"And just what are you four hoping to accomplish?" came a voice that was horrifically familiar to half the party as they made their way through the snow-laden forest. "Why do you insist upon making a mess of the natural order of things and generally causing mayhem?"
"A…Angeal…" said Genesis, his voice full of wonder and guilt. "How…"
"I noticed a disturbance in the Lifestream and felt the need to investigate. And so, with Minerva's help, I reconstituted my physical form out of Mako from a nearby reactor," replied Angeal Hewley, leaning against the side of the barn, brow furrowed in stern disapproval. "I ask again: just what do you hope to accompl…?"
Angeal went flying through the barn, coming out the other side and skidding to a stop in the snow. He looked up in surprise, only to have the image of a very pissed-off Zack Fair glaring at him, his eyes showing his emotional state as being several orders of magnitude greater than mere anger. His protégé's eyes never leaving his own, Zack brought up the fist with which he had punched Hewley through a barn and cracked his knuckles, one by one.
"That one's for making me kill you," explained Zack, his voice cold and disconnected, so great was his fury. "How dare you. How. DARE. You." The young SOLDIER turned on his heel and stormed into the woods. "I've gotta go blow off some steam," he said by way of explanation, unclipping the Buster Sword from his back as he went.
Slightly dazed, Angeal remained nevertheless aware enough to accept Æbel's aid onto his feet, his eyes locked in the direction in which his apprentice had gone. He began to take a step forward, only to be met with a restraint–friendly, but firmer than iron. "He needs to go vent. Give him some space," instructed the vampire, golden eyes meeting black ones in a transmission of understanding.
"He…really took that hard, didn't he…" Angeal mused distractedly. "Don't know why I didn't expect that…"
The Vampire King stared into Angeal's eyes for several moments, searching for something. When he relented, having presumably found whatever he was looking for, he gave the original owner of the Buster Sword a sympathetic look, then spoke. "Kain! Follow Zack. Stay hidden and keep your distance, but if he wanders too far and runs into a fight he can't handle, help him out. I didn't drag him out of the Lifestream so that he could go and get himself killed for being hotheaded at this stage of the game." The purple-armored man grunted his acquiescence, and then was gone.
"Thank you," said Angeal.
"General Hewley," began Æbel. "It's good to see you alive. I'd imagine that we have a lot to talk about, you and I…"
When Angeal finally went to look for Zack, he found him in the midst of a new glade–new, because Zack Fair's idea of 'blowing off steam' was apparently to use the Buster Sword to chop down trees. Since he had been at it for so long, a good-sized clearing had formed around him, and at the edge of it, his black-haired former apprentice swung the large weapon viciously, cleaving down great ancestral old growth within minutes, each blow biting deep into the wood. Angeal nodded amicably to the dragoon, Kain, as he passed by him, Zack's grunts of effort and cries of rage echoing throughout the area. Suddenly feeling very uncertain of his course of action, the broad, sturdy man walked very cautiously up to the young man he regarded as a surrogate son.
"I…heard about what happened," he began.
Zack ignored him, his gaze stubbornly fixed on the millennia-old tree he was killing.
"I think I know…think I understand, now…"
If anything, Zack only swung more viciously.
"…just how much pain I caused… How much my actions must have hurt you…"
Swifter now came the blows, but beyond that, there was no change.
"And…I just wanted to say…that I'm…sorry for that…"
One tree, having seen over fifteen hundred winters, fell to the Buster Sword.
"Zack, are you even listening to me?" On to the next one. "Zack? ZACK!"
Angeal's new sword clashed against the single-edged broadsword, stopping the swing instantly and sending the sound of clashing metal spiraling out into the surrounding area.
"No, you don't…" Zack whispered, his head bowed. "You don't understand. You never did." The youth disengaged, swinging his broadsword instead at Angeal, forcing him to leap backwards. "You never even tried. No, everything had to be a fucking lecture with you, didn't it, 'Geal? Always going on about 'follow your dreams this' or 'protect your honor as SOLDIER that.' So don't you dare pretend that you actually ever gave a damn about how I felt."
"Zack, you know that isn't true!" Angeal objected, stepping forward involuntarily.
Zack's head snapped up, tears welling up in his eyes. "Then why did you force me to kill you, FATHER?! How could you DO that to me?!" To that, no answers were forthcoming. "How could you abandon me like that?! Abandon US like that?!" His frame began to quiver, and after a moment, he slouched to his knees, head bowed, tears now running freely down his face. "When you left, it was the beginning of the end. Sephiroth and I… He never showed it, but I know he relied on you to help ground him–help reaffirm his humanity…and for me… You were the closest thing to a father I've ever had, 'Geal. By forcing me to…to kill you…you did worse than orphan me again…" He brought his sword hand up into view, staring at it before clenching it into a fist. "…you made me hold the knife. Do you have any idea how that feels?" He chuckled mirthlessly in an attempt to hide a sob. "After the fact, I knew Sephiroth never blamed me, but…but I did, every day for the rest of my life." He paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I couldn't get around that. The man who…who taught me how to live my life… He was dead, and no matter whose fault it was, in the end…I held the knife…" His hand dropped limply to his side, and he surrendered to the sobs, allowing them to rack his body, a child who had just lost everything he knew and loved for a second time, and only now coming to terms with it.
Angeal knew not what courage flowed into him at that moment, but with it, he crossed the clearing and knelt before his surrogate son, grasping him securely by his shoulders and looking into his eyes for a moment, before pulling him into a paternal embrace. As Zack's tears wet his sweater, the first white-winged SOLDIER moved his hands up and down his back, planting a small, chaste kiss intermittently upon the normally-cheery youth's head in an attempt to soothe him. "I am sorry," he began. "I know that can never truly encompass it, but I am sorry. I acted selfishly when Genesis revealed to me our origins…I was confused and scared, but that does not change the fact that what I did–what I forced you to do–was completely and utterly inexcusable. And because of that, I wasn't there for you when you needed me." He reached down, lifting Zack's head up by his chin. "But I'm here now, and I swear, I will never abandon you again. We're in this together, you and I, and this time it's going to stay that way. Do you understand?"
Zack nodded, and did not resist when his surrogate father pulled him into another embrace.
At the edge of the clearing, not far away, Kain Highwind discreetly excused himself from the reunion between father and son.
Three weeks. That's how long Cloud and the rest of AVALANCHE had been tracking the mysterious quintet. Twenty-one days, day in, day out, in hot pursuit of the tracks their quarry left in their wake, and yet they seemed no closer than when they began. And with Vincent's strangely simple, though mind-blowing, confession hanging in the air, making things even more awkward than normal, the forces of entropy seemed to conspire to run his stamina into the ground, such that it was growing progressively more difficult to block out the odd flashes of déjà vu, the object of which he could not place for the life of him.
At the moment, they had returned to Edge City, lodging above the Seventh Heaven and trying to decide which course of action they should take, now that they knew they had lost the trail in Midgar. And not just 'lost'; it disappeared. Vanished. Cloud collapsed onto his bed in exhaustion and despair, attempting to piece together just what the quintet's plan was and failing miserably in the endeavor. To make matters worse, the revelation of Vincent's greatest secret was beginning to make the bonds of friendship that bound the group strain almost to the point of breaking, and the discovery they had made that same day–the fact that the Buster Sword had been taken–on top of that seemed to physically weigh him down.
They made an example out of Vincent, who is also… He shook his head to avoid finishing that thought; it was strange enough to hear of it, and quite another order of magnitude stranger to think about it and accept its reality. They stole the Buster Sword. And now, the Black Materia is gone, and probably in their hands… What are they after…?
"Resurrection," came the last voice he had been hoping to hear–Vincent's–at which point Cloud began kicking himself for thinking out loud. "That's all Chaos and I can come up with. The Presence and his allies are trying, for whatever reason, to use the Black Materia to resurrect my son…Sephiroth." The gunslinger walked across the room and sat down next to Cloud on the bed. "You seem troubled."
"Yeah, I am," answered the blond. After a stretched, tense period of silence, he gave voice to the question that irked him most about the ex-Turk's revelation. "Vincent, why don't you hate me?"
"That is…a difficult question to answer," Valentine responded truthfully. "I suppose there are several reasons, many of them having to do with my failings as a…husband, and as a father. But…when I pose that same query to myself, the most predominant reason is because…I think that, by the end…my son wished nothing more than an end."
"An end? To what?"
"To the threat the Calamity posed. To the threat ShinRa posed. But most of all, I think Sephiroth desired an end to his own very painful life. Thus, by killing him, you have done better by him than I, as his father, ever did. And for that reason among others, I suppose, I cannot bring myself to hate you for giving my son the end he so desired."
"Mm…"
A relative silence permeated the room, and in a defiance of convention, the pensive gestalt entity was the first to break it.
"You know, what happened in the Forgotten Capital, I think, affected him greatly," he mused.
"How could it have?!" Cloud objected, sitting bolt upright. "He wasn't the victim!"
"And yet, what guarantee do we have that Sephiroth was in full control of his actions when he did that?" challenged Vincent, his voice calm and level as always.
"'What guarantee do we have'? He had to have been!"
Vincent fixed him with a look that was at once piercing, pitying and unfathomably sad. "Sometimes I wonder, do you honestly believe that? Or is it just what you keep telling yourself, so often that the words lose all meaning and the only thing that is left are the hopes, dreams and hatreds of the past?"
Cloud stood abruptly, turning his back on the gunslinger. "Thank you for the chat, Vincent, but I must respectfully ask you to leave," he said curtly.
The ex-Turk looked at Cloud with a melancholy smile on his face for several long moments. Then he stood, nodding. "As you will," he conceded, making to walk out, but stopping at the threshold. "Cloud? I would advise you to think on what I've said, as a comrade and…as a friend. To allow oneself to be consumed by the hatreds of the past is the worst and most inimitable kind of torture."
Cloud did not respond.
Vincent sighed ruefully, and left.
The Seventh Heaven was just closing up for the evening when the night sky erupted into a dazzling, horrifying display of light, a massive explosion sending a pillar of fire into the air and throwing chunks of superheated metal clear across the city. A moment later, the shockwave hit, and Tifa cried out as the bar's windows were shattered and blasted inwards, though she thankfully avoided being cut to ribbons thanks to Vincent's timely use of a barrier materia. The martial artist thanked the gunslinger, who in turn flashed her a genuine smile.
"What the Hell was that?!" asked Yuffie as she, having bolted down the stairs together with Barret, reached the first floor breathlessly.
"It came from the old ShinRa plant…" observed the ex-Turk.
[Warriors! Come out and play!] cried a voice within the minds of everyone in the city.
Moments later, Cloud came bounding down the stairs, his armor on and the Fusion Swords clipped to his back. "It's them. Let's move."
"Time to bash some heads," remarked Barret. "Let's suit up and move out!"
When AVALANCHE entered the scene of the rebuilt ShinRa Headquarters building, the welcoming party was mayhem and confusion, interspersed with intermittent death, destruction and combat. Reports were at best conflicting, and at worst entirely contradictory, with the occasional outrageous claim being made, but they all seemed to agree that they were being attacked, though the where and the who were matters for debate, and no one seemed to have the foggiest idea of the how or the why. Needless to say, the old team seemingly had their work cut out for them.
"All right, no one seems to know even where the enemy is attacking from, so here's how we're going to do this. Barret, Vincent, Yuffie, you go one way, while Tifa and I go another way," decided Cloud, already slipping back into his post as the leader of this motley crew.
"Hey, Cloud!" called another familiar voice. "What'm I, chopped liver?!"
"Good to see you, too, Cid," said Cloud. "You'll go with us."
"Well ain't that just peachy! The old team's back together! It's fucking good to be back!" yelled the aeronautics engineer, picking his way through the debris that littered the makeshift hospital camp that now occupied the building's main lobby.
"Right. Tifa, Cid and I will take the south stairs. Barret, Vincent and Yuffie, you take the elevator shaft," he ordered.
"Back to your old self again, I see," grumbled Yuffie, but she nevertheless followed the others as Vincent ripped apart the elevator doors, jumped across, and began to scale up the shaft. In similar fashion, Cloud's squad bolted for the south staircase, racing up the building with the sole intent of defeating their foes.
The penultimate battle royale had begun.
With no small amount of grumbling, Yuffie and Barret made it up the shaft after Vincent, whose speed in climbing was deceptive. Once they ascended to the thirty-sixth floor, upon which Chaos sensed an ally of the Presence, they regrouped, dusting themselves off, and continuing on through the corridor. The ShinRa infantry, harrowed, recognized the arrival of AVALANCHE as a much-needed relief, and with a token reassurance from the Wutain princess, they beat a swift retreat, followed in short order by the remainder of an eviscerated squadron of First Class SOLDIERs, planting a small seed of misgiving within the kunoichi that she stomped down upon ruthlessly. Cut it out, Yuffie, she told herself. You are the heir of the Kisaragi Family of Wutai. You never chicken out in front of an enemy!
The appearance of the man who caused such destruction, however, swiftly put an end to those thoughts.
"Yuffie Kisaragi, Barret Wallace and Vincent Valentine, I presume," stated the man, dressed from head to toe in red and black leather. He huffed in amusement, throwing back his head and flipping his unusually deep red hair out of his face, though his telltale SOLDIER eyes remained fixed on them with an air of cold assessment that made the ninja's skin crawl. "So these are the legendary members of AVALANCHE, hmm? I am afraid I must admit, I am feeling rather…underwhelmed at the moment." Without warning, he snapped his arm up, levelling the rapier he wielded at them. "Let's see if you're really as good as they say!"
Following Cid's intel, Tifa, Cloud and the engineer left the south staircase on the forty-second floor, where what greeted them was not the sound of screaming, nor the rapid retort of gunfire, but the ominous silence of a morgue. They did not need to travel much further to see why: shortly into their journey, they stopped dead, stunned at what they saw. The first intersecting corridor they came upon, once a sterile white, had recently undergone an unfinished sanguine paint-job. The blood and gore–mostly liquefied or rent shreds of organ tissue–covered almost the entirety of the walls, all of the floor, and most of the ceiling, as well, and what remnants were left behind wore the uniforms of infantrymen, carried ShinRa standard issue assault rifles, and wore the iconic trioptic helmet.
Cid let out a low whistle, his eyes wide. "Fucking Hell, what happened here?" he cried. "It's like these poor S.O.B.s got fed into a meat-grinder, for fuck's sake!"
"They were all killed in the space of an instant," observed Tifa.
"What makes you say that?" asked Cloud.
"Well, look," she replied. "Judging by the bullet holes in the walls, they at least tried to defend themselves. But the fact that all the holes were almost filled by…by the blood, tells me that whomever or whatever killed them did so before they could fire any more."
"But they could've just run out of ammo," argued the blond.
"Do you see any spent clips on the ground?" she retorted.
"No…I guess not…" he mused. "But…well, Vincent said that the Presence was fast, right? So what if…what if this is his handiwork, and he's still down here?"
"Sound reasoning, but ultimately incorrect," remarked an unknown voice. The trio's attention snapped across the hall to the end of it, where a lean, tall figure of a man clad from head to toe in purple body armor fashioned in the iconography of a dragon, a long, strange polearm in his grasp. "Tifa Lockhart. It really has been far too long."
"I'm sorry, but…do I know you?" asked Tifa in no small amount of confusion.
"…No. We have met, and even fought together for a time, but I do not suppose you would be able to remember it," answered the man. "Allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is Kain. Kain Highwind." He gave a short though polite bow.
"Highwind, huh?" scoffed Cid, stepping forth and unclipping the spear from his back. "Sorry, fucker, but there's only one Highwind in this world, and it ain't you!"
"Though your manner be uncouth, I concur with the sentiment," said Kain, beginning to twirl his polearm slowly. "When it comes to Highwinds, there can be only one." With that, he snapped into a balanced stance, his hand outstretched in front of him and his weapon tip-down with its shaft running up the back of his arm. "Have at you!"
Shit, Yuffie swore to herself, once more ducking behind cover and lowering her oversized shruiken just in time to avoid the fireball that came flying towards her. I can't get so much as a good shot at the guy! She looked across the corridor and saw that Barret was faring no better, while Vincent focused on casting barrier after barrier to protect them from the explosive detonations the Firaga spells caused. And here I thought the Crimson Commander of ShinRa was dead!
"You're going to have to do better than that," taunted Genesis. "I'm beginning to tire of this little game of trench warfare you have going on here. Though it is amusing, I must admit seeing the scion of the great Kisaragi Family of Wutai hiding with her comrades like a frightened rat, cowering behind cover like that…"
Oh no, he did NOT, she thought. Before Vincent could hold her back, Yuffie rolled out from cover and threw her shruiken at the man in red, screaming out, "EAT THIS!" in anger. The rapier, however, flashed out and sliced the weapon in half as soon as it came into range, and this, combined with the fact that Genesis's smirk had widened into an amused grin, gave her just enough time to think to herself, Fuck. My. Life.
"YUFFIE!" cried out Vincent, and a moment later she felt her arm being nearly wrenched out of her socket as the ex-Turk pulled her out of the way just in time to avoid the line of eight consecutive fireballs that landed where she had just been an instant prior. "Recklessness like that will get you killed! He's trying to egg you on, and you'll look more the fool for playing to his whims and ending up a streak of boiled fat on the wall than for doing the prudent thing and hiding!" he admonished in a loud, angry whisper. She nodded mutely.
Vincent sighed. "But perhaps you are correct, in a way. If we don't attack, we'll stay on the defensive until Rhapsodos becomes bored and simply immolates us. Take my gun, Yuffie. Be sure to use two hands, unless you want to irreparably break your arm–and probably the shoulder, as well. I'll keep a barrier on you. BARRET! Give Yuffie some covering fire." The burly, dark-skinned man nodded curtly, his cybernetic arm morphing into a high-caliber firearm at his mental command. "Ready? GO!"
The polearm, glowing sky-blue, silhouette momentarily indistinct, ripped through Cid's midsection with such violent force that blood and bits of ruptured lung erupted from his mouth and added to the gory mess the ceiling was becoming. For Cloud and Tifa, it was as if they were watching in slow motion, from the purple-armored lancer's battle cry of 'Feel my strength!' and Cid's charge to the moment at which they clashed, the dragoon bending and spinning with almost inhuman dexterity around the foul-mouthed engineer's straight drive to dodge it, while his own attack–the Dragon's Fang, Tifa's mind supplied, though she knew not from where–struck true. The explosive force of the technique did not allow for Kain Highwind to stop, and so instead he let it provide forward momentum until the mass of his body overcame the force of his own inertia, stopping him.
Just like that, Cid Highwind was dead, killed in the space of an instant.
Kain was the first to break the silence. "He fought with honor, and died a warrior's death. May he rest in peace."
"You monster!" cried Tifa. "He had a wife and a child! How could you…"
"His son will grow up knowing his father died a hero. That's a far better card than most orphans get dealt," the dragoon interrupted.
"It's not just that," argued Cloud, his voice quietly quivering with rage. "He was our friend! And you killed him!"
"You say that, and yet conveniently forget that he challenged me," observed Kain.
"But you didn't have to kill him!"
"He would have killed me otherwise," the knight retorted. "That is how it is between warriors. We face each other on the field of battle, fight, and at the end, one of us dies, and dies with honor. But I would not expect one such as you to understand, Cloud Strife. Olliver was correct; you are no warrior."
"That doesn't change the fact that he was our comrade," Tifa countered. "Nor does it change the fact that you killed him. And for that, you're going to pay."
The dragon knight sighed in what seemed like exasperation. "By the Crystals… Fine, then. If you must fight me, then so be it. I shall allow it. But only for you, Tifa, out of respect for your abilities, and as a former comrade-in-arms. Strife, however, must continue onwards; my companions have expressed a desire to meet him in combat, and far be it for me to refuse them that."
"I'll be fine," assured Tifa, silencing whatever objections the blond was preparing to voice. "You go on ahead."
Cloud hesitated. "You're sure?"
Tifa gave a curt nod.
The blond sighed. "Good luck, then, Tifa." He bounded around the dragoon and proceeded on upwards via the north stairs.
"Thanks," she replied, a faint, regretful smile on her face despite herself.
"You love him," observed Kain. "Though he is too dense to realize it. You wonder if he will ever return your feelings, and for that, you take care of him and spend your life with him, even though the fact that the Cetra girl's ghost haunts him still brings you such pain that, at times, you feel as though your heart is going to rip itself in half. You look at him with such…longing, even now. It at once distresses and heartens me to see this." The dragoon chuckled. "What if I told you the answer? What would you do then, I wonder? Would you be interested to hear it?"
"Why don't you just shut up and fight?!" she huffed brusquely, shifting into the stance of the Leaping Tiger Form and extending the blades of the pair of knuckles she had chosen, the Dragon's Claw, hating vehemently the blush on her face.
"Hmph," chuckled the knight, letting the corner of his mouth twitch upwards into a small, mirthful smirk. He twirled his lance end over end, finally snapping back into his former battle-stance, his hand outstretched, aiming at her. "As you wish."
Well, fuck. That hurt, thought Yuffie, flat on her arse and momentarily stunned, looking up at the tall frame of Genesis Rhapsodos with his back turned towards her, the rapier hanging readily in his grasp at his side. Thankfully, Vinnie's barrier prevented me from being sliced in half, but still… Then, she began to grow angry. Why the Hell can't we beat this guy?! I know he's Genesis Rhapsodos and all, but jeez, we're AVALANCHE! We beat Sephiroth! So why is this guy so strong, even when facing not one, not two, but three of us? Incensed, the ninja cast her gaze about wildly in search of Vincent's gun; spotting it, she lunged for the weapon and fired at the man in red, growing progressively more ticked off as he whirled about, the red blade of his rapier slashing through the air and slicing the high-caliber projectile in half. Neither were her comrades able to capitalize on the momentary distraction, for he continued in his pivot and whirled the weapon through the air, deflecting or halving the bullets Barret emptied in his direction, aiming for him while his back was turned. Another section of the turn cut the gun in half with a single slash, and when he finally completed the second rotation, he casually sent a Thundaga spell flying down the shivering length of his blade and straight for Barret's gun-arm, causing it to explode into smoking fragments of silvery gunmetal. Vincent rushed over to the grizzled soldier, casting a quick-fix Cure spell on the bleeding stump of his limb, then executed a flawless power-slide across the corridor and sending something flying end-over-end through the air, which she caught deftly in her left hand.
A sword.
Only standard-issue SOLDIER, but it would do.
The Crimson Commander reacted with admirable speed to deflect her sudden strike, and reposted almost instantaneously. Thankfully, she, too, was able to react quickly enough to deflect his counter. Suddenly on far more even ground, the Wutain princess felt much more in her element, and the kata came to her almost as if her motions were guided by the hand of Bishamonten himself. Using her lithe, waifish form to her advantage, she was able to avoid blows that the more shapely Tifa might have been forced to block, thus leaving herself open to another avenue of attack, or take, which would slow her down in the long run, especially if the wound received was grievous. Unfortunately, Rhapsodos was rather talented with his long rapier, but Yuffie had a trick up her sleeve–one so clever and so simple that she had trouble keeping her expression neutral just thinking about it.
Her thrust was parried and countered, such that she found herself staggering back from the infuriating man, the kunoichi decided that that moment was the most opportune time she would probably get to show her hand. As Genesis pressed the attack, she allowed her best approximation of an amused, knowing smirk to spread upon her face, and though it did not cause her opponent to hesitate–much to her chagrin–it did cause a quizzical expression to appear there, making her nearly giddy with internalized, mischievous, malicious glee.
"You're probably wondering," she began, speaking in between the clashes of metal that the collisions of their blades caused, "why I'm so calm." Parry, counter, strike, block riposte, repeat. "Well, I only think that it's fair to warn you that…" she continued, catching his blow near the hilt of her blade and putting as much weight as she could into it, disengaging in such a way that it would repel him and give her a moment to breathe. "…I'm not left-handed." She grinned, switching the SOLDIER standard-issue sword from her left hand to her right, then retaking her stance and waiting for his reaction.
He chuckled in return. "Really? What a coincidence…" he replied, switching the rapier to his right hand as well. "…because I'm not, either."
Yuffie's face twisted into an expression of childlike revulsion and irritation. "NO FAIR!" she cried, her voice annoyingly shrill.
He responded with a full-throated laugh.
Tifa caught the head of the polearm in between her crossed Dragon's Claws, pulling them up and apart from each other in a move that disengaged and repulsed the armament's rather large head. Her opponent rolled with that momentum, arcing up and down and bringing the lance to bear in a full thrust, and in turn, she turned the tip aside, using that momentum to send her slipping down the shaft of the dragoon's weapon, ready to plant the Claws in his face, only to find him spinning and sweeping her legs out from under her with that shaft, following with a strong kick to her midsection, which sent her flying through the drywall boundaries of several cubicles. The martial artist scrambled to her feet just in time to dodge the dragon knight's jump attack, and when that chained into a quick flurry of three narrow slashes, followed by a series of three successive, short-range thrusts, she utilized her momentum to weave within the offensive, evading each blow by bending back and staying just out of reach. When she had neutralized that threat, she batted the weapon aside and lunged, a Claw-enhanced punch aimed at his heart the spear-point of her counter-offensive, but found her endeavor foiled as Kain leapt back nimbly, wheeling his lance through the air before snapping it to his side and back, point down, shaft running the length of his arm, with his other arm before him, two fingers before his face as a kind of marker, like a crosshair. That final detail escaped Tifa, who, fueled by a rage that was sent into overflowing by his deft evasion of her blow, executed a technique she had not used since the final battle against Sephiroth in the Northern Crater.
The Final Heaven.
Tifa pivoted on her heel to survey the damage she had done to her opponent, noting the dual streak of soot on the floor, followed by a radial sunburst and then the continuation of that streak, thus coming to the conclusion that the technique was far more powerful than when she had used it last, and returning hastily to her battle stance as she realized, with no small degree of incredulity, that Kain had not perished from the blast. Indeed, after a moment, the dragoon stood from his kneeling position, using the shaft of his lance to help him, coughed, and turned to her, chuckling. "I must confess, you surprise me, Miss Lockhart," he began, wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth with his off-hand. "You are still every inch the kind-hearted warrior I remember. But I'm afraid you'll have to do far better than that if you wish to defeat me, let alone the rest of my comrades."
"Well then, why don't you come here and let me show you what I'm really capable of?!" she taunted in anger, beckoning to him mockingly.
"Do not mistake me, I am perhaps even more eager than you to discern that in truth," he replied. "Unfortunately, as much as I would love to continue our duel, your friends will soon have need of you, and I would be remiss in my duties were I to keep you from them." He tilted his head back to look upwards. "The hour of the success of our grand endeavor is nigh. Time grows short. Another time, then, we may continue this." With that, he turned his back to her and began to walk away.
"Come back here and fight, you…you…BASTARD!" cried Tifa, incensed.
He laughed. "One can only hope that if and when our paths cross once more, it shall be on friendlier terms," he said, turning his head to address her over his armored shoulder. "Until then, I must bid thee farewell…Tifa." With that, he aligned his body, grasping the Gáe Bolg in both hands, crouching and executing a move that the martial artist somehow recognized as a Rising Drive, moving upwards at an incredible speed. Shortly thereafter, he was gone.
The bartender stared up, open-mouthed, at the tunnel the dragoon had left in his wake for several seconds, stupefied by the feat she had just witnessed, until his words of warning at last registered in her mind. "Damn!" she swore, turning on her heel and storming purposefully, chagrinned by the knowledge that she was not capable of performing such an act, towards the route Cloud had used to exit, following after him.
She did not notice that Cid's eyes had been closed.
Goddamn arrogant cock-sucking mother-fucking prick of all pricks! thought Yuffie, aware of both how unladylike and how Cid-like the sentiments she expressed inwardly were, and likewise uncaring on both counts. Her petulant rage kept adrenaline flowing through her veins, and the fact that this was probably the only way she had managed to hold her own against her illustrious and admittedly gorgeous opponent for so long–a fact of which she was by no means ignorant–served only to piss her off even further; yet even the restorative properties of the performance-enhancing hormone had their limits, and the Wutain princess was only all too aware that she was quickly reaching them. Aside from the occasional Thundaga or Firaga tossed down the corridor in the general direction of her friends, he was completely and utterly without relent, and it was all she could do to remain on the defensive, even though the odd kick or shove connected every so often. And it might not be so bad, if he would get rid of that stupid, arrogant, self-centered, self-satisfied, condescending, absolutely infuriating SMIRK!
All of a sudden, he stopped, as if someone had flipped a switch. The abrupt halt in the flow of combat threw Yuffie off-balance, and though she was able to save face by turning her stumbling and wind-milling into a forward flip, landing suitably gracefully in a half-crouch, half-kneel, she was now confused on top of being thoroughly and resoundingly pissed off.
The sound of the rapier slipping into its sheath only multiplied her confusion by several powers of ten, and shot her rage a full order of magnitude higher, even, than it had been when the Crimson Commander replicated her hand-trick. Never mind that he had done it first! He stole her thunder! "Well, kiddo, this has been fun. Really," said Genesis, ruffling the kunoichi's hair with his red-gloved left hand, to which she responded with a low, vaguely canine growl. "But unfortunately, I really must be going. You know how it is–places to go, people to see, deadlines to meet…and speaking of which, it seems that you're going to have to catch up with your other friends. Don't worry, I won't keep you. It was nearly time for me to be done here, in any case, so I guess this is good-bye." He turned and walked away from her, allowing the other two to rush forwards and help Yuffie up, even as she cursed up a storm with vocabulary enough to make a seasoned mariner blush, and at the end of the corridor opposite the entrance, after taking a moment to cast a mild freezing spell using a mastered ice materia upon the nearest of the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined that side of the floor, he turned around to face them once again. "Well, this is it. Catch you later, AVALANCHE!"
With that, he threw his arms out wide, and the window-pane upon which he had cast the spell (and, incidentally, now stood before the exact middle thereof) spider-webbed and shattered. At that precise moment, a single large, black, feathered wing erupted from his left shoulder-blade (though impossibly, his coat remained undamaged in the process), and with one powerful beat of that wing, he took advantage of the sudden gusts of wind that rushed through the new portal at such a high altitude, drifting gracefully up, out of the building, and into mid-air. One downbeat of that solitary wing, and he took to the skies.
"Awfully dramatic, isn't he?" Vincent observed dryly.
Barret chuckled ruefully, running his remaining hand through his corn-rolled hair, but the scion of the royal Kisaragi family took no notice, so intent was she on fuming at the memory of the actions of her departed foe, as well as the indignities those actions had made her suffer–stealing her thunder, ruining her puns, being so downright infuriating…
Something hit her as Rhapsodos's words filtered through the haze of the kunoichi's ire. As her brain needed only a few seconds to decode them, and thus to allow them to register with the cognitive functions of her prefrontal lobe, the task did not take long so finish, and with the completion of that mental process, the realization of their meaning dawned on her so suddenly that Vincent and Chaos both fancied they could see a little copper microfilament light-bulb above her head illuminate with a cartoonish 'ding!'. Her face twisted, and all of the personalities within the gestalt being braced themselves for the oncoming, exceedingly shrill exclamation.
"THAT BASTARD WAS STALLING US?!"
Cloud stepped out of the stairwell and onto the ninety-ninth floor of the new ShinRa HQ, the Fusion Swords resting, unsheathed, upon his shoulder as the iconic SOLDIER eyes he possessed swept around the relatively bare, unfurnished level of the office building. Seeing nothing, his mind began to wander, and suddenly only half of him was present in that facility, while the other half was immersed in memory–sitting upon the bed of his room in the Seventh Heaven, talking with Vincent; weathering the ex-Turk's question with his back turned towards him after he asked the newfound father of his enemy to leave; standing stock-still in horror as the point of Kain Highwind's lance ripped through Cid's body, killing him in a way that was as gruesome as it was mercifully instantaneous; abandoning Tifa to face off against that same man with the chastisement that, for some unknown reason, cut deeply; being impaled on the blade of Masamune, wielded by a Sephiroth that had emerged by possessing the body of the remnant, Kadaj; watching helplessly as that same blade pierced the heart of the half-Cetra flower girl, Aeris; powerless to act as Zack was cut down…
"Well, well, well. Long time no see, eh, Cloud?" came a youthful, suave, nightmarishly familiar voice, ripping him from his reverie with the sheer staggering impossibility of its presence, the accompanying metallic clang as the Fusion Sword clashed to the ground even as it remained in his suddenly loose grasp strangely apropos.
"Z…Zack?!" exclaimed the incredulous, suddenly breathless blond.
"In the flesh," came the response as the figure to match the voice stepped out of the shadows of the floor and into the moonlight that streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows lining either side of the level. "Though I gotta say, I'm awful surprised at where I found this." He unclipped an equally familiar, gargantuan broadsword from his back and bringing it into view; Cloud, in turn, gaped at the sight of the weapon he had not seen in three years:
The Buster Sword.
"N…no…" muttered the blond, stepping backwards and away from the specter from his past only half-consciously, eyes locked on the blade even as he swung his head back and forth in desperate denial of the notion that dawned in his head. "But that must mean…"
"Yes?" prompted Zack, the small, friendly smile he wore not reaching his eyes.
"…that you're with THEM," he finished, eyes blazing.
"Got it in one," congratulated the black-haired SOLDIER. "Give the guy a prize!"
"But…why?" asked Cloud, his voice hoarse with betrayal. "Why, Zack?!"
"Y'know, I called you my 'living legacy' once, Cloud. Do you remember? No, don't answer. Rhetorical question," he began, beginning to pace back and forth in a slow, languid manner. "But after a short stay in the Lifestream to cool off, I realized what a gigantic mistake I'd made, and so I came down here to correct that…error."
"BE FUCKING SERIOUS, ZACK!" shouted the blond. The other stopped abruptly.
"You want an honest answer?!" he shouted right back, turning towards Cloud. "FINE! I joined them because of Aeris!"
Aeris? "You got a lot of nerve, using her like that…" murmured Strife.
"'Nerve'? She was my girlfriend!" returned Zack, outraged. "I came back because she was unhappy!"
"Look I'm sorry I couldn't stop her from being murdered, alright?!" cried the blond. "Is that what you want?! A fucking apology?!"
"NO!" he shouted. "It was her sacrifice to make! If after all these years, you can't respect that, or at least understand it, then you never deserved to travel with her in the first place! All she ever wanted, really, was to find some fucking understanding! Do you even have any idea what that's like, going through life without finding anyone who understood the most basic facts of your existence?!" Zack huffed angrily, running a hand through his hair before snapping his arm up, pointing the Buster Sword at Cloud. "I don't even know why I'm wasting my breath on you, Strife. You just…you just don't fucking get it! But you know what? I really don't give a damn anymore. On your feet, Private! Face me with at least some semblance of fucking dignity, damn you!"
Cloud grasped the hilt of the Fusion Swords in both hands, fury and indignation making him see red. When Zack charged, Cloud answered, both of them with an unintelligible battle cry born of searing rage and cloying frustration upon their lips as their blades clashed. As one, they disengaged, but Cloud attacked first with a furious Cross-slash, putting the tremendous weight of his weapon behind every blow. In response, his opponent evaded each wild slash, and only when the blond went to perform Braver did he bring the Buster Sword up to parry, following with his own slash to disengage and send Cloud airborne for a few second, then connecting to his midsection with a disciplined, forceful kick, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him flying through the air to crash painfully against the opposite wall.
"Your stance is off-balance," pronounced Zack. "Your strikes are sloppy. Your grip is as unstable as it is insecure–frankly, it's a wonder you haven't broken your fucking wrists yet!–and, perhaps worst of all, you fight mad!" He sighed. "Undisciplined. Untrained. Uncontrolled. That kind of performance might've been enough when the toughest opponents you were facing off against were the dishonorable trash, useless meatheads, cocky hotheads and sadistic punks ShinRa streamlined to the rank of 'SOLDIER First Class' after 'Geal died, but against me or any other reasonably well-trained swordsman? Not gonna cut it. Not a shot in the dark." He pointed the Buster Sword at Cloud's prone form. "Now I see why you failed that piece-of-shit entrance exam three times. You're just not SOLDIER material, Strife. You don't deserve it."
"Cloud!" cried Tifa as she burst out of the stairwell.
"Tifa…" he replied weakly.
As she rushed to his side and crouched down to check that he was alright, Zack lowered the Buster Sword and let out a low whistle. "Well if you aren't a sight for sore eyes! How long has it been, Tifa? Nine years? Ten?" He brought up the Buster Sword to rest on his shoulder, suppressing a chuckle as she turned to him, eyes wide with disbelief. "Well, you've certainly aged well. Looks like you've grown a full cup size or two since the last time I saw you, eh?"
"…Zack Fair?!" she gasped, eyes wide as she stood up to get a better look.
"Know anyone else with such awesome hair?" he responded glibly. "Don't mind us. I was just giving Chocobo Head here"–he jerked his chin up to indicate Cloud–"a little remedial lesson on swordplay. Just a little bit of horsing around. Honest!"
"He's…with them," Cloud managed.
"Did I mention you're a sore loser?" admonished Zack.
"You did this to him?!" cried Tifa.
"Mm-hmm."
"You…did this…to him."
"Yup." He made sure to pop the 'p'.
She was speechless and struggling for words when the other three burst onto the scene, almost falling over each other in perfect comic fashion. Grumbling ensued, but, as usual, Yuffie was the first to regain her voice. "Tifa, what's going on?"
"You did this to Cloud," growled Tifa. "You…hurt…Cloud."
"He'll get over it. Really, it's good for him. Builds character," joked Zack.
"Even if it takes me a hundred years… Even if it breaks every bone in my body… Even if it kills me… I WILL RIP YOU IN HALF!" she screamed, consumed by absolute fury.
"Hurt one of us, ya hurt all o' us," grumbled Barret, taking his place by Tifa as the other two followed suit, though Vincent took a minute to help Cloud back to his feet. "And if ya hurt all o' us…sorry, fool, but you gonna pay."
"Cute," commented another voice, even as it stepped from the shadows. "Cheesy, but cute." Angeal turned to Zack. "Kain and Genesis are on the roof. You need a hand?"
"How much time we got?" asked Zack, lowering the Buster Sword into a two-handed grip even as he assumed his battle stance.
"None," replied Hewley.
"Hell, why not? Thanks, 'Geal," the prodigal son answered.
"Don't mention it," responded Angeal, freeing a two-handed jian from its sheath, which was attached to the back of his SOLDIER harness, and readying it. "Besides, I haven't had a good fight in a little over a decade. Been feeling a bit rusty lately, and frankly, it's a great way to get back into practice."
"Great. Try to keep up, old man," Zack joked.
The corners of Angeal's mouth quirked up into a small smile. "Noted."
The assembled members of AVALANCHE barely had enough time to shake off the surprise of seeing the legendary Angeal Hewley alive and well once more before he and Fair were upon them, and then mayhem ensued. Barret, having trained to be proficient with his left hand before receiving the upgrade to his gun-arm, was at least able to defend himself with a standard-issue SOLDIER sword he had scavenged, but due to the damage done to the mechanical limb, he was largely out of the count, at least as far as the battle was concerned. Having been a former Turk, Vincent, too, was able to wield another scavenged blade, although more competently than Barret for the supplementary sword training he had undertaken to prepare for a similar occasion. As a result, though his favored weapon, his handgun, had been destroyed, the downgrade to his participation in combat as a result of the very real drop in his potential damage output was almost minimal. Plus, surprisingly enough, he and Yuffie made a very good team in battle, and since she elected to stay close to him, brandishing her own scavenged blade, they utilized that unlikely fact to great effect. But Tifa…
Tifa was a lioness.
Her rage fueled her, and she channeled that anger into every strike, increasing both her speed and the power of each blow she landed. Cloud played back-up to her, doing his best to complement her when he could, but he was largely unneeded; her berserker fury, coupled with her extensive training in hand-to-hand combat, was a thing to behold.
With this, however, came a price; since the team moved as a unit in battle, and Tifa's performance made her the nucleus of that unit, they were easily herded. Remaining conscious of the time they were losing, Angeal and Zack did not fully commit to the battle, and instead spurred the group as subtly as they dared up to the roof of the building. As Tifa and the rest burst out of the roof access door, the pair unfurled their wings in unison, and as one, they lifted away in opposite directions, leaving the suddenly target-less bartender with a sight that beat the lioness that was her anger to death with a puppy.
On the roof before them was a woman in a lab coat and glasses, her hand extended over a perimeter circle of a much grander and more complex cyclical seal, a dark liquid that she could only assume was blood pouring from her loose fist, suggesting an unseen cut on her palm. Every other circle on the perimeter of that seal was occupied with something; however, disconcertingly enough, each thing was either what she assumed was blood or a flask containing it, and in the center of the seal was planted a strange staff, the head of which was a large, familiar gem–none other than the notorious Black Materia, to her absent horror.
"Lucrecia…" called Vincent, dumbstruck.
The woman turned. "Vincent?!" she squeaked, looking at him wide-eyed as her now-open hand was wrapped carefully in gauze, covered with markings, by a tall, dark figure, too deep in shadow for any details to be discerned.
"Ah. AVALANCHE. How nice of you all to be so very…punctual," spoke the figure, and in moments, he stepped into the moonlight.
"Æbel," growled Cloud, stepping forth with the Fusion Swords readied.
"And Cloud Strife. Wonderful," he purred maliciously. "And here I thought you'd have turn tail and run home by now, He Who Bears the Hound of Odin. It…pleases me, in a way, to know that I was wrong. Its novelty aside–and I assure you, these days it is very, very novel for me to be mistaken in just about anything–it makes my job much simpler, and saves me from having to do a lot of…unpleasant legwork, let's call it."
"Of course not. Warriors don't back down," replied the blond.
"Ah, but have you not listened to a word of what you were told?" he countered. "You're not a warrior, Strife. You lack discipline. Control. Commitment. Composure. Perspective." He chuckled, stepping forth in front of the seal and drawing his sword from its too-small (yet impossibly perfectly sized) sheath with a hiss too serpentine to be purely metallic. "Though perhaps I am mistaken, as I was with the course of action you ultimately elected to take. So this is your chance to prove that to me, Strife." He lifted his ōdachi in his one-handed grip and pointed it at Cloud, his face going from mocking and mirthful to deathly serious. "I have heard tell of a technique you possess–a technique that is supposedly unable to be blocked. I must admit, the tales made me curious. Thus do I challenge you, Cloud Strife: take up your sword and strike me down with your 'Omnislash'. Succeed in this, and I will have been mistaken about you. Perhaps I may even allow you to stop me."
"How will I have any guarantees that you'll keep your word?"
"So confident," said he, an amused smirk worn upon his face like a mask, for his eyes burned, and his aura exuded gravity. "Is it confidence in truth, I wonder? Or are you merely brazen? Only time will tell, I suppose. Know this, Strife: accept and succeed, and I may allow you to stop me. Accept and fail, and you shall stand no chance. Deny me, however, and I will slaughter each and every one of your precious friends, slowly, one by one, and force you to watch each time I do so. Then, and only then, when your world lies in ashes for the sake of your foolishness, shall I allow you to die. And as a personal favor to you, I shall begin with the lovely Miss Lockhart."
"Nggh…" gasped Cloud, his teeth clenched and his lips curled back to bare them. "Fine. Then I accept your challenge. I have no choice."
His gaze softened minutely as he lowered Kangetsu. "I will give my word of honor that your friends shall remain unharmed. Does this comfort you?"
Cloud responded with a look of begrudging gratitude. "Here I go," he muttered.
Allowing the fear he felt for his friends, his desperation, his anger and indignation to fuel him, as it had in the battle in the Northern Crater, Cloud shot forth like a bullet from a gun, tearing up a trench of cement beneath him as he went. When he reached his target, he executed each slash with the weight and momentum of those emotions behind them, but he very nearly faltered when he saw what was happening, what had never happened before.
He failed to connect!
None of the fourteen individual slashes connected; instead, his opponent dodged them: he leaned in the same direction in which each slash traveled, the motion bringing him just far enough ahead of the motion of the slash that he was able to duck under it, with every duck stepping back and evading, and in this way, every single one of the slashes whistled over his head, failing to disturb on its own so much as a single hair. His desperation growing, he leapt back, jumped and flipped high in the air, bringing down the blade with terminal velocity, until, with a horrifying shriek of yielding metal, it stopped.
Kangetsu parried the Fusion Swords. Its edge bit deep into the blade.
With a motion almost too fast to see, his weapon was sent flying, and Cloud with it. His opponent followed. Desperation spiking, he wheeled the sword in mid-air, and with a cry of 'Omnislash Ultima!', he struck; the strike was blocked, and the Fusion Swords split into their six components, held in the air with a blue light. As with Sephiroth three years prior, each sword struck in succession, but unlike that time, his opponent merely let his leap carry him higher, and when the swords altered their course to follow, he slashed six times; those slashes with Kangetsu, though they did not physically touch any of the Fusion Swords, created narrow waves that travelled through the air, slicing each and every one of them neatly in half. This gathered and focused the waves, and Cloud found himself broadsided from the sky by that focused, concussive blast that resulted. He fell to the roof, hard, his Fusion Swords little more than twisted, misshapen lumps of metal that clattered to the cement surface around him. His opponent, on the other hand, returned to the ground gracefully, his clothing and bearing impeccable, none the worse for wear.
Tifa made to rush for him, but found her way suddenly blocked; she looked up, chagrined, and Kain looked back at her, purposefully shaking his head in warning. She wanted now even more to rush forth to spite him, but her instincts overwhelmingly concurred with the dragoon's assessment, and so she stayed put.
"So that was the invincible 'Omnislash,'" said Æbel, as Cloud struggled to his feet. "Pathetic. Stand, Cloud Strife, and witness…"–he assumed the gedan-no-kamae–"…a true Omnislash!"
To Cloud, it looked like there were nine blades of Kangetsu coming towards him all at once. He made to do his best to dodge, but a thought struck him with the gravity of burial, a knowledge as certain and incontrovertible as the duality of life and death; an epiphany.
I…can't dodge this.
When it hit, there was no pain, for there was nothing that was not pain. An instant this lasted, and no more. The instant concluded, and suddenly there were eight distinct nicks on his body, and a stab wound through his ribs, just missing his heart. Nonetheless, he staggered and fell, projectile-vomiting his own blood, and before unconsciousness took him into its gentle embrace, he perceived his opponent's parting words.
"Kagemusha-ryū: Kuzuryūsen."
"CLOUD!" shrieked Tifa, tears of terror running freely down her face as she bolted for the blond's body, bloody and unconscious, and this time, Kain did not stop her.
"He'll live," said the vampire, his tone slightly callous. Ignoring the glare she sent him, he strolled forwards unperturbed. "He needs immediate medical attention, though. You can give him that."
"You mean you'll just…let us go?!"
"All of you, Lucrecia included. AVALANCHE, I have no further use for. I got what I needed. Vincent, Lucrecia, Genesis, Zack, Angeal, Kain, kindly wait nearby. This bloody business will be concluded relatively shortly. Go. Now."
Without a word, they all scrambled to leave, his back turned towards them. Shocked, Tifa gathered up Cloud's broken body and made to leave. She hesitated at the threshold, and turned back to him. "Thank you," she said sincerely.
A curt nod over his shoulder was her response, and then she, too, left.
The black swordsman cleaned Kangetsu of blood with a flick of his wrist, making certain it all landed within the boundaries of the single remaining circle, dragging the sword, restrained into katana form, across the crevice created by his thumb and the cusp of the saya, sharply changing the angle, sliding the sword home, and then began the ritual for which he had done so much preparation, arms outstretched.
"Voco ad auctōritātēs tenebrārum!" he intoned. Deep purple thunderheads moved in from all four corners of the horizon with unearthly speed, blocking out the moon. "Audīte vocātiōnem meum obedīteque imperāta mea!" The air crackled with energy so dense that it almost visibly manifested itself as bolts of white-hot plasma. "Sanguis mātris, voluntāriae eius datus est!" The circle containing the blood of Lucrecia Crescent was consumed in flame the color of the Lifestream. "Sanguis patris, de pugnā captus est!" The circle containing the flask of blood extracted from Vincent Valentine was also engulfed in fire. "Gladius martyris, sacrificātur grātiae amīcī!" The circle around the lifeblood Angeal had given for the cause met the kiss of the conflagration as well. "Pars animī amīcī trāditorque, oblātīcius in āctum contrītiōnis!" Likewise, the circle in which was contained the first materia Genesis Rhapsodos had ever mastered–a fire materia, unsurprisingly enough–and as such, his most prized possession, was also engulfed in the mystical inferno. "Compōnensque ultimus: īnsolentia puerīlis, cōnfractus creāre quem novum!" Finally, the last circle, bearing the blood taken from Cloud, illuminated in the same fashion, and the lines linking circle to circle ignited. The inner circles followed, each symbol inscribed therein flashing to life and rising to hover in mid-air above their previous resting places, their glow pulsating but growing steadily. "Venī ad meum! Noli manere in memoria! Saevam iram, iram et dolorem! Estuans interius ira vehementi! Nunc venī! Venī scīreque ad meum! Ūne Ālāte Angele! Sephiroth! Sephiroth!"
The runes, each facing the center circle, projected beams of energy that converged at that point, creating a ball of that energy that pulsed with increasing frequency before flashing with a blinding greenish-bluish-white brilliance and blasting a vertical beam both up to the stars and down to the planetary core, and the ground quaked from the shock. But soon, the point of convergence for the beams of energy rose into the air, the angle of the beams changing accordingly, and then, as swiftly as the vertical beam was deployed, it snapped back into place and the convergence point seemed to undergo a sort of supernova, a shockwave of energy the color of the Lifestream blasting outwards at the same time the point itself burned white-hot, knocking out the runes and allowing the body to remain self-sustained for a tense minute. When the smoke cleared, the convergence winked out of existence, and in its place resolved the body of a man, tall and slender, dressed all in black with long, straight, lustrous silver hair, an angular, elegant but obviously masculine face, hardened by war and suffering, and eyes with the pupils of a cat and irises that glowed the color of jade, carrying in his hand an ōdachi named after the man who had taught him to use it, a weapon terribly, horrifyingly familiar to the members of AVALANCHE and the comrades with which the man had once fought. The man floated gracefully down to alight upon the center of the ritual seal, elegance, decorum and leashed lethal intent exuding from his every motion. The swordsman turned his head towards the vampire, his luminescent gaze fixing upon eyes that were similar, yet different, with a piercing intensity and overpowering focus.
And then, he spoke.
"I understand you've been looking for me."
