt during the experiment session this afternoon had felt a little too real for this world to be dismissed as a mere fancy of his mind, imposed upon him as a spell.
The beginnings of a migraine threatened him as the throbbing between his eyes increased, and he wished that he had enough strength to lift his arm and rub at his temples and his nose. Wouldn't hurt! What a load of shit! Strife narrowed his eyes furiously, glaring at the ceiling. At least, he mused morbidly, Hojo had personally overseen the removal and storage of his swords within his new room before dragging him to the laboratory eagerly. Wouldn't want me to run myself through while trying to sleep, would we!
A shot of pain traveled up his spine when he tried to shift into a more comfortable position, leaving him hissing in pain on the bed. Quickly, his mind sought out any train of thought to distract him from dwelling on the pain.
\…My beautiful…sons…for you…\ (2)
There was that raspy, barely feminine voice hissing through his psyche again, but before he could even evaluate what the voice had said, he found himself thinking about those two men he had met that afternoon. The two men had been gorgeous, but he remembered that something about these two men made his heart clinch with sorrow. Even though he had not exactly caught their names…
\…Not true…my child…\
That's right…One of them was called Sephiroth. Strife blinked, his brain churning to pull itself together through the haze of the chemicals and the pain. Sephiroth…Wasn't that the name on one of the tombstones...? He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to remember that tidbit of information, and frowned when his mind blanked out instead, refusing to allow him the luxury of remembering. He felt frustrated. He had read the name yesterday, but had already forgotten it?
He realized then that there were more gaps within his memories than he remembered being there before, and cold dread washed over his body, making him completely forget about his physical pain. He wondered how much more he would forget, if he had not forgotten all of it already. He knew that there was something utterly important about those two men he had met, something to do with his redemption perhaps, in his other life. Yet, his other life is his life, and this world…Well. He could barely distinguish one world from another rather than the fact that living in either retained the loneliness and the emptiness he had felt for the majority of his life. Then, another thought occurred to him. SOLDIERs…Didn't he, at one point of his life, talk about some program called SOLDIERs as if his life depended upon it? The memories seemed so distant and faint now, as he tried to recollect his past. He supposed living for so long must have dulled his memories to the point that they can no longer be recalled even with the appropriate stimuli.
Again, he fell back to musing about his true age, especially since he never did seem to age beyond the appearance of a twenty-three-year-old man. Vincent had once tried to explain to him the science behind it, mentioning names such as...Hm…What were those names again? Something like…Lucy…Lucre? I don't suppose that would be important…Vincent said she had died much too early for her to play an important role. Though…In what?
Something cold and hot gripped his mind then, and he felt black and white spots dot his peripheral vision, gradually gaining upon his main vision until he was left in mental anguish. He never realized that he had been straining and silently screaming until he lay, once again, still upon the sweat-soaked bed. His mind felt dimmer and more vacant than before, but he could not even garner the mental energy to contemplate that fact as he stared blankly up at the darkness of his room.
\…Sleep, my child…\
That voice again…He felt hatred surge up from the bottom of his heart at the sound of that voice, because he knew without doubt that it had been that particular voice that had sent him into pain and misery countless times. He remembered then, just before the cold and hot feeling ravaged his mind once more, that it was that voice that he had heard before the world turned into a completely foreign place for him.
But that realization, like many other thoughts, was washed away in a green haze as he lost consciousness for the night.
When the two generals and the second-in-command met again the next day, the tension crackled ominously in the air surrounding the small conference room in which the three men sat. The two older SOLDIERs narrowed their eyes as the boy walked elegantly into the room, both noticing the slight waver in his footsteps and the inconspicuous limp that followed each extension of the leg in front of the other. The boy's eyes even looked glazed and disoriented, as if he was lost within the regions of his mind and only his physical shell remained.
"Good day, General, Lieutenant," murmured the boy softly in greeting before sitting down in his designated seat.
"Hey!" greeted Zack cheerfully as he grabbed the seat by the boy and proceeded to slouch comfortably into the seat—much to the chagrin to one of his superiors, whose disgruntled glare was easily ignored by the black haired teenager.
"Lieutenant…how old are you again?" chastised Sephiroth in annoyance as he stirred his cup of coffee, glancing at the stacks of paper to his left.
"As old as you need me!" chirped Zack in return, grinning at Strife as if by smiling brightly at seven in the morning, all persons would suddenly feel the urge to smile. But to his disappointment, the boy sat completely unresponsive, almost as if his mind was not even present at the meeting. Zack mentally frowned, worry—because he knew Sephiroth would never worry if he could help it—making itself known in his heart and dampening his mood.
"Hey…you okay there?" asked Zack, genuinely curious about the boy's health even though he had only met the boy for a few moments the past day. Eerily glowing but empty eyes turned to gaze at Zack, unnerving the lieutenant.
"I'm…fine," determined Strife as he turned to scrutinize the other general.
Sephiroth noticed how uncertain and hesitant the boy had sounded when he replied, and stored the observation into his mind for future analysis. When his subconscious snickered and questioned his motives for studying the boy, he kindly reminded his subconscious that since the two shall be working together, he better understand his coworker before future problems arise. He took a sip of his coffee and watched the boy's hand twitch involuntarily on top of the table, almost as if his nerves had been tampered with, though, he reflected, that would not be altogether an unlikely theory since the boy had seen Hojo the previous day.
"So…I'm sure you already know that we're here 'cause we need to talk about work, right? You see, Seph here typically does the paperwork for the missions, while I deal with some of the more minor issues, like cadet training, offense, and that sort of stuff! Now, we're not entirely sure what you specialize in but—" rambled Zack as he realized neither of the two generals would talk unless provoked.
"I can take care of the cadets if you wish me to," interrupted the boy, his hand reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose.
/Man! I hate paperwork! I thought I was supposed to actually use my knowledge and skills when I joined SOLDIER, not slave behind a desk!/
"You sure? They can be a handful—" grinned Zack, even as his eyebrows furrowed at the sight of the boy rubbing at his temples.
"Zachary…stop talking for a few minutes," sighed Sephiroth as he picked through the pile of paperwork that he had carried with him into the conference room earlier that morning. To his surprise, Zack did stop talking, without even an ounce of annoyance on his face. He realized that his friend—his only friend—was watching Strife intently, as if trying to work out how to befriend the boy.
"Zachary…" mumbled the boy softly, as his eyes took on a slightly distant glaze. "Za…Zachary Fair?"
Zack blinked. "Uh…yes?" replied Zack, unsure of what the boy was thinking.
A look of intense pain passed through Strife's eyes as if he had been shot, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared, almost making Zack doubt he had seen it if not for the fact that his fist had clinched. How he wanted to reach out and hug the short, vulnerable-looking boy before he broke.
"Are you certain you are fine, General?" asked Sephiroth, his voice unusually soft.
"Yes," came the raspy response, though both could tell it was a lie. "On the contrary of what my looks may say to you…I'm not easily broken. If you continue to ask my health, I will gladly rid you of your tongue, general or not."
The sinister, hostile look was back in the boy's eyes again, and Zack barely suppressed a shudder as the gaze turned to look into his own amethyst eyes. The look simply looked so unnatural and uncanny on the young face. Momentarily, Zack forgot that it was still a boy sitting to his side.
"How about a spar, later in the day, so that you may evaluate my ability to fight and to strategize? That way, you can argue amongst yourself as to what to do with my capabilities," suggested Strife coldly, his voice clearly stating that he wished for no arguments.
"Very well, then. Zachary shall fetch you when the time comes, so that you may not lose your way," consented Sephiroth.
A nod later, and the boy stood up to leave the room, slipping through the filling corridors and offices like a silent shadow.
"There is something seriously whacked with that kid," grumbled Zack as soon as the door to the conference room snapped shut. "Did you see his eyes? One second, he looks the perfect part of a lost little kid and the next moment, he looks like he's about to murder someone! I hope this isn't what Hojo did to him because I swear I'll go slit that madman's throat right now, court martial or not!"
"Zachary…" murmured Sephiroth as he looked calmly—albeit somewhat exasperatedly—at his second-in-command.
"He's only a kid, for God's sake, Seph! How old is he? Sixteen? He must haven been as young as you when Hojo started experimenting on him. No offense, Seph, but Hojo's subjects never exactly turned out well in the end. Remember when you went through the longest period of being utterly isolated and anti-social before I came along and rescued you—?" ranted Zack.
"Yes, I understand your point, Zachary—"
"Can you please call me Zack for once? I mean, it's only one syllable long!"
"I hardly think this is the time for such…childish arguments," stated Sephiroth as he stared flatly at Zack. Zack merely sighed.
"That's just it. He resembles you when I first met you, you know? It's like talking to a brick wall sometimes—well, a robot on better days. But still, it's not healthy!"
"And I suppose in the perfect world, every single person should have your disgustingly sunny disposition every day?"
"At least you're way better than Strife right now!"
"Sometimes, Zachary, I wonder if you have even made the ranks of SOLDIER if your fighting abilities had simply not been above average."
"Seph," whined Zack.
"…I admit…that it is rather pleasant to have someone to talk to who isn't using the opportunity to get a promotion," confessed Sephiroth, the words spoken so softly that Zack had to strain his ears to catch all the words. Momentarily, the general regretted speaking the words, but the brilliant smile—one of the few real smiles that actually adorned the lieutenant's face—that followed made him easily forget his loss of pride.
"It is nice to talk to someone about your problems, regardless of what they are, isn't it?" mused Zack as he stared out the glass pane of the conference room onto the polluted skies overhanging Midgar. "I suppose we'll just have to get him to trust us enough that he can tell us what Hojo does to him."
Suddenly, Zack shot up from his chair.
"I'll go dig up Hojo's files on him, if there's any," grinned Zack. "Having a head start's gotta be good! Don't worry! Zack is on the case!"
With that, Zack eagerly made his way out of the conference room. Sephiroth froze, and then sighed. Zack had managed to skip out on paperwork once again.
Strife barely managed to stumble onto his bed before collapsing bonelessly on the pile of twisted blankets and soft pillows. He shivered even though the temperature of the room had been regulated—orders of Hojo—at perfect room temperature regardless of the weather conditions outside. His world was starting to blur again. Every time he remembered something, that green, ugly haze gripped his mind and then those precious memories would be locked away. He knew something important occurred in his past with these two men. He remembered the name 'Zachary Fair', he knew, but he could not be sure from where.
If this is the past…Why don't I feel like any of this ever happened at all? That thing in my head...Hojo has the answers. Wouldn't Vincent know? He paused. Would Vincent exist in this world at all? So much has changed, hasn't it? He berated himself. He should have explored the Nibelheim mansion more thoroughly before being shipped to Midgar, and now that little oversight might have cost him something precious. He supposed if he asked to go back to Nibelheim now, suspicions might be raised. He knew without a doubt that he must keep Hojo at bay at all costs, or else those chemicals will wash away more of his mind.
Too bad the graveyard probably doesn't exist here…The answers would have been there. His eyelids were drooping now, threatening to close themselves in light slumber.
/Mother…/
/Let him yearn for her./
His eyelids drifted shut. He thought he saw a beautiful girl wearing a pink dress the corner of his vision, but the image grayed into blackness.
When Zack knocked on the door to SOLDIER apartment room 741, he had not been in a good mood. Five and a half hours worth of pounding away at his keyboard in his dingy little office had yielded little to no information about this 'General Strife', and he was frustrated beyond all means. Belatedly, he had felt a little guilty about lashing out at Sephiroth earlier when the two of them had lunched together, but he just hated not being able to help the blond-haired teenager out.
/Hey, Zack…When we get out of this, we'll be together forever…right?/
His hand paused before striking the door and he faltered in his thoughts.
/Subject A…want you…subject B…/
He closed his eyes and let his arm drop back to his side, his head drooping as he remembered that sadistic smile on that gaunt, insane face. He had only been twelve years old when he was ordered by Hojo to strangle his childhood best friend. They had been together for as long as he could remember, but all those experiments later, and he had mindlessly murdered his only friend in the entire laboratory, only to realize the fact after he had felt the last breath leave that body and seen the dull glaze cover those normally vivacious eyes.
The door to the dimly lit apartment opened, and drooping blond spikes came into view, followed by lackluster sapphire eyes, an extremely pale face, and a wet, half-nude body. He raised an eyebrow and grinned widely when the boy blushed in embarrassment and retreated back into the apartment bedroom to don some proper clothing.
"I didn't realize you'd be here so early," explained Strife as he tried to dry his body while searching through his drawers for appropriate sparring clothing.
"No problem! We've got time!" interjected Zack, waving a hand in dismissal at the shy apology. "Besides, I get a nice view!"
A sharp glare later had Zack laughing at the cute little scowl that had unconsciously adorned the boy's unveiled face.
/Don't be mad…I wouldn't leave my friends alone./
/We're friends./
Strife blinked away the sudden stray thoughts that flitted through his mind at the sound of Zack's voice. These playful teasing and the friendly gestures felt so familiar and comfortable to him, but left his heart aching faintly afterwards. Shaking his head quickly, he pulled on a black, sleeveless wool turtleneck and some loose white cotton pants. Inwardly, he laughed at his choice of clothing, noticing that he had decided on the same suit of clothing he typically preferred to wear before he arrived here. However, his left shoulder felt a little bare without the usual armor guard covering it. He shrugged. Perhaps I'll get one later…
He walked out of the bedroom to see Zack sitting morosely on the leather couch—Strife wondered at the luxury of having a couch, since he thought of the apartment as a place to sleep, not to relax. He cleared his throat slightly, forcing Zack to break away from his previous thoughts and turn around to gaze at his host. Zack scratched the back of his head with one gloved hand and grinned apologetically for being caught off guard.
"You look better without your scarf," complemented Zack as he stood up from the couch and leaned closer—across the back of the couch—to peer at the blonde's face. "Very cute indeed."
Strife merely blushed, coughed, and averted his gaze. The boy shuffled his feet a little awkwardly before looking back at Zack's grinning face again.
"Can we get going?"
"Right. This way!"
When Zack reached out to grab Strife's hand, he suddenly felt a sharp sting on his hand, and realized that the boy had slapped away his hand. He blinked.
"It won't for you to have friends, you know, General," grinned Zack.
"I don't need friends. They have a tendency to—" Zack tilted his head slightly to the side, in a gesture of curiosity, when the boy suddenly stopped in the middle of his sentence and looked off to the side, an unreadable expression in those eyes that made the youthful face suddenly age a great deal.
"To what?" questioned Zack softly.
/I've never forgive you for killing her!/
/I'll live on for you too…/
"None of your business, Lieutenant. Now, let's get going," murmured Strife viciously before walking through the threshold of his apartment.
Sephiroth grunted softly in annoyance when he realized that somehow rumors had spread through the entire SOLDIER barracks mentioning that the two great generals will be sparring against each other. His face had twitched in exasperation when his secretary had knocked timidly on his door and popped in to stutter the message that the battle arena had been booked for the afternoon, compliments of President ShinRa. Now, because of that meddling old fool, the majority of SOLDIERs and the cadets had shown up unexpectedly to watch the "friendly" spar, which he had originally intended to be a private affair! Even some of the Turks had been intrigued enough (or bored enough, as was the likely reason) to attend the event, as if it was meant to be some form of entertainment. He sighed as he gripped Masamune tightly in his hands while waiting for Zack and Strife to show up.
A few minutes later, and Zack strolled into the battle arena, grinning from ear to ear as he fingered the hilt of his Buster Sword affectionately. Following closely behind the tall First Class SOLDIER walked in Strife, the boy looking slightly less delicate without the scarf and the loose clothing. The seven broad swords that he had witnessed the arrival of the previous day shone brilliantly behind the boy's back as he ventured from the darkened corridor onto the floor of the battle arena.
"So, Spike! Who do you wanna have a go at first—"
"I'd like to fight you first, if that's possible," interrupted Strife softly as he gazed at the Buster Sword strapped to Zack's back with another one of those unreadable expressions.
"You sure? Sephiroth can play hard, ya know." Zack was grinning at him again, and Strife felt the corners of his lips curve upwards in a small smile.
"Yeah. I would love to fight you," replied Strife as he reached and pulled out the smallest and frailest looking blade from his weapons holder.
"Hope ya don't mind, Seph! But apparently Spike likes me better than you."
Sephiroth merely nodded his head before turning around and sitting on one of the benches situated on the side of the battle arena.
Zack pulled the Buster Sword off of his back and positioned himself into a battle stance, the weight of the heavy broad sword resting soothingly—and almost weightlessly, due to his years of practice—in his hands. Excited whispers filled the silence of the battle arena, but the two warriors on the battlefield ignored the din easily.
Strife darted forward, his speed impressively fast for all the weight he was carrying on his back, and Zack pushed his feet forward to block the strike, grimacing slightly when he felt the scrap of the two metal blades ringing in his ears. He somersaulted backwards, vaguely registering the fact that his arms actually ached a little from the impact of the two swords.
He charged forward again and arched his sword over his head as he jumped over a swing at his feet. The swords made impact again before deflecting themselves for another meeting. The sounds of metal clashing filled the silence of the arena.
Zack swung his sword to the side to block an attack there, and twisted his body around to catch the boy on the ankle, only to discover empty air. In his peripheral vision, he saw a glint of metal and docked his head hastily before leaping backwards into the air. When he landed on his feet, he noticed that Strife had pulled out another sword and was now in the process of combining the two swords together. He narrowed his eyes, panting softly from the exertion of the battle.
Neither noticed the smiles on their faces as the adrenaline from the battle pumped through their bloodstreams, singing of an exhilarating experience where a decent opponent has finally been acquired. Their blades met intimately once again as the two bodies flew towards each other at high speeds.
The MAKO in their bloodstreams hummed excitedly.
The first limit was broken by Zack, and soon the battle arena was strewn with slash marks and the debris of broken concrete and rocks. The second limit broke as easily and soon the two figures were as eagerly dancing on the floor as dancing in the air. The ceiling groaned as Zack managed to swing his sword hard enough against Strife's sword so that the latter flew backwards towards the ceiling. Slightly disoriented but unsurprised, Strife twisted around so that his feet absorbed the shock of the impact against the concrete ceiling, and then he jumped forwards into the air once again to meet the incoming Buster Sword.
Suddenly, the boy darted to the left instead of blocking the blow, narrowly dodging the impressive strike. A moment later, Zack felt a stinging pain in his back before he landed on the floor, stumbling a little on his feet. He grimaced and barely managed to pull his sword up to meet the assault at his head. But in his haste, his grasp had been loose and his Buster Sword went flying out of his hands, spinning through the air before embedding its blade deep into the concrete of the walls making up the battle ring. Zack fell back onto his posterior, panting heavily as he registered his defeat.
As Strife held out his blade against Zack's throat, the two looked at each other with intense and profound respect. Slowly, Strife lowered his sword and offered his hand to Zack, who gratefully clasped it and pulled himself to his feet. The arena was silent as the audience watched in rapt silence.
"SUGOI-NE!" cried out one enthusiastic Wutaian cadet, clapping his hands over his mouth in embarrassment at the sudden outburst. But soon, the arena was filled with loud shouts of admiration and praises.
Zack laughed exuberantly. "Looks like we made quite an impression, Spike!" exclaimed Zack as he rubbed at his back, wincing as his fingers came away with blood, though not a copious amount. He figured it might be a shallow cut at best.
Still with that satiated smile on those soft lips, Strife turned to make a bow at Sephiroth, inviting the seated man to join him in battle. Sephiroth nodded his head once again and approached the two teenagers, his mind raging with the thought of the potential residing within the boy.
As he assumed the battle position with Masamune, the arena suddenly hushed itself once again, the cadets eagerly holding their breath as they awaited the next battle. He intently watched Strife, awaiting the first move. Soon, he saw the boy dart forward with the sword thrusting forward in front of the small frame. Sephiroth spun to his left and crouched low, swinging his long sword in a low sweep, unsurprised that the boy was not caught off guard.
When Strife somersaulted backwards several times to put some distance between the two bodies, Sephiroth darted towards the spinning, lithe body. He saw the calculating gleam in those two brilliant blue eyes even as his sword was parried—by the third sword that was pulled out from the weapons holder, he noted.
Sephiroth went on the offense as his swings came faster and faster, but Strife merely twisted his body more frequently to block his attacks with the two swords he now held in either hand. Rocks and rubble flew through the air at their furious battle, and he vaguely heard the terrified scream of a cadet whom Sephiroth had passed by on his way up to meet Strife.
Strife dodged a blow and darted towards the ground, combining his third sword with his other two swords even as he whipped out his fourth sword. Sephiroth followed, and Strife twisted around in the air to parry the blows directed at him. His feet touched the ground, and he gritted his teeth when he felt the hard impact of Masamune against his two crossed blades, the force leaving his arms aching agonizingly. He grunted and twisted his wrists to send his two blades forward in twin swings, pushing Masamune away from his body. Sephiroth leapt backwards to avoid the two blades.
At the third limit break—first for Sephiroth—both warriors were panting, the former harsher than the latter. Strife darted forwards again—by this time, his broad sword had been a combination of all seven swords—and clashed against Masamune once again, and Sephiroth briefly wondered, through the haze of battle lust, how the boy managed to maintain his stamina through the lengthy battle when he had previously fought against Zack.
Sephiroth had landed a few hits on the slim body, but the boy continued battling as if the pain of the injuries were negligent—when he knew full well that most SOLDIERs would have been flinching in pain at the smallest of blows. Perhaps I have been holding my true strength back from him? But that cannot quite be possible, since I feel that ache in my arms. Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, wondering if Strife meant to collapse from exhaustion before admitting defeat.
Strife jumped upwards into the air to avoid his relentless assault, momentarily catching a breather. Sephiroth equally followed the boy into the air, pausing as he witnessed one of the most surprising sights he had laid eyes on.
Strife's eyes had taken on that ancient gleam once again, and in his fleeting distraction, Sephiroth found himself surrounded by six shimmering swords, radiating unspoken power. As soon as he returned his gaze towards his opponent once again, he discovered that the boy had charged forward off the ceiling with his lone broad sword. Before he could even react, Sephiroth felt the first blow to his body from the first broad sword. He twisted around only in time to watch Strife grasp the second broad sword and swing through his body. In a flash, he felt five more slashes before he plummeted to the ground of the battle arena, the force of his body striking the broken concrete creating a small crater. Sephiroth coughed up blood and barely managed to hoist himself into a sitting position to clutch at his abdomen, where seven identical slashes ripped through his protective gear and his soft flesh.
In his haze of pain, he barely heard Zack coming up to check his health. Strife landed unsteadily on his feet a few yards away from them, and the six swords that had once hovered in the air dropped down to impale the broken ground. The nearly panicky, completely bewildered expression on Strife's face surprised him. A moment later, Strife gripped the sides of his face before falling to his knees.
Before Sephiroth could see what had happened to the boy, darkness had claimed his vision as he drifted off from the pain and shock.
Notes:
(1) The SOLDIERs who went on the mission are only third class SOLDIERs. As a comparison, I'd say Zack's Buster Sword probably takes at least three or four of them to carry.
(2) The idea that Jenova actually had multiple "sons" comes from the fanfic "Secrets Revised" by tyr-synni. It follows that those who had Jenova cells in their bodies are considered the "sons" of Jenova. Heh, I guess in a way, Hojo can also be considered one of Jenova's sons.