Disclaimer: I in no way own any portion of the Final Fantasy franchise except the spiffy stuff I've purchased and the Squall plushie I snuggle with regularity. I also don't own any song by Linkin Park, especially not 'Shadow of the Day' which provides not only the chapter titles for this story but also the inspiration for this fic in its entirety. Please don't sue – I'm simply an E6 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.
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Chapter 8
The Only Way
It's hard to believe that we were here only a month ago.
A month ago, we were wandering the city streets without direction, no threat hovering over us provided we were within the city's limits and far removed from the monster-infused wilderness. We walked unarmed and lacking any true attentiveness to our surroundings from chapel to park to restaurant, arm in arm and careless as any couple in love could be.
Today we've been armed, her with her pinwheel and Angelo at her side, me with my gunblade, Eden roaring in my brain and a full compliment of spells junctioned to me, every spell in my inventory one-hundred strong and waiting for use. My body was verily on fire, every instance of Devour I'd endured with Eden bonded to my body enhancing me far beyond normal human capacities, every item I'd refined from the plethora of things I'd gathered over time used to bolster my physical abilities and lessen my reliance on junctions.
Quake to strength, Tornado to magic, Triple to speed, Holy to health, Regen to vitality, Firaga to defense, Double to luck. Blizzaga to elemental attacks, Flare and Thundaga and Water to elemental protection. Blind to status attacks, Silence and Pain and Death to status protection. Mug set up for attack, accompanied by the abilities to summon, cast magic and draw. Sitting in my spell inventory ready for casting rested Full-Life, Curaga, Aura, Meltdown, Break, Esuna, Float and Ultima in addition to every lower-leveled variant of the spells I had junctioned that was available.
To put it lightly, I was slightly more prepared today than I had been a month ago for the unintentional encounter with the unknown. At that moment, I felt much like Zell must constantly feel to so brashly face anything that would come at him with the belief he was damned near invincible. Like nothing could touch me. Like there was no way Rinoa would have to touch anything within her blood, leaving the power of Hyne to sit unused and letting me handle it all.
The few rioters we'd encountered, the few miscreants who'd thought to take advantage of the lone man with his woman and her dog wandering the streets under the assumption that we were easy targets for mugging were sent packing with very little effort. It almost made me laugh that they'd make such bold attempts on us, but the thought of their true desperation and animalistic fury drawn by terror would still any true desire to unleash with even a bare chuckle.
Rinoa had very little enthusiasm in battle, leaving much of the defense and counterattacks to me. Not that I mind – it's just disheartening to see her so downtrodden even in the act of defending herself. Angelo was making himself surprisingly useful, growling and biting at ankles with all the ferocity a border collie can muster. At least he was keeping a few of our attackers off-kilter long enough for me to dispose of them.
Given the dismal atmosphere around us, I couldn't really do as I typically do and lose my worries and fears to the heat of battle. The nagging doldrums of our situation kept me weighted and grounded in current reality rather than allowing me escape along the fiery edge of my gunblade.
It was, all in all, rather sad to see what we were witnessing.
The landscape of Timber has changed so drastically that it's difficult to envision the city that once rested where we're staying, the earthquakes and monster influx in the region having so ravaged the area that it's nigh on unrecognizable.
Outside of battle, Rinoa's been quite quiet over the course of the day, offering only a few lamentations concerning the devastation. Even our chance encounter with the survivors of the Forest Owls and our lucky procurement of a place to stay for the night drew at best a wispy smile from her lips rather than the exhilarated expression I knew would normally erupt from her.
Kind of sad that the thought of spending the night with her Forest Owl friends in the overturned remains of their locomotive headquarters that had simply derailed instead of being crushed like much of the rest of Timber didn't cheer her up any significant amount.
She's still be feisty enough to shoot me deathly glowers whenever I inform her that another plan bit the dust. She almost managed to whack me firmly upside my head when I'd professed that we sure as hell weren't having our wedding in that chapel now once we'd located the rubble that remained of it.
The less impressive, smaller chapel dedicated to today's God still stands, stretching above everything around it in splendid defiance of all that's leveled the heaps that once were buildings in its vicinity. She's so disgusted with the loss of her dream chapel though that she's leaning away from it entirely.
I think she's so very disheartened by what's happened to this region that we might have to choose another location altogether. Where that could be, I have no idea.
After all, we'd worked things down to Timber or Balamb. Both locations were ravaged, demolished beyond quick and easy repair. If we were going to be wed in either local, likely we'd end up shifting the date.
We still wanted nothing to do with a winter wedding in Trabia – hell, a spring, summer or fall wedding was out of the picture now with volcanoes spewing molten lava into the air and belching black smoke everywhere. While it would make for awesome pictures, it's not really the romantic setting either of us desires.
Delling still makes her twitch violently. She's simply not willing to have the event in her home town, no matter how much sense it would make – we'd be close to her Maid of Honor, her father could easily help foot the bill and make swift arrangements with the amount of power he holds in that city, and the area's relatively unscathed by the recent global calamities that have strangled the rest of civilization. Hell, I'd be willing to do the chapel and hotel lobby thing if she'd just say 'yes' to Delling at this point.
What can I say? I like the town. Quiet enough and calm during the day yet featuring more than enough nightlife to amuse oneself until the coming of dawn. It's the perfect sleepy city that wakes itself once the sun sets, rather like Balamb city but on a much more grand scale and not having that perpetual 'college town' or 'beach town' atmosphere smothering it.
Pity she'll never agree to it, simply because of her relationship with her father. Such a fanatic desire to remain detached from a place simply owing to family is something I guess I'm less than qualified to understand – after all, being raised in an orphanage followed swiftly by induction into Garden's militant system, I have very lacking experience with the concept of 'family' and 'familial strife.' I can't hate Centra simply because I was raised there, and don't hold any animosity towards Balamb Garden because I received more disciplinary reprimands than anyone can count (let's simply say that even I recognize that I deserved to scrub the Garden's tile floors with a toothbrush on more than one occasion).
Even if the rumors are in fact truth and my father happens to be someone very much alive, highly annoying and overly present in my modern-day life, I wouldn't rule out the location he's in just because he's there.
No, I just rule that out because Esthar is a hell-on-earth for anyone with ears that function and eyes that loathe turquoise glass reflecting the desert's sun right into their irises. Plus the retarded layout of the city gives me migraines. I go for business, nothing more. Wild chocobos would have to drag me there by the hair for any other purpose. And even when I do go these days, I take the Ragnorok directly to the airport and take the tube-line straight to the palace. Be damned if I'm going to push my way through the marketplace or wander around the gardens, the skyway or the streets for longer than necessary. I leave that to the girls and their favorite pack-animal Zell.
Maybe she'll agree to Winhill. I haven't received any negative news out of that region beyond the alien vessels hauling around livestock and stone figurines and flattening grass into interesting patterns. Of course, the reception of no news in very recent times could mean that everyone's dead, but I'd rather like to think that they simply had no reason to call Garden screaming for our resources, our aid and, of course, for us to roll over and provide them everything right here and now.
Yes, she sees it as a sleepy-town nightmare. But the mayoral mansion is huge and awesome, easy to decorate and features a large ballroom that we could use for our reception, and has an impressive garden out back with those white arches and winding walkways that would make it ridiculously picturesque for the ceremony. And I like sleepy-town nightmares, apparently. The lack of noise and chaos appeals to me.
The fact that it's likely not resting on the ground in a pile of rubble like her favorite Timber chapel and the Timber Inn she was hoping to hold our reception in might actually sway things in my favor.
Not that I want things specifically my way or something – I just want us both to be happy. And with the world still getting back up from its knees, if she wants this to happen any time soon that might be our only option.
Otherwise, we can wait ten thousand years for Timber to be restored. Given the dangers of my job and her… predicament that she's been saddled with ever since we faced off with Sorceress Edea and powers were transferred, waiting might not be a feasible option.
Our two original sites are pretty much no goes, I suppose. Timber still has that gorgeous park – we passed there today, actually. But it's surrounded by a leveled city that strips the comfortable atmosphere away, making it seem more a bastion of survival in the midst of death than a comfortable retreat to nature from the encroaching mass of civilization. Plus the restaurants we were considering were both leveled in the chaos. The hotels Rinoa was begging me to rent lobbies out of were both shattered, one completely razed to the ground and the other surrounded with yellow cautionary tape due to huge cracks racing up its walls from its foundation rendering it uninhabitable.
Balamb didn't fare much better.
With most of the downtown region smashed to bits and still buried in muddied saltwater and rotting sea life, it wasn't the most pleasant area to wander through. Short journeys to assess the damage to our home port were exercises in endurance, trying to get through as much of the region on one breath as possible as to not pass out from the overwhelming odor of drying algae combined with salt and festering fish flesh mingling with mushy mud and decaying clams. What pleasantries and romance could have been garnered from the city itself was buried under water and shells and smothered in noxious fumes no human could handle for any reasonable length of time.
Thank goodness Rinoa had enough foresight to order our invitations with the location and date areas blank, opting to get personalized stamps and colorful rainbow ink to imprint those details upon them once we'd settled into an agreement. There was no reason to fret about returning the boxes of cardstock that now sat in our suite back at Garden and the sheets of that odd cellophane paper that was required to be inserted into them.
She also got her Maid of Honor working on garnering a photographer from Delling who'd be willing to travel for a fair price, coupled with a disc jockey who had all of his own equipment. Rinoa explained that they were mutual friends that this Delilah held acquaintance with.
I'm thinking as I write this that if I can get Rinoa thinking seriously about Winhill, our florist issue will be instantaneously taken care of. That crotchety old lady may give me the time of day if I explain that we need flowers for a wedding. (Better yet, I can have Rinoa talk with her – the sour old puss might we more willing to speak with her.)
But today… it's been disheartening for her. I'm not going to bother broaching the subject for a little while.
She's been quietly lamenting about how far she's gotten, even without my aid. She managed to get a plethora of plans together and had started to make proposals to the appropriate persons in each plot she was devising. Boxes of decorations were making their way onto Garden even in our absence. She was already putting together music playlists out of my music library so she knew I wouldn't be opposed to what we were going to inundate our guests with.
Her sorrow is simmering in my mind, a pressing presence even now. I won't ignore it – she needs my support and my calm assurance that everything will be fine right now.
She's just suffered a horrible setback in the realization of her dreams, every effort she's made and every accomplishment she's striven for apparently made moot by the upheaval of the world. Of course she's going to be down. And of course I'll be here for her.
Maybe once we travel out of Timber's capital city and away from the chaos that's here, maybe once we investigate Obel Lake once more to see if we can corner that individual who's been razing the countryside and errantly murdering innocent people around that area, we can sit down and come to a few concessions. I can let her know that I'm more than willing to bend to her chapel, minister and lobby desires if she'll go with Delling. I can present Winhill and maybe give it a more positive spin, reminding her that with our guests we're bringing the nightlife and party with us rather than depending on the region – the area would simply be a backdrop rather than a participant in the event.
Maybe I'll give her flowers and a big box of her favorite white chocolate truffles that I know we keep in storage in the Balamb Garden Commissary for assorted purposes ranging from Lover's Day to quick and necessary apologies. And I'll take her out to dinner once we face off with the source of Timber's current travesties and make way over to Delling to speak with General Caraway as Cid Kramer's requested of me. Perhaps we'll go see a performance at the Delling Theatre, rent a hotel room and drown our worries in a good bottle of red wine.
Maybe that will ease her worries and her tension.
Maybe it will let me sleep without dreams.
I didn't have my journal at my side when we were traveling, otherwise I would have made an entry concerning the dream I had last night. Instead I had to grab a pad of Post-It notes I'd previously been using to jot notes from my email onto.
What can I say? Do an office job long enough, supplies start to have this aggravating tendency to follow you everywhere. I can't seem to be in a room without those stupid sticky yellow squares of paper hovering just within my reach.
Anyway. Dream. It wasn't the one where Eden's attacking Garden. It seems my brain's decided to revisit the odd dream of that battle where Rinoa spreads her wings.
I've seen things a little more clearly now. It's not in stark and unbelievable detail like my last dream of the battle with Eden was if my writings are anything to go off of (I can't remember that dream anymore), but it's more fleshed out than my previous notations of it.
It happens at night. There's still no moon or stars in the sky, clouds blotting out the heaven's light. But the land is lit by raging fires that are consuming a toppled forest that surrounds the dream's central stage. They're evergreens, their dark green leaves wilting and crackling liquidly as they die in the horrid heat.
The enormous pit that sits in the center of the ring of trees is dark and muddy, slick and slippery looking. The peninsula that juts its way into that black mud bowl is dry and covered with yellowed grass. The sharp spire of rock that thrusts its way from the base of the pit is dry, its severed top laying completely out of the pit and surrounded with the twisted, gnarled roots of trees that are covered with dancing flames.
Upon that jutting peninsula I can now make out my friends in crystalline detail. This time, there's battle raging. Monsters are erupting from the woods, howls and roars and screams ringing through the night.
Most are creatures I recognize. The blue dragons Rinoa and I had encountered on our run to Obel a month ago, accompanied by fierce T-Rexaurs and rapidly attacking grendals. I noted on a Post-It that a malboro lies dead at the base of the peninsula, covered in splattered mud. A ruby dragon rests, completely covered in black mud and recognizable only by its mass, in the center of the pith pit. A group of thrustivars fling themselves into battle. A gathering of wendigos, drool shining from sharp fangs, bursts from the burning forest.
Accompanying them, however, are monsters I've never seen.
A dark, black dragon unlike the hexadragons I'm familiar with, sporting only four legs and a huge set of wings, crouched on all fours rather like a ruby dragon but lacking its size and impressive crest of horns breaths a cone of odd energy waves.
A group of blue-tinted tonberries with impressive crowns shuffles towards my friends upon the peninsula, odd artifacts tentatively gripped in their clumsy hands.
A skeletal draconic beast howls behind them, trying its damnedest to reach those four humans upon the jutting mass of land that stands free of the flames.
And every monster, whether foreign or recognizable, glows with a faint green tinge that makes them look surreal and displaced.
Quistis is doubled over, panting in exhaustion. She is able to straighten herself just long enough to crack her whip forward, driving a thrustevaris from her immediate vicinity before she falls back to her knees – Zell instantly leaps before her, his deadly fists flying with unerring precision, to waylay everything else that approaches her. He barely staggers back as he's enveloped in the lightning breath of a grendal and simultaneously beaten by the wildly swung tail of a T-Rexaur; with a snarl that shines white and red in the glowing light, blood pouring from his split lips and his teeth ground together in a manic adrenaline-driven grin, he springs towards his attackers with a surprisingly lengthy and devastating Duel.
Selphie holds onto Irvine's coat to keep herself upright, holding her abdomen with her free arm, blood streaming down her cheery yellow jumper. Then with a determined snarl she hefts her flail heavenwards, her arm leaving its protective grip – Full Cure roars over her and my other friends, healing the incredible damage I barely had time to witness in my dream.
Quistis is back on her feet. She casts support magic – Blind flies to everything within her vicinity, Aura to Zell and Irvine and Silence on a blue dragon before one of those dark dragons leaps to her and downs her with one massive forepaw's swipe. She cries out as she falls back, her head bouncing off the hard ground once before she rolls and attempts to escape. I see the dragon leaving her no viable path to flee.
Then I see the dragon being pulled physically away from her by its tail, a very irate blond martial artist apparently pissed at being ignored dragging it away to do battle with it himself. A verbal confrontation erupts between Zell and Irvine as the dragon suddenly topples over, its head shattered by a precision shot of Pulse Ammo.
Irvine's auburn hair, stained ruby by blood that had previously tainted it from a scalp wound, swings around his shoulders as he rapidly fires into the flame-obscured night. A plethora of monstrous screams and roars of pain light the night as he burns through his hefty ammunition supply, the only lull in the explosive expulsions of Exeter being the bare scrap of seconds he needs to reload his massive gun.
While my friends handle themselves quite beautifully, Selphie's carefully chosen spell to use during her Limit Break bringing them back from the brink of death and giving them a fighting chance against all that attacks them, the figure in that pit stands removed from all of the activity above.
The same blond in my dream of Eden.
Dressed in black jeans and a white t-shirt rather than a pair of boxers issued by Medical, less soaked and with hair more wildly spiked towards the heavens, but the same man.
He stares at the spire that juts from the ground even as he stands in the sinking and soppy mud at the base of the pit, his boots or shoes or whatever protects his feet lost to my vision as they are buried in soft fluid muck. His eyes are brilliant and blue, very nearly glowing and bordering on cat-slit as they are in the dream where he faces off with Eden. He holds a huge sword in his right hand, something I now recognize as a greatsword issued by Garden – it appears to be a quality weapon; nothing spectacular, but quite superior to the rather cheap blades issued to the students who choose them as their primary weapons. With a blade nearing 150cm in length and a 45cm hilt, it was a beastly weapon to wield, its only saving grace being its impressive balance that made it ungodly easy to swing provided you had the junctioned strength to wield it with any sort of precision.
That enormous sword's edge is resting upon the ground, though, the stranger apparently exhausted. A sheen of sweat lights his visible skin and plasters his white shirt to his body. His chest heaves as he draws gasps of air.
Atop the spire, focal to the stranger's attention, is that figure I still can't recognize. It still is covered in shadow, indiscernible to my mind's eye. Squared shoulders suggest male despite its small and unassuming build.
Finally, I can recognize the remaining figure in the dream. The man before the blond that I saw in my dream of Eden. The tall being with his haughty and proud stance carrying his ridiculously long sword and his twisted smile. The man with the long pale hair that flows in the wind and flaps like a lazy flag and the black trench coat that clings to a muscular frame.
It is the man from the security videos. The man who's been ravaging Timber in its moments of weakness, murdering its frighten people like lambs fit only for slaughter.
Two spires erupt from the pit, the first spire crumbling and falling to dust even as the blond and that murderous beast I'm seeking even now collide. Spells fall from the heavens – an Ultima pulverizes the jutting peninsula of land my friends battle upon even as the faint blue light of a shell streams down in a race to beat that Ultima to its target. Dust explodes from that area along with blood and smoke, pieces of monster flying in graphic detail.
The dark figure I can't identify slices away the top of one of the spires, landing hard upon it in a blast of dust telling of the harshness of the impact.
The other spire's top simply disintegrates, gracefully ceasing to exist rather than clumsily pounding down into the base of the pit as the previous spire's pinnacle had.
Rinoa alights onto it, her white wings curled around her delicate body, her beautiful face glowing with sadness colored by rage.
Sparks light from the dead pit below her and the figure who stand upon their spires, erupting from two massive swords colliding with one another. The battle between the strangers rages, each of them seeming to press towards a spire. Again and again the two meet in my dream, neither relenting, neither giving, each grinding their teeth and snarling as they attempt to reach their destination and struggle to keep their opponents away from their respective charges.
I know what they are – they are Knights, trying to defend their Sorceress. Or Sorcerer in this case. Only… I am missing. Rinoa has another man defending her.
Perhaps I've died. Perhaps I've displeased her, and she's taken up another Knight. Perhaps I'm severely injured and unable to attend to her, and one of the combatants in the pit is taking my place. Perhaps after we wed, she chose to put another's life in danger rather than mine with the task of defending her against the world.
Rather than pondering my whereabouts any further, I simply return my focus to Rinoa.
Rinoa, her wings spread, her kind face twisted in anguish, her doe eyes glowing with some unnatural poison, her hand thrust forward and magic burning her fingers.
The dark figure across from her, the only feature not lit by the magnificent illumination of her pure Sorceress' wings, lifts a hand, the Flare that she hurls careening off an instantly raised Shell spell of unmatched power. The spell she casts rapes the land around them, blasting into the remains of wood and pit, sending rocks hurtling into the air and flames springing from the dead forest. Every sound is enveloped in every dream I experienced by the powerful explosion as it careens through the planet's atmosphere.
As with my last dream, that's when silver wings burst from the back of her opponent, soft and long and full and shining as the light cast by Rinoa's presence illuminates them yet failing to cast any light of their own. The figure in shadow, gunmetal wings stretched, extends its hand towards her.
This time, I see that my friends survive the Ultima. The ground around them is untouched in a perfect circle, encased by a hastily hurled Shell from the looks of it. The few monsters that were caught in the protective spell are being pummeled by their combined might. They redouble their efforts against the next wave that seeps from the flaming forest, Quistis and Selphie and Zell combining their forces to face them and leaving Irvine to take aim at the strangers who make up the rest of the scene. He makes no move, simply peering along his gun's sites to follow the action in the base of the pit, cautious glances carrying his attention to the man atop the spire opposite of Rinoa.
I notice that my friends are making no effort to help Rinoa. Why not? Why would Selphie not leap to her friend's defense? Why would Quistis not bother running to her aid? Why would Zell focus his attention on defending Quistis rather than bolting to Rinoa's side, when she's in the far greater danger? Why is Irvine not taking any shots at her attacker?
I know he's failed before when firing upon a Sorceress (or in this dream, it would be a Sorcerer?) but that was because she noticed him. This target isn't paying a lick of attention to my friends.
Magic envelops the dream, explosions of what I could only assume were colliding Meltdowns of enormous might blinding me to everything that could be occurring. The clouds are stripped. The red eye of the moon glowers upon the land. The stars hide in the black of the night. The combatants in the pit continue to strive to reach the two whose magic made the very planet shudder and cry in pain.
Rinoa cries out in my dream, her wings folding for a moment before she takes to the air and releases her pinwheel, striking the ground at the feet of her silver-winged opponent and channeling a Tornado spell through it to strike that figure without awareness. Silver feathers fly errantly to blend with white, reflecting the piercing light that those pure feathers cast.
The two swordsmen in the pit clash violently even as Rinoa and her opponent take to the air, wings beating mightily upon the wind and the moon itself bursts into crimson tears as they draw their power from Hyne himself.
The streams of light that pour from the moon light the area as brilliantly as the sun would, the odd backdrop of night and black combined with white and the roaring oranges of fire making it a haunting parody of day. Feathers float upon the wind as spells light the heavens, the Sorcerer and Rinoa clashing with impossible speed against one another, wings veritably glowing in the rays that illuminate the land.
Suddenly, the pale-haired stranger bursts from the pit, his rapid trajectory giving the illusion of flight – the blond is right on his heels, huge sword gripped in both hands and murder upon his delicate face.
The winged combatants swing low enough in the air that all four figures – the two I recognize to be Knights and the Sorcery-laden individuals – come together as one. I can't determine what's happening at all, the light from the moon overpowering my dream-granted senses.
The sudden crack of Exeter firing brings my dream to an end.
Who was Irvine firing upon?
Who are the Knights?
Who is the Sorcerer?
Why is it these damned 'prophetic dreams' are bringing up more questions than they answer?
Whatever they're trying to portray, I'm tired of it. I'm tired of Eden giving me glimpses of probable futures without any comfort or resolution. I'm tired of her laughter as my heart thunders with worry every time I read about my nighttime visions.
I want her gone. I want this over with. I want to go back to how life used to be. I want to get back to arguing over caterers and chapels and how the Forest Owls annoy the piss out of me.
Maybe once we finish up this sortie in Timber, once we put down the beast in his black trench coat that I've seen in my dream, we can go back to the status quo.
After all, if he's dead, the future I've been dreaming of can't come to reality.
She won't face off with a silver-winged Sorcerer without me there to defend her.
She will never be without me at her side.
Cloud sighed as he sat in his cell, stirring his spork in the most hated of the MREs he'd received to date – the Veggie and Cheese Omelet. It was a meal so horrible that the guard had cringed when he'd drawn it out of the crate and offered it with a sigh, professing that if there weren't security cameras around and he didn't fear reprimand that he'd swap it out for a different choice despite his orders to give the prisoner the first MRE he happened to grab.
It had been a full day since he'd met the apparent Commander of the Garden he was imprisoned upon, and Cloud still couldn't shake the image of him out of his head. He couldn't begin to fathom what was so fascinating about the brunet that the boy still held his attention.
He hadn't been the most impressive person to look at.
He was short. Not so short as the youth named Zell that had kicked the ever-livid snot out of Cloud when he'd first arrived and not so short as Cloud himself, but not nearly equaling the vast majority of the guards who'd stood watch over the brig's sole occupied cell or the auburn-haired man with his lazy drawl that came in from time to time. To add to his diminutive height as compared to most of his comrades, he wasn't impressively muscled, lacking that chiseled look that the martial artist Cloud had battled carried. He was thin, wiry and all around delicate looking, so frail and fragile that he appeared to be susceptible to the might of a good breeze.
He was rather plain. Nothing about his features really shone as incredibly impressive. Brunet hair wasn't eye-catching, especially not in the lazy and haphazard cut he sported. While it looked soft and clean, it wasn't long and shimmering nor cut in an intriguing fashion. It was just… there. And while those eyes, gunmetal flecked with azure that would instantly capture anyone's attention were incredible in coloration, their tired and dull sheen was a deterrent Cloud couldn't overcome. The clothing he sported was unimpressive to say the least, simple black sweatpants accompanying a white short-sleeved shirt and a pair of black sneakers of a brand Cloud didn't recognize and indeed couldn't owing to his lacking familiarity with the very planet he was on.
He was injured, yes, but didn't appear to be in mortal danger. The bandages around both of his arms were rather clean, hinting that whatever lay behind them was healing nicely. The wrap around his abdomen didn't seem to hinder him greatly. He moved tenderly and cautiously, but wasn't nearly as stiff and tearful as Cloud had been when he'd awakened – Cloud couldn't ascribe those bandages as anything that could maintain his worry and attention, therefore they couldn't be attributed with his inability to shuck the image of the young man from his thoughts.
There was nothing that Cloud could classify as exceptionally memorable about the young man named Squall Leonhart. Yet for some odd reason, he couldn't get him out of his mind.
Whenever he reflected on the stalwart Commander, his heart stirred within his breast, those sensations he couldn't pinpoint the origin of welling into being from the base of his mind.
That odd sensation of hopelessness, emptiness and sorrow would wash over his senses, foreign and alien yet not stirring any vestige of discomfort in Cloud's being.
Throughout the morning, those sensations had been added to, though the new additions were fleeting in comparison with the apparent permanence of the three feelings that remained a constant whenever Cloud's mind drifted to the brunet. Shortly after his guard had been relieved and a new teenager had seated himself upon the wooden chair beyond the cell's bars, Cloud's mind had felt an alien anger accompanied by exasperation and frustration that were entirely segregated from his current emotional state. Those new sensations had faded an indeterminate amount of time later, only to come back in force a few moments after drifting away and then fade once more into obscurity.
Cloud frowned as he lowered his spork to his tray, having taken a bite of food without realizing it.
It wasn't the first time he'd felt something that wasn't him within his skull.
Indeed, when he'd drifted into Sephiroth's control, the chosen of Jenova having used the common link they carried in the form of her cellular material in their veins and flesh to grip his mind and move him without his consent, Cloud had felt everything that was drifting through the imprisoned SOLDIER's thoughts. He had been the General's puppet, moving according to his whims, incapable of resisting the urges that took hold of his body and forced him to accommodate the desires of his master.
The emotions of the elder SOLDIER had burned in his mind and his heart, driving him to do what he had done without control over himself.
Even at that moment he could feel the same sensation to an extent, the burn that was Jenova's consciousness carried by the cells he'd been injected with slithering through his construct. The roiling fury that was the alien's presence always seared him, boiling in his very blood. That voice, those emotions, were simply quieter and further removed here than they'd ever been upon his home world, barring the final week he'd spent on the planet he knew as his own before his impromptu journey.
But this….
He could tell the emotions he felt, those extra sensations that sat quietly and unassuming at the base of his being, were not his own. They were an added burden, much like the odd fury and amusement that he recognized as Jenova's were. However they were far different than any additional presence he'd ever experienced before – rather than attempting to override him, to drive him away from his base of who he was, they sat quietly in the corner of his mind as if too shy and unassuming to ask for recognition. As a matter of fact, if Cloud turned his attention away from that additional batch of emotion within his head and his heart, they'd fade from his conscious ability to sense them.
Shaking his head sharply, he gagged as he swallowed a new mouthful of omelet.
"Sorry," the young guard offered from the other side of the bars.
Coughing once to clear his pallet, Cloud sighed. "Not your fault. At least it's giving me a reason to appreciate those enchiladas."
Even as the guard chuckled and shook his head, Cloud took a bite of his cracker to cleanse his palate before venturing towards the omelet once again.
Then, without warning, a sensation of sheer panic overrode him.
Blinking sharply, Cloud's breath caught in his throat. Putting his tray down he rose to his feet and stared upwards, his eyes taking in the sight of the ceiling and nothing more.
Pondering what he was doing, Cloud brought his hand to his head, scratching errantly at his skull.
"Everything alright?" his guard asked.
"Yeah," Cloud replied uncertainly. "Just… got a weird feeling. I can't explain it."
With a noncommittal shrug, the youth went back to reading the book that seemed to get passed between all of the guards.
Sighing as he sat back down, trying to ignore the sensation of panic that was being supplemented by anger and assurance, Cloud shook his head then smiled at the guard, his expression timid and guarded. "So is it any good?"
"Pardon?" the young man asked, arching a brow and looking over at Cloud.
"That book."
"Oh!" Laughing lightly, he closed it and patted the cover tenderly, the fanciful script's significance lost on Cloud. "It's the rule book for SeeD personnel. We're expected to be well versed in this stuff, so… well, guarding you isn't all that stimulating, you know? Got to pass the time, and studying is a good way to do just that."
"Got'cha," Cloud offered, trying to ignore the growing volume of the sensations that weren't his own screaming in his mind.
When astute fear suddenly interjected itself in the mixture, Cloud was once again off his bench and staring at the ceiling.
Somehow, he knew those sensations were coming from somewhere above him.
Then without warning, the room suddenly went off-kilter.
With a frightened yelp, Cloud tried to get a grip on the flooring even as he slid down it rapidly. His fingers failed to find purchase before he slammed into the hard wall opposite of the bars that opened to the brig's common area.
His guard screamed as he likewise was knocked off his feet and slid.
Cloud's eyes sprang wide open as he watched the young man plow into the bars, the electric force field that separated them sparking brilliantly, roaring crackling almost overpowering the cries of the young man as he was electrocuted. Reaching up for him out of reflex, Cloud barely recognized that it was his own voice yelling profanities.
The boy ceased to shudder and twitch, lying limply atop the bars as they continued to spark. The smell of burning flesh and hair began to fill the air.
A thunderous explosion suddenly blasted outside, deafeningly loud and threatening to rupture Cloud's sensitive eardrums. The entire structure around Cloud shook violently then groaned as if in pain as it swung in the opposing direction.
As the young guard's body fell away from the bars and started to slide across the floor to return to the table he'd been at, Cloud screamed and flailed as he began to skid towards the deadly bars of his cell. He lashed out with a hand, barely managing to catch the leg of his bench-turned-bed that was closest to the back wall of his prison.
Gritting his teeth, he held onto that bench's leg for dear life, curling his body in upon itself to keep his legs from getting anywhere close to that horribly powerful force field that now lay below him. The sound of something metal colliding with metal rang through the cell, followed by another brilliant clanging sound and then the sound of metal debris raining on the outer wall of the brig.
Cloud barely suppressed a shriek, expending his startled energy to swing himself fully under his bench rather than let his exclamation loose from his lips as a huge beam of metal punched into his cell followed by a veritable waterfall of saltwater. Closing his eyes against the barrage, he coughed and sputtered as he was caught into the sudden inrush, trying to ignore the sounds of sparkling and crackling behind him.
The sound of the force field snapping violently in the rain of saltwater gave way to the smell of fire as it gave way, letting the water that was rapidly filling Cloud's tiny living space flood into the entire brig complex. Within moments, water had filled everything up to the head of Cloud's makeshift bed.
Kicking as water began to swirl around his ankles and calves, Cloud found he couldn't contain the sheer panic that overrode his senses. The ground swayed dizzily beneath him, the water rushed towards him, and he found himself barreling head first towards the now shredded wall of his prison cell, his grip on his bench's leg all that prevented him from slamming face first into sharp shrapnel.
Narrowing his eyes, Cloud stared at the huge rift in the wall. Then his eyes sprang open as he beheld what lay beyond what had been his reality since he'd awakened after his initial fight upon this foreign world.
He was over a huge expanse of water. He saw no land at all. Water was splattering into that expanse, churning it violently, pouring out of the hole he was within and likely pouring off the sides of the mobile Garden he was still upon.
Bodies were floating in that water, some still living, many now dead. Light sparkled upon the faces of both the corpses and the struggling survivors, brilliant and domineering beyond any natural sunlight Cloud had ever seen.
Even as Cloud began to relegate his panic, taking a deep breath free of seawater to clear his mind and tightening his grip upon his bench leg even as the ground began to far-too-swiftly level itself back out and become horizontal once again, the foreign sensation of astute fear Cloud realized wasn't his own surged forth in his mind.
Without consciously realizing it, Cloud had released his grip on the bench leg and crawled to the hole in his prison cell's wall. Staring out of it, he felt his heart leap in panic within his chest.
He saw that brunet he'd not been able to shuck from his mind in the water, struggling against the waves, his right hand holding a huge and odd weapon and his left valiantly attempting to keep him afloat.
Then he saw Squall sink beneath the next huge wave that washed over him.
Cloud cursed even as he leapt from his cell and dove into the roiling waves below.
The shock of cold roared through his frame, nearly paralyzing him as it overtook his senses. His muscles instantly clenched as the chill of the water inundated him, threatening to overtake him completely. Cloud forced his eyes open, glaring into the depths, ignoring the sting of salt upon his nerves.
He swam with every iota of strength he had, plowing his way rapidly down into the fathomless sea, striving as swiftly as he could for the source of the string of bubbles he was chasing with all of his might. After what seemed to be eons to Cloud's aching lungs and frigid body, he finally touched thin fingers that were blindly grasping for aid.
Cloud swiftly wrapped his hand around that thin appendage that was begging for him, wrenching it towards his body before his other hand located the young brunet's chest and hauled him close. A few moments of panic flitted through him before he recalled which way was up and powered his way towards air.
As Cloud swam, the huge Garden he could finally begin to make out through the deep yet crystal clear waters that buried him began to swing back towards him once again. With a buried growl he swam swiftly, trying to put some distance between him and what he saw was coming.
He very nearly made it.
The jutting shards of metal that once made up a portion of the mobile Garden plowed into the water, the displacement shoving Cloud deeper into the waters than he already was. His lungs cried for air as he struggled against the sudden currents, blindly pawing at the water with his one free hand, the other arm curling more tightly around the chest of the young man he was intent on rescuing.
Suddenly, the metal was drawing out of the water.
The Garden was correcting its position. Cloud realized his sudden opportunity.
Grabbing with his free hand, Cloud hung on for dear life, his eyes clenching themselves shut and his stomach reeling at the sudden shift in his position. Battling vertigo, he took a draw of suddenly welcome air as the chill of the water left him and he was instantly frozen by the atmosphere that rested above those cold waves.
Just as he started to slide off that thin jetty of metal he was kneeling on, the young man he was rescuing grabbed the blade he held with his right hand with both and slammed it heavily against the beam, its tip biting firmly into steel and holding tight. Cloud's tightly maintained grip on Squall's thin body brought them both to a halt, their sliding abated by the blade's firm hold on their perilous foundation, the young brunet's grip deathly tight upon the weapon's hilt in an effort to save them both.
Cloud pried his eyes open, looking at the body he'd plucked out of the ocean.
Squall was shivering, his teeth chattering and his gray eyes huge. His thin body was soaked to the bone, violent shudders racing through his pale flesh.
It was then that Cloud's instinctual longing to yell at the younger man for not dropping his weapon and saving himself from drowning earlier died away. He noticed that Squall's fingers on his right hand, twisted unnaturally and painfully, were lodged into the complex weapon's hilt.
Reaching out, Cloud tenderly laid his hand over Squall's, working his fingers free of that odd blade. He astutely ignored the startled look he received as he replaced Squall's hand with his own, wrapped his left arm more firmly around the thin chest he held, and braced himself against the Garden's continued rocking.
Looking over Squall's shoulder, Cloud felt the foreign fear that rested within his heart suddenly become overpowered by his own.
"What the hell is that?" he asked, his voice lost in the violent winds that surged around them, stirred by the massive beating wings of the monstrosity he beheld.
A floating woman without a head, her multicolored body bereft of clothing, her legs fused together into a dagger-sharp point that thrust straight down towards the ocean below, a pair of white wings dangling limply from her back. A red cloak fluttered upon the hurricane-force winds as if they were but a breeze. Where her head should have been, resting atop the huge pillar that should have been her neck and the two shapely upper arms that rose from her shoulders to plow into it, was a huge swirling multicolored ring of light flooded with odd alien symbols and blaringly bright lights, sporting upon its front an odd beak-like face and huge wings that flapped to keep it in the air.
Squinting his eyes until they were nearly shut, Cloud stared at the monster, the brilliant sheen that surrounded it nearly blinding. The air was flooded with a cacophony of racket, the winds roaring around them as those enormous wings beat, the waves below bubbling and hissing as the huge womanly being settled its dagger point into the ocean and it began to boil, people and creatures screaming as they were cooked to death, waves crashing into the Garden and rocking it violently.
The monster approached, a voice deep and dark and powerful blasting through the atmosphere so loudly Cloud's ears threatened to bleed and his head pounded in agony.
"I will be no slave," it roared. "This planet's destruction is my dominion."
Cloud tightened his grip on Squall's thin body even as it tensed. The sensation of fear that rested within Cloud was suddenly awash with dread and some vague sense of recollection or realization.
"The time has come for me to deliver eternity," the beast projected, those huge wings sweeping it nearly into the Garden itself and the body tilting. One of the lower wings swung forward, barely visible in the horribly bright light that poured from the underside of the creature's head.
Cloud kept his tight grip as another person called for his Commander, ensuring that Squall didn't break free of safety to endanger himself by attempting to reach the youth that cried for him.
Why, Cloud couldn't comprehend. All he understood was that he wanted to keep Squall safe. He was determined to protect the man he couldn't erase from his waking thoughts.
Moments later he was happy he'd prevented Squall from dashing to the other youth's aid – as a stray feather from the sweeping wing touched him, a vile puff of sound and a flash of dust and sparkling droplets of blood were all that remained of the other person.
Tightening his grip just a touch more at the risk of snapping the thin ribs of the boy he held, Cloud buried his face into Squall's thin shoulder, sheer determination keeping the squirming Commander in place as he cried the deceased boy's name and attempted to surge away from protection and safety.
As every other person in the area fled as swiftly as they could, Cloud simply maintained his position. He had a good grip on the blade Squall had set up as a stable point on the thin jetty they occupied. The blast doors behind him were shut. Cloud couldn't find any confidence within himself that both he and Squall would be able to scale the slicked sides of the massive Garden's structure to reach any other relatively safe position.
A roar of jet engines drew a sigh of relative relief from Cloud's lungs. The monster seemed to be turning its attention to whatever had flown from the Garden. Lifting his head, he swiftly assessed his current situation.
He was upon a thin jetty of metal, before closed blast doors with no apparent way to escape other than diving into the now boiling ocean filled with bodies.
Profanities hovering upon his lips, he looked at the young man he held in his arms, watching as he stared with huge and frightened eyes at the sky.
Cloud stared as dark clouds released furious lightning, a yellow bird more enormous than any he'd ever seen before spreading its wings in a thunderous clash, bolts of electricity raining from its frame to encase the feminine beast that had killed with its feathers just as a rain of brilliant white light and a stream of dragon breath burst from the heavens and bathed the target of the bird's attack in light and fiery fury. A huge train, demonic in appearance, roared along tracks of fire over the ocean to collide with the monstrous womanly creature, fire spreading over her frame during their moment of contact before the machination faded away.
The Garden began to move, Cloud struggling to maintain his grip upon the weapon that was shoved so firmly into the steel beam he knelt on as it surged violently away from the creature's deadly wings. The entire structure shuddered as it collided with another wave and began to tilt, collapsing forward towards the waves' trough before righting itself and rising along the wave's crest.
Suppressing a wave of nausea that threatened to overtake him, Cloud grit his teeth and kept his focus on the battle of monsters that was taking place far too close to his position for his liking.
The beast with its wings flapped its upper appendages sharply, its feminine laughter tearing through the atmosphere without mercy. Cloud winced as it blasted over them, tearing through his brain with its power.
The yellow bird continued its attack even as the massive womanly figure approached the Garden once more, its wings sweeping through the very metal itself. Finding himself suddenly grateful that he'd not attempted to drag Squall elsewhere to safety, Cloud kept his tight grip even as lightning raced over the ocean and along the monstrous attacker's frame. The acrid odor of seared flesh and flash-cooked water overpowered his senses, tingling in his nose as electricity danced over waves and feminine beast alike.
Suddenly the lightning ceases to be, one massive wing lashing forward and catching the thunderbird off guard, blasting it completely out of existence. The creature's triumphant laughter barreled over the air even as it redoubled its efforts, both lower wings caressing the structure upon which Cloud stood.
He realized in that moment – those feathers were finally coming for them.
Gripping the odd blade he'd been using as a brace firmly, Cloud pulled at it with all of his might, prying it loose from its firm grip on the steel they knelt upon. Seeing the white filaments sweeping close at unreal speed, Cloud opted to simply leap straight over the young man he'd been defending to engage them before they could reach him.
A foot touching down, Cloud adjusted his grip on the weapon he held.
Unlike when he'd picked up the sword he'd used in his fight against Zell, he couldn't be less happy.
The weapon was horribly unbalanced, awkward and clumsy in his hands. Its crystalline blue blade was unwieldy, its grip entirely unnatural, an odd gun's trigger mounted on its right where Cloud wanted most to hold it, a chunk of metal carved into the shape of a winged lion mounted on the back of the metal base of that glowing blade adding to the terrible weightiness of the sword.
Snarling as he realized the feathers were approaching and he had no options remaining to him, Cloud steeled himself.
He launched himself at those deadly white weapons, the blue blade drifting to his right as he ducked his left shoulder forward. A quick hop to change the direction of his momentum accompanied a violent downward swing of the blade he held, its power lost with his awkward hold on the odd hilt and its angle tilted by the odd mass of weight upon the back of the sword. A curse flew from Cloud's lips as his intended strike fell short and sloppy, slicing through a few simple strands of feather and trimming them down rather than severing the portion of the appendage he'd reached.
Those severed filaments brushed against his flesh, drawing an instant well of fear and dread from Cloud's gut – moments later he was awash with relief. It seemed that once severed from the creature itself, they lost their power to utterly destroy.
The creature hovered, its wing slowly drifting back.
It was readying itself for another pass.
Cloud fell back to stand between Squall and the monster before him, sweat of terror beading upon his brow.
A part of him longed to lunge at the creature, to press the attack and destroy the wing before him utterly. However, the majority of him had decided upon another course of action. He was intent on protecting Squall. On standing between him and that which was attempting to kill him.
The creature would try for the prone Commander again. And that was when Cloud would strike.
The creature itself was the focal point, not simply the wing. And for his attack to commence, he needed it to be closer.
Tightening his grip on the odd weapon he'd relieved Squall of, Cloud glowered at the monstrosity as it slowly drifted even closer, the enormity of its nearly overwhelming. Growling, he shifted his shoulders, relieving the stress that burrowed through him, feeling the fire of adrenaline tainted with mako beginning to burn his veins. "C'mon," he hissed softly. "Get closer, will you?"
His bare feet curled their toes against the metal he stood upon as he watched his opponent approach.
Cloud's mind quickly envisioned his attack path.
The feathers would have to be avoided so long as they were attached to the monster itself. As soon as it was in range, he would charge forward and use the jetty as a launching point, getting close enough to attack its body directly. The weapon he held would be used to cut with each passing, then to provide a solid surface for him to attempt to use to change his trajectory once he was stuck without a Garden to bounce off of.
It would be hard, but hardly impossible.
The beast, overwhelmingly huge, towered over the Garden he stood upon. He felt a smirk of battle-bred fury tease his lips as he judged its distance from him.
Just a meter closer….
Tensing his muscles, he prepared to leap.
"No! Stay back or she'll kill you!"
Turning sharply on his heel, Cloud stared.
Squall had risen to his feet, his eyes wide and brilliant, left hand held out towards Cloud as if imploring him to retreat.
Cloud's eyes widened, flooding with bewilderment and amazement.
Those gunmetal eyes had changed, suddenly brilliant and gold and shining with the light of the sun as huge silver wings ripped free of the white shirt that clung to the young man's thin body, unfurling in a flash of reflective brilliance and sending metallic feathers flying through the air.
A flash of blindingly white light burst from Squall's outstretched fingers, his entire body surrounded with a soft white glow.
Cloud heard the explosion behind him. Turning his head, he stared with enormous eyes.
Ultimas were roaring behind him, tearing into the monstrosity he'd been so prepared to attack.
Cloud held his breath as he watched the magical assault, his eyes hardly capable of blinking.
He knew what Ultima was capable of. He knew what devastating effects it had. But he had never seen an Ultima spell anywhere near what he was witnessing at that moment, the most powerful he'd ever witnessed being laughably dwarfed in power and magnitude by what he was seeing.
He also knew how long it took to cast Ultima. He therefore understood that there was no way such a horrendously powerful spell should be capable of being cast in such rapid succession as he was watching it being cast.
His blood nearly froze in his veins as the empty sky above was washed in darkness.
Looking up, Cloud's eyes nearly sprang from his head as his jaw sagged open.
Meteor.
The near-destroyer of his world.
Rocks hailed from the heavens, splashing so violently into the ocean that they send towers of water rocketing over the highest tip of the Garden, pounding so viciously into the monster that its figure was shredded and punctured beyond repair, the hovering saucer that replaced its head tilting and punctured. Cloud's urge to run to Squall, to bury him under his own body and protect him from the onslaught, was halted only when he got a good look him.
Those huge silver wings reflected the carnage, bathed in orange as a series of Flare spells surged over the beast's body and engulfed it completely. His hand remained outstretched, still glowing brilliantly, his body still outlined in ghostly white light. Flickers of red raced around him even as his golden eyes widened, their surfaces not cold and empty but burning with fear and terror.
Cloud broke from his position as he noticed those who stood behind Squall, those SeeDs who hadn't been able to escape the platform they were all trapped on. He noticed the fear in their eyes. He noticed their cautious grips on their weapons. He noticed their abject terror wasn't focused on the burning beast being ripped apart by meteors and consecutive Ultima spells – it was focused on the man that was their Commander.
"The moon!" one of them screamed. "Look at the moon!"
Cloud turned his head, looking to the sky even as he came to Squall's side, keeping out of the blast-path of his spells.
The huge white satellite was visibly rotating, red and blue gathering upon it and giving it the semblance of a huge, frighteningly perceptive eye in the sky.
The monster under the moon laughed softly, its voice thundering as it addressed everyone present.
"So the moon would defend the planet? So be it. I will slumber until my time comes."
The beast began to settle, sinking slowly into the ocean, its surface violently boiling and churning as the monstrous being sank into the waves.
"Defend my dominion from those unworthy of my rightful place, as you would defend it from me."
As the creature began to sink completely below the waves, the entire ocean lit up, the brilliant light that the monstrosity had cast from its odd head seeming to set the very water on fire. Cloud shielded his eyes even as his heart thundered while he listened to the sinking creature's final profession.
"I will rise again.
"Once Hyne's eye has fallen.
"Once his power has ceased to defend this world.
"Its life will belong to me."
Cloud let a deep sigh rattle itself free of his lungs, shaking his head. Turning his attention to Squall, focusing everything he had on the shaken boy, he stared. The wings that had sprung into reality were fading, those silver feathers drifting into the ocean to be swallowed by its waves even as brilliant gold eyes faded into a frightened gunmetal gray.
Those sensations, the eternal emptiness and hopelessness that Cloud felt in the base of his being, were stronger than ever, now accompanied by wariness and a touch of dread.
Holding the odd weapon that belonged to Squall with both hands, fear of dropping it into the ocean overriding his desire to release it and place a comforting hand on the younger man's thin shoulder, Cloud let a calm and serene smile touch his lips.
He only allowed his gaze to harden into a glower when he looked over Squall's shoulder.
When Squall turned and witnessed the reaction of his people himself, he swallowed a shaking breath just before he sank to his knees, the apparent impact of whatever it was that had happened finally overwhelming him.
Kneeling beside him, Cloud carefully removed one hand from the odd weapon he held and set its hefty blade upon the ground next to his leg. Laying an arm across Squall's now bared back and over the shredded shirt that failed to protect him from the chill in the air, Cloud turned a cool glare to those who stood nearby, their weapons at the ready, their apparent target on his knees by Cloud's side. At that moment, he realized one crucial fact – the only way to Squall was through him.
"Don't even think about it. I'll kill you all."
-to be continued-
A/N: Why yes. You now likely realize that this is out of order. Cloud's half and Squall's half don't necessarily flow along the same timeline. Don't worry – the supposed disconnect will become evident and all will make sense very soon. Like within the next two chapters soon.