A Final Fantasy VII/XIII fanfiction by Lushard

Chapter 02

Vincent Valentine had always relied on his instincts. As a former Turk, his brain had been his greatest asset, his main tool on solving most cases and on doing the most impossible missions. He'd learned how to gather information, carefully fitting them into mental slots in his mind and linking them in order to get the final picture. Observe, memorize, and analyze. It was literally 'think as you breathe.' Every Turk was trained to operate that way. No wonder, since their primary job usually required their logic to work at full force.

But now, all logic failed him.

In the longest one minute of his life Vincent Valentine had failed to process thoughts and information that his senses were feeding him. His eyes swept warily across the dark room he had been transported into, his radar telling him of unexplainable things that translated as dangers.

Not twenty seconds ago, he had been lodged comfortably in his apartment the new ShinRa had provided for him in Edge, busying himself with bundles of papers and books, when suddenly, thunderclouds so dark rolled over the city. He had never witnessed a storm so great. And then there had been the quake, a stinging pain that stabbed him in his right shoulder, then total darkness. Only a minute ago had he regain his consciousness and found himself in a room bereft of light and smelled of dust. The air was humid, almost to the point of dryness, and he could find no explanation to this bizarre occurrence.

The room was full of boxes and carts. It looked like he was in some storage area, and judging from the mess behind him, he had fallen on some boxes, crushing them under the weight of his fall.

'What has happened' was his first initial question, which then moved to 'Where am I' and the question mark danced back and forth in between the two since he could answer neither. But when he heard sounds of footsteps and agitated voices nearing his location, he changed it into 'what should be done now.' He immediately sprung on his feet, dusting his cloak and reaching for Cerberus.

"I swear I heard a loud crashing sound!" Vincent heard a man's voice carried through. The footsteps were drawing closer. Several men. Four. No, five, it seemed. Each was armed. Vincent could hear the faint jingle of metal.

"You sure you hadn't been dreamin'?" another voice cooed.

Not good. There was only one door in the room, and the attic was solid. No trapdoors, not windows, no place to hide. There would be no escape.

"I swear I heard it!" the first man said again, louder this time.

They were drawing nearer; Vincent readied his gun as he moved to a dark corner, as agile and silent as a cat.

The door flung open and light burst through. The men walked briskly in, and without preamble Vincent lunged at the nearest one.

"What the-!" The unprepared man was caught off guard by the sudden attack while the three others scrambled/jumped from the surprise. He yelped as Vincent seized his neck and pinned him to the other side of the stone wall. With a fluid movement the marksman turned around, holding his hostage as a shield in front of him by the neck, his gun pointed at the man's head, his eyes fixed on three men that staggered to assume a fighting stance.

"Move and he will be killed," Vincent said.

The hostage stirred but did not try to break free. His weapon, a steel sword of strange design, had been tackled off his grip when Vincent had caught him. The three others stared with varying degrees of disbelief and fear in their eyes. They lowered their respective weapons.

"Who the hell are you?" one of them asked.

"Drop your weapons."

They didn't comply right away. Not until Vincent's finger moved to pull the trigger and the hostage whimpered. Petty threat, but it always worked. They threw their weapons onto the floor, out of reach.

"Tell me where this is."

At that they all grew rigid. They had these looks on their faces that said 'Are you nuts?' but Vincent ignored them. He repeated the question, slower this time. "Tell me what place is this."

"Why, the base, of course," one of the three men managed to answer after a moment of silence. Vincent noted that they were all dressed in strange attires. Leather, mostly, with belts and strapped pockets and bandanas. Clothes that were designed for flexibility and speed. They didn't look like any regular mercenaries.

"What base?"

Again with that disbelieving look. Vincent took notice of the dust and sand collected under their boots and finally came into conclusion that he may very well be in a desert.

"The Monoculus'," another man replied. "Wait, you barged in without knowing what place is this?"

To that question Vincent didn't have any answers. He only knew that he had, somehow, been snatched from his flat and dumped here, by means he did not yet know. He again observed the men before him one by one, taking a closer inspection. The didn't seem as hostile as they had been before. Maybe they had thought of him as a ransom thief or the likes, but now they openly viewed him as a madman.

Vincent thought of what move he should take next. Questioning these people further would not give him anymore clues about his situation. And then there was still this insistent pain, although dull and not severe in intensity, that throbbed him in the shoulder that he had not yet checked. An injury from the fall was likely.

"Do you have a leader then?" He turned his questioning towards a new direction. Revealing more to these men would only lead him into confusion. He needed to see someone of reason and logic, someone who was open to negotiation and if possible, someone who could explain the situation to him.

The men nodded.

"Bring me to him."

They all looked uncertain, but as they traded glances, it seemed that they knew they had very little option. "All right," one of them said. "Do follow."

The three men walked through the open door with Vincent, still holding his hostage at gunpoint, several steps behind. The door led right into a corridor of stone, with candle holders that looked antique in appearance lighting the structure. The ceiling was high, and there was a second floor and possibly higher floors to this building. Vincent's gaze darted from left to right as they walked, absorbing everything, noting every detail. And each detail would only bring more questions. Never had he been in a building so strange and exotic.

The interior looked rather ancient, something he only imagined existing in children's books and classic literature. As they ventured and passed high ventilation windows on one side of the wall, he could finally see the dark night sky above. So it was nighttime. It explained why there wasn't so many people about.

The three men turned at a forked road until they arrived at the end of the corridor. There was a doorless room from which fire light could be seen. They stopped. Vincent did too, and to the squirming man in his hold he tightened his claw's grip around his neck.

One of them disappeared into the room, possibly to inform the 'Boss,' as they had called their leader, about everything. After a long one minute he came out, and nodded to Vincent to proceed. Slowly he walked in, never letting go of his hostage.

Before him was a woman; a tall woman with tanned skin, whose curly dark hair was loose around her warrior's shoulders. Her clothing consisted of a dark leather shirt that exposed her toned belly and a piece of blue linen that had strange design patterns at the hem. On her back was a red lance that seemed ready to brandished. Her chocolate eyes narrowed at Vincent's entry. Intelligent eyes, he saw, yet at the same time full with distaste and curiosity that she didn't bother to hide. From rough observation of the way she carried herself, she looked like a free soul, someone who wouldn't bind herself to rules, and certainly someone not to mess with.

The woman shifted her weight to one foot, one hand moving to her hip. She didn't look the tiniest bit intimidated or uneasy at his presence, though her eyes lingered at Cerberus for several seconds before moving up and down his figure. "So you're the mysterious intruder," she drawled.

That was a strange accent. A bit similar but unlike that of Wutai people. Deeper, richer.

Vincent chose his words with care. "I have questions. I need answers and thought you might be able to provide me with some."

"Blunt words," she said, looking more amused than alarmed. "Oh, and you can let go of the poor soul. Surely your questions don't require bloodshed?"

Vincent measured her once again, then his bets. He could fight if things got worse. The woman looked like a capable lancer, but escape could be sought if he was ever cornered. The corridor was behind him, and he had memorized the route they'd taken to get here and although he hadn't seen it, he had good guesses where the exit would be. Designs may vary, but structures were always predictable.

As if reading his thoughts, the woman said, "No worries there. I don't cut people's throats open if they don't point their weapons first." More like an afterthought, she added, "Only I think of them deserving. Or annoying."

He withdrew Cerberus and let go of the man. He quickly darted to the side of the room where his friends were, away from his captor, a hand ran to his neck as if to check whether Vincent's claws had left scars.

"Now, Mr. Red Cloak, how may I help you?"

"Where is this?"

"Ah, you're as clueless as they said," she said. To the four men she said, "Relax, he's not lying."

Was the woman an expert lie-detector? Perhaps. She seemed to be more than a regular warrior.

"To your first question: you are in the Dead Dunes," she said to Vincent. "Presently, at the very headquarters of the Monoculus, the de facto ruler of this desert."

Desert. He had been right then.

The city of Edge had been nowhere near any desert he'd known.

Oblivious to the swirling thoughts and slight panic that were raging within her listener's mind, the woman continued. "We are the last surviving bandit gang here if you don't know what we are. All others have already been disbanded years ago. We're growing in size, but not so much compared to how we used to in the old days. Many have given up their treasure hunt."

Vincent's Turk instincts were on high alarm, beeping in his head as questions upon questions were raining down on him. "Bandit gang, you say?"

"Yes. And so it appears you have been stranded into a foreign land. Mind telling us where're you from?"

He considered if telling them the truth was a wise decision. It wasn't. But he did not see how he could lie given so many things that were still baffling him. "Midgar," he curtly replied, reluctant to give any details.

All the people there shared a confused look. "Never heard of the place," the woman said. "Must have been wiped out of the map too then."

Another question popped up in his head but he remained silent. Why would she assume so? It didn't sound like a baseless conjecture, so there supposed to be reasons to back up that strange remark. He added a note to himself: dig more into the land's history.

"All right, so now right down to the case," said the woman. "Why were you doing in our basement?"

Truthfully, Vincent had no answers. But from all the pieces of information he had gotten so far, he was a far shot from Edge, or worse, even from the Planet itself. There had been this one thing bothering him ever since he'd - somehow - arrived here, and he just realized that it was the lack of presence of raw energy that usually kept the Planet pulsing. He couldn't feel the Life Stream.

Turks training kicked in. A list of possibilities appeared in his mind, along with the options he currently had. What could he construct from all those tidbits of evidence? Ah. The storage area. He was certain he'd seen bags of flour in a corner down there. The boxes he'd smashed when he'd fallen too had smelled of fresh ransom.

"I was stranded as you said," he said carefully. "And I had nothing edible with me at the present."

"Food then?"

He assumed what he thought as a look of guilt as his eyes purposively avoided hers. Not that it mattered. The high collar of his garment would undoubtedly cover half of his face anyway, but he tried.

And it succeeded. "Hmm. Logical, though it seems that questioning you further about how you managed to get in here will be kind of tricky." Partially. This woman was smart. It was a surprise she was not pressing for details. Maybe she was sensing his discomfort, maybe she was being lenient, maybe she had been in his spot, for whatever maybe's, Vincent was glad he didn't have to elaborate his case. What sane person would believe him if he told the truth anyway?

"In any case what will you be doing now?"

The question startled him. "You're not going to imprison me?"

It was the woman's turn to look puzzled. "You were thieving, yes. But aren't we all? We welcome those who are without ransom or a place to stay."

She said it so casually that it took more than three seconds for the full sentence to register in Vincent's head. He chanced a look at the four men. They had the same placid expression over their faces, as if what their boss had said was nothing out of the ordinary. He looked at the woman again.

"I can stay?" he asked, wondering if this was this was a trap. If it was, what would she gain from him?

The woman made a careless gesture with her hand. "The Monoculus is open for everyone. As long as you work, that is."

So, it was to enslave him. "What work?"

"Searching the ruins for the clavis."

Three questions appeared on his mind all at once: first, 'there were ruins?' and second, 'what is this clavis thing?' and third, 'why is it that you're searching for it?'

But before he could prioritize one of them, the woman spoke. "I understand that as a newcomer here, you must have hundreds of questions. Those are printed on your face, in case you were not aware before." She assessed him openly as she crossed her arms across her chest. "But first things first, I think you might want to meet our tailor. You won't survive long in this area with that kind of attire."

VII - x - XIII

The female warrior facing him had this deep frown on her temple at Cloud's question. Perhaps she was weighing the pros and cons of encountering a crazy guy who happened to stray into the woods.

After a long moment of silence she finally spoke. "The Jagd Woods. How did you get into this place?" was her straightaway counter-question.

Cloud felt a stab of insecurity as, once again, he took a sweeping glance at his surroundings. He'd never heard or seen a forest named the Jagd Woods all in his life, and he had been in ShinRa, and had spent months travelling all over the world searching for a way to save the Planet. If the maps he and his comrades had drawn during their travel were incomplete, there never would be a better version that existed. "I don't know," he admitted.

The woman's face almost twisted in disbelief. "Honest, aren't you. Tell me, is this related to the brief storm?"

'What storm' was what he was about to ask, but then the dots finally connected. The storm that had hit his place must have also come to this forest. But was that the answer to everything? I was magically transported by some strange storm didn't seem like a smart explanation. Cloud simply nodded once.

Again she studied him with undue scrutiny, as if by doing so she would get the answers that Cloud didn't even hold. "By any chance, are you not from Cocoon?" she asked.

Cocoon? "Is that this place's name?"

She expelled a breath. "So you're not. Figures." In a smaller voice Cloud heard her saying, "You were right then, Hope."

Cloud relaxed his stance but didn't sheath his sword. He gestured at his left arm with a movement of his chin. "You seem to recognize this mark."

A miscalculated step. In an instant the woman's face darkened with a scowl, eyes narrowing in what Cloud could only interpret as a mixture of anger, resentment, and curiosity. "Are you saying that you don't know what that is too?" she asked in a low voice that promised violence were he to lie.

"I don't. The mark appeared mere hours ago, duller then, more visible now."

"Feeling anything? Witnessing strange vision?"

What kind of questions were those? "Just a throbbing pain. No vision whatsoever."

She opened her mouth but promptly closed it again, seemingly to ponder her next approach on the subject. "You don't even know who branded you," she murmured, and sensing that questions were about to roll from the tip of Cloud's tongue, she added, "We can save the chit-chat for later. We have guests."

Cloud's instinct quickly picked up faint sounds of approaching steps that he knew didn't belong to humans. Monsters? He readied First Tsurugi and eyed the woman as she did the same with her sword.

"Dyrads," she said, just at the time when three figures that resembled living roots emerged from behind tall trees. "Attack with fire."

Without preamble she dashed right to face the nearest foe. Cloud activated his mastered Fire Materia as he stood in the back. The woman was a skilled fighter. She moved lightly on her feet, using both her sword and her shield in a series of quick movements of both defense and attack, a blur of movements between the root-people with ease as she slashed and stabbed. Cloud, finished with the magic, unleashed Firaga at one of the Dyrads who was farthest from her. It hit her in the body, and soon the fire enveloped the monster. The forest almost quaked with the shrill sound of its shriek.

The woman jumped back to avoid an attack. Her garb magically changed again. Cloud hadn't been imagining things then. This time, he witnessed it happening: a cape of light enshrouding her, and in the next second, she was with a new set of garment and equipments colored in red.

She gave him a quick glance. Cloud took it as the cue to switch roles, and swinging his sword, he jumped at the Dyrad in front of him.

The moment the tip of his blade made a contact with the Dyrad's midsection, he felt something inside him snap. The blade cut through without any difficulties, but it went beyond that. Somehow, there was this raw power within him that was growing. He couldn't explain, couldn't comprehend or paint it in words; he could only feel it surging through his system. That one attack was enough to devastate one Dyrad, and before he could think of anything he had already dashed to the last remaining monster, his other blade at play. The lighter sword slashed through the Dyrad's body, cutting its legs, then his Tsurugi fell like a hammer on its head. It did not even have time to shriek.

Cloud took a step away and tried to control his breathing. The Dyrads were nothing but a glowing mist going to the afterlife. The unknown force within him had ceased, fading away along with the monsters' souls, but the lingering feeling he couldn't put into words were still tingling his limbs. He looked at the woman who was standing statue-still, trying to control his breaths and his scrambled thoughts. It was close to impossible. He still felt propelled to act, to use this newfound strength, to jam his weapons at something-anything. There was a wild desire coursing over his veins, demanding him to move, to lash out.

"That was the power that goes along with that curse," she said. Cloud may be mistaking it but there was understanding as well as bitterness that were dipping in her voice.

"I'm-How-"

"Relax," she advised. "Try to imagine it draining away."

He took it and practiced it. Cloud closed his eyes, loosened his grip on his swords, relaxing his stance and muscles.

"Think of nothing."

He shushed the thoughts and questions in his head with great difficulty. Seconds, minutes passed, and slowly he felt the raw power dissipating. Inhale and exhale, and along with it went the alien force within him.

Slowly Cloud opened his eyes. Everything came into focus as he blinked, and he saw the woman still looking at him, her expression unreadable. "Better?" she asked.

Cloud nodded.

"Every l'Cie is bestowed by such power," she said. "You must learn to control it, lest it will corrupt you."

No longer feeling threatened by the woman, Cloud merged the lighter blade into First Tsurugi and sheathed it behind him. "Mind telling me more about this l'Cie thing?"

"I will. After you tell me more about your circumstances. I don't trust a stranger with a sword that huge overnight." Even so, she sheathed her sword. Cloud took that as a good sign. At the very least now he had a guide who meant him no harm.

He told her then, of all the things that had happened in the recent two hours. The woman had listened in silence, but every now and then her brows would rise and fall into a frown and her eyes would widen and narrow. She seemed to have a hard time believing his story, but was simply not saying it out loud. Cloud, on the other hand, kept his tale as short and to-the-point as he could. He felt that the more he told the more exposed he was, especially since he wasn't sure if this was some wicked nightmare or not.

When he was done, the woman had this blank look on her face before she finally blinked it out. "Interesting story," she commented, "however strange it was."

He kept a few comments of the likes to himself.

"What will you do now?" was the question that Cloud had been asking himself.

"Find out a way back."

"Which you don't know how."

He didn't like the notion and utterly despised the next words that he was about to say. "Which is why I might need your help."

The woman looked tentative. One hand was moving to her chin. "I don't think I can though. Nor do I know a person to refer you to."

"Doesn't matter. I'll manage." He hoped that didn't sound as doubtful as he was deep inside. "Just please help me out of this forest first. Will you?"

The habit to be overly cautious whenever he was plunged into a territory he was not familiar of now backfired him. He flinched at every sound the animals-or monsters-made around him, winced at every strange scent that was assaulting his SOLDIER sense. Every now and then he would get goosebumps at the sensation of something crawling on his skin. The forest was filled with air that smelled like magic, and it didn't sit well with him.

"All right, then. Follow me." The woman turned and began walking. Cloud trotted behind her. "And how do I call you?"

"Cloud."

He was sure he saw the woman pausing in midstep. "An alias?"

"No."

Even if he couldn't see her face, he knew what kind of look would be imprinted there. Everyone had. Introducing himself had always been a struggle of a lifetime. There were particular moments back in his childhood days that he would rather forget but could not, and they still haunted him every time he was asked of his name.

"How do I call you?" he asked before the woman could make further commentary.

"Lightning."

"An alias?"

"Yes."