Genesis watched from the heights above, observing the group entangling itself with Sephiroth. He perched high like a ravenous hawk, his sharp Mako eyes sweeping over the chaotic battlefield. Flashes of reality flickered through the air—magic crackling, bodies shifting through brutal transformations—light and darkness fighting for dominance as this world tore itself apart. For once, Genesis found the destruction mesmerizing rather than tragic.
When the Goddess had sent him back, he had expected peace, a quiet reprieve after his healing. But this? This was the opposite. Confusion had gnawed at him, until the answer had come like a thunderclap: Sephiroth. His old comrade—no, his nemesis—was unraveling, his mind shattered.
He's lost his damn mind, Genesis thought, though the realization brought no sadness, only an intense curiosity. The bond they'd once shared was long dead, replaced by an aching hunger to see how far Sephiroth would fall. There was a strange beauty in the descent.
Genesis smirked, his hand rolling the red orb of Materia between his fingers as he considered his options. A myriad of thoughts raced through his mind as he watched the blond—Cloud Strife—charge at Sephiroth once more, desperate to strike him down. Foolish child. Yet, there was a thrill to it. Cloud's defiance, his tenacity in the face of an impossible foe… it sparked something in Genesis. A craving to see how much the boy could endure.
Breathless, hungry, Genesis leaned forward, eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Do you fly away now, my friend? Wings stripped away? Or perhaps you will break this hero?" His voice was low, almost a whisper, carried away by the storm winds that swirled around the battlefield. But his gaze had shifted. The remnants—those frail, imperfect clones of Sephiroth—caught his eye.
His smirk widened into something darker, more sinister. What luck to have such genetic material on hand. But why leave them as pale imitations of Sephiroth? No, Genesis had a far more interesting idea.
With a flick of his fingers, he stood up, allowing blood to trail in small drops from his fingertips. The scent of iron filled the air as he considered the possibilities. What if the remnants weren't mere shadows of Sephiroth's former self? He rolled the Materia in his palm, feeling its pulse sync with his own heartbeat.
"What if," he murmured, a thrill of excitement creeping into his voice, "they were turned into something… better?"
The thought ignited a flame in his chest. He could reshape them, bend them to his will, make them copies not of Sephiroth but of himself—Genesis Copies. These remnants could be reforged in his image, imbued with his power and his madness. They would be his soldiers, living poetry of blood and battle.
The very idea sent a ripple of excitement through him. The remnants were little more than blank slates, easily molded into whatever he desired. And what better canvas than himself? He could breathe new life into this world's chaos, not by following Sephiroth's path, but by carving his own.
"Come now, remnants," Genesis smirked, raising the red Materia high, its glow intensifying as it connected to their very essence. The clones twitched, their forms beginning to shimmer and shift. "Let me show you the true beauty of the Goddess's will."
Blood surged in his veins as he watched their transformation, the pale, half-formed beings slowly morphing into something new, something… magnificent. Crimson leather began to materialize on their bodies, reflecting his own. Their eyes glowed with Mako, but this time, with a deeper, more vibrant hue—his hue. They stood taller now, their gazes sharper, and their weapons shimmered with the same eerie light as his blade.
Genesis grinned, the feral edge of his smile returning. "Perfect."
What would Sephiroth think, he wondered, if he saw his loyal remnants twisted into Genesis' image? Would it anger him? Would it amuse him? It didn't matter. Genesis didn't care. This was his game now.
As he watched the newly forged Genesis Copies take their first breath, his mind danced with possibilities. If he could turn Sephiroth's creations into his own, what else could he twist? Perhaps some of Angeal's legacy could be brought into this new world, some form of his honor corrupted and repurposed. And then there was the boy—Zack Fair, the puppy. Genesis' eyes narrowed, pondering how best to play with him.
If Zack remained loyal to the blond, to Cloud, then that presented the perfect opportunity to tighten the leash. To make Cloud struggle just a bit more…
Genesis' grin widened, the thrill of manipulation and power washing over him. "Struggle, little hero. Let's see how far you can go before you break." He whispered to the air, savoring the anticipation of what was to come. The stage was set, and the actors were in place.