Genesis Rhapsodos could almost say he was growing to like his travelling companion despite himself. As they travelled–by day, on foot, and on wing by night–the strange, pale bishōnen spoke to him on any number of topics, most of which revolved around updating his second- and third-hand knowledge of the fate of his former friend, with a special focus on Sephiroth's psychology; the hidden part of him that the Crimson Commander had damaged almost irreparably. In the beginning, he resisted the pale man's explanations for why his old friend acted the way he acted, but the more he thought about it, the more simply fell into place, and the more he comprehended just how big an error he had made in allowing himself to be a pawn in Hollander's petty rivalry with Hojo.
Currently, though the moon hung large and full in the night sky, they did not dare take wing for the massive gusts and currents of wind that made their normal, time-effective method of travel a risky prospect at best, and downright foolhardy at worst. The thermals produced a keening wail as they howled through the empty rocks and fjords of Cosmo Canyon, but this only served to muffle the sounds of their travel, which would have otherwise echoed throughout the landscape and alerted the tribe of the creature known as Nanaki to their presence, and in no way inhibited their ability to make conversation, even as they focused on where to place their hands and feet while they scaled up the rock faces and traversed the tumultuous terrain.
"Where are we going?" asked the red mage.
"Nibelheim," he answered from ahead of him. "Best place to try and find a way to haul Zack out of the Lifestream. He'll be useful in keeping Cloud and the rest of AVALANCHE out of our hair. And no fireballs."
Genesis mock-pouted. "You're no fun…" he lamented half-seriously.
"Hmph," he smirked. "You'll have plenty of time to cause mayhem later, when I'll need you to cause a distraction. Now, however, the objective is subtlety. And there are few things less subtle than…Firaga Dodgeball, is it?"
"Close enough," confirmed the Crimson Commander, continuing to make his way up the rock face.
"And trust me," said the Vampire King, turning back and allowing Genesis to gaze upon the maniacally bloodthirsty, feral expression that had just appeared on his face. "By the time this is over, you're going to see some real fireworks!"
"Well, well, well, maybe it might be worth sticking around after all!" interjected an elfin, feminine, nigh-on childlike voice from the top of the cliff.
"Good evening to you as well, Shantotto," spoke the black-haired man, hoisting himself up next to the heretofore unseen figure with a single hand. Genesis soon followed, though he found himself at a loss when confronted with the blonde, diminutive figure before them.
"Hello, my friend. Your request is finished, so I thought upon you I might call." With this, the pigtailed woman plucked out of thin air the seemingly-unfinished framework of a staff several times larger than her, with a sizeable gap at its head.
"My thanks, Professor," said the vampire, taking the proffered item delicately. "It seems you always come through with quality work when I need you to."
"Ohohohohoho! High praise indeed, for a king of immortals. But little time I have; infinite is not the life of portals. Farewell, dear friend, and good travels!" The woman clad in black and gold waved up at the much taller man, bowed her head with her hands clasped, subsumed herself in a ball of nebulous purple energy, and was gone.
The swordsman scrutinized the staff in his grasp, turning it over and around and noting that selfsame sphere-shaped gap. "It's missing its main component," he noted. "But then again, that was more than expected. Besides, I do not doubt that taking that foul relic from this plane should not be an action that anyone objects to. Of course, that would mean its twin would leave as well, but that can only benefit me." He looked to Genesis, as if having forgotten his presence, then back to the staff, making it disappear before turning towards the red mage once more. "Come. Let us begone before another of my…old friends arrive. The next one I would hate to have to greet here. Less precarious ground would be optimal." With that, he leapt into the air, landing about half of a kilometer away, on level, if mostly barren, ground. Not to be outdone or left behind, so too did Genesis follow suit.
"AAARGH!" came a fierce battle cry from above. Genesis looked up to see a man, tall and slender, falling through the air, a massive lance in his grasp, ready to impale the sable-clad swordsman; but however quickly the planet's gravity was carrying him towards his target, the weapon the red mage had come to know to be called 'Kangetsu' was faster still. In an instant, the full silver length of the blade was freed of its saya and held aloft, such that when the lance made contact with the raised ōdachi, with a flick of its wielder's wrist and a down-stroke of his sword-arm, the assailant was launched out of his arc to land on the ground in a roll.
"Kain. Right on schedule," said he. "I was beginning to wonder if I could rely upon you."
"Quiet, Dragon," said the lance-wielding warrior. "You promised me!"
"Now?!" asked the other incredulously. He gave an exasperated huff and rolled his glowing scarlet eyes. "Well then, if you must. I did promise you that."
"Excellent. ENGARDE!" cried the man, Kain, wheeling his lance through the air and snapping it into position, tip down, shaft running up the back of his arm, his main foot back and his off-hand held out towards the vampire. The purple dragon's-head helm he wore did not seem to interfere with his vision, nor did the similarly-designed plates and mail of the rest of his armor seem to impede upon his speed and dexterity. It was for this reason predominantly that Genesis elected to stay out of this; he wished to see how his companion would react, and was loathe to get in his way, as he grudgingly knew he surely would otherwise.
The swordsman, too, dropped into a stance, languidly and with a fluidity of motion that seemed to somehow exude both restraint and killing intent. In his sword hand rested Kangetsu, and he brought it up and back into a Hirazuki stance, prepared for a thrust of his own; at first grasping with both black leather-gloved hands, he seemed to trace the arc of his blade with his right, his eyes closed. When they snapped open, Genesis shivered despite himself at the sadistic revelry and bloodthirsty malice those eyes that burned like scarlet fire contained.
Without the slightest cue besides the other, long, tense moments passed before, as one, they moved toward each other: Kain charging across the ground with another fierce battle cry, Æbel silent as the grave. A flash of light signified their clashing, as well as a nigh-deafening sonic boom, and at the end, when both ended up on the opposite side of the unofficial arena, only Kain staggered, at the shock of the wound and the wound itself both, clutching at his chest, where suddenly a long, narrow gash ran from his right shoulder to his left hip, droplets of blood welling up almost instantaneously thereafter. And there stood Æbel, Kangetsu held in his left hand, extended still from his body, while the silver blade itself held no blood, so swiftly was the wound inflicted.
"As you will notice, Kain, I held back significantly on my Yamitsuki," spoke the victor, finally straightening out of his hyper-extended lunge and resting the blunt edge of his weapon upon his shoulder. "Had I not… Well, I'm sure you get the idea. I have need of your aid, old friend, and one cannot render aid from beyond the grave–most of the time, anyways."
The dragoon laughed, wincing as the motion of his chest set the narrow wound ablaze. "Sure, I'll help out. After all, you did save my life when my hunt for Bahamut went wrong. Given that, I think rendering aid is the least I can do. Red mage, a little help here?" Genesis started, before regaining his wits somewhat and utilizing a Cure materia to heal the wound. With a muttered expression of gratitude, Kain rammed the butt of his lance into the ground, using it to help himself stand.
"Excellent," remarked Æbel, pivoting on his heel to face the pair. "Then I believe that introductions are in order. Kain, this is Genesis Rhapsodos. Genesis, this is Kain Highwind, one of my oldest friends." A nod to each other was all the acknowledgement they needed. "Now, if you don't mind, we need to be moving."
"As you say," affirmed Kain, plucking his lance from the ground as the rend in his armor mended itself.
"Time to be on the road again," sighed Genesis, placing his hand upon the hilt of his rapier as the newly-formed trio embarked upon the remainder of their journey.
{The Presence's power is only growing,} sent Chaos. {Its list of allies–powerful allies–has lengthened. At this rate, very soon, nothing we do will be enough to stop it.}
Cloud will, returned Vincent.
{Cloud? HA! That weakling only won against your son because…}
Yes, I know. But you said yourself that he had enough power to accomplish it, meaning that the power this presence wields is inferior in magnitude.
{Or on even footing, which is the case here,} chastised Chaos impatiently. {I don't think you fully understand precisely how potent the thing we're dealing with is.}
[Oh, really?] came an unfamiliar voice. [And just how potent, pray tell, am I, Chaos?]
Who are you? asked Vincent with some degree of alarm, augmented by the pure terror he felt radiating off of the ball of power in his mind that was the demon.
[Turn around, and find out for yourself,] challenged the voice.
He turned on his heel, only to come face-to-face with the creature that he could only suppose was the presence Chaos had felt. Surprisingly pleasant in form, the creature was tall and slender, extremely pale and attired from head to toe in black, though its long, jaggedly-cut hair was of a deeper shade of sable, even, than the leather garments or the sole non-leather clothing item it wore–a turtleneck sweater, strangely enough, and even this was only worn under a long black coat. Bespectacled gold eyes met his red ones, and he wondered what had happened to make the creature's pupils contract to such a degree, let alone with such permanence.
"Well, well, well, you most certainly do not disappoint," remarked the creature, looking him up and down with an appraising, calculating gaze. "Yes, I do believe you'll do."
"For what?"
"Why, to send a message to AVALANCHE! What else?" The creature's voice was musical despite its low register, even as it conveyed its amusement and anticipation at the sentiment it expressed. "How better to notify their leader of how bad for the group's collective health facing me will be than to make an example out of their most capable combatant–namely you, Vincent Valentine." The serpentine, malicious relish with which he spoke the gunslinger's name made the temperature within the mansion seem to plummet. For whatever reason, however, his next action was to look out the window at the sun setting on the horizon.
"Why…"
"It begins," whispered the creature, its tone reverent as it removed its half-rim glasses, placing them on a nearby table. "Releasing Binding Coil One."
The sun finally disappeared behind Mount Nibel, and the creature fell to the floor with a silent cry of pain. Fingers dug furrows into the hardwood as what little color had been present in the creature's skin pigmentation vacated, its open mouth revealing a set of very human teeth of inhumanly perfect quality sharpen into points, as the upper and lower pairs of canines lengthened dramatically into upper and lower pairs of fangs, the former long and thin, the latter shorter and wider, after which the creature locked its teeth shut. Its eyes closed tightly, and when they opened, the pupils had become slits, the gold color slowly giving way to luminescent scarlet, the appearance of which was nigh-on identical to that of one pouring a pack of blood into a pitcher of water. When the transformation finished, the creature stood back up on two feet, narrowing its eyes and lolling out its tongue, which had increased in size and turned forked, making it a strange hybrid of a reptilian and mammalian tongue. When Vincent started at this, the creature threw back its head and laughed, and the sound dripped with menace.
"Come then, Vincent Valentine," it bade, a self-satisfied, arrogant smirk forming on its face. "Transform your body! Let the Lord of Chaos reign!"
Despite its fear of the creature, the demon's hackles rose at the subtle taunt implied in its instruction, and this time, Vincent did not even attempt to constrain the WEAPON's emergence, knowing as he did that in order to have even the slightest hope of surviving the encounter, the full power Chaos wielded would need to be brought to bear. And brought to bear it was, for with the snapping of bones and the ripping of flesh, there stood Chaos in all its glory, wings unfurled, its enormous gun readied.
The creature's smirk transformed into a full, feral, manic, savage, bloodthirsty, malicious grin at the sight; in response, it allowed its left leg to draw back slowly, drawing a katana from its unnoticed sheath at its waist. As the arm with which the weapon had been drawn completed its full arc, however, the dragon engraving it bore seemed to come alive, wriggling and writhing as the length of the blade increased from one to three meters, but that of the hilt remained static. When the sword had reached its full size, the creature had it drawn back into a Hirazuki stance, ready to strike. "Then let us dance the Dance of Death, Lord of Chaos!"
"Where I come from, the machinery is not so advanced…" explained Kain to Genesis, trailing off as a sudden, loud crashing sound reverberated throughout the town of Nibelheim, originating from Shinra Mansion, followed by a strange, demonic being sailing through the roof and impacting in the middle of the inn's dining hall, smashing a wooden table belonging to a group of fairly burly, vagabond-like men several meters down, reducing it to splinters.
"COME ON, CHAOS! IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?!" taunted a voice that was familiar to both men, but a tone only familiar to one. The demon's hackles almost visibly rose, and an instant later, it leapt through the roof again, tearing a new breach into it and sending tables and table settings flying by the aerial shockwave of its wings beating.
"Well, he certainly sounds like he's enjoying himself…" commented Genesis.
"He tends to," replied Kain wryly. "Though I cannot fault him for loving his job."
"Me neither, I suppose," admitted the red mage, staring into his coffee. Then, he looked up at his other companion on the opposite side of the booth. "So I understand that where you're from, you hunt dragons?"
Kangetsu sang through the air as the Vampire King and the demon known as Chaos did battle in the skies. The WEAPON found itself forced to rely upon its claws and its solid, but by no means exceptional, approach to hand-to-hand combat, its rage stoked by the knowledge that their foe was clearly toying with them, tempered though it was that even if its adversary were to commit only so much as a fraction of his power and skill in any serious capacity to the fight, the gestalt being's obliteration would be all but assured.
The swordsman who was their enemy seemed to be deriving a large amount of amusement from utilizing the demon's capacity to regenerate from wounds that were at first minor, but from then on progressed in severity and depth. We cannot keep this up, commented Vincent. Win or lose, we cannot long survive so many injuries.
{You think I don't know that?!} Chaos retorted. {Do us both a favor: just shut up and let me do my job!} Caught up in the internal dialogue, the demon narrowly avoided having the membrane of its wing torn asunder by a well-placed puncture. Rededicating itself to the fight, the WEAPON still could not seem to make any headway towards their enemy's defeat; only to slow its own, and even then only under extreme duress was this possible. The fiend, however, seemed tireless–indefatigable–and so the war of attrition in which they were now engaged seemed to have an all-too-clear victor on the horizon.
And so Chaos saw fit to change things up a bit.
In hindsight, the move was reckless almost beyond comprehension, but in the proverbial 'heat of the moment,' the demon's evaluation was that it would be sufficient for its purposes. It charged the enemy, weathering the almost playful flurry of blows that inflicted dozens of new wounds in the WEAPON's hide, and with a strength and speed born of desperation, it raked its claws into its opponent's shoulder, ripping the right arm clear off of the swordsman's body; the enemy cried out, but strangely enough, not in anger or pain, but in exultation.
The battle thereafter experienced a short lull, where both combatants floated gracefully to the ground. "You are wounded, fiend. Yield," instructed Chaos, its voice raspy with exhaustion but buoyant with satisfaction.
The sable-clad swordsman smirked. "What, this?" it asked, gesturing at the bloody stump where there had once been a limb. "My dear Chaos, 'tis only a flesh wound."
"A…flesh wound?" parroted the demon, its incredulity amplified by its exhaustion. "Your arm's off!"
At that moment, the bloody stump began to ooze forth a black substance, interspersed with accents of crimson. The substance covered the rend, then extended forth from it as an amorphous mass, at first straight on its angular course, and then bending, travelling further, then bending again, widening, and splitting off to form five digits, before being absorbed into the black leather that beneath it was concealed. "No, it isn't," the fiend objected, its smirk widening into a menacing grin once again, a short, anticipatory grunt shooting from between its clenched, obviously razor-sharp teeth. The demon groaned inwardly; apparently, its foe possessed significant regenerative abilities, and so did its endeavor appear all the more hopeless. The enemy wasted no time in reassuming its Hirazuki battle stance, new right arm and all. "Now come, and rejoin the dance! You are beginning to bore me."
Chaos sprung into the air with a powerful downbeat of its wings, and its opponent responded by shifting the point of its ōdachi upwards, spreading its right arm along the arc of the blade once more, and leaping into the air after the demon with such force that a crater of rather significant size was left behind.
The battle began anew.
"So, how fared your duel with the legendary Chaos?" asked Kain conversationally.
"It fought bravely, and I would be lying if I said that I did not see why he is so feared. He did manage to survive two of my Yamitsuki attacks, after all," replied Æbel, Kangetsu resting in its sheath, once more in its katana form. "But ultimately, he was as I expected."
"I am…sorry to hear that," said Kain. "Was he at least better than Gabranth?"
"Leagues," he responded. "But then again, that's not saying much. Gabranth was worse than as expected–he was a disappointment."
"What is that move you do?" asked Genesis. "I've never seen even Angeal perform that kind of technique."
"As I said: a Yamitsuki. Kagemusha-ryū: Yamitsuki. A powerful stab move requiring incredible speed and strength–not to mention discipline–to reliably and correctly execute," the vampire answered. "And no, I could not teach you. Partially because your weapon of choice is unsuitable for the technique."
"Damn," muttered the red mage good-naturedly. A hearty chuckle was shared all around.
"Having said that, if we get the time, I would only be too happy to see what I can do to help you wield that rapier of yours more effectively," he offered. "But the secrets of…my style of swordplay are not those that can be passed on lightly. Ah, here we are. The Nibelheim Mako Reactor. At last."
Genesis looked up at the forbidding silhouette of the complex, shivering despite himself. This was the site where his greatest failure had metastasized, adding not only another of his friend's lives to the account of his sins, but the lives of countless innocents who had perished when Meteor came down–indirectly, yes, but was not also Angeal's death his fault only indirectly? It did not lessen his guilt by one iota, this technicality. So absorbed in dwelling on the past was he that it was a genuine surprise to him when they reached the antechamber to the main reactor–the place where Zack Fair, SOLDIER First Class and protégé of Angeal Hewley himself, had fought his final battle before he breathed his last–and stopped abruptly. Both he and his newfound friend watched closely as their enigmatic leader knelt down, unclipping a crystalline flask filled with a sample of the demon's sickly, Mako-green blood from his belt, unstopping it and pouring it upon the ground. He removed his gloves, revealing elegant, fine hands covered with skin the opaque pigment of bleached marble and capped with long, tapered fingers, each digit adorned with a long, sharp nail, at once both like and unlike a claw. These hands he placed on either side of the neat pool of demonic blood he had formed on the rock of the floor, seemingly muttering to himself as he did so, and bowing his head, eyes closed; the muttering continued, and furtive, disembodied whispers wove through the utterance, creating an orderly skein of sound altogether eldritch in the aura it exuded. As the moments ticked on, ethereal tendrils of…darkness–there was really no better way to describe it–snaked around his arms and into the ground as if the rock did not exist, becoming more and more substantial the longer the Vampire King channeled whatever energy he was using.
After what seemed like hours of this, but could really only have been a few minutes, Æbel's eyes snapped open, his head rising as he finished, punctuating his ritualistic chant with, "I swear to the Crystals, Zack Fair, you had best wake up right now, or else…"
"I'm coming! I'm coming! Sheesh…" replied an all-too-familiar voice. "Gimme a minute. It's not every day you have to rise from the dead, you know…"
"You have forty-five seconds," replied Æbel, smirking mirthfully in spite of the stern tone with which he spoke to the long-dead Puppy-SOLDIER of ShinRa as he stood from his kneeling position.
"…a little help?" came Zack's voice, his tone sheepish, a little while later.
"Hmph," chuckled the vampire. "Of course." The group ascended the stairs and entered the main reactor core, travelling on a catwalk suspended above a sea of Mako. The swordsman, stepping to the railing at the edge of the path, unsheathed Kangetsu in katana form, drew its blade sharply over his exposed palm and extending that hand over the pool, allowing a stream of blood that looked to be black in color and exuded tendrils of smoke as it descended to flow into the exposed section of the Lifestream.
The planet's lifeblood bubbled as the alien liquid flowed into it, but the fluid continued down, outlining the shape of a body within the Lifestream, and moments later, the surface of it erupted as from the Mako sprang the body of SOLDIER First Class Zack Fair, in full uniform, a single, ivory-feathered wing extending from his back.
"Jeez…I don't think that's something I could get used to–no offense," he grumbled.
"None taken," responded Æbel. "I'd be surprised–not to mention minorly concerned–if it were otherwise."
"Aaaanyways," said Zack, drawing out the first vowel. "What's the sitch?"
"Z…Zack!" Genesis exclaimed in surprise, staggering back a bit before he could recover.
"Genesis," he returned with a curt nod. "You're looking well."
"Could say the same about you." Not unaware of the thin ice upon which he was treading, Genesis Rhapsodos, for once in his life, refrained from commenting further.
"Well, with you here, we are one step closer to solving Aeris's problem," said the swordsman, a wry smirk on his face.
"And I expect Cloud'll be an obstacle?" surmised Zack.
"One can always expect Cloud to be Cloud," he responded.
"You can say that again," snorted the SOLDIER.
"You'll need a weapon," observed the vampire. "Cloud left the Buster Sword in Aeris's church, but when I brought you back just now, it was returned to the cliff where you died, so if you could be so kind as to retrieve it quickly, we can be off."
"Right."
An hour later, the trio-turned-quartet stepped onto the road and left Nibelheim behind.
"Jeez…what happened here?" asked Tifa, stunned into gaping-mouthed paralysis by the extent of the damage that had been done to the rebuilt town of Nibelheim.
"No kidding. It's like a monsoon tore through this place," commented Yuffie.
"Not a monsoon, but close," replied a well-built young man who was standing close to them amidst the throng of people that had gathered together in the village square to marvel at the wreckage. "It was two guys fighting."
"Wait, so you mean to tell us that one fight…" said Barret, incredulity dripping from his thunderous voice, "…did all of this?"
"Aye," responded the man with grave, severe sincerity.
"…How?" asked Cloud, just as shocked.
"A few days ago, three men, strangers all, walked into town," began the villager. "One was dressed up in this weird sort of purple body armor that made him look sort of like a dragon, carrying a lance. Big fucking lance this guy had…the biggest you've ever seen, I'd wager. With him was another fellow–good lookin', with hair that was redder than red and dressed in an outfit of red-and-black leather, carryin' some sort of…whaddya call it…rapier. Looked a bit like a woman, truth be told. One o' them 'pretty boys.'"
"And they did all this?"
"Nah. They just sat in the inn and chatted over a cup of coffee in the corner, right as rain. It was the third guy what did this," explained the man. "Him and some other guy–right fucked up, 'e was; looked like some sort of demon…"
"And the third man. What did he look like?" asked the blond, getting a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Oh, he was the prettiest of the lot, certainly, but there was no confusin' that one for a woman. Tall, skinny, long black hair, skin pale as you've ever seen on a human, an' the strangest golden eyes you've ever seen. 'S like he was always looking into a bright light, even in the shade…unchangin'…" The storyteller shivered. "Right dangerous, 'e was; you could tell that from being in the same room with the guy. Dressed from head to toe in black leather ('cept for that sweater of his)–boots, coat, gloves, pants, belt, the whole nine. Wore glasses, too, but 'e 'ad this…sword on his belt. Black hilt, golden guard that looked like a dragon eating its own tail, curved blade…looked Wutain, truth be told."
"What happened? Tell us everything," ordered Cloud, his tone urgent.
"Not here," said the man, suddenly furtive. "Inside."
"It started at 'round sundown," said the man–Rourke. "Few folks say they heard this big commotion down by the ol' Shinra Mansion. The rest of us, though, can only say tha' we saw this demon-lookin' guy–I'm tellin' you, wings, horns, everything–came flyin' through the roof o' that place, arcin' through the air and smashin' right through the roof o' the inn, landin' hard right square in the middle o' the mess. Then this guy starts shoutin'–sounded right mad, 'e did–some kinda taunt… The bloke'd gotten even paler (don' ask me how), got rid of the glasses, an' was wieldin' this big fuckin' sword… I swear, the blade o' that thing had to be 'bout three meters long! And his eyes…" Rourke shivered at the recollection. "The demon-bloke got right pissed about that, leapin' out o' the inn like it was nothin'. After that, they started fightin' again, an' when we woke up in the mornin', the town was in the sorry state you saw when you came."
"What did the man with the sword say? Do you remember?" asked Cloud.
"Nah, I…wait a minute, mayhap I do. Let's see… It was somethin' like 'Come on, Chaos, is that all you've got,' real fightin' words," answered Rourke.
"Chaos?!" exclaimed Yuffie. "Then Vince must've…"
"So tha's 'is name," remarked Rourke. "We were wonderin' 'bout that. That, and how the poor sod's still alive…"
"Can you take us to him?" interjected Tifa.
"Vincent?" called the blond. "It's Cloud. By the Crystals, what happened to you?"
"The presence," the gunslinger was just able to force out from his hospital bed in the town clinic, where he lay prone, his eyes closed. "It…challenged me…to a duel… Said it–no, he–wanted to…make an example of me. Show you all…what would happen…if you tried…to stop him."
"The villagers got you pegged for a demon. You go Chaos Form or what?" asked Barret point-blank.
"Had to…" was Vincent's reply. "No…other way. Even then I…still lost…"
"…how?" asked Tifa. "In Chaos Form, you're more powerful than any of us!"
"Chaos said…that his power…was on par…with Sephiroth's," answered the ex-Turk, opening his eyes as she cast a Cure spell on him, aiding his body in the extremely painful task of knitting itself back together. Muttering a quick 'thank you,' he continued. "Extraordinarily fast… Certainly a lot faster than you'd think, for a sword the size of…the one he was carrying. Barret, help me up." Vincent threw his legs over the edge of the bed, standing gingerly and leaning on the large, burly, dark-skinned man for support. "Hold on…" He reached up with his human hand and wrenched his slightly haphazard jaw back into place with a sharp, sickening snap. "Though why he thought stomping my face into a curb was necessary, I'll never know."
"I don't…" Cloud started, confused; as soon as he realized that Vincent was making a joke, though, it was too late.
"He was clearly holding back…almost toying with me. Though from what he said, I get the feeling that he doesn't get to do this very often, and that his intention wasn't to kill me," he continued. "Even so, some of my more grievous injuries still have a few days yet before they heal fully, and Chaos's pride is wounded irreparably, I think." The normally taciturn man hissed involuntarily in pain, making Cloud's spirits drop a little lower, even, than they had plummeted at seeing Vincent in his current state. "Chaos said that only my son had the power necessary to defeat him, but I wonder…"
Yuffie's brow furrowed in confusion. "Wait," she said. "You have a son?"
For the first time in over thirty-five years, Vincent Valentine swore.
"So, what's the plan?" asked Zack. The other three just looked on, amused, at the image of the SOLDIER asking the question whilst compulsively doing squats.
"Some things never change…" muttered Genesis wryly.
This earned a chuckle from their leader, sitting on the windowsill and looking out at the tundra's landscape from their room at the Icicle Inn as he toyed absently with a small crystal. "Nor should they," he replied. "To answer your question, however, currently we are making our way to the Northern Crater. Our objective, currently, is to retrieve the Black Materia. As I have said, it is far too powerful to be left on this plane unattended, for even if one should only study it, since only one has ever mastered it, the Black Materia will dominate the minds of any who should come into contact with it, filling their minds with destructive intent. Regardless, it will be needed to achieve our goal."
This earned a furrowed brow of confusion from Zack, causing him to cease in the middle of his exercise. "But isn't the Black Materia…I dunno…evil?" he asked.
"Not even remotely," replied Æbel. "'Evil,' by its nature, requires an intelligent malice. The Black Materia is merely destructive in purpose, and due to its immense power, that nature can be overpowering. But evil it is not. If it were possible for an equally powerful fire materia to exist, it would turn whoever used it into a pyromaniac unless their will was strong enough to resist its influence. That does not mean, however, that all fire materia are evil, does it?"
Zack shrugged. "S'pose not." Then he went right back to his squats.
Genesis frowned. "Does that mean…?"
"To some degree, yes," replied the vampire. "But unless you want to be here for the next decade and a half while I explain to you the nuances of magical theory as it pertains to materia, elaboration on that point is impossible."
"Hey, Kain," called Zack, picking up the Buster Sword and resting it on his shoulder. "You wanna go outside and spar?"
The dragoon, standing in the corner with his arms crossed and his head down, smiled almost imperceptibly. "I should like that. Thank you." With that, he grabbed his lance, the Gáe Bolg, and followed the eager SOLDIER out of the suite the quartet shared.
After some consideration, Genesis picked up his rapier and looked towards Æbel pointedly. The vampire looked out over the landscape and pondered for several more moments before he noticed the red mage's unspoken request.
"Oh, I suppose it couldn't hurt…"
"Remind me to thank Shantotto, Kain, when next I run into her," said Æbel. "She has truly outdone herself this time."
"I shall," replied the dragoon. "Come to think of it, was she not also responsible for restoring the Gáe Bolg?"
"That she was."
"You know, for a professor of magic, she is quite the artisan–perhaps, even, without parallel," observed Kain.
"I concur," remarked the vampire as he admired the staff in his hands. "And now, in large part due to her efforts, Clarent is at last complete."
Genesis gazed upon the finished weapon–the item the diminutive Tarutaru woman had called a 'Stardust Rod,' only now with the Black Materia inserted into the gap at the staff's head, where it fit perfectly. The artifact of destruction, the mindless desires of which had been slowly filling his mind with their whispers, was now secure, its influence now ineffectual thanks to its newfound host. Somehow, the slotting of the Black Materia seemed to lift the pall of menace that seemed to hang over the chambers Sephiroth had erected within the Northern Crater before enacting his plan to destroy Jenova, once and for all (and debatably succeeding in the endeavor). It had been no easy task to get there, but for three beings with the power of flight and a fourth whose ability to leap was nearly ludicrous, it was several orders of magnitude easier than it had been for AVALANCHE five years prior. The same principle would apply now that it was time to leave, since the blizzards that chronically plagued the region had abated, and haste was paramount so that they would not end up marooned on an island amidst a sea of white. To this end, much as he had before, the Vampire King made the staff, Clarent, disappear into thin air, and with a conversational utterance of "Shall we?" unfurled his wings of light, an instant later shooting up into the night sky with a powerful downbeat of those immense wings, followed in short order by the SOLDIER and the red mage, then finally by the dragoon's leaping arc. On the move once more, they headed towards Midgar.
