Chapter Eighty: Internal Struggle
Sephiroth was no stranger to pain. His entire childhood had been spent in a laboratory, his life at the mercy of merciless scientists that had frequently experimented on his young body. Contrary to the belief of most, for the vast majority of the cases the long, deep scars that covered his body were not earned in battle. Tiny, sterile knives had slowly and deliberately inflicted these scars.
But he had never felt any pain like this.
The fever was the least of his concerns, though it did sap his strength and burn away much of his rational thought. He was aware that his lips were moving, but he could neither see nor feel the word he spoke until much later.
He was calling for Aralyn.
It was a relief when he could open his eyes to the darkness of Faramir at night. His entire body was drenched in a thin layer of sweat, but this had not been the effect of a fever, but the result of a monumental struggle.
Aralyn was curled at his side, a wet cloth still clenched in her hand. Her chest rose and fell softly; the gentle music of her breathing was the only noise in the room. Faramir was a stark contrast to the world of pain and fire that he had just managed to flee from.
He was still breathing heavily, taking in the cool, sweet air in relief. At least by awakening he had won a small battle.
He collapsed back against the pillows, trying to recapture his breath. Even now, in the idyllic serenity of Faramir, he could hear Jenova.
My son, why do you fight?
He shuddered at the voice that consumed him and filled his veins with a passionate bloodlust for the woman lying beside him. His hands, not obeying his own will, reached forward to seize Aralyn. He gasped and forced his body to roll away. He was literally paralyzed by white-hot pain for his resistance.
He could do nothing but wait until his fierce punishment relented.
Jenova's voice was soft and loving. My son…why?
Mother…do not ask this of me. Anything else in the world, it is yours, but please …not this…
The pain came again, and when he regained his senses he found that he had writhed to an extent that he had fallen to the floor. Blood, hot and bitter, rose in his mouth and his entire body felt as if it were in flames.
She couldn't even give you an heir! Jenova shrieked. If you desire a female, then take another!
He drew himself to his knees and clutched his head, fighting against the entity within his mind.
And then, suddenly, he was surrounded in mist. He was warm, and something was soothing his aching body. Aralyn…?
But it was Jenova's voice that responded in tender, subtle tones. Do you doubt me, my son?
Sephiroth couldn't answer, not with this burning in his soul. This was his mother. He couldn't deny her. Not after her arms had shielded him for these last years, not after it was her that had opened his eyes to the truth of his very being…!
Then why do you resist? Why do you cry for the frail human? The mist began to shift, making Sephiroth feel as if the waves were lapping at him, consuming his pain as they swept over his being and still clutching it as they waned away. My son, she has blinded you. You deserve far better than this filth.
Some part of Sephiroth wanted to resist, but he found himself incapable.
Which is why I must do this, my son.
That was his final warning.
Using a tremendous amount of strength that he didn't know he had possessed in his weakened state, he seized control of his body, finding that he had acted with only a second to spare.
In the dream-like trance, Jenova had controlled his submissive body. He found Masamune bared in his hands, gleaming in the moonlight, a whisper above Aralyn's pale throat.
He threw himself back against the wall, flinging the Masamune a length away, before the searing pain consumed him again.
Why do you do this, Sephiroth?! Jenova was far beyond rage, her shrieks striking Sephiroth to the bone.
He could no longer breathe as a tendril of power wrapped itself around his throat and constricted.
Leave me… Sephiroth began, calling on the last reserves of power that he possessed. Leave me! He screamed with all his might.
He was released, allowed to fall limp on the floor, rolling over onto his stomach, gasping and choking. Sweat rolled down his face, plastering his silver hair to him.
It was a long time before he could rise to his knees, and then several more minutes with the assistance of the bedside to pull himself to his feet.
Aralyn lay silent in the bed, unaware of the torment Sephiroth had just endured. Her face was peaceful in the moonlight, though her cheeks were the color of ash and dark circles tainted her eyes.
She was, nevertheless, the most beautiful sight he could ever have asked for. It had been years since he had felt the passionate longing to take her in his arms.
He forced himself to turn his back as she cried out, further proof that the sickness was taking hold. As she moaned, he stood unmoving, though her cries went through him like physical pain.
Only when she fell silent did he gather his neatly folded cloak, slipping his arms into the sleeves and fastening the clasps. He sheathed Masamune at his side and slowly exited the room, only glancing back once.
As he was halfway out the front door, he heard the whisper of fabric. He didn't turn, but spoke in a dead, haunting voice.
"Valentine."
He didn't need to hear any sound to sense Vincent's presence.
"If I return, you must kill me."
That was all he said before he spread his wing and rose into the black sky.
His best bet was to stay as far away from Aralyn as possible, for he knew that Jenova had not retreated for long, and had most certainly not altered her goal in any way other than to make Aralyn's demise much more brutal.