Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy yet.

(Wut, I'm late again?! I stink. I told you to yell at (and threaten) me!)
That aside... I really feel a need to say that every time I read your reviews, I realize why I got into writing in the first place, and how much I dig you folks. (oh, really? ya, really!)

Epic Karate

Tseng-the-frighteningly-well-clad businessman-lookalike turned to her with an air of complete and utter control, with a face that said "I apologize for my rudeness, but I shall have to take you with me now," and sunglasses that said "By the way, I am more of a pro than you are, so don't try to resist." Meanwhile, Paige stared at him with all the composure of an elderly lady whose purse had just been stolen; she was shocked, scared and positively pissed.

"You should come without causing trouble," the man informed, voice calm and collected. That didn't make the situation any more pleasant.

Despite his politeness, Paige had a feeling he was deadly serious.

Meanwhile, in another part of town, in a large house that looked rather magnificent compared to all the other houses in the area, Solomon was watching television. Or rather, he was switching from channel to channel without finding anything particularly interesting. In the end he settled for the news.

And he was glad he did.

In rapid succession, pictures were shown that made him grow cold inside. While reporters and news anchors spoke of helicopters and other aircrafts crossing borders at extreme speed from the northern part of Asia, to Europe, to the United States, Solomon's eyes were fixed on the screen. Once the army of unknown choppers were above the land of the United States – and Canada, too – they had dropped dozens of beasts to the ground. They were the kind of monsters that had roamed the earth months before, the ones nobody had managed to find the source of. And although that alone was more than enough to keep Solomon watching, there was another, even more devastating fact that kept him from changing to another channel. Right now, all those choppers and small airships had gathered in the same place.

Above the village in which Solomon lived.

"That-... Dad!" he called loudly, frowning. "Dad, come here! You have to see this!"

His father appeared in the door not much later – a tall man with light, cropped hair. With trained steps and a much deeper frown than that of his son, he entered the room and glanced at the television. Before he could grasp the situation, though, the doorbell rang.

"Wait, I'll just get that, first," muttered his father and turned on his heel.

"No, wait!" Solomon nearly hissed, and quickly got up from the sofa he had occupied, but his father was out of sight already. He was a karate instructor, after all. Staying alert, Solomon strode after his father to the entrance door just in time to see him open it. On the other side stood a bald man in a suit. He was wearing sunglasses.

For a moment, nobody said anything. Then the stranger cleared his voice and produced a piece of paper from one of his pockets. After another brief pause, he showed it to Solomon's father.

A photograph.

"... Familiar?" asked the man stiffly, his brows slightly furrowed, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. Solomon's father glanced at the photo and shook his head. Although he managed to look quite at ease, Solomon knew him well enough to tell that he was keeping his guard up. One hand was at his cheek, as if he was thinking, the other hung at his side, slightly in front of him, ready to block or punch. Staying out of his dad's kick range (just in case), Solomon tried to catch a glimpse of the photo.

A man with long, silver hair and shoulder pauldrons of steel looked back at him, so familiar Solomon couldn't hold back his surprise.

The man in the suit saw it.

At his sign – a quick flip of his hand while he put away the photo – there was the sound of a several pairs of boots on concrete. Bulky infantrymen wearing helmets and black, military-like uniforms took their place around the bald one. They were holding large guns nonchalantly, as if they knew this was their win.

Solomon stumbled back.

His father was faster, though. Before they had all gotten into place, one got a kick in the neck, another was swept off his feet, only to be dealt a quick heel kick that hit the pit of his stomach. The third instinctively held up his weapon to guard himself from an attack that showed out to be a feint, but got a hard foot in his ribs instead – soon he was on his knees. By that time, though, the ball of his dad's foot had already made itself acquainted with the underside of the fourth man's chin, which sent him flying. Two men left, now – one of them the bald one, who was putting on leather gloves while stepping back, frowning in silence. Solomon's dad glanced at the other men to make sure they were out cold, then passed them slowly, with the air and expression of one who is in control of the situation. When the last uniformed man aimed his gun at him, Solomon's dad stepped aside and ducked down to pick up one of the other men's guns. Then he flung it at the remaining infantryman with all the force he could muster.

Solomon didn't watch when it hit the man, but he heard it, all right.

"... It's fine, Solomon," came his father's voice. "They're all wearing vests."
Solomon looked up hesitantly. Then, were they all still alive, somehow?

"What...?"
"Kevlar vests," said his dad, watching the bald man. "Or... am I wrong?"

The bald one took his time before replying.

"... No," he said curtly.

Just then, a cellphone started ringing. The bald man thought twice before replying, and once he did, he kept both eyes on Solomon's dad. Personally Solomon felt somewhat overlooked. Only a little, though. The bald man didn't speak a word – it seemed he was just listening to whoever was on the other end. After the brief, wordless conversation was over, the bald man confirmed with a short "Yes," and then hung up.

Before they knew it, smoke bombs exploded all over the place. Solomon ducked into the house, soon followed by his dad. No need to risk getting killed like that.

"Dad-"
"I've already seen the news," muttered his father, all his attention on the door he had just closed.

"No, it's not about that, it's about the man in the picture," continued Solomon, while the two of them shut and locked the main doors. "He works at our school. He's our P.E. teacher."

At that, his dad turned to him and arched an eyebrow, then slowly frowned.

The peace didn't last for long, though – the moment the door was locked, something slammed into the long, small window on the left side of the door. It didn't break, but soon the 'something' crashed into it again. As if somebody was trying to break the glass to get inside. People? Those guys from earlier?

When he took a closer look (as close as he dared), Solomon wanted to be sick.

The face was only plastered to the window for a second before it pulled back to try again, but there was no mistaking it. The head was as huge as that of a horse, but with the shape of a dog. With an open, blue jaw full of distorted teeth and a lolling, drool-drenched tongue, and other darker blue, horn-like protrusions standing up from its head and down its neck, the beast continued its attempts to break the glass. They were the kind of fiends they had seen on television months previously – the ones that had seemingly come from nowhere, and had eventually disappeared into nothing. Just when Solomon thought this was as bad as things could get, another beast came knocking on the window on the other side of the door.

"... Nothing we can do about your teacher now," his father said gravely, running a hand through his short, cropped hair. Just as he finished speaking, they heard the sound of breaking glass from the living room.

"Get her into the helicopter," ordered Tseng, and although he was still calm, a tiny hint of frustration was coming through to the surface of his face.

A man wearing a thick uniform and a black helmet was carrying John Smoth in his hands (since there was no bird cage to keep him in), with his gun hanging by a strap from his shoulder.

A short while ago, a guy with a red ponytail and goggles arrived to take care of Paige, who was still trying to summon her karate skills. If this were a movie, and if she were the heroine, she would have beat them all senseless and claimed the title of Ultmate Savior Hero Super Deluxe, Karate Edition. At the time being, however, she wasn't much of a savior, or hero, and there was nothing super, ultimate or deluxe about the situation. And nothing karate-ish, either.

"Let go of me!" she shouted, red-faced, as the fire-hair man pulled her along out of the house.

"Sorry, that won't do."

Gritting her teeth, she kicked him unceremoniously in the shin, without a trace of karate-ishness. He gave an annoyed grunt, but didn't let go. Struggling and bending like a stubborn donkey with monkey tendencies, Paige tried freeing her arms from his grip. It was no good, though – they'd cuffed her wrists. For the first time (and hopefully last) in her life, she was wearing handcuffs, and they weren't nearly as sufferable as when somebody else was wearing them. If she wanted to deal a reasonable punch, she would have to do it with both hands – but first she'd have to shake off the strong hands of the red-haired man. If only she could get a minute in private, she could use her cellphone to call the police, or her dad, or even (she shuddered) Solomon. Or Solomon's dad, her karate teacher. He would no doubt have super-kicked-and-strike-punched his way outta' this situation in five seconds.

"Gah-" she exclaimed as she stumbled and fell, right by the gate to her little, burnt garden.

Before the red-haired guy pulled her up, she hooked one foot into the gate – an old thing made of wood. If the fire-ponytail guy wanted her to come with him, he'd have to break her legs.

… And he tried, all right.

"Ow-ow-ow!" she exclaimed, gritting her teeth at the grip under her arms.

"Hojo!" exclaimed John Smoth upon hearing her voice, flapping his wings uselessly, still in the hands of the guard.
"Shaddap!" growled Paige as she was hauled to her feet.

Down the road, almost out of sight, stood a black helicopter. She didn't need anybody to tell her that that's where they were heading.

"Hojo-"
"I said shut up!"

"My name's Shut Up, what's yours?" replied the parrot, still flapping his wings. The red-ponytail guy snorted and smirked at the bird. He didn't seem to have too much trouble with Paige. So much for her dreams of magically (or at least heroically) breaking out with the help of her karate skills.

"This is all your fault," she muttered and scowled at John Smoth – a particularly dark scowl, this time.

"Mental blade cut through flesh and bone," rapped John Smoth in response, bobbing his head to the best of his ability. That wasn't much, since the uniform-and-helmet guy still held him still. "Damn, feels good ta be a gangsta'."

"Lively one, isn't it?" asked the red-haired one.

Paige scowled at him, too, but didn't say anything. Behind them, Tseng watched quietly.

Meanwhile, at Solomon's house, furniture was being moved at a ridiculous speed, to cover all the windows. A large cabinet was already covering the front door and the windows on both sides of it, and bookshelves were in front of the large windows in the living room. By fortunate coincidence, Solomon discovered that pulling the curtains also helped – as long as the monsters outside couldn't see through the window (or spot any movement inside), they were reluctant to come closer. Even so, it was nerve-wracking to know they were out there. Solomon and his dad were running all over the place to pull curtains, of all things. At one point a winged little creature broke through a small window on the upper floor, but his dad took care of it before Solomon got there.

At the moment, though, things were calm.

Personally Solomon was feeling tempted to peek out a window and check if the fiends were still there, but that was out of the question – if the monsters were there, and saw him looking, things could get bad.

"Dad, should we call somebody?" asked Solomon.

His dad calmly picked up a cellphone from his pocket and glanced at his son.

"I already called them," he said. "Before those men paid a visit. The minute I heard the news on the radio." In other words, he'd heard the news before Solomon had even seen them.
"Then, who're coming? Who did you call?"
"Everybody there is to call," replied his father, giving a rare, sloping grin. "But nobody seems to be here yet."

Wanting to feel a little useful too, Solomon found his own cellphone.

"Then I'll give my friends a call," he said, already surfing through his list of contacts. He'd already tried giving Paige a call, but she wouldn't pick up the phone.

The person he called now was his friend Bray, one of Paige's neighbors. Gritting his teeth with impatience, he waited. It took a long time before anybody picked up the phone, and when it happened, the person at the other end seemed out of breath, and was talking in a hushed voice.

"Hello?" replied his friend.

"Hi, Bray. Just called to ask if you've seen any, uh, monsters around," said Solomon. No need to be vague about it. "Because we have, and they're persistent."

"Yeah, tell me about it. My parents, my sister and I are all hiding in the bathroom. There's some kinda monster bear in our house!" he hissed.

"Any of you hurt?" His dad watched him talk, frowning. That was his way of worrying.

"No—luckily not. We've locked the bathroom door, for all it's worth. Though to be honest, if any of us come face to face with the thing in our house, I doubt they'd live to see the end of the day. What about you? You'n your dad both know some karate, right? Ought to help."

"Well, yeah. Dad's already put it to use, too. But, say, Bray, can you see Paige's house from your house?" he asked. "I called her, too, but she didn't answer. I figured I should check if something's off."

"... What, Paige? Yeah, I guess. We have a small window in here. Hold on a sec..."

A long silence ensued, during which he heard worried whispers on the other end of the phone. At the same time, something thumped into one of the living room windows in Solomon's home, and his dad's attention snapped to it. Solomon waited impatiently. The phone was silent now, but before he knew it, rushed whispers were being exchanged.

"Hey, Solomon," said Bray, "Something's up. I can't see Paige's house from our bathroom, but I can see the road. Somebody's pulling Paige down to a helicopter."

Solomon couldn't do anything except stare.

"But it's mine!" growled Paige, only able to watch as her cellphone was taken from her. Its small keychain—a 2x2 Rubik's cube—looked out of place, and vexed her to boot. "You can't take it!"

The thief was the guy who had called himself Tsang, or Tsung, or something. At the same time, the red-haired man was pulling her backwards into the helicopter, while John Smoth was saying "Hojo," again and again, with an occasional, nervous "Hold my purse-" to the man who held him. For the first time since they left her house, though, Paige managed to give the ponytail-man a hard time. She squirmed and kicked and wriggled, while he tried hauling her aboard by her shoulders. But just when she considered biting his hands, she saw a flash in the corner of her vision.

Then, in front of the helicopter, appeared a grinning girl with a ridiculous number of ninja-ish weapons in both hands.

A ninja-ish person, with short hair, a ninja-ish outfit and an air of ninja-ish, epic martial arts-ishness.

"Hiya, guys!" she said cheerfully. "Mind giving that person back?" Although Paige had never seen the girl, she would much rather be with a grinning ninja-woman than several suit-clad men with sunglasses in a helicopter.

"What...? Are you stupid?" asked the red-haired guy, who was still trying to pull her into the chopper. Paige could almost hear him flashing a lopsided smirk.

"No," claimed the ninja woman confidently, smirking back as she readied her weapons. Had Paige been able to read minds, she would have known that the reason the young ninja was here, was that Paige's mother had watched the news about the monsters, and had become so worried she called Avalanche, who were already spread all over the area to kill said monsters, and who had therefore called Yuffie, who was closest to Paige's house, to ask her to check on Paige and save her if needed. But Paige couldn't read minds, of course, so she would never even know that the true reason the ninja woman was here was that there was a possibility she could steal materia from Paige's assailants. But all that remained undisclosed to Paige, who had never even seen the ninja-woman before.

"Reno," said Tsung—or Tseng—in a warning voice. Reno must be the name of the ponytailed man, because all of a sudden, she was dropped unceremoniously all the way to the ground, from the helicopter door.

After a somewhat long fall and an unkind meeting with the ground, she sat up unsteadily. Before she knew right from left—or up from down, for that matter—knives and weapons of all sizes and shapes slashed through the air everywhere. She felt like a fart in a hurricane. There were a few thuds as some of them landed on the ground, or in the helicopter, but most weapons were picked up before they fell that far. The speed at which the ninja-woman and the red-haired Reno moved at was so absurdly high that she could see about ten of them—all moving in a blur. For the smallest part of a second she felt like a fool for even trying to break free from Reno earlier, but then a more foolhardy part of her mind kicked in, and she glanced down at her handcuffed wrists, thinking. Then she glanced up at Tsang. Or Tsung.

He was watching the battle at the moment, and was still holding her cellphone. Its Rubik's cube charm annoyed her even now, because of the silver-haired person it reminded her of. Her face hardened just at the sight of it.

As fast as she could, she got to her feet and grabbed a knife from the wall of the helicopter. To her eyes, it looked like a magnificently sharp kitchen knife, but she doubted food was what the thing usually cut. Then, with her weapon raised, she advanced towards Tsong, or whoever.

Before she got close, though, he pointed a gun at her without even looking in her direction.

"Drop that, and move into the helicopter quietly," he demanded.

Because his voice sounded so boss-like (or karate teacher-ish, she confusedly thought), she reflexively dropped the knife.

"No," she said, stupidly glancing down at the knife on the ground. At least this person wouldn't kill her, right? They needed her alive, right? As a hostage, or to get info about Sephiroth, even though she claimed not to know anything.

Tseng spoke again, after glancing at the infantryman inside the chopper, who was holding John Smoth. "If she is not inside within a minute, kill the bird."

And so, feeling rather lame, she obligingly struggled her way up the small ladder, still handcuffed.

"Nngh!" she heard behind her, and glanced back. The ninja woman rolled to a stop on the ground, but got up quickly. A stab of guilt rocketed through Paige and she gritted her teeth. But now there really wasn't a thing she could do. The woman was fighting more men now, who had appeared from nowhere. Who had called them here? There were a few infantrymen with helmets—like the one who was holding John Smoth—as well as a bald man with sunglasses.

"Ten seconds left," reminded Tsung.

And so she hurried on into the aircraft, where somebody shoved her into a small room so she couldn't see outside. After what seemed like only a minute, the men who had been fighting the ninja-woman got aboard, too, muttering (to her relief) that the woman had escaped. Many of the infantrymen seemed to have been injured.

"Hojo..." said John Smoth slowly, barely audible. If a parrot could be genuinely frightened, this was how it would sound, she figured. Just then it dawned on her that whoever Hojo was, she might end up meeting him. That probably wasn't a good thing.

Those were her thoughts as the helicopter took off.

At the same time, far to the south, Sephiroth stood waiting. After he had left Paige's home, he had been struck by the most ridiculous thought.

Where can I go?

Where could he go, except back to the place he had gotten so used to, this last year? But asking such questions was ridiculous—he knew what to do, and where to go. Extracting revenge against Shinra was the only matter he should spend time on. It had not passed him by that Shinra had sent more than half their forces to Canada, and to the US, along with hordes of fiends. Such an opportunity could not be passed up. Now Shinra was physically split. With their defenses like that, it would be simple to crush them completely. The only thing he had not yet decided, however, was where to go first—to Shinra's hidden headquarters in the utmost north of Russia, or back to Canada, to the village he had just left? Shinra was waiting for him in both places. And no matter how he tried, Sephiroth could not be in two places at once.

While refusing to think of the things he had left behind with Paige, and ignoring the arguments he subconsciously fabricated, he had flown straight south, without looking back. Towards the imposing, white-painted home of a certain person who he would persuade into humiliating Shinra for him.

Of course, he would only let that person take on the small fry. Sephiroth himself would send the rest—the important rest—into oblivion with his own hands.

To get into the man's quarters, he cut his way through the large windows—on which he cast the Silence spell to avoid noise—and entered as if the magnificent room beyond were his own. He strode slowly past the impressive desk and over to the ornamented doors, next to which he remained still until the owner of the office entered. The doors closed silently behind the flawlessly dressed man. His insignificant high-class demeanor aside, he actually walked halfway through the room before noticing that a big portion of his grand windows was missing. After a second he turned on his heel to exit the room, but stopped again abruptly when he saw Sephiroth.

This time, in contrast to the last time they met, Sephiroth was not wearing a hood, despite all the security cameras.

He was wearing his usual clothes—his Soldier 1st Class uniform—and his Masamune was in his left hand, lowered. After leaving Paige behind, he had only briefly went inside her house to bring it with him.

Compared to Sephiroth, the President looked rather defenseless.

R.R.

(-dodges tomatoes thrown by readers who've been waiting too long for this chapter-)