Chapter 57 - Conditions of Abuse

January, 1994

Sephiroth breathes lightly as he stands with smoke and ash curling around him.

He spins the sword in his hand, forwards and then backwards. Neither movement soothes him as he stands alone. His SOLDIER unit is gone. They broke off from him, driving deeply into the wall of Wutai men with their stolen Shinra weapons.

The Wutain base sits in front of him. They are doing all of this for two squat buildings and a tower. Intelligence says the smaller structures are for soldier support. The tower is where he is going.

Their main line of defense had already been breached but Wutai moved quickly to secondary, more dangerous positions. Blood is staining the ground black already.

A gun chatters in his direction. He sidesteps and the snow beside him explodes into mush. The man is not hard to find. A fire explosion takes off his head. He should have known better.

Sephiroth couldn't care less about the building. At that moment, the attack plans are as transparent as tracing paper in his mind. His grip on his sword tightens. His unit is to infiltrate the left barracks and clear it out. He saw them working to the target door perfectly. He had briefed them that he is on his own mission.

Dinand.

That is his target.

He's ready. Those eyes mock him in his mind.

He presses a thumb against each of the materia slotted in his wristband. The warmth and solidity sharpens his mind. A missile hisses onto the battlefield. It explodes into a unit. Those weapons went missing last year. Wutai is not willing to give up this location. A messy battle is in front of them.

Attacking this base is a risk but the reward is worth it. If they can take this location, several key lines of supplies and weapons for Wutai which run through this location will stop. Shinra has thrown everything they have here. Almost every active duty SOLDIER is present. When Sephiroth scanned the list, he knew he would find Orlin's name.

He wasn't disappointed.

It had been an easy matter to avoid him.

No distractions. He needed to stay focused. Orlin is a veteran Second. He's been through it all now. Even more distracting, Mariella is flying in for his health inspection three weeks early. It's inconsequential now. It's another life. A life he will live after Dinand is dead. So he sets all worries aside.

Sephiroth needs only one to make this battle a success. The hardest one of all.

He walks carefully around the knots of chaos, helping where he can but looking for that prideful long sword.

Shinra is chattering in his ear, helping him find Dinand. Sephiroth managed to convince the Commander General of one of the few mistakes that he would commit. It didn't take much. The man agreed. The strength is fading from his eyes. It won't be long now before he puts in his letter of retirement.

A Wutai soldier attacks him with his spear with no grace from behind. He's not shouting but his shoes speak loudly enough for him. Sephiroth's sword moves without his mind, catching the steel and deflecting it down. The weapon digs into the ground next to his shoes harmlessly. The Wutai staggers against the resistance.

It's child's play. Sephiroth's boot comes up, catching on the soft stomach. A gasp follows the soldier to the ground. Sephiroth glances around. No long blade flashes in front of him. He sets the tip of his blade in the man's heart and pushes down. The body pushes back for a moment and then it is over. Absently, he wipes the blade against his pants as he straightens. Dinand is assigned to the secondary attack. He should be here now.

"You didn't even look at his face. How you've grown." A voice says next to him.

Sephiroth smiles. He can't help it as he turns around. This will all be over soon. No more worrying. No more trying to find the course of action. He is finally writing these events in real life. He will know the final answer.

Dinand stands a good distance back. The long sword is tucked out to the side relaxed. He seems almost cut out of reality, not caring for the carnage going on around him. He is as spotless and careless as his memories of him back in Midgar.

"Are you ready?" Sephiroth asks.

"I was surprised when I got the orders." Knowing is in his eyes.

"So was I."

A chuckle. He shakes his head. "Well, shall we get on with it?"

"Of course."

It is strange for Dinand to be within range but he comes then, not to his side but close enough. He holds his sword away as they face Shina's target. The tower sits waiting. Sephiroth's anxiety ticks up to end Dinand here and now but he won't. He must stick to the plan.

The top of the tower has smoke coming out of it. They are trying to burn the information now. The reason the General Commander was so easy to convince was simple. Sephiroth was right. It is a race against time to get in and to stop the staff from destroying the documents.

It would be logical to send two of the strongest warriors together. Sephiroth proposed it.

Even then, they should have seen the truth.

Dinand eyes him. Every step is careful against the ground.

After Rufus Shinra's dinner, the anger in him had grown into hot coals, blackening the inside of him. The bite marks disappeared but the damage remained. He won't be taken advantage of. He won't subside to easy twisted pleasure offered only by the hand of Shinra. Dinand did that. He twisted him over and over until he is exactly what everyone sees. He was too young to see it as it happened. Now he's the pride of Shinra, a feather in Dinand's cap, Hojo's injected creation, Midgar's Hero.

Children are enlisting and dying because of him.

Killing Dinand will prove to himself that he isn't that dumb animal that can be pointed in any direction.

He has some autonomy. He has some freedom. He is not one of this conglomerate whole. He can lash out.

Guns natter as two groups of soldiers collide nearby. Languages mix on this battlefield. Chalk drags down his throat. The explosives work the ground nearby. He feels at home out here. The sounds soothe him almost like a song in his ears even with Dinand nearby.

Here, the rules are clear.

The opposing sides spill over and split towards them. Wutaian yell behind Sephiroth. He's forced to turn, to put his back to Dinand. Three men come at him. Sephiroth side steps the first attack and stabs low. The sword cuts through the man's leg. The blade wants to catch deep in the thigh but he pulls it up hard, ripping through tough muscle. The scream is sharp next to him. The next soldier goes for his exposed side. Momentum curves his sword's swing upwards.

The enemy never gets close. The red blade digs too far into his neck. It sticks between bones. The last one cries in something close to grief, continuing forward anyways. Sephiroth's right fist joins with the tears in the man's eyes. The crunch is solid. The man falls back, unconscious.

Dinand laughs behind him. It's a soulless sound. Sephiroth shakes off the body pouring out onto his sword arm. The blood sinks through his sleeve and sticks to his skin. The man's neck barely stays in one piece as it falls to the ground with the others. The remaining soldiers are overwhelmed by the infantry. He turns back. Dinand hasn't moved.

"Why are you laughing?" He asks.

"I will always laugh at you," Dinand says and moves forward, flicking the sword out. "Information is burning. Come on now."

"No." Sephiroth stands still and Dinand is forced to stop and turn back. "Tell me something. Why did you say you were proud of me?"

Dinand's face curls in a mix of annoyance and satisfaction. "Because I know it would drive you up a wall. You know what I think of you. And look. It worked. Here we are. Now are you going to do this or not?"

"Let's get in that control room." Sephiroth shakes his arm, loosening the wet fabric. He watches the splatters hit the snow. They stain the ground. Anger crawls up his back but he chains it. Feelings are insignificant. Dinand knows him. He can play him as easily as dialing a phone. He won't let him drum up the reactions that would cloud Sephiroth's mind. Not this last time.

They cleave their way forward, skirting the main action. Most of the forces are divided into lines colliding with each other. Cars form barricades that the Wutai duck behind until they are overwhelmed. The key is to keep moving. Dinand does fight. He simply skewers the men before they can get close. Sephiroth darts out to stop the Wutai that spot them but withdraws quickly. He keeps within the uncomfortable range of Dinand where striking him would force him to make his intentions immediately obvious.

Every speck of Dinand's attention is focused at Sephiroth too, drilling through the war. He's cataloging every move. Sephiroth is doing the same.

A Second sees them as he rushes to assist a unit and skids to a stop. His mouth opens and closes with no sounds. His finger comes to point at them. His head cracks back violently and his body follows him. A sharpshooter did his job. No one can stop here. Sephiroth tries to guess where the attacker is but there are too many spots. The body doesn't move. It was a clean shot at least. The snow explodes near them a few times but they move on erratically.

Two SOLDIERs not drawing attention to themselves can go far in the confusion of war. They make it behind the main defense. It is tempting to see the soft underbelly of the fighting enemy behind them as they continue forward. Several men spot them but die before they can raise the alarm. Although, Sephiroth wonders, would one more alarm raised among the din would be even noticed?

The tower is high above them. Ash sprinkles the ground. Sephiroth counts up to the smoking windows.

"Eighth floor. That's where they are burning," He says.

"I could have told you that ten minutes ago. And they made you a First?" Dinand growls and slams in the entrance door. It cracks at the lock and then the rest of the panel breaks loose. Sephiroth's mouth twitches but he continues to watch the panicking units running to the front line.

"It's clear," Dinand says behind him and holds the door for Sephiroth to follow.

A new roar turns him back. It isn't a high pitched scream but a deep sound that vibrates in his bones. He doesn't have to search to find the source. A bahamut stumbles unsteadily to its feet a hundred feet behind him. The monster's neck arches high into the sky and another growl comes out of it. One of the outside walls crumbles like toy blocks as it blunders through it.

"A summon?" Sephiroth asks as he freezes. His men aren't equipped to handle a bahamut. Shinra was sure that they didn't have one.

Dinand stands next to him and whistles. "Well, I haven't seen one of those in a while."

Sephiroth feels anxiety for those SOLDIERs for the first time. There were no summons in their plans. This is not their creature. It's going to be more than a bloodbath. This is going to be a massacre. Wutai is desperate enough to unleash a weapon big enough to hurt both sides. Ragged wings open and the monster claps them. The men nearby go flying.

"How did they learn to summon? It's such a specialized skill."

"Probably a deserter who was smart enough to grab some candy on the way out," Dinand's voice is stony, the usual color gone. "That's tough."

He can't imagine it. Summoning isn't a strong suit of his but he has done it. Calling a large monster out to kill people that used to be friends seems to be impossible. The bahamut convulses and throws up fire. The steam wells into the air and a tank explodes, parts spinning comically in the air.

"Well, time to get some information, right Sephiroth?"

His mouth goes dry. If the two of them go back, they might be able to take down the monster. Dinand undeniably has the experience of fighting summons. Sephiroth's energy is still strong. The false mission of getting information doesn't take priority over possibly failing the entire attack. His stomach screws tight. He'll lose his chance to take down Dinand. In the secrecy of the tower with a battle raging outside, no one would know how Dinand died. It's so simple.

"I know what you want." Dinand leans against the frame of the door. "Oh whatever shall you do? Try for your petty revenge and allow me to grind you into the ground again?"

It shocks Sephiroth to hear their actual intentions voiced. The confidence riles against him. Dinand still thinks that he will beat him.

The bahamut snorts as lightning dances across its hide. The tail whips around. The lightning fizzles and ends. The child in him whimpers. Sephiroth hurts. He feels every punch at once that Dinand threw at him. He remembers all the times he buried himself into his sheets at night. The looks of his classmates as he tries to hide his limp as he walks to his desk. Then the final hopeless stream of that simulation and feeling himself break under the pressure. It shouldn't have happened. It was so wrong and Dinand knew it.

He can hear Shinra chattering wildly on the radio. They are summoning all units to concentrate on the new threat. His unit is rattled off along with the others. Sephiroth's name and Dinand's endorse the list as well. He can imagine his men turning back in the barracks. They would be nervous. They haven't dealt with this. They will expect Sephiroth to be there, to lead them. It pulls against what is left of him.

Rufus Shinra's lust drags him back to Midgar. His lips painted red with Sephiroth's blood. Fingers pucking at his feelings to his own ends. Sephiroth singing back in pure desperation.

Shinra deserves this.

He fell for his emotions then. He took the easy route and the pain came later.

His SOLDIERs don't deserve it. Genesis is in that unit. Just one of the many that he's brought back from the brink. They need him. He is their commanding officer. To them, he is Shinra. They don't know the truth. And at the end of the day, their deaths will be on him.

The monster's red scales glimmer in the hazy light. It moves forward with a weight that he can feel through his shoes. Another missile pounds further out, hitting a group of vehicles.

"Afterwards," Sephiroth says so firmly that it's a promise. "You and me. After."

"The empathetic leader shows his real character," Dinand chuckles and tucks a hand in his pocket.

The decision is right. Sephiroth knows it. There will be future opportunities for Dinand. He can make them happen. It stings bitterly. As he steps forward, back out towards the battle, his eyes feel raw with tears. Soon, he thinks to himself, soon, after the summon is gone, they can go back to their personal war. This day can still end definitively.

"And just what makes you think that I am going to go along with your new found morals?" Coldness has come over Dinand's words. Worse than the words, Sephiroth feels the point of a sword resting gently against his turned back.

Diand continues, "I won't allow you to look at me like you are better than me anymore. Fuck it. Gods, I see it every time I look at you. I can't stand it."

Of course. Frustration builds in him. He can't go back to his men. Everything stiffens in him. He cannot allow this to continue. Slowly, he reaches backwards and wraps his fingers gently around the flat of the blade. It is real. Dinand is turning blatantly against him. Sephiroth steadies himself against the headiness of this anger.

"I'm so tired of this," Sephiroth says.

He guides the blade away from him as he turns around, sliding back a step. Dinand stands in the doorway. The blade retreats as Dinand settles his weight between his feet. The monster roars again. This has to be settled quickly. His own smaller sword comes up in his hand. The grip is solid. The steel comes between them. Dinand's eyes flash to it but the cocky grin remains on his face.

Dinand laughs again. "You are tired of this? Try dealing with you for the last seven years."

"Shut up."

"Just look at you."

Sephiroth does look. He sees what he wants to see. He sees a First Class SOLDIER. He sees a man who has strength. He sees all the experiences that have made it impossible to stand by quietly any longer. He isn't at HQ. He isn't in the training room. He isn't the child that this man remembers.

If Dinand won't take him seriously, he will make him.

He jumps forward and strikes against his mentor.

Dinand's attitude doesn't change as he shifts and catches his sword with his own. The strike isn't meant to do any real damage. Instead, it is supposed to catch his attention. Their swords stop solidly. Dinand's free hand supports the weapon as they push together. It makes Sephiroth grin.

"Try to hit me, pretty boy. I know every move in your book." Dinand moves out of the doorway and backwards. He swats the blade at him. "Let's just have you prove how much of a disappointment you are. I'll beat you into the ground myself this time."

Sephiroth doesn't bother with a response. He's trying to sink himself into this fight. An unfamiliar fear comes back to him. He could die. It doesn't matter. He removes everything not important. He's been watching Dinand fight. Him moving back is a classic move. He gives ground so he can use the length of the sword. So Sephiroth removes that advantage.

He runs forward, well within range, squeezing the comfort zone. Dinand's feet back again. He carves up the ground as Sephiroth stops short. Sephiroth catches the edge of his blade on Dinand's and sends it flying back upwards. It clicks as it goes up. Light sparkles off the steel as Dinand spins around with the blade.

A man's scream comes to their left. Heat rolls over the ground. It might be too late for either side now. The bahamut doesn't know the difference between Wutai or Shinra. Wutai knew this when they summoned it.

"If you were trying to disarm me, you should have aimed higher up the blade." A confident smirk comes across his face. Dinand settles back on his feet and further back.

Sephiroth knows that.

Sephiroth presses forward again. The first sign of irritation comes across Dinand's face. The smile disappears for a second before he flicks the blade away.

"Wrong footwork."

This time, he is sure that he is playing with him, trying to raise his temper, trying to make him stumble. That will be the moment when the long blade goes from passive to unrelentingly aggressive.

So he advances again. Their blades tease each other. Neither are going for blood. Both are waiting for the mistake. They dance in a circle just outside the increasing bubble of chaos. The monster has warmed up now. The damage that is being dealt is starting to choke the air. Burnt wood and flesh cake his tongue. Shinra is buzzing in his ear in a constant string of panic and commands. The tide has turned.

And this bastard won't let him help his men.

Dinand rushes forward. The blade sweeps towards his right arm. Sephiroth makes a decision then. His sword switches hands. His right hand holds strong against the force that it comes in contact with. The swords meet at a right angle, Dinand's sharp edge against the flat of his blade. Dinand smiles. A mistake, it says. Dinand digs in and punches forward with the sword.

It goes past him. It is supposed to. It closes the distance between them and Dinand's hand comes out, fingers ready to curl around his wrist, to force the blade out of his hand. Just before their crossguards would click together, Sephiroth disengages by sliding off to the left. The momentum carries Dinand's arm forward, his body following.

"And you shouldn't try to use the tricks you taught me," Sephiroth says and slams his fist into the exposed side available to him. It hits and it hits hard enough to jar up his arm. The man goes flying into the slush. The impact hurts but the pain is eclipsed by a senseless childish joy. He hit Dinand back. He's done the thing that he's always dreamed of. He did it. It fills his eyes.

And it blinds him to the pure force that comes back at him.

Dinand's slams into him bodily. The snow goes slick under his shoes. They fall back together. Air rushes out of him and he gasps upward knocking heads with his attacker. Dinand's hand clamps over his throat and pushes him back. Sephiroth tries to bring up his sword but another strong hand is locked over his wrist pinning it down with the hilt of the long blade. The blade itself stretches far past his head.

"No," Dinand growls brokenly. Blood oozes out of his mouth. "Now you will behave."

Sephiroth manages to bare his teeth. A knee digs down into his stomach. The remains of his breath bubble up painfully against grip on his throat. His vision doubles. He pushes up but it jabs the knee further in his body, tripling the pain and drives up bile. His right hand is free so he grasps at the elbow, trying to break the tension bared down on his neck.

"I said, no." On the last word, Dinand releases enough for Sephiroth to arch up to gasp and then he is slammed back down. The pavement bites into the back of his head. He hears the hollow thunk. Numbness plunges over him. He's limp. The knee is gone when his vision clears. Dinand is fully on top of him now, pinning him with all his weight.

"I taught you that. It won't work." The words trickle into him, smooth with satisfaction. Blood pounds against Sephiroth's mind. He tries to shift his leg, to hook one of Dinand's.

"I know that one too." His skull slams back into the pavement. It devastates him. He gets an ounce of air but the cost has everything blurring. The SOLDIER does it one more time, using all his enhanced strength to pound his skull against the ground. Sephiroth manages a cut off scream.

"I want you to look at me like you did. Helpless. Defeated. You need me, Sephiroth."

He won't. He can't. The fact is undeniable. This man has taught him everything that he knows. He'll play every move against him as he has done. Sephiroth uses his free hand to grasp at Dinand but he's leaning back far enough that he can't get at his face. He's gasping too, lungs moving extraordinarily.

"You wasted everything." The words come in spurts over him. "You gave it to those damn corporates."

Sephiroth spins. His feet can't get purchase. His body tries to cough but only shakes. Black dots settle over his eyes.

"A waste of my time. My life."

Sephiroth does the only thing he can think of. He locks his fading fingers against the man's shirt and yanks hard. It works. He wrenches Dinand off of him, loosening the grip on his throat and half dragging him upwards in the process. Pain is brilliant on his pinned right hand. Dinand's long sword drags over his palm as it frees him. He swallows the air but has no time to relish it.

He slugs himself forward as Dinand comes up to his knees. His vision is blurry as he tries to punch him, just to slow him down somehow. His hand connects with his face. Teeth click together. Sephiroth falls on him. Everything reels from the head hits. They crash back together in the snow. His clothes are soaked with slush. Dinand's face is speckled with gray and red.

This isn't the idealized fight in his head. This isn't pretty swordplay and insults. This is wild and brutal.

Sephiroth brings up his sword. He'll slam it down through this man's ribcage. He'll cut him in half. He'll destroy him. His grip is fading on his weapon. Hot blood rolls down his arm in rivulets. Dinand's hand braces against the ground. His ears ring. Sephiroth's shoulder screams as he raises the sword and brings it down with every piece of himself.

Dinand manages to bring his long beautiful sword between them.

And it shatters on the impact.

Pieces of metal break off. The main parts of the blade scatter around them like an exploded deck of cards.

Sephiroth's slimy grip fails him. His own sword jerks out of his fingers in a flash of pain. He hears it hit the ground behind him. He swallows a breath. Dinand's eyes stare at the sprinkling of metal all over him. Sephiroth lays over him, hoping his weight is enough as his body makes it known that it cannot go more without air.

"But I didn't," Sephiroth says and his voice cracks with the tears in his eyes, "I didn't choose it. I didn't choose any of this."

"Bullshit." A hand locks onto his belt and yanks him off.

Sephiroth slides off him like a toy. The impact of the pavement jolts him. He presses his hands into the ground and gets to all fours. His hair falls in brown mats. Liquid curls around from the back of his skull. The air cools him as his body recovers. Dinand moves slowly. He keeps coughing. Red drool swings from his lips. His eyes are trying to focus and his hand is plastered against his chest. How many ribs had he broken?

This was supposed to be a beautiful battle he envisioned. Instead it is two forces hitting each other with everything. There is no honor in this. There is no beauty here.

It's just them.

No weapons except for the shards of steel around them.

Sephiroth grasps one piece, ruining his right hand further as he clutches it. Dinand still has the sword handle. Sharp pieces remain crowning out of the grip. Sephiroth sees the anger in Dinand then. It's the same as his. It's pain built up so long that it has nowhere else to go but out.

They don't make it to their feet. Dinand gets to his knees and then stabs forward with the ruined remains of the sword. Sephiroth falls back and plasters his left hand against the man's chest. The blade's arc sweeps, catching on the fabric of his shirt but nothing more. He falls back to the plan that he never wanted to implement. He has one shot at this. He focuses on Dinand's hand, on the white knuckles and the blue fabric of the grip and pulls on the materia on his wrist.

The risk is high that the explosion will envelop both of them. His mind is gauzy as the spell comes through him. It is uncontrolled and wild, taking no direction from its owner. Even as the fire appears out of thin air, it is larger than he wants. The conception point is right. The fire eats greedily into Dinand's palm. It continues up through his arm. The handle drops. The fire brushes against Sephiroth, burning on his forearm keeping Dinand away from him.

The spell ceases and takes its cost in sucking away most of his energy. They both scream in pain.

The screams cut off as Sephiroth rips the piece of Dinand's sword deep through his throat. Sephiroth's arm collapses under the weight. They collide messily. Rolling over each other, Sephiroth forces away the pain and the burning.

Dinand's already stilling as Sephiroth focuses on him. His palm is slick and dark as he holds it against his neck. It's lethal. A choking rasp comes out of him. His eyes are solid, unafraid, even as his face starts to pale.

Somehow, he still looks amused. "You are so fucked."

Sephiroth shakes his head.

Bloody teeth flash.

Sephiroth swallows. "Please, just return to the fucking planet."

Sephiroth takes the steel and drives it deep into Dinand's chest, pinning his heart still. Realization comes across Dinand's eyes. He doesn't fight him. He chokes and the dullness takes over his eyes.

Sephiroth waits for it. He crouches over the body and waits for relief to come to him. This payment will be enough to clear him of everything that has happened. He has righted the wrong. He has gotten his revenge. Now he can move on.

It doesn't come.

He realizes that it won't be coming as adrenaline seeps out of him.

Dinand is dead before him.

That's what he gets: another dead body and no more.

He leans back and presses his hands against his face. It all staggers around him. Shinra is still in place. Everything that happened to him is still there. Everything that fueled this moment has filtered away, leaving a gaping hole and leaving him somehow heavier. It is for nothing. Dinand might be gone but his legacy is stamped into him.

It's the loss that makes his body let out a ragged sob.

He's never going back. He can't go back to who he was. Shinra is deep in him. The damage is done. Irreversible. Hojo was right. He's broken, unrepairable. There is nothing left. It's this endlessness. He'll be driven through the war until he can't lift his arms and it kills him.

Somehow he hears the monster behind him.

The screaming of his men start to come back to him.

He gets to his feet. The head wounds are bad. Liquid streams from his nose. Wiping it, he realizes it is a dangerous clear.

His stomach gives out violently. The bile is sweet and thin. He staggers afterward. Fire blooms in front of him, reminding him once again that there are men depending on him.

It's difficult to move his shoes. He makes it to his sword and grasps it. His right hand is numb from bleeding. He raises it but it only lifts to his waist. He stares down at the cut. The back half of his right fingers are slack above the gash.

Is this the cost of killing Dinand? He wonders oddly as he tries to make a fist and his ring and little finger only flinch. Would this force him to be entirely left handed in battle?

He should bandage it. He should try to heal it but trying to heal it himself would finish him. The blood wells and drools over in the palm of his hand. Snow drifts into it, disappearing. It catches his attention, forces him to look up. The men in front of him move in blurs. His eyes spin in their sockets. He takes a step back, knees locking.

The whistling sound barely registers. The ground near the bahamut explodes. It hits a barricade of cars. They go up, one after another, a beautiful wall of fire, kicking up pieces of the battlefield and sending them flying.

A chunk of metal, maybe asphalt, maybe it doesn't matter, flies at him, hits him. It digs deep into his side.

Sensations flatline. He just can't care anymore. He registers the feeling of his feet leaving the ground. It is almost a relief. He won't have to worry anymore now. He slams back against the tower. The concrete is not kind. The back of his head splits. The ground jumps up to meet him.

Then nothing.

Madness is on hiatus until mid-December. See AO3 for details.