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Part I Chapter I - Fire

Early June – Year 1

A voice drifted through the dark, poking and prodding relentlessly even while muffled from traveling through stone. He clung desperately to the cold embrace of sleep, but it was being driven back, a sudden brilliant shaft of light murdering the surrounding shadows. Slowly he began to feel his body again, the alien, hateful body he'd been gifted—no, cursed with.

"I know you're in there. Wake up!"

It was louder, clear, more insistent. He was aware of fists pounding against the stone lid of his bed—no, beds didn't have lids. Hazy memories drifted forward, of a dank and dusty room filled with coffins, with an extra large one set on a raised dais in the center, the lid open and leaning against the side. His long-unused instincts came to life, slashing away the clinging spider webs of sleep, kicking his mind into gear. Wake up, it said. Remember, they said. You aren't alone, they said.

The intruder to his room was speaking again, but Vincent paid no mind to the words, he was instead turning his thoughts inward, going over the floating, half remembered events that took place in his last waking moments. He remembered being lowered into the coffin, the large arms of Hojo's hired laborers blocking much of the drug-hazy view. They'd removed the restraints on his tired, beaten body, then there were grunts of exertion, the sound of stone grinding against stone, and then…

Nothing.

He had no idea how long he had lain here undisturbed, it could have been days, or it could have been years since the scientist had locked him away, intending to never return. In a way he felt his imprisonment was justified, his lips twitched momentarily into a sardonic smile, a monster that couldn't be controlled was better off locked away. It had taken a good ten of his flunkies, along with a couple Turks to take him down.

"If you aren't going to get up, I'll drag you out of there myself."

A grunt followed the statement, and a force threw itself against the stone lid of the coffin. His eyes were forced shut by the light that suddenly spilled through the small sliver that the intruder had managed to open. It hurt, oh Gaea it hurt. He knew that there was actually very little light in the lab, much less this boarded up side room, but that rationalization did nothing to dull the pain of a major sensory overload. More grunts and the lid opened wider and wider.

"The least you could do is help."

Finally the stone lid fell to the ground with a thud, and a small, soft, human hand latched onto his right arm. There was a ghost of a similar sensation through the false nerves in his metal limb as well. Shocked at the unaccustomed touch he jerked away, body moving on impulse and instincts, even without his eyes the leap up to the edge of the coffin was child's play. When cornered, move to high ground.

Vocal cords rusty from disuse he managed to grate out a "Hojo…?"

"No."

And Vincent believed him.

"Then go away."

He held no desire to leave, the only reason he'd asked was so he could rend him limb from limb if it was the scientist.

"I'm not going to leave you here."

"You have no choice."

With that he slid back into the coffin, reaching up with his metal claw to grab the edge of the lid, he could feel it leaning over the opening. Suddenly a weight grabbed onto the cold metal, sending a jolt through the false nerves, just long enough for him to pause, pulling into a sitting position. He couldn't see, just a peak proved that, but he tilted his head toward where the person began speaking again.

"I'm getting rid of this lab, and I don't want you to be killed in the process."

Curious. The only ones who knew the existence of this room, and the actual laboratory would be Hojo and his pet scientists, and they would not be willing to destroy a such a holy place of science. He did not recognize the intruder, he sounded far too young, and sane to be part of that pack of madmen. So many questions. If he truly wished to destroy the lab, Vincent wouldn't stop him. He held no attachment to the place, and it would be only fitting to destroy all the remnants of Hojo's twisted experiments along with it.

The 'rescuer' tugged at his arm again. "Let's go."

"You don't understand what you are asking." He couldn't leave; he deserved to be locked away down there, miles beneath the ground. Everything Hojo touched was touched by evil. It didn't matter that there were whispers that wished for the life he once had, and barring that, just to see the sky again. He had to stay, had to prevent himself from hurting anyone else. Aside from Hojo, that man deserved a fate far worse than death. It would be so fitting, for one of the monsters he created to be the one that sent him to hell.

"I'm not going to just leave you to die."

Vincent's head snapped toward the voice, opening his eyes a little more to glare at the speaker, although he could see nothing but a blurred silhouette. His lips tightened and he hissed out between clenched teeth, "You seem to think you have a choice in the matter."

He felt a small hand rub his shoulder, trying to calm him down. He flinched away from the touch. The person sighed. "It doesn't matter. Please, just come with me…anything is better than this hell-hole."

That touch, he almost caught himself wanting to lean back into it. To accept the first kind gesture since…since…He could barely remember.

"I don't even know who you are." Bit by bit, his resolve was beginning to crumble; every fiber of Vincent's being screaming at him to take the second chance he was being given. He wanted to, oh how he wanted to; he wanted to feel the sun on his face again, the wind in his hair, the feel of a concerned hand on his arm…

"Won't you at least give me a chance?"

The longing festered beneath the surface, but the he managed to rein it in. He couldn't just give in, if he did, then her death would be in vain. He still had so many sins to atone, most of them remnants of her. He didn't deserve to be happy. It doesn't have to be for happiness. Some far distant part of himself whispered, By staying where he put you, you are giving in to him. The thought hit him like a ton of bricks. Take the chance.

"Just open your eyes, we need to leave."

"Can't." It was a feeble excuse, unable to hold out against the person's insistent pleading and his own selfish desires. "The light hurts."

"Let me help you."

And just like that, he gave in, didn't resist when the hand pulled him forward, out of the room that had been his prison for what he was sure was for a long time. He didn't know exactly, but the dust…the smell of dust and cobwebs and dried blood, the lack of Hojo's sterilization fluid…It was so very different from when he fell asleep. They walked in silence, the other leading and Vincent following. He could hear the drip of water somewhere in the opposite direction from where they were heading. "What is back there?"

"The Library…" The voice managed to grate out, although the pure loathing in his tone told Vincent exactly how he felt about that place. "that is the reason I am going to burn this place to the ground. The world would be better off without those books."

The other picked up the pace, stopping once to warn Vincent of the ascending stairs. He took it all in stride, listening intently to the echoes of the other's soft footfalls to tell him where the steps were. Soon the floor beneath his feet changed, going abruptly from cold stone to creaking wood. "Did we take the Study Stairs?" Vincent asked curious, trying to remember the map he'd had to memorize during the year or two he'd been assigned to this place as guard duty. The other paused, his grip on Vincent's arm going slack for a moment. "Well, yes. You mean to say there are others?"

"There are several passages to the basement." He shrugged his shoulders in a dismissive motion, covering up the anxiety he felt. "The upstairs floors of the mansion were merely a cover up."

The other cursed, his grip tightened. "I only knew about that one. I suppose I'll have to set more fire materia in the others before I set off the one in The Library…"

"Don't bother. Even a low level fire spell will work." He paused, the house had been at least ten years old when he was first stationed here, and he wondered how long ago that was…

"Twenty years."

He hadn't realized that he had spoken aloud.

"That's about how long it's been since ShinRa ever used this place…"

An uncomfortable silence settled around him, the very air itself seeming to thicken as he tried to wrap his mind around the idea. Twenty years--that would make him 47 years old come October; the shear amount of time was overwhelming. A year or two he had expected, maybe even five at the most—but not two decades. The most disturbing thing was that everything felt the same as it did before he was put to sleep. He was still the same height, and all his muscles were working properly, if a little slowly but that was to be expected. He could feel no sign of the fatigue that he had expected to feel when he was bordering on fifty years old; he supposed he had Hojo to thank for that, Hojo and this false body. Some of his bitterness must have shown on his face because the next thing he heard was his guide asking. "Are you alright?"

Vincent debated lying, but there really wasn't any point in it. He just shook his head in response.

"Ah." The other fell silent much to Vincent's relief. He did not want to be questioned at the moment, not when he was still coming to terms with what the scientist had done to him. As if his berserker complex and the inhuman claw wasn't bad enough. His guide suddenly stopped, the lack of his footfalls just barely enough warning for Vincent to prevent himself from running into him.

"Can you see now?"

Vincent opened his eyes, finally letting them adjust to the very dim lighting in the hallway. All he could see were shapes, but at least his eyes weren't burning anymore. "Yes, somewhat."

"Alright," His guide released his hand, and soon a movement to his right caught his eye and a small dark shadow moved toward the door. His guide's voice drifted from the shadow. "Come on."

The guide pushed the door open and slipped out. Vincent followed, taking a deep breath of the clear night air, glad to be rid of the musty, dusty, and stale air of the ShinRa mansion. The light was even dimmer outside then it was inside, the lack of illumination caused by the absence of the moon and stars. Heavy clouds filled the sky, plunging the little village into blackness. There weren't even any lights on in the villager's homes, hinting toward the fact that it was well into the nighttime hours. Vincent's guide ushered him away from the gloomy shadow of the mansion, closer to where he knew the small village of Nibelheim to be.

As soon as they cleared the long sloping lawn, Vincent paused and turned back toward the looming building. The sound that caught his attention came again, the muffled sound of materia discharging. He didn't have to wait long for its effects, a flickering red light could now be seen from between the boarded up windows of the ShinRa mansion. Vincent's sharp senses caught a faint roaring noise just before the entire place burst into flames—materia worked much faster than normal fires. He felt nothing as the place burned, only a deep-rooted sense of satisfaction. That place was a den of nightmares, a place that many people had died in. It was a place that had witnessed the most inhumane acts even possible and some that weren't, all in the name of science. The human Vincent Valentine had died in that place, and the demon had expected to follow. He should have followed. Twenty years without food, drink, or movement, would've killed even the hardiest monster, yet he was still alive.

He hated Hojo, hated everything that the man stood for, everything he represented. That man had taken the one Vincent loved, taken his life, taken his humanity, and even took away his ability to die a natural death. Vincent heard a small voice in the back of his mind, urging him to go back into the building, to burn with the mansion and erase one more thing the scientist left behind from the world. He took one-step forward but was stopped by two hands on his arm, holding tightly onto it. He looked down upon the face of his guide, illuminated by the dancing flames.

Unruly blonde hair fell into spikes around his face, shining almost golden in the firelight. Impossibly blue eyes stared out of a pale visage, the endless depths spoke of many more years than his young stature suggested. His eyes were assuredly his most unusual feature, even more so than his wild hair. Vincent could almost swear that there was a glow in those eyes, he almost chalked it up to the reflection from the fire's flames, but if he had to he would say that the boy had SOLDIER eyes. It wasn't as distinct as the SOLDIERs that Vincent had seen during his time as a Turk.

The boy had both his arms wrapped around Vincent's arm. "Don't go back. Let the memory burn with the mansion."

Vincent pulled his arm out of the boy's grasp, taking one last long lingering look at the building that had been his own personal hell for the past twenty years. It would be hard, very hard to let go of such a large part of his past, a past he would give almost anything to forget completely—an event that would never occur, no matter how deep he buried it. Regardless, he turned away from the flames and stared off into the village. Lights had begun to flicker on, the occupants of the buildings noticing the fire and coming out to investigate. The boy followed Vincent's gaze before disregarding the people, tilting his head backwards to look up into Vincent's face. The guide offered Vincent his small hand, gesturing down the hill to the village, and away from the burning building. "You have to let it go, Vincent. The past is just that, the past."

Some small part of his mind wondered how the boy had known his name, but it was pushed to the side as he took the boy's hand in his own, allowing himself to be led away from the flames that consumed the tangible reminder of his past. He almost wasn't sure if he could on his own. He followed the boy, even as the clouds opened up and spilled their heavy load onto the mountains. The cool rain splashed against his far too pale skin, pasting his long black hair against his face. The presence of the rain did not change his decision; as the flames behind him died, his resolve grew. He wouldn't—no, he couldn't forget, but he would try do as he had been asked.

The door opened and light spilled into the street, a warm yellow light that wrapped around the gunner like a blanket. His guide let go of his hand, rushing inside, and acting more like his apparent age than he had since they met. Directly inside was a small living area consisting of a round wooden table, a few chairs, and the soft luminance of an antique oil lamp. Seated at the table was a woman, she looked up at the opening of the door, pushing back from the table as the boy gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. The woman—his mother most likely—threaded her hands through his hair, hair the color of liquid gold that they both shared. She was short, a good five inches or so shorter than Vincent, and her hair was down to her back, a warm golden blonde color that so resembled his guide's.

His guide said something, gesturing to where he was standing, drawing the woman's attention to him. Vincent shrunk back when her brown eyes locked upon him, unconsciously fearing rejection for what he looked like, what Hojo had made him. She smiled and whispered something in her son's ear and he nodded, pulling away reluctantly from her grasp. Vincent hesitated when the guide motioned for him to come in, he wasn't sure if he wanted to taint such a happy scene with his presence. When he failed to receive a response from him, the boy frowned. Vincent wasn't surprised when he found his guide's hand in his own once more and didn't put up much resistance when he was led inside. For some reason it didn't seem so hard to cross the threshold when he had the guide with him; perhaps because it was concrete proof that he wanted him to enter. He soon found himself standing before the woman, and he felt uncomfortable again, attempting to hide the glimmering golden metal of his gauntlet within the folds of the red cloak he wore. His guide flashed him a quick smile. "Vincent, this is my mom."

The woman didn't even spare his arm a glance; instead, she held her own out. "Welcome to our home. Cloud told me he had a friend coming. My name is Lucia Strife."

So his name was Cloud. He finally knew his mysterious guide's name. Vincent took her offered hand hesitantly in his own. "Vincent Valentine."

"Can Vincent stay for a while, Mom?"

"If he wants too," Lucia replied, "I'll make up the guest room."

She almost seemed to glide out of the room, leaving Vincent and his guide alone. He cast a sidelong look at the boy. "Cloud, huh?"

"Sorry…I keep forgetting..." He trailed off, the warm glow in his eyes dimming with the sadness. Vincent hesitated, an action he found himself doing it a lot in the past hour. His Turk experience gave him hundreds of ways to kill a person, but it left him unable to say what he wanted to one child. He had never needed anything but his killing skills before, always moving from job to job as soon as his assignment was finished. Never before had he needed any social skills so he had never bothered to learn them, a decision that left him at a great disadvantage now. He'd only ever had two friends, one had betrayed him, and the other he hadn't seen in years. This lack of experience didn't help him at all in the current situation. "You can change that." He spoke softly, his crimson eyes regarding the wide ones of the child. Cloud smiled uncertainly, "Thanks Vincent. But I don't know if I can forget."

"Don't. Just start again."

"I'll try…"

--

Vincent picked through the rubble of the ShinRa Mansion, surveying the piles of debris. Every here and there were items—usually metal in make—that had survived the fire with little to no harm, but his prediction had indeed been proven true. If it weren't for the rain, the magically induced inferno would have burnt the old and decrepit house to the ground. As it was, only the front part of the mansion was completely obliterated; the back rooms were pretty much stable, the aged wood covered with soot and had been slightly charred by the outer edges of the fire.

His boot caught on something as he maneuvered his way through the ruins, glancing down just in time to see a blackened key skitter across the ground. His lips quirked behind his mantle as he remembered the piano that had once resided in this "room", she had loved that old thing, always coming up to play it whenever she wasn't working. But now…it was gone, gone, just like her.

"Lucrecia..." He breathed, turning his eyes to the overcast sky that he could see through the collapsed sections of the roof. Truthfully, the brown-haired scientist had been dead for twenty years, but to Vincent, it was still a raw wound. It hurt to think about her, but his mind kept wandering back to the woman he had once loved.

He didn't really love her, not any more. If anything, he loved his memory of her, thoughts of what might have been. It is hard to hold onto those feelings when you've been killed; all that really remains is hatred—and remorse. He hated Hojo—the man who had killed him before bringing him back as the…not quite human thing he was now. But even beyond that hate, he felt guilty, guilty for not getting Lucrecia out of the scientist's grasp when he had a chance. Guilty for not saving her child—regardless of who's the child was—from the life of experimentation Hojo had most assuredly give him.

He left the piano room, and returned to what was left of the main hall. He glanced around the fire-blackened foyer, changing his direction to approach the collapsed staircase. Surprisingly, the upper level of the house was intact; the part that had collapsed had been the front few rooms, the one over the piano room and the one containing the passage to the lab.

His eyes flickered to the stone chimney that once housed the secret passage, his enhanced gaze picking out the faint outline in the stones where the door had been, completely fused shut by the intense heat of the fire. Soon, he'd have to go down there using another passage, just to make sure that it was destroyed, but not now…not yet…

He eyed the crumbling staircase, his gaze drifting to the intact landing above it; could he get up there? Once he might have been able to, back when he was a Turk he would have been able to easily jump the landing. He had no idea how his state of inactivity had affected his physical state, but it would be better to find out now, instead of during battle. Vincent tensed his muscles and set off to the terrace at a run, before leaping effortlessly, clearing the edge of the five foot dais easily. It was too easy and he had misjudged the ease of the jump and stumbled, his claw digging into the wooden wall to prevent him from toppling over. The scorched wooden floor groaned beneath him, reminding him that the danger of it collapsing was very real.

He shook his head, freeing the metal gauntlet that served as his lower arm and hand from the wall. Luckily, the next set of stairs was still intact, so he just carefully made his way up. Vincent wasn't really feeling confident enough to attempt another jump; whatever Hojo had done to him had increased his physical performance immensely. He hadn't had much of an opportunity to find out before…before… He knew he'd fought, he knew he'd killed. Monsters, humans, but those memories were clouded with a red haze.

Upon reaching the second story of the mansion, he turned to the left, remembering something from his time before Hojo had "retired" him. There was a storeroom in the back; maybe he could find something of use in there. His weapon was missing from his holster, a very logical move for the scientist. Giving someone who wanted you dead a gun would have been rather stupid.

The hall wasn't very long, branching off into two rooms at the end. The one closest to the front had collapsed and he could easily see the unwelcoming grey of the clouds through the open door. He ignored that room, turning instead to the other. The door to the storage room was completely gone, laying in a blackened mess across the floor. He stepped into the room, wrinkling his nose when the smell of burnt flesh assaulted him. Lying sprawled out on the floor was a corpse, a corpse Vincent recognized all too well. It was the monster that Hojo had set to guard the key to Vincent's cell; the ex-Turk could remember the grotesque thing from when Hojo had tested the malformed creation. He winced, remembering the beating that the Lost Number had given him while he'd been kept weak from the drugs. He'd been given his weapon for that, but only so Hojo could laugh at the futility. He hadn't been given any material.

He kicked at the charred monster in barely contained spite, but realized something odd; usually when killed a monster would dissolve into red mist, not leave a corpse. He pondered the thought for a minute before shrugging his shoulders impassively; he never did pay much attention to the things he killed anyway. He looked away from the Lost Number and noticed the halfway open safe behind it, he gingerly stepped past the corpse and reached into the metallic case, almost hesitating when his groping fingers curled around a very familiar object. He pulled the weapon out, noting that Hojo had returned the slotted Materia in the gun after that fiasco. He traced the two orbs, feeling the energy within the glass-like sphere flare as they came back to life after a long hibernation—much like him.

There was nothing else of interest in the storeroom so he didn't see a point in staying. He slipped the silver weapon into the empty holster at his side and left the room, only too happy to be getting away from the rancid smell of burned monster. He only had one more thing to do before leveling this place for good.

Vincent made his way back downstairs, knowing that there was nothing of use left on the upper level. The edge of the dais cracked and crumbled as he leapt down, but he paid it no mind. It didn't take him long to find another passage to the basement, he had been required to memorize the layout of the building when he had been given the dubious honor of guarding Professors Hojo and Gast while they worked on the JENOVA project.

A light tap against a wall, and a rickety stairwell later, and Vincent found himself about twenty feet below ground. The stone wall slid open, letting Vincent out in a darkened hallway. He shivered involuntarily, warily taking in the scorched and blackened marks along the walls. He cautiously strode down the tunnel, eyes flickering to the gaping hole that had once been the wooden door to the room that he had been kept in. The barrier was nothing more than a pile of ashes, the lock and hinges reduced to melted pieces of scrap. The fire had been much more powerful down here since the spell had originated in the basement. He stiffly moved on passed, his enhanced vision easily piercing through the eerie gloom that settled over the dungeon.

He wondered briefly why it had taken so long for his vision to adjust the night before, granted it had been lighter then, the path glowing with hundreds of tiny mako crystals set into the walls. They had also been destroyed in the fire, plunging the cold mausoleum into utter darkness, leaving only the weak light of one or two crystals that had been spared the flames.

The hallway branched out, opening into a room that smelled faintly of chemicals and an even stronger smell of smoke. He shuddered as his wine-red gaze traveled around the room; it had been here. He had confronted Hojo here. He had questioned the insane man, demanded him to stop the project, only to be met by the barrel of a gun.

Bang!

Vincent jumped, whirling around in surprise. The gunshot seemed to echo off the walls, but not one shadow moved. Eventually he realized that the library was empty, the sound was all in his head, but even that realization did not halt the memory that assaulted him, the biting pain of the bullet as it bore into his flesh, and the sick feeling he got when blood poured from the wound to paint the stone floor red.

The world reeled around him and he couldn't help but let out a strangled gasp of surprise, struggling to remain on his feet, as the memory washed over him. He took irregular, shaking breaths as the flashback continued, not even his Turk training allowing him to keep his composure while he relived the moment that had ended his life.

He could see Hojo's face hovering above him, the eerie green light of the mako crystals reflecting off his glasses in a way that happened to obscure the scientist's crazed black eyes.

"You should have stayed out of this, Vincent." He wasn't sure if his memory was faulty or not, but he could have sworn that he heard some sense of sorrow in the doctors tone, "Isn't it Turk policy to focus only on the job at hand?" His vision began to fade as the flashback neared the end, the scientist's loathsome voice floating through the void, "It's a pity…but that's what you get for trying to take away something of mine."

"She was never yours." Vincent growled out, the vestiges of the memory fading away.

If that's what you want to believe…

The thought jerked him out of the flashback just in time, mere moments before he would have had to experience the true pain and nothingness of death once again. He righted himself, closing his eyes and taking deep, calming breaths to try to regain control of himself. The memory danced at the edge of his thoughts, refusing to silence until he forcibly buried it under the task at hand—evaluating the damage that the fire had wrought.

He turned on his heel; he couldn't stand that place anymore. One quick glance told him that the once tall piles and shelves of books had been reduced to piles of soot, ash, and charred wood, and whatever Cloud had been worried about had been destroyed. Without a second thought, he left the burnt out husk of a building, traveling down the sloping lawn to the fence that bordered the property.

Now, to finish it, Originally he'd just planned on finishing the job with the fire materia he'd borrowed from Cloud, but the single red orb in his gun called to drew his gun and twirled it in his fingers, somewhat comforted by the familiar weapon. Wine-red eyes closed, concentrating on what he planned to do. Thin, pale lips moved, forming the word to invoke the magic, "Bahamut."

The already unwelcoming storm clouds darkened considerably in response to his words, flashes of lightning barely visible in the near-black clumps. He pointed his gun to the sky, one of the red orbs burning brightly as its magic activated. He fired a single shot into the mass of storm clouds, the bullet shining the same red as the magic of the materia. It disappeared into the growing storm, but the effect was instantaneous.

Vincent slipped back away from the hill, into the limits of the town, just as someone looked out the window, and gave a startled exclamation about the sky.

As if moved by some great force the clouds began to swirl, drawn inward so that a disk appeared to be floating in the sky. As if suddenly brought to life lightning flashed wildly in the grey mass, and a large black shape hurtled out of the pathway formed by Vincent's magic, majestic wings flaring as the beast hovered above the remains of the house. Bahamut, the king of dragons, drew his head back, loosing a thunderous roar that seemed magnified a thousand fold by the surrounding mountain range.

The summon drew his head back again, gaping maw open wide as a pale red energy began to build between his jaws, hurling it toward the decrepit husk of the old house. The light was blinding, but Vincent didn't look away, his enhanced eyesight shifting so that he could see through the flare. The remains of the house seemed to writhe in the inferno, the remaining walls and rooms disintegrating under the dragon's magical fury.

Then as quickly as it started, it was over. The blaze died away, leaving the once green hilltop a charred and ashen black. Nothing was left of the ShinRa Mansion, and somehow Vincent knew that even the underground level was gone. The dragon hovered in the air for a few moments, great wings beating as he surveyed his handiwork. With a satisfied snort, Bahamut burst into sparkles of red light, the minute concentrations of energy being reabsorbed into Vincent's materia.

A fearful murmuring from around him drew his attention to the crowd that Bahamut's appearance had drawn. He half-turned, eyeing the other people pressed around the wrought iron fence that surrounded the now empty plot of land. A good majority of the village population (Which was not very much, less than a hundred people total) had either seen or heard the summon's arrival and had come out to investigate. He scanned the crowd briefly and was somewhat surprised that for every fear-filled face he saw, there was at least one awe-filled. He remembered somewhat that the Nibelheim villagers held a great respect for dragons of any kind, a smart state of mind considering the large population of lesser dragons that made their homes in the mountains. Luckily, the dragons tended to live higher up in the mountains and rarely ever came close enough to the town to endanger it. Hopefully they'd merely believe the incident was a marauding dragon, he didn't need them to connect the incident back to him.

Turning away from the sight he began to make his way through the streets of the town, weaving around and through the thongs of people. He was keenly aware of a few stares that focused on his back as he passed; a feeling that set his ever-watchful Turk instincts on edge. He was a stranger in a small town, it was to be expected. He relaxed slightly when he saw Cloud waiting for him in the doorway, an amused smile on his face. The boy pushed the door open for Vincent, "Even you have to admit, that was a little overkill."

Vincent shrugged as he passed, the door closing behind him, "It was satisfying."

A/N: 3/18/09: I revised it~ Not much change really, I just decided to flesh it out a bit, and hopefully fix a couple inconsistencies with Vincent's character. He gave in a bit too easily last time. I also added indentations, but apparently they don't work. Oh well.