The trip itself was fairly uneventful, but Tifa felt a distinct pang of sadness upon entering the city. It had been over five years since Aerith was killed here, but the setting itself, the unchanged smell of dust and energy and ancient, magical things stirred up lucid recollections of that awful event. Another thing, however, that hadn't changed, was the fact that fiends actively roamed the outer edges of the city. Unchecked as they were, there were swarms of them, and such swarms were converging on the pair with incredible speed. Before long, not only were Vincent and Tifa overwhelmed, but they had lost sight of each other in the process. They had been split up, and they would need to find each other later.

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Sephiroth took careful steps towards the conch-shaped building in the center, feeling far less at ease that he hoped. He was being watched, and for some reason, it made his skin crawl. He stepped carefully past the threshold of the archway, and quietly up the stairs, finding himself checking over his shoulder more than usual. When he reached the great hall, he instantly knew why, as he found himself facing someone familiar he really didn't want to see, and sensing a presence that though he longed for it, he wanted it's company even less. He took in a breath to speak, but before any words could escape, time had stopped. He was encased in crystal.

Hojo tilted his head sharply to the side, forcing a loud, sickly popping sound. He was alive only because of the experiments he'd done before he was defeated, if you could call his shadow of an existence "life." What little was left of Jenova had a tight grip on him, and he found himself no longer the puppeteer, but the puppet, and it was not a position he was fond of at all. He stared momentarily at the man he had just put in stasis... the man who was supposed to be dead, who was supposed to be Jenova's puppet. Hojo was puzzled. Sephiroth did not belong here at all, and the voice of Jenova was not supposed to be booming in the scientist's head.

"He will be here when we are finished. We must find Vincent."

"Why? That cur's no threat." He spat back at the voice.

"Oh, but he is. Besides, with Chaos awake, we may be able to sway him to our cause."

More than anything, he wanted to ask what that cause really was, but found himself slamming the Masamune into the stone in front of the crystal that imprisoned Sephiroth, enduring the despicable agony of holding the blade that was not his to hold, and exiting the building to begin a hunt for Vincent. He had an inkling that the former turk would find his way to the Forgotten Capital soon enough...

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Tifa found herself working into the center of the city, hoping to find a place where she could force the fiends attacking her to bottleneck, so that shit might be able to do more than just defend herself. She backed through the archway of a building and waited for the first of the monsters to come, but they stared hesitantly, and then fled. She stopped, looking behind her, to see if some scarier beastie had shown up, but it was only a large, dusty building with a stairwell that lead to the main hall. She remembered this building... They had stayed here the night Aerith died. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to look around, but she headed slowly up the stairs nonetheless.

At the crest of the stairs, she froze. Plunged into the stone tile was the Masamune, and it stood almost like a triumphant little grave marker for the man cased in crystal behind it. She felt like her heart was turning to stone in her chest. Years of pent up grief and anger boiled up inside her, and suddenly, the dam burst. Eyes full of tears, her hands wrapped firmly around the hilt of the sword and yanked it from it's resting place. Never would she be able to explain the bloodlust that filled her in that moment, and before she could blink, she plunged it through the crystal, and through Sephiroth's chest.

That awful, shrill sound of shattering crystal did not have nearly the effect on her that the following sound had... a startled gasp coming from the man's lips, as his prison was broken, and he was wide awake, and in remarkable pain. A wild swing of his right arm caught her off guard, and he swatted her away as if she weighed nothing, though her hands did not easily let go of the blade in his chest. The agitation of the sword in his wound was enough to illicit a growl from him, as he pulled the offending thing from his body. He tossed it aside, in enough of a haze to not even realize it was his own blade. He had full intent to trade blows with this woman, even though he was losing blood rather quickly.

For a moment, she thought she might actually win, as he seemed sluggish, but it only took one solid hit from him to check her back into reality. He managed to swing in a jab that connected squarely with her temple, stunning her momentarily, but long enough for him to start to regenerate himself, and she would have far less luck fending him off afterwards. However, the smell of blood had attracted the attention of the monsters that had fled before, and they both stopped to pay attention to the thunderous sound of fiends charging up the stairs. A spar, he was fine for, but a horde of beasts would surly wear him down.

Without thinking, Tifa dashed to pick up the sword from where Sephiroth had discarded it, and she took this opportunity to lower the number of fiends attacking. Using the stairwell to her advantage, the sword would handle any that got past her kicks. Sephiroth blinked. He wasn't sure what exactly she was doing, but it was certainly giving him time to heal himself. All the while, his mind was filling with more questions... maddening questions. He had little desire to deal with hordes of fiends, and a great need to have some of his questions answered. Spotting a skylight, he turned, grabbed Tifa's arm, and bounded for the skylight, climbing to the roof, and leaping to the ground in a dead run before she could protest. He snatched his blade from her hand, and with a quick swish, flung the excess blood off, and put it in it's partial tsuka on his back.

He would find somewhere safe to question her, and it would not be here. Still breathless from fighting, she had little protest, and she could not pull free from his grasp. Fearing the worst, she planted her heels to slow him down, but this only incited him to pause long enough to yank her in front of him, and throw her over his shoulder before he took off again. She let out an indignant "Oof!" before she started pounding on his back, shouting something he couldn't really hear over the din from the monsters following them. He imagined it was something along the lines of "Put me down, you monster!" or "Slow down!" or "If you don't put me down right now, I'm going to (insert empty threat here)". But, either way, he just kept on going.

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Meanwhile, Vincent found himself headed eastward, and the beasts that followed him also suddenly fled, leaving him alone and confused. However, before he could start the search for Tifa, he heard a quiet voice from behind him.

"Hello, Mister Valentine."

Recognizing the voice, he spun, drawing the Death Penalty, and aiming it squarely at Hojo's grinning face.

"Been a few years. Seems you've gotten jumpier..." The madman's grin broadened.

"You should be dead." Vincent quipped in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"Oh. Still sensitive about that whore, Crescent?" He made an exaggerated, exasperated sound. "Oh, how you dwell on the past. You really should grow up."

Vincent felt very little need to respond with words, and merely fired, but Hojo was no longer in the bullet's path. Vincent felt a strike of incredible force, a knee, a club, he couldn't tell, but it was a fierce enough hit to his kidneys that it stunned him, and it was followed up with a pistol whip to Vincent's jaw. He didn't even see Hojo move, even with his own heightened senses. Chaos was muddled with confusion, and it was not helping Vincent keep his focus. Vincent swung a swift kick, trajectory based solely on instinct, and against his odds, he connected, meriting a grunt from Hojo.

The opportunity to regain himself didn't seem to help much, as a flurry of elbows and pistol grips connected with Vincent's head and neck, as he once again failed to see Hojo's advance. He felt flesh against the tip of the Death Penalty, and fired. Hojo jerked away and howled in a pained, angry protest, his gun hanging in his shaking left hand as blood poured down his arm. With an unreal speed, he switched the gun from his left hand to his right in an awkward, sloppy motion, raised it, and fired.

Vincent thought he'd been out of the way, as he saw the gun raise and he vaulted to the side, but the bullet connected center mass. He grunted, and fell to his knees, hoping Chaos would take over and heal him. Hojo was standing over him now, pistol trained at the crown of Vincent's head.

"You didn't really think you could beat me again, did you? You think I wouldn't be prepared? You think I'm a blathering moron?? Well maybe now I'll finish what I started. Chaos will be mine, and you... well..." He squeezed the trigger.

But at his feet, was not a dead or dying Vincent, it was a bloody spot of cobble. He looked around, and saw. Chaos. He was fleeing. Perhaps Vincent was too damaged for Chaos to fight? He wasn't sure, but Vincent would escape with his life today, and not a victor.

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Author's note: This chapter was a little tougher in implementation than I expected. Read and Review, please.