Godsent, Regrettably
By: SilverKnight
Chapter 1: Dead Man Walking
'He was better off back in the swirling black pit of nothingness the Planet created specially for him; at least there, he didn't have to deal with stupidity run amok.'
- Narration
Sephiroth wandered the lower caverns of the Northern Crater, pondering his current situation. Many of those thoughts revolved around getting some kind of vengeance on the vicious ball of essence that heaped this upon him, his new life be damned. Initially, when he came to the realization that the Lifestream goo was hardening against his skin, he had gotten the idea that he should just sit there in the depths of the cave and let himself be slowly turned into an almost-human popsicle. However, he shortly noted that the frozen green gunk began to melt, due to his body involuntarily adapting to the harsh conditions, he soon decided it would be quicker for him to die of boredom (which, in the Northern Crater, seemed rather likely, anyway) than by any lack of heat.
So, he had set out through the dank, monster-infested caverns, searching for ways he could possibly end his life, just to spite that damnable Planet and her sadistic little whims. Over a period of several hours, he raised and then dismissed:
x - Throwing himself off of a cliff,
x - Impaling himself on a stalagmite,
x - Cutting himself until he bled to death,
x - Allowing himself to be eaten by one of the many creatures inhabiting the caves,
x - Decapitating himself using a piece of sharpened rock,
x - Causing himself to be crushed in a cave-in,
x - Leaping back into the Lifestream pool and drowning himself.
He surmised that nearly half of the suicide methods only held an outside chance of actually killing him, if they had one at all. The others, while quite capable of allowing him to shuffle off this mortal coil, seemed entirely too passe and unworthy of the attention necessary to fully realize them. Perhaps it was due to some measure of undue pride, but his previous death(s) due to that spiky-haired failed clone, Cloud Strife, held absolutely none of the memorable qualities he had wanted them to have. The Great General Sephiroth, tripping and falling to his watery grave, his subsequent demise being met by getting run through by an overlong sword and tossed - again - into the Lifestream. Bah. Some blazes of glory those had been.
No, he decided finally, a pensive expression on his perfectly sculpted face. If he was going to get himself killed, he was going to do it when it meant a damn. As a monster or savior, it didn't matter.
He stopped, his mind whirling around that one thought. What was he here for, anyway? That wretch of a voice told him he was of use, doubtlessly here to combat something of terrible nature, but the idiotic thing decided to eject him into the Lifestream without telling him his supposed purpose. He suppressed a groan. He adored being shipped to areas without being given a shred of a clue as to what he was there for. He was better off back in the swirling black pit of nothingness the Planet created specially for him; at least there, he didn't have to deal with stupidity run amok.
He heard a malicious growl echo around him. He wheeled around, his fists primed and eyes narrowed. Out of the darkness, a barbaric shadow emerged, its glinting fangs stained pink from blood. Sephiroth frowned slightly, appraising the situation. Here he was, half naked, no armor, no weapon, half frozen, with the beginnings of a tension headache creeping around his temples, and having nowhere near the energy he usually expended on a daily basis while waiting in these miserable caves; while on the other end stood the ill-defined monster that would have very easily been the doom of many a trained men.
He smirked, cracking his knuckles. He liked those odds.
Sephiroth sat in front of a crackling fire, the light dancing off of his lean, pale figure, now covered in a large furry pelt that was draped over his shoulders. He poked a bone into the small blaze, repositioning some of the extraneous fur, fats, and small branches to burn better while he offhandedly twirled a sharpened monster's claw in his other hand. He glanced over to the unmoving carcass that rested a few yards away, and harrumphed. Weakling.
His gaze turned to the curved piece of bone he held in his hand, ripped from the monter's forepaw and fashioned using the ample rocks that surrounded him, and sighed. He had been woefully unsuccessful in his search for his masterpiece of a weapon, the Masamune. He longed for its comforting steely presence at his waist. Walking around without it made him feel as though he were missing a limb; a very long, sharp, and metallic limb that could slice through steel as easily as a knife could through butter. He knew, he tested that metaphor often enough. Ah, the memories.
He shook his head and brought his attention to the matter at hand; his purpose on this wretched planet once again. He supposed it would have been just as easy to relapse into his previous behavior - carve a vast swath of death and destruction to every area he came upon - but the prospect of bringing countries' whole to their knees all along the countryside with wanton, depraved abandon seemed to lose its flavor in the time his mortality had been indisposed. After all, he'd already done it, why bother doing it again? There was also the matter of the public's reaction to his sudden resurfacing. Doubtlessly, should he ever show his face in some sort of public setting - for whatever reason - Strife and his little band of friends would come charging to the rescue to 'save the world' from him once again. He wanted to avoid that event, if possible; at least, in a place that wasn't of his choosing.
He gazed into the fire. Strife and his allies - what did they call themselves, again? AVALANCHE? - would prove a great hindrance if he were forced to fend them off at every turn. If he had been brought back to this rotten little mudball for the sake of saving the Planet's proverbial hide, then perhaps...
Sephiroth shook his head suddenly. No. That would never work. Regardless, he was getting ahead of himself. He needed to find his purpose first, and then worry about how to go about achieving it.
His eyes wandered to the cold, slate gray ground beneath him, and - petty and childish as it may have been - he jabbed his foot out, kicking it roughly with his heel. "Damnable Planet," he grunted. "You bring me back to life without telling me what it is I'm here to do!"
"It was your idea to do this without the Planet's help, remember?"
He shot to his feet, the pelt fluttering to the ground with a rush of wind as he brandished his sharpened claw defensively, scanning the darkness. "Who are you? Show yourself!"
A woman's faint chuckle bounced off the frozen rocks, sounding innocent and wise simultaneously. He frowned slightly. Not to mention creepy. "I won't repeat myself," he commanded darkly. "Show yourself before I come looking."
"There's no need to get impatient, Sephiroth," the female voice replied, gently chiding. "I'm right behind you."
His teeth bared, he wheeled around, flipping the claw in his grip and beginning a downward arc to the foolish little -
Despite himself, he froze before he finished the maneuver, his guarded expression barely suppressing his utter shock.
The brunette smiled warmly. "Surprised to see me?" she prodded, her eyebrows raised quizzically.
He blinked. This couldn't have been right. It had to be some kind of hallucination -
"Cat got your tongue, I guess?" she asked lightly. "Okay, I'll start the introductions, then." She nodded her head in a slight bow. "Hi, I'm Aeris Gainsborough. Nice to meet you."
To be continued...