14: Black

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He knew better. But out of repentant sincerity, he had left without a fight. He departed realizing that only he and Sephiroth had the power to keep, to safeguard, to champion. With their, perhaps, misguided affection at the helm, only they were fit for the task. But as night descended on Nibelheim, his brain wracked and ruined itself with frustration in himself and many things. He understood that after thirty long years of being crushed under the thumb of a deadly shadow, his grip on the human condition had gotten a bit rusty. What transpired earlier that day uttered a monumental speech. His love for Lucrecia thrived still, he regretted nothing in that. Only disappointment survived the day of urgency.

The signs blared and clawed at his eyes that he could have wept in pure agony. Wept, something he hadn't done in the decades since he was changed.

Did you do this just to spite me? How could you walk into their hands? How? Why should this happen again? I can't. This time, there's no Hojo to stop me from saving you. Either of you.

Vincent rose upon the full length of his legs, encircled by a great slice of moonlight cleaving through the sky's southern expanse. He pulled his cape tight about his arms, having watched the last of the enemy troupe retire to the inn. One time a scheming hawk, now a brooding gargoyle rocked to life, he watched the building as it nursed shady activity within its belly. He hoped his gaze would punch holes through the wood, plaster, and stone, steal back what he decided to claim his, and with it run off into the night. The lone spy knew he would be in for a fight from nearly every conceivable angle. Not just against these thieving scientists, but Sephiroth as well.

Sephiroth.

Sephiroth and an unchecked force of the Planet that backed him up.

Vincent begged himself not to think of what that entailed. Whatever power that resurrected Lucrecia's son undoubtedly came from the same earth he once menaced. The monstrous grip of Chaos choked him to within an inch of lunacy, as a spirit as cool and soothing as carnage could be mighty and swift. It wanted to sweep him away, but Vincent learned in so short a time to resist. He only wished to ponder it, not relive his prison under the devil's shadow.

Drana, Chaotic life. Lucrecia, what would happen with her in their hands? What will happen? It's unthinkable. Isn't it? Not even you would have thought of this happening. She'd been just a theory. As much as Chaos had been just a theory before he was forced into me.

Vincent let one foot slip off the top of the water tower, plunging towards the ground. He dropped in a way that a feather could hardly be accused as a bunch of dead weight. He strolled amongst the pool of oblong, silver-rimmed shadows that draped the town square, a single calm scene out of a horror. There were few places to go to but into these shadows while flustered over current events and entertaining his own ideas of horror.

No need to bother Tifa. She'd wished to be a part of the puzzling goings-on, but she'd taken upon herself almost the entire project of rebuilding Shinra Mansion. She was to take a backseat to the matter that bothered him. He, himself, had wished to be dedicated, too, to be the forerunner of dedication with the place as far as mutual history went. But something bigger grabbed him, something that connected to him at the core of his being. More so than any musty old building. No plan arose in him being an antihero this time. This time, his choice prevailed.

A hero of one, a hero for all.

Unexpectedly, a grin crossed over his pale lips. Vincent lacked a reputation in the ways of smiling, but he felt an unfounded delight in the thought. To be Lucrecia's hero. The gunman swept locks of hair back from his forehead so that he could lend his eyes to the humongous crescent fixed in the night overhead. Unlike some, no moon goddess appeared bringing boons in return for continued good faith, not for him. He saw only majesty in its size. He saw inspiration. And for the briefest second, he spied the mournfully reflective face of Lucrecia framed by it.

"Drana, I could be your hero, too," he professed. "Whether Sephiroth steps up to the plate or not…"

While drumming fingers on his chin and staring at the ground bathed in darkness, Vincent meandered not to the inn, or to Tifa's house, or even the currently vacant construction site of Shinra Mansion. He happened instead upon his motorbike on loan from the WRO parked outside the mansion's gates, half-hovered and half-hoisted himself onto its brown leather-bound seat, and keyed the ignition.

The engine purred softly to life.

--

From the second floor, sitting at the polished hardwood desk in her childhood room, reading a letter from Marlene and Denzel, Tifa suddenly heard a motor turning over. She rose to her bare feet and padded to the window behind her, first glancing at the waxing crescent moon then to the unlit square. Unable to see anything out of the ordinary, she scratched at a puzzled eyebrow and stepped back towards her bed. A teddy bear sat at the foot, button eyes peering into space above the piano directly three feet away.

She never touched the stuffed animal since coming back to Nibelheim. She never knew this bear. And it never knew her, unlike its long gone predecessor. And she preferred that it stay that way.

Tifa backtracked to the desk, snatching up her phone, and tardily punched a number into the keypad.

"Reeve Tuesti speaking."

"Hi Reeve, it's Tifa," she said.

"Oh Tifa, good to hear from you. How are the renovations coming along?"

His instant conviviality wore on her, making the woman smile before she could catch herself in the act. She parked herself backwards in the chair, resting an arm on the back's rim. Sighing, she returned, "Not bad. But that's not why I'm calling you."

"Oh? What's up?"

"I want you to look up some people for me. I think they're former Shinra employees and they're looking pretty suspicious around Nibelheim."

"Funny you should say that."

"Huh?"

"Vincent called asking for the exact same thing not too long ago."

Tifa gawked in amazement. "And he hasn't even let me in on what he's been doing…"

"Tifa, what's going on over there? Vincent hasn't told me much either."

"I think it has something to do... with Sephiroth and Drana," she divulged with a somewhat doubtful tone.

"Sephiroth and Drana?"

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From Sixth: I wonder why I'm trying but I'm doing it. Perhaps just because...