Chapter 18

Danger from His Demons

He wasn't sure what came over him. Cloud was just so damn mad. Part of him denied the truth of her words—there's a vast distinction between himself and the former Turk. Sure, he was an involuntary lab rat too. Officially a ShinRa failure. Something now different than he once was—but he'd escaped still human. That's never changed. Cloud would never put Tifa in danger from his demons. They never physically manifested, only tortured his dreams at night.

Cloud charged through the trees, stretching the distance between his anger and the water tower. He needed to place an abyss between the rage that had him grabbing Tifa like some drunk, abusive shit and the location of one of his last hopeful, pure memories of the two of them in their hometown. Two versions of himself in that sacred place. One promised to rescue her—and the other lashed out in fuming impulse.

He didn't know why he did it. There had been a sudden furious explosion within his chest, and he needed to make her see the situation his way. How could she misunderstand? Tifa meant more to him than any other living person on Gaia. They were childhood friends, family. They were—all that was left.

The moon cast an effulgent light on the darkened forest ground, revealing a well-worn trail that led out of town and up the mountain. They'd traversed these trails together long ago. Cloud irritably grabbed the hilt of his sword and yanked it around his body, plunging it into a large tree. He left the blade embedded into the wood and slid down the trunk to rest underneath.

Cloud hung an arm off his uplifted knee, rubbing his forehead with a gloved hand. His own past worked against him. Tifa might see reason if their relationship wasn't such a conflicted mire of uncertainty. They'd tried—for years. But he could never move on from the trauma, and she was always four steps ahead of him—in everything, moving on with her life before he knew how to have one. By the time he'd been ready to be more present, she didn't want him that way anymore. So, he'd resigned himself to being a brother figure. Or is it more like a father? Cloud wasn't sure. Neither of those options felt right. Tifa wasn't a sister, a daughter, or even a cousin; she was his—Tifa. All he knew for sure was that she was important to him. Her happiness still everything. Safety—protection. This was all he honestly had to offer her. His only family. Even if she didn't really need anyone to help her, being such a remarkable warrior and business owner herself. His physical strength was his singular contribution to anything in her life.

Vincent was a friend to him too. Cloud had nothing against the man; they'd forged a bond won through mutual hardship and battle. But as a romantic interest for Tifa? How would their relationship work? Vincent's ever-lingering demons residing within his body would pose a constant danger to her.

Cloud wasn't sure how much influence Vincent truly exerted over the demonic corruptions in his cells. But he'd witnessed firsthand the struggle the former Turk endured to repress them. And when their force too much to control, one would erupt through Vincent's cries of agony, unleashing its violent energy with an eager desire to annihilate any living organism in sight.

Cloud knew Vincent had learned to manage them to an extent, but he could never shake that 'what if' doubt. An unrestrained demon was a clear threat. Tifa was strong, but he doubted she was powerful enough to take one on by herself.

Even if Vincent could reasonably control his transformations, his immortality posed an insurmountable obstacle. What would Tifa's future be like as she continued to grow older while Vincent remained young? The man is known to disappear for months, never contacting a soul. Complete radio silence. Would he return to an aging Tifa while he languishes at the age of—what? 30? Would he be willing to watch her weaken, get sick—eventually die? Or would he leave her before those problems arose?

Tifa would be devastated. Cloud knew—he'd caused her pain in that same manner countless times. He loved her and still hurt her unintentionally.

Cloud lifted an acorn nestled near his boot, wiping the dirt from its shell with his thumb. He tossed it into the dark, frustrated with himself, his inability to communicate with his best friend, even after knowing her their entire life.

In the distance, a muffled rumble echoed through the trees. Cloud sprung to his feet and sprinted toward the sound; confident it was a Nibel dragon. Good. Cloud needed an outlet for these conflicted thoughts and the rage roiling in his gut.

Up ahead through the trees, Cloud spied the shimmering blue-green scales of a massive dragon. He could see the animal was battling a smaller fiend, turning irately about in circles as its tiny assailant swiftly attacked its legs with ripping claws and snapping fangs. The immense reptile swung its spiky tail, forcing the fiend to jump into the trees for safety.

As Cloud entered the glade, he slowed, recognition dawning on him. The smaller creature was familiar—the Galian Beast, a large purple fiend with horns protruding from the top of its head and long yellow claws growing from its limbs. It was a frightening sight, presenting itself to the world only when Vincent's rage could no longer be contained.

Cloud had no time to gawk at the beast once the larger green reptile noticed his advance into the clearing. The dragon lunged forward with a swipe of its talons and then dipped its head downward, trying to bite its new target. Cloud launched himself backward against a tree, then kicked off the trunk, using his momentum to connect a brute force assault on the dragon's nose. It shrieked in pain as the sword carved into its snout, easily rending the softer flesh about its face.

The Galian Beast returned to the battle, eyeing Cloud warily as it roared in fury and clenching its fists as its gaze bounced between the dragon and the newcomer. For a moment, Cloud braced himself to fight off his transformed friend, turning his sword at a defensive angle between their positions. But the dragon answered with its own furious roar and reared back on its hind legs before it crouched to the ground and breathed fire at them like a flame thrower. Both Cloud and his altered friend dove in opposite directions, avoiding the licking flames spreading out around the glade.

The massive reptile searched for his prey, spying the horned beast sprinting toward its front legs. Cloud flipped into the air and sliced at a flapping wing while the dragon spit fire again in the Galian's direction. Vincent hurled his fiendish body at the dragon and used his beastlike mouth to rip into the dragon's flesh above its elbow, causing the creature to bellow with a shrieking cry. It launched into the air briefly, and Galian followed, leaping from the ground and landing on the reptile's back. It thrashed its head back and forth, trying to rid itself of the unwelcome passenger.

Below the beasts, Cloud pressed his advantage, swinging his sword with a full-body twist. He sliced upward into the dragon's neck and rolled away to avoid the sudden gush of crimson fluid. Still astride his mount, Vincent tore into its hide with his beastly claw, tearing the creature's flesh as he descended to the ground. The monster's throat gurgled as it desperately gasped for air through a severed windpipe.

The dragon fell into its pool of blood, and the rattled breathing ceased as it closed its eyes one final time. Cloud stared at the reptile a few moments as its living essence slowly waned and dissipated into the atmosphere. When only the carcass was left, only Vincent remained standing within the skeletal remains of its limbs. His form was still changed into the Galian Beast, not yet transforming back to human, and Cloud did not sheath his sword for wont of caution of his friend's next unknown move.

Vincent slowly breathed in and out as he turned to watch Cloud in return. His eyes glowed eerily in the moonlight, and Cloud feared the demon did not recognize him as a friend. The younger man stared back, prepared to battle his friend if only to defend himself.

Cloud startled as Vincent's body gave a shudder and his head lifted toward the tops of the trees in agony. The beast backed away from the skeleton with slow, measured steps, ever watchful of the man glaring at him. Vincent abruptly turned toward the trees and galloped into the forest.

Cloud sighed, watching Galian's retreating form before he searched the ground for any useful items dropped by the dead dragon. Finding nothing, he glanced around the clearing one last time before turning back toward town.

Sure, Vincent could still control himself when he's changed, but that didn't ease Cloud's mind. They'd witnessed on countless occasions the struggle that tore Vincent apart. His immortality was not an envious bargain for the devils that used his body.

Cloud wiped the dirt from his clothes and entered the inn. He wasn't worried about where Vincent would end up for the night. The former Turk was more than capable of protecting himself.

Vincent relaxed as his form morphed back to human, grasping for an elixir secured within his cloak. He gulped the serum down, instantly relieved of the intense exhaustion the morphing process inflicted upon him. He'd reached the wood line beyond the house and decided to make his bed in its haunted rooms for the evening. Long ago, it served as his resting place when his torments—sins were too much to endure. Vincent could stand it for one night.

He found no solace in the upstairs bedrooms; sleep avoided him like a frightened Chocobo. He wondered through the sinister corridors, so silent the ghouls and spirits were unaware of his presence. Eventually, he made his way down the rickety spiral staircase and into the tunnel basements. The smell, fog, and ghostly atmosphere enveloped him like a worn, inviting blanket. He remembered this feeling.

Vincent stood before the locked door. The one that hid his crypt. He quickly wrenched it free, breaking the latch beyond further use. The coffins laid haphazardly across the floor. His remained open, inviting him back like a long-lost friend. Vincent knew he could slip into its claustrophobic confines and revert to his decades-long slumber. The blackness would welcome him. His enhancements would allow him to enter that ethereal stasis, and he could again tune out the sorrows and anguish inflicted by a world with the living. His transformations would be confined, and he could lay in repose, undisturbed and hidden.

But he didn't want that anymore. His primary reasons for exiling himself no longer applied. He'd paid a hefty price for his sins of inaction—allowing Hojo to create his monsters. Allowing Lucrecia to make her mistake for herself and her child. And he'd absolved her. And finally, he'd forgiven himself for not doing more to help her. The world had been saved, and Vincent had delivered its messiah into the ether after destroying the apocalyptic weapon that would consume all living souls.

He quickly stepped out of the tomb and headed toward the library, not looking back. Vincent no longer sought sleep. He wanted to live and be among his friends—to be near Tifa. He had desire again and hope for a future. He wanted to be done with this village of the damned—for good.

Vincent set himself into a frenzy inside the library, working on completing their task into the dawn without rest. He didn't need it. And when they returned to Edge, he would seek out help, just as Shelke was trying to do. Maybe what's been done can be undone. There was only one way for him to find out.