Disclaimer: I don't own them, they own me.

Warning: just the usual angst and perhaps some disturbing imagery

A/N: Huge special thanks to Andrannath aka Ice Lady. Inspired by the song Rebirthing by Skillet.

My dear friends and lovely readers, this probably shouldn't make me as happy as it does, but your continueing kindness and support does mean a lot to me.

~THANK YOU FOR 100 REVIEWS!~


Someone looking at him could've thought he was asleep or dead, the body sealed away through sacrifice did not move, could not move, suspended in time like a bug caught in amber. But even though his eyes were closed, he was still conscious inside, trapped inside his own mind and counting the time by his own heartbeat and waiting, waiting, waiting...

Impatient by nature, it was nothing short of torture, but he deserved it and far worse for that matter, and if this was what was wanted from him, if this was the price to be paid, then this was what he would do. If this was the way to earn redemption, he would suffer the suffocation as he watched the delicate balance of the world slowly returning to the equilibrium as the Lifestream sang through all things undisturbed once again.

Healing was slow, so slow, but the Planet itself was healing too, and the lullaby of the living, like a song without melody, eased the burden and soothed the ache. And perhaps, perhaps there was salvation somewhere within his reach, forgiveness for his past, all the things that were done to hurt, to tear down, to destroy. All the things that could not quench the heartache, only made him want more and more and more without realising, admitting it was only widening the cracks inside him.

And some cracks those were.

But now, perhaps, he was strong enough to put the past behind him, to start anew, open his eyes and be able to keep his head high again.

Something stirred in the green flow of the Lifestream unfolding behind his closed eyelids, some sort of anomaly in the perpetual order, something infinitely small, that somehow still felt familiar... He dismissed it with a mental shrug, too fragmented, too dim to make out in the ever flowing pattern.

Perhaps, his time would soon come to step out of the shadows and offer himself to the world, purified and accepted back into the heart of his Goddess. Perhaps, he was ready...

It burnt his skin like a piece of white-glowing iron, branding him, marking him and crashing into a searing explosion in his chest like poison, poison, poison...

A presence.

From the fragments that he noticed earlier, something was emerging, something was becoming whole, rising, rebirthing, flooding his senses violently and he was unable to shut it out or tone it down, it just kept on coming and coming and coming and then there it was...

Pain.

The reawakened flow of life tore through him in a violent tide, and there was nothing but pain, pain, pain, and he would've screamed his agony until his throat went numb, but he was stripped of his voice and there was nothing but black silence engulfing him into its core and ringing in his ears.

With his breaths that seemed to stop, he was taking him in, thirsting, hurting, breaking. It was filling up his lungs like oxygen, it burnt, as if he had spent too much time underwater, but instead of giving life, this breath asphyxiated. Memories washed him away in a white rush, drowning him in hatred, love, desire, obsession, vengeance, respect, admiration; choking, bleeding, dying.

Moonlight hair that flowed in cool rivulets of pure satin, a lovely contrast to heated skin.

Mako green eyes that still held his name even though the world around them had forgotten.

The Nightmare of the Planet was back.

He threw himself at the restraints of his own flesh, until it felt like his bones were breaking and the force of his desperation tearing his insides out, until it felt like a thousand steel hooks were dissecting him in every direction, every nerve on cold acid fire and there was still no way out, no way out, no way...

But he had to get out, he had to, because he was there, Sephiroth was there and so close and alive, and he had to break free, break away to find his voice so that he could be heard...

That royal, insane laughter rolled through the nothingness that held him prisoner, the majestic voice purring words that were not meant for him and he screamed soundlessly at the top of his lungs, clawing at the walls of darkness around him because this just couldn't be this way, just couldn't be...

Then the presence was suddenly gone again, cold steel cutting through the fresh life thread, cutting through him, and he wanted to howl with the cruel irony of it. Angeal's sword, except in new hands, unworthy hands, sacrilegious hands.

He could feel it in his chest, the surprise, the cold agony, the burning proud hatred as a black wing was raised, so much like his own, and the silver angel disappeared in a flurry of black feathers, letting him finally collapse back into himself shaking with bitter, sobbing laughter.

Green was seeping through the cracks.

The Flower Girl rejoiced as did the world, once more. But every voice that cheered in unison, every drop of the falling rain did nothing less of killing him inside.