Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Plot Synopsis: SephirothxKuja, my two favorite Final Fantasy villains brought together. Beyond that. . .I'll let you know =) Beta'd once again by the incomparable Littlehouseinthewoods!
Author's Note: Surprisingly, I can't think of a damned thing to say, this time. I enjoyed writing the chapter, and I hope you enjoy reading it:)
Author's Note II: I found something else to write! The poem Kuja quotes is most assuredly not mine. It's called The Dark Angel, by Lionel Johnson. Just so you know=)
sksksksksksksksksksksksk~sksksksksksksksksksksksk~sksksksksksksksksksksksk~sksksksksksksksksksksksk
Final Fantasy: Final Requiem
Chapter Four
"Dark Angel, with thine aching lust, to rid the world of penitence. Malicious Angel, who still dost my soul such subtle violence!"
The man once known throughout Gaia as Shinra's Silver General awoke to the rich, cultured sound of a long-beloved voice. A faint smile tugged at his bow-shaped mouth, a rare phenomenon that few had ever been privileged enough to witness, as he rested against the steady beat of the other's heart. He felt a hand sift through his hair and opened his eyes, his smile widening just enough to betray his contentment. He didn't have to guess which of his two lovers held him so tenderly; even without the poetry, he would have known it to be Genesis. No one else had ever drawn so much enjoyment from toying with his hair as did his mercurial, flame-haired hellcat.
"Because of thee, no thought, no thing, abides for me undesecrate. Dark Angel, ever on the wing, who never reachest me too late."
That smooth, musical voice fell silent, and Sephiroth uttered a deep sigh. "Genesis," he murmured with contentment. "Finish your poem, hellcat. I'm curious as to how it will end."
The hand stroking his hair paused, but he paid it no mind as he lowered one black-gloved hand to the pale expanse of his lover's waist. He squeezed with gentle affection, a faint frown tugging at his brow as he realized that Genesis felt much slimmer than he should be. He rubbed his thumb across the hard ridge of muscle that framed the other man's navel, the frown deepening as he realized that this too felt wrong. The skin was too soft, too pale, the muscle it covered well-defined but not pronounced, which told Sephiroth that it couldn't be his hellcat's taut body that pillowed him. But if not Genesis, then who?
Sephiroth flicked a glance downward and the frown disappeared, replaced by a rare expression of surprise at the sight which greeted him. Two pale, heavily-muscled legs were encased in thigh-high leather boots, with what he could only assume were thick white stocking protruding from them. The man appeared to be bare from the tops of those stockings to the juncture of his thighs, while a black, ornately-decorated codpiece was strapped to his hips.
And these were most assuredly not the sleek, straight lines of his hellcat's hips. They were slightly rounded, flaring from the narrow line of a definitively male waist, bit in a most un-masculine way. Especially, as what appeared to be a skirt flowed from either side of them, secured by two bands that greatly resembled belts, and were attached to the codpiece. It made for a truly bizarre sight, and Sephiroth wasn't too proud to admit that he was confused. Surely, he wasn't with a woman?
Sephiroth shifted, placed his hands on either side of those gently-rounded hips, and pushed himself into a sitting position. He dragged his gaze up the other's body, taking note of the purple half-shirt with the gold trim and the long white sleeves, as well as the elaborate silver shoulder-guards. His eyes moved over a slim, almost delicate neck, up past a stubborn chin and a wide, mobile mouth. He spied a pert, upturned nose and high, broad cheekbones, only to be confronted by the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen.
A lovely, haunting shade of cerulean blue, they gazed into Sephiroth's own without a hint of fear. This unusual, undeniably attractive being was a man, and one that Sephiroth was certain he had never seen him before in his life.
He tensed, his body coiling as it prepared for battle, only to be disarmed by a sudden, astonishingly gentle smile. "So, we meet again," the other man said, tilting his head back to maintain eye contact, "my angel."
"Hello, little monkey."
Sephiroth frowned as those strange, baffling words flitted through his mind. They were spoken in his own deep tones, laced with what he recognized as amusement, and yet he knew that he had never uttered them, because this man was a complete stranger to him. "I don't know you," he all but growled, the menace in his voice enough to send any sane man running for his life.
But, sane or not, Kuja was not just any man. "Of course, you do," Kuja scolded him lightly. "You're the one who drew me from The Tree, remember?"
Sephiroth frowned harder and ducked his head, hiding behind the long veil of his hair, and was disturbed as his gaze was immediately drawn back to the other man. His companion was highly unusual—and certainly attractive enough—to warrant the attention, but this sort of. . .immediate interest was not normal for him, a man who had been born and raised in Shinra laboratories.
The one thing Sephiroth couldn't help but notice was the fall of heavy silver hair, similar to his own, which fell in layered waves to the smaller man's waist. While this beautiful stranger did not have the glowing green eyes which would mark him as yet another of his clones, there was little doubt in Sephiroth's mind that that was exactly what he was. After all, one other had lacked that telltale genetic trait, and he had ultimately been Sephiroth's downfall.
Sephiroth pushed thoughts of Cloud Strife from his mind and concentrated on the half-naked man sitting before him. Even as he watched, one delicate hand came up to brush the hair which hung around his own face, and Sephiroth surprised himself by actually allowing the overly familiar caress. Long nails, razor-sharp and painted, were ever so careful as they combed through his hair, and Sephiroth's own fascination only deepened. Who was this beautiful, enigmatic man, and was that truly a feather he spied in that tousled wealth of heavy silver?
He cleared his throat and pulled away, putting some much needed distance between himself and the bewitching stranger. "What is your name?" he asked in a clipped voice.
Those lush, blush-kissed lips curved into a coquettish smile as a fringe of silvery lashes dropped down to cover vivid blue eyes. "You truly don't remember?" the other man questioned coyly. "I'm rather hard to forget, angel."
Sephiroth fought a sudden, uncharacteristic urge to smile at the young man's brazenness. "If I did, I would not ask," he returned, relieved that he managed to keep his tone severe, if nothing else. "Now, answer the question."
Kuja lifted one violet-streaked silver brow at the stern command. "You're very autocratic, aren't you?" he mused rhetorically. "Well, I'll forgive you your little lapse, because you nearly died, but don't forget again." He paused and added, "My name is Kuja, Kuja Tribal."
"Kuja." Sephiroth ignored the rest of the other man's statement as he tested that one word, and decided that he liked the way it flowed from his lips. "You have a highly unusual name, Kuja. One I have never heard before. What does it mean?"
"I vaguely remember the old man mumbling something about one of Terra's ancient war-gods, but it was a long time ago," Kuja dismissed with a shrug. He reached up and began to twirl a lock of his own darker, thicker silver hair around one finger. "And your name is. . .?"
Sephiroth's own brow shot up at that. "Surely, you already know," he admonished lightly. "You are one of Hojo's creations, are you not?"
Kuja only shook his head negatively, vaguely recalling the name from his angel's maddened rant. "You've mentioned that name before," he said with another shrug, "but it's not one I know. Now, answer my question, angel."
Sephiroth frowned at the epithet, one which he and Genesis had once given to a third, wholly beloved friend. "Why do you call me that?" he asked, his voice sharp as he willed the painful memories away.
Kuja sighed, but this time, it wasn't a pleased sound. "Because you are beautifully, angelically perfect," he snapped impatiently. "Why else?"
Sephiroth blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in the other man's mood, which was yet another reminder of the past, although not necessarily an unpleasant one. "My name is Sephiroth," he said at last, waiting for the inevitable horror that would follow the confession. Much to his shock, it never came.
"Sephiroth, hhmmm?" Kuja smiled slowly, his anger gone as quickly as it had come. "What a lovely name, angel. It suits you."
Sephiroth could only gaze at him, stunned by his easy acceptance. "You are not. . .afraid of me?" he asked, scarcely able to believe it.
Kuja thought of the fear he had felt so briefly, and then shook his fair head. "You are a very powerful man, but in that we are equals. You don't scare me, angel." He observed the other man's surprised expression and added, "Sorry."
"No, don't be." Sephiroth cleared his throat, unable to halt the smile which came to his lips. "It is. . .a relief, not to be feared."
Kuja only laughed, the lyrical sound echoing through the cavernous space, and filling Sephiroth with unexpected warmth. "Oh, angel," the younger man said laughingly, "there are worse things than being feared. But don't worry, you won't have to deal with them so long as I am around."
Sephiroth stared at him with a bemused expression. "You think to protect me?" he questioned humorously.
Kuja touched a violet-tipped nail to his lips in a teasingly. "Among other things," he returned in a sultry voice.
It was Sephiroth's turn to laugh as he captured that delicate hand in his own, even as he wondered at his own behavior. He had never been one to "flirt" with such ease. "You are very much the tease," he hesitated, unable to fight the compulsion to add, "little monkey."
Kuja smiled with genuine pleasure and leaned closer. "You know," his breath wafted over Sephiroth's lips, which parted automatically in response, "you're the only one who's ever gotten away with calling me that. I must like you."
Sephiroth merely shook his head and scrutinized the other man's fingernails, only absently noting the deep violet gloves that left those elegant fingers bare. "Why do you paint them?" he asked, running one gloved fingertip over the shiny violet surface. "It is an unusual thing for a man to do."
"I don't." Sephiroth glanced up at him, and he graciously explained, "It's my natural coloring. I developed differently than the others."
"Ah." And with those words, Sephiroth realized that Kuja's denial had been a lie. He was one of Sephiroth's clones, and was probably too afraid of being absorbed by him to admit it. Sephiroth tried to ignore the sense of disappointment that came with the knowledge as he released Kuja's hand and rose to his feet. "We should go. This is not a safe place for us."
Kuja nodded his gilded head and stood, seemingly unaffected by Sephiroth's abrupt withdrawal. He raised slender arms above his head in a languorous stretch, and Sephiroth's eyes flicked down his lithe body of their own accord. He watched the play of muscles beneath that snow-white skin with a nearly-forgotten hunger, and was forced to admit that this particular clone was the most aesthetically pleasing of any he had previously encountered.
Kuja was looking up at the free-floating rock platforms that marked the trail out of The Planet's core, his crystal-blue eyes showing nothing more than curiosity, which led Sephiroth to believe that he had only recently escaped whatever laboratory he had been imprisoned in. And as uncomfortable as he was with the newfound knowledge of the young man's origins, Sephiroth knew that he couldn't leave him behind. Jenova would make short work of him, no matter how powerful he believed himself to be. As of now, he was Sephiroth's responsibility, whether he liked it or not.
"Where are we?" Kuja asked, placing his hands on his white-clad hips, and Sephiroth had to admit that he didn't dislike it. "You never did answer that question."
"That may be because I don't recall you asking it," Sephiroth answered shortly. "We're at the heart of the Northern Crater."
Kuja sent him a dark look, and he frowned as he added, "We are in The Planet's core, Kuja. A place we should not be."
And then he felt it. The stirring deep within himself, the uncoiling of something dark and malevolent and utterly insatiable. It was a sensation he had felt only once before, when he had lost his mind and slaughtered the inhabitants of a small mountain community, and one he had hoped never to feel again.
"Come, little monkey," he intoned urgently, his pale gaze searching the green-tinged air around them. "We must leave before she gathers enough power to overtake us."
"She?" Kuja questioned sharply, an image of blue-skinned death dancing behind his eyes. "Please tell me that doesn't mean what I think it does?"
Sephiroth's gaze turned inward for a long, tense moment, and Kuja knew that it did. "Angel—"
"Mother stirs," Sephiroth murmured distractedly, and then mentally forced himself back to awareness. He glanced at Kuja and hesitated before slowly extending his right hand. He was unsure as to why he felt moved to do so; he only knew that he did. "Take my hand, Kuja. We will leave this place together."
The young man sent him a delighted smile and placed his hand in Sephiroth's own, and Sephiroth tamped down a pang of pity. It wasn't the other man's fault that he felt this compulsion towards him. It was the Reunion effect, a byproduct of the alien cells that they shared with The Calamity From The Skies. Kuja couldn't help but be drawn to him, and Sephiroth wasn't quite cruel enough to turn him away. They were a family, if in a twisted fashion, and Sephiroth had learned from his mistakes. This time, he would protect his own.
He called to Masamune, watching with satisfaction as it materialized in his left hand, and leapt to the first platform. Kuja let out a startled cry, followed by a string of curses, as he was dragged along in Sephiroth's wake. Sephiroth hid a smile behind the veil of his hair, tightened his hold, and quickly jumped to the next. The moment their feet touched stone, Kuja jerked his hand free, shot Sephiroth a venomous look, and simply floated to the third platform.
He stood at its edge, his hands on his hips, a smug smile shaping his rose-colored lips. "Well?" he called out haughtily. "Are you coming or not?"
Sephiroth uttered a deep, soft laugh and launched himself into the air. He landed lightly beside the other man and sent him an amused, yet admiring look. "That was quite a feat, Kuja. When did you discover that you could fly?"
Kuja snorted and tossed his gilded head spiritedly. "I don't fly,angel. I glide," he returned haughtily. "There is a distinct difference."
"Hmph." Sephiroth shifted so that his hair hid his sudden smile. "Don't overtax yourself. We have a long way to go, yet."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," Kuja assured him, his voice little more than a seductive purr as he reached out and ran one hand up Masamune's considerable length. "I have exceptional stamina."
Not even Sephiroth, with his admittedly limited understand of human nature, could miss the innuendo in those heated words. Subtle, Kuja Tribal was not. "I'm sure," he returned, his voice very dry as he lowered Masamune and angled it behind him, out of the other man's reach, "but for now, let's concentrate on making it to the surface in one piece."
"Oh, if we must." Kuja sighed with a regret that was only partially feigned and took a step back. "Lead the way, angel. I'll enjoy the view as I follow."
Sephiroth's smile finally surfaced as he shook his head and turned away. "You are incorrigible, Kuja."
"Merely a small portion of my charms, angel," Kuja assured him breezily. "Now, can we please get the hell out of here? This stench is revolting."
Sephiroth nodded, understanding Kuja's revulsion all too well. The singularly acrid scent of mako haunted many of his nightmares, as well. "Keep up as best you can," he ordered sternly. "The monsters here bear some of the strongest mutations on The Planet. If they corner you, even for an instant—"
"They will die."
It was uttered with such confidence that Sephiroth knew he meant it, and for the first time, he wondered just how powerful this newest incarnation of himself was. He wasted no more time with words, wanting to be away from the crater before Mother—or The Planet—decided to take decisive action against them.
He began to jump up the spiraling series of earthen platforms, careful not to lose his footing on the slick, mako covered surfaces. True to his word, Kuja never lagged, keeping up with the brutal pace Sephiroth set with all aplomb of a true SOLDIER. He never complained, as Sephiroth had expected, merely commented on the changes in their surroundings along the way. He surprised Sephiroth with his restraint, as well as his ability to assess their situation analytically. It was something that even Kadaj, the most powerful of his past remnants, had struggled with. Kuja was a part of himself he could truly take pride in, as warped a sentiment as that was.
They ran into fewer monsters than Sephiroth had anticipated, mostly Scissors and Parasites, but nothing that Sephiroth himself couldn't handle. Kuja was disappointed that he hadn't been given a chance to fight—Sephiroth suspected that he wanted to prove himself to him—but Sephiroth wasn't in the mood to play. He wanted out of this hellish prison he had spent the last seven years trapped in, and he wanted it now.
The ground took a sharp upward incline, and the first rays of light became visible near the trail's end. Sephiroth couldn't deny the relief that filled him as the scent of fresh air greeted his deprived senses. The sickening taint of mako would be less intense on the surface, though it wouldn't be gone completely until they put a great deal of distance between themselves and the crater. Still, it was enough to know that they were close to freedom. Sephiroth would wait until they had gained that freedom to decide on a proper course of action.
"We're nearly there," he said aloud, more for Kuja's benefit than his own. "It won't be long, now."
"I know," Kuja replied as he glided gracefully beside him. "I can smell the fresh air from here. Glorious, isn't it?"
Sephiroth sent him a small smile, a gesture he normally reserved for only the closest of his friends. "Yes, it is," he agreed simply.
The younger man made a soft humming sound and floated up ahead of him, his white skirt billowing becomingly around his leather-encased legs. Sephiroth merely gazed after him, still struck by the young man's unusual choice of attire. While Kuja was undeniably male—even with those decidedly feminine hips—his flowing clothing lent him an intriguing air of androgyny, one only enhanced by the unruly tumble of his silver hair, as well as his remarkably sensual facial features.
He was undoubtedly the most visually striking of all of Sephiroth's clones, but he was also the most. . .individualistic. Unlike those which Mother had commanded during her insane quest to call Meteor, Kuja was most assuredly not a mindless, sycophantic puppet. He was also far removed from Kadaj, Loz, and Yazoo, in that his personality was not merely a warped reflection of Jenova's ideal of her chosen "son". He seemed wholly sentient, and surprisingly resistant to Mother's influence. Indeed, he hadn't even seemed to notice Jenova's presence in the crater, which was impossible for one who carried her horrific legacy. Mother was a part of them, and they of her. It was not something easily ignored, nor fought without considerable strength of will.
Even now, Sephiroth could feel Jenova, weakened but by no means defeated, as she sent out the call for Reunion. Every fiber of his being resonated in response to that call, his stolen cells struggling to break free of their human prison, and return to their source.
Something which he would never again allow, Sephiroth vowed determinedly. He had already lost seven years of his life, as well as the lives of his friends, to Heaven's Dark Harbinger. He refused to lose anything more. He would fight Mother's influence, using the indomitable will he had inherited from The Calamity herself, and he would teach Kuja to, as well. There would be no repeat of Nibelheim—on any scale—so long as Sephiroth was alive to prevent it.
And that meant keeping his new, overconfident companion at his side. Sephiroth ignored the small jolt of excitement that streaked through him at the thought, focusing instead on using his own considerable abilities to keep Kuja in check. He didn't know what the younger man was capable of—especially since he had yet to see a weapon of any kind—but that he had been created in Sephiroth's image was enough to make him a threat. Not necessarily to him—Sephiroth could handle a mere remnant, no matter how powerful—but to The Planet itself.
Gaia had suffered, and was still suffering, from Jenova's machinations. The Planet reeled from the wound that Jenova's arrival had inflicted—from the very wound that he and Kuja now traveled through—as well as the repercussions of what the humans had dubbed "Meteorfall". Sephiroth could only be grateful that his three remnants—and Mother's control of his own enslaved mind—had been unable to complete the Black Materia's silent casting. As much as Sephiroth hated knowing that Geostigma had killed so many, at least their tainted essences had not become a catalyst for The Planet's ultimate destruction. Cloud Strife had seen to that.
As much as it still chafed to know that he had been defeated by a lowly Shinra grunt, Sephiroth found that he was grateful to the quietly fierce young man who had stopped Mother not once but thrice. The Planet lived, though it would likely never be healed, and he himself had been freed by the boy's heroic actions. He owed Cloud Strife a great debt, one that he could never repay. The young warrior had easily lost as much—if not more—than Sephiroth himself once had, and he knew how much it had hurt. His pain had been much the same when he had lost first Angeal, and then, Genesis.
Sephiroth turned his thoughts away from his fallen friends, and the anguish that such remembrances brought. They were dead, and he could not bring them back. They were a part of the Lifestream now, their spirits existing in the eternal paradise that was The Promised Land. Sephiroth would not change that, even if he could. It was the very least his beloved friends deserved.
A part of Sephiroth wished that he could join them, that he too could bask in the interminable happiness that was said to wait for the deceased in The Promised Land, but he knew that he didn't deserve such a thing. The Planet had denied him access to the Lifestream, had kept his maddened spirit segregated from the river of souls that flowed beneath its hallowed surface, and Sephiroth had no choice but to accept his ostracization, then and now. He was very much alive, against all rhyme and reason, and he could only do as he had always done. He would accept his lot and live his life as best he could.
What he would not do, however, was announce his return to the world. He had hurt too many, destroyed too much, to ever be forgiven. His madness had been all-consuming, completely eclipsing the ties he'd held as a human being. Perpetually fueled by Mother's psychic hold over him, his rage had known no bounds, and those he'd cared for had suffered the most.
No, Sephiroth thought with a shudder, it would be better if the world continued to believe him dead. He couldn't go back to the life he had once led, and he wouldn't, even if it were possible. He would never allow another to enslave him. He was his own master now, and so it would remain.
"Angel?" He looked up to find Kuja watching him, with just the barest hint of concern buried in the depths of his sky-blue eyes. "Is something wrong?"
Sephiroth realized that he had been standing there for several minutes, lost in the tangled morass of his thoughts. "No," he answered shortly, shaking his head as though the physical action would clear it. He forced his feet to move, to carry him towards Kuja, and away from his accursed prison.
The other man smiled as he approached, his blush-colored lips curving into an openly beguiling smile. He lifted one hand in and ran it through his violet-streaked hair in an elegant, blatantly seductive gesture that was not lost on Sephiroth. He found himself returning that smile very much against his will, and unconsciously quickened his step as he drew closer to the beautiful young man.
Kuja tipped his head back as Sephiroth came to a stop before him, sending his heavy silver mane cascading down his back, and Sephiroth's gaze followed the movement with unconscious hunger. The other man's eyes, pale and diamond-bright, locked confidently onto Sephiroth's own, and Sephiroth shivered as his body reacted in a wholly instinctive way.
He cleared his throat and looked away, shifting to relieve the sudden ache between his legs. "It will be cold on the surface," he said at length, wincing inwardly at the hoarse rasp his voice had become. "It's nothing we can't handle, but. . .are those your only garments?"
He made a short, abortive gesture towards the younger man's kilt, which drew a peal of musical laughter from Kuja. "I'm afraid so, angel," he said with obvious mirth. He cast a glance over his shoulder, where swirling white flakes indicated snowfall, and added, "We'll just have to share body-heat to keep warm."
Sephiroth sent him an exasperated look, and then frowned as another thought occurred to him. "How did you survive the trip here without the proper gear?"
Kuja tilted his head to one side, his flirtatious manner fading as he studied him. "You really don't remember, do you?" he asked in a soft, bemused voice. Sephiroth shook his head negatively, and Kuja surprised him by smiling gently. "Do you really want to discuss this now, angel? Wouldn't you rather wait until we've put some distance between ourselves and her?"
So, Kuja was aware of Mother, Sephiroth thought, again with that baffling sense of disappointment. He nodded curtly and stepped past him, tightening his hold on Masamune as he took his first breath of fresh air in seven long years. He closed his eyes, feeling the sting of each separate flake of snow as they landed on his deprived skin, and reveling in the sensation.
"Come," he said at last, opening his eyes as he started forward. "Don't fall behind."
"Hhhhhmmmmppphhhh."
He smiled to himself as Kuja harrumphed behind him but didn't look back as he took his first steps out of the Northern Crater. He could hear Kuja as he drifted along behind him, but more importantly, he could feel him, and that was enough. They were free, and together, they would stay that way.