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year 5, quarter 3
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Cissnei didn’t pay him much attention. In fact, she hardly seemed to notice him at all as she continued tending to her fellow Turk. Sephiroth’s eyes pricked to the woman at her side. Did he know her? Maybe. She sparked the same sense of familiarity as Cissnei had though it would take some time to place it. Time and perhaps a better sense of circumstances than this. It seemed she was wounded, and rather badly at that.
Sephiroth considered the use of his Cure materia, but he doubted it would be welcome. Turk business was Turk business, after all. Cissnei seemed to have it more than under control.
When Cissnei finally cared to notice him, it was with nothing but a dry wit. “Explain? You don’t know what a sexy nurse outfit is?”
Sephiroth raised his eyebrows. That sounded like something Genesis would say. He couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing or not.
“I’ll meet you in the pub from earlier,” she went on. ”I have an errand to complete.”
He said nothing at first. He doubted she needed anything said. She started the engine of her scooter, injured ally in tow, and Sephiroth considered her once again. She didn’t fear him. That was a rare thing for only the strongest of wills. Would the other Turks have responded with the same cool eye? Tseng came to mind. It wasn’t an unpleasant association.
Sephiroth smirked, humming softly in laughter. She didn’t fear him. He decided that he didn’t mind.
”I’ll be waiting,” he said. He brandished his sword, flicking the blood from it before sheathing it again. Beyond him, the sirens continued to wail. The dead were cool in the fallen snow, and flames flickered from the wreckage of Cissnei’s broken office. Tomorrow, the news would broadcast a citywide emergency. The dead would be mourned. The citizens would pan over the images in shock and fear.
It was nothing new.
Cissnei shot down the street, leaving a mist of snow behind her. Sephiroth’s eyes drifted to the sky. He did not have his answers. In fact, he had more questions than ever before, and yet he felt his anger cool as quickly as the dead below. He would learn the truth soon enough. For now, there was only himself, his thoughts, and the gunmetal sky. He relished it.
His sword met flesh -- too shallow to kill. He struck carefully. Strategically. He followed the first (partially diverted) with two disabling his arms. His assailant staggered backwards, eyes burning with the hatred that had driven him to death. Sephiroth watched him coolly. Should he demand explanations? Would it matter?
He never had the chance to decide. In his carelessness, the man made the choice for him.
Sephiroth saw the man’s misstep. He saw his eyes widen, not even able to throw out his arms for balance. Then he saw the fall.
Sephiroth did nothing. The situation had taken care of itself.
He heard a muffled crash and the shattering of glass. A moment later, a truck drove from the point of impact -- a truck that reeked of stale garbage. Sephiroth’s lips twitched with a smirk. Would the man die? Most likely if not given immediate medical attention. Should he survive, he had at least suffered humiliation. Perhaps his arms would never heal. No good decisions were ever made on emotion alone.
With that done, Sephiroth’s gaze wandered to the sky. Only one helicopter remained, blades buffeting pulses of wind. Cissnei.
”Hmph.” Sephiroth closed his eyes, smirk widening. The transaction was finished. He had met her mysterious client and seen her work done. The helicopter descended upon one of the broken rooftops, and he saw her hop down, hair wild in the wind. She approached another form clad in black. The Turks never worked alone.
Sephiroth lightened his weight and took to the sky, wing outstretched. He landed silently on the roof’s edge, sword still in hand. He fixed the Turks with a cool look. ”Explain.”
"So the mighty Sephiroth can't handle a fight without others doing the work for him."
Sephiroth glanced to his left, eyebrow raised. Somehow the swordsman had avoided his magic -- more or less at least. He was skilled. Enough even for SOLDIER, perhaps, but what he had in talent, he lacked in discipline. He’d let the stress of the fight affect him. Taunts like these were a weakness.
Sephiroth hadn’t asked for the support. He would have much rather done without it, in fact, but he knew how to adapt to it as easily as breathing. There was no weakness in teamwork, and romanticized ideas of masculinity were among the first that Sephiroth sought to extinguish in budding SOLDIERs. They would inevitably lead to defeat.
He didn’t say this, however. The taunt was nothing more than a distraction. He returned it with only a smirk.
The man attacked. He had a surprising speed that would have taken Sephiroth off guard had he been acting with his mind. Instead, he moved on instinct, eyes sharp and stance rooted. The man left him little room for a counterstrike, but as relentless as his offensive became, it lacked precision. The man’s eyes burned with hatred, frustration, and anger. Sephiroth’s remained collected. He moved without waste or flourish -- blocking each strike with nothing but a flick of his sword. He had faced far worse than this.
”Will you slay them? Like you did to your puppets? Like you did to us?”
Sephiroth’s eyebrows raised. It was revenge then. He could have guessed as much though the words were strange. Puppets? He had slain so many lives that the accusation hardly phased him, but had he ever slaughtered those beneath him in rank? Odd. The man spoke nonsense.
His assailant pulled back as quickly as he’d come. Sephiroth let him happen, lacking the interest to take the offensive himself. The Turks were unpredictable, and even as one of their helicopters crashed, he couldn’t say what other tricks they’d pull. The man sheathed his blade -- a useless show of confidence -- and held his hand at its hilt.
”I'll expose the darkness in you that Genesis protects. You will pay for all you've done.”
”Genesis?” Sephiroth felt his eyes prick with curiosity. How the man knew the state of Sephiroth’s relationships was beyond him, but that phrasing…
The darkness that Genesis protects. What was it that Genesis was hiding?
The man pulled his blade. There was the glint of cold metal, the prick of magic in the air, and then a shockwave like displaced air. Sephiroth’s eyes widened. He had been wrong about the man’s limitations. He was more versatile than he seemed.
His body moved of its own volition. He hopped back lightly, wing outstretched and hovering in the air. The magic exploded in the space he’d left, but Sephiroth hardly had time to take measure of it. Another shockwave came as quickly as the first, and he threw himself sideways. He was less agile in the air -- less precise -- and he felt the shockwave cut so close that his hair rippled with the force. His eyes darted from street to rooftop to the man’s sword.
Sephiroth would be given no time for counter spells. The shockwaves kept him defensive. Sephiroth could no longer stand by. He twisted in the air, wincing as a burst of magic sliced his cheek, and then he fell.
He hit the ground lightly, rolling into a forward dash. The roof’s angle would block the shockwaves. His assailant would need the slightest moment to readjust his aim, and in that moment, Sephiroth cleared the distance between them, lightened his weight, and lept to the man’s height, hovering there long enough to return the attack with a slash of his own.
Eight of them to be more specific, all placed with pinpoint precision. His blade glinted in hardly visible flashes of steel. His assailant may have been fast, but in that moment in the flurry of his sword, Sephiroth was faster.
Sephiroth’s eyes locked on a helicopter on the perimeter of the chaos. Surely enough, a familiar face called from its open doors, and Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed. In that split second, he noticed three things at once. First that Cissnei had taken damage, second that she’d holstered a rocket launcher, and third that her hand gleamed with the light of materia.
He didn’t have time to avoid the spell. Even as he shouldered himself sideways, he felt it erupt around him -- crushing, pulling -- gravity. He grit his teeth, preparing himself for its familiar drain when suddenly he was jerked off balance and sent stumbling towards the roof’s edge. He caught a metallic glint in the space he’d left behind. The rocket. Sephiroth’s eyes pricked with confusion as he quick stepped to regain his balance, arms half raised at his sides.
The spell had done no damage. He could have easily dodged the missile on his own, and a Turk would have certainly known that. Which meant that the spell had an ulterior motive. It was a message. You are not our target.
Sephiroth straightened and shot the helicopter a cool look. Cissnei returned it with an apologetic one of her own. He had never been fond of Turks.
The missile was ineffective. He heard the rip of metal and saw the pieces split in two. It didn’t erupt, but fell aside like an almond shell. The swordsman didn’t wait for the debris to fall before he was charging forward, sword outstretched. He had eyes only for Sephiroth. Sephiroth waited, sword ready and all too aware of the helicopter’s movements. Now that he was drawn in the open, their strikes wouldn’t hesitate. They’d wait until the swordsman was distracted.
The swordsman said nothing as he landed easily on the rooftop. Sephiroth returned the silence. The man sheathed his blade. He kept his hand ready for a defensive counter -- one which Sephiroth did not provoke.
Sephiroth had the upper hand in skill, terrain, and support. He smirked faintly. If his assailant wished for his blood then he would have to land the first strike.
He wasn’t surprised by the burst of machine gun fire. He dodged back on instinct, body twisting to narrow the target for any stray bullets. It was suppressive. In seconds, his assailant would emerge from the haze -- distracted, hostile, perhaps injured. Sephiroth calculated his tactics instantaneously.
The swordsman used a standard blade -- close range. Clearing the distance would interfere with air support. His masamune should be used at mid-range and only defensively. For offense, it was optimal to avoid direct confrontation. Which meant…
Sephiroth struck the ground between them, shattering roof tile and wooden dust from the wreckage aimed directly into his line of sight. He lightened himself in the same motion, dodging back farther with his hand and wing outstretched. He willed forward the familiar heat of his materia. It pulsed from his palm in a flash of light and a binding sigil.
He muttered the word in a quiet command. ”Thundaga.”
Light erupted from the space he’d left behind, cracking in blinding bursts that set his hair on end. It wasn’t precise -- but the area of effect would be hard to avoid. As his magic splintered across the sky, he couldn’t help but smirk. The Turks were not his target, but he found that he didn’t particularly care about their safety. If they had no concern for friendly fire then why shouldn’t he return the favor?
Sephiroth had expected as much, but he hadn’t expected the scale. Despite his caution, he had believed the Turk’s claims of desolation. They were all lost here -- or so he’d thought. He heard boots hitting pavement. Helicopters. The rolling wheels of an armored truck. His eyes shot to the window.
His retaliation could wait. If his calculations were correct, they’d be under attack in-
He dodged to the side as windows shattered and the shadows of gunmen took their place. Metal clicked against the floor, and smoke billowed forward in plumes. Predictable. He raised an arm over his mouth, eyes darting from door to window to wall as he waited for the follow-up, an escape route, the next attack.
A mechanism clicked. There was the distant rush of a propeller jet. Sephiroth’s eyes sharpened and he dashed forward on instinct as metal rolled across the floor, red light blinking through the haze. Four, three, two, one.
Sephiroth swung his sword and shattered the window in a shower of glass and drywall dust, thrusting himself through the space as the bomb struck and a shockwave of fire rushed behind him. He felt the heat on his boots. He landed, rolling on the asphalt until he’d righted himself on one knee. A smell like burning tar rushed to meet him as did the barrels of fourteen assault rifles.
Sephiroth stilled, head down and hand ready at his sword. These men were not ShinRa. They were dressed in sleek white. Their stance betrayed them as local enforcement. Sub-military. Sephiroth smirked. They fired.
He launched himself into the air, wing outstretched. The bullets sprayed beneath him, piercing the building’s walls. Their aim drifted upwards, but not in time. He descended like a vengeful hawk -- precise and without mercy. He took out four in a single swipe. His sword cut through bone, flesh, blood. He landed lightly, dodging between their aim as he rushed forward, calculating each step. When the range was cleared, he thrust himself upwards and slashed below him once, twice, three times in rapid succession. That was enough.
A flash of metal cut past him like a torpedo. Sephiroth sidestepped it easily, propelling himself up again as fire burst below him. Artillery. His eyes darted from the flames to crunch of armored tires. The vehicle was military-grade with armored panels and a heavy frame, and mounted at the top was a launcher already resettling its aim. Sephiroth gave a hum of laughter as he descended upon it, sword at the ready. It ripped easily through the solid metal. He felt its resistance, cut through, and then thrust a hand forward. His materia reacted, and fire burst from his palm. He was back in the air before the fuel tank could catch. The explosion that followed was far greater than any grenade.
The scene was set in chaos. What had once seemed one-sided had quickly turned the tides. From the other side of the building, he heard screams, gunfire, and the splatter of blood. Whoever had come for him was dealing no worse than he had. Sephiroth paused. He knew it would be more advantageous to take advantage of the situation and retreat. He had no business with his assailant, and the hostile attention would gain him nothing. And yet…
His eyes locked on a helicopter hovering over the scene. Turks. Cissnei had lured him here for a reason, and she had not worked alone. The local gunmen were no threat. The swordsman meant nothing, but the Turks…
He landed lightly, rushing along a rooftop until he was in range. He threw himself upward, sword drawn, and cut the helicopter in half. His blade slashed between the whirring propellers, and they were sent kareening away with a metallic screech into walls, street, people. His feet touched at the wreckage as it fell, and he launched himself from the metal, jumping back to the roof’s edge. His eyes scanned the scene below for the telltale glimpse of black suits.
His reaction was swift and immediate. His grip tightened. He cast her an affronted look, eyes narrowed. She was arrogant, overconfident, stupid. If he wanted to, he could have struck her down in less time than it took to breathe, but he didn’t. She spoke sense, and he knew at his core that killing her would be counterproductive.
’Will you slay people for their ignorance?’ His lips twitched with a dry humor. He had been trained to kill without reservation. They had molded him into their weapon and their sword. The only truthful answer was obvious. ’Yes.’ So long as it brought them a flicker of fear, he would spill whatever blood crossed his path.
She searched his eyes. He answered with a cold amusement of his own. She had no need to hear his answer -- if she was as perceptive as she claimed then she would find it for herself. Whatever she thought of Sephiroth’s character, she was wrong. Perhaps that confidence would waver without her delusions of his mercy. Perhaps she would be the one to falter.
She was not.
No, it was his own eyes that he felt hesitate. ’Monsters. Angels. Freedom. Choice.’ They were words that hovered between them like a sword’s edge. ’You are you, Sephiroth.’ He brought his free hand to his forehead and laughed. His laughter was weak.
”To change my fate…” He spoke it like an echo. Did she truly think he had ever been capable of such a thing? He had been born into ShinRa -- molded by ShinRa. For all his admiration, he had never been above decommission.
And yet…
He was about to answer when the door opened. Sephiroth glanced to it without turning his head. There stood a colorless man -- his hair white, his skin pale. He dressed in full black, and in that moment, Sephiroth felt something odd pass between them. The man’s shocked eyes met his. Sephiroth’s eyebrows pricked together. Had they met? The man’s surprise cleared as quickly as it come. A bag fell from his hand.
And then he was on him.
Sephiroth saw it as though in slow motion. The glint of a metal. A practiced rush. Sephiroth reacted on instinct, bringing his sword up in a flash of reflex and skill. Their blades met in a sharp clink, and Sephiroth searched the man’s eyes with an idle interest. They held nothing but the hot thrill of bloodlust. Revenge?
”Hmph.” Sephiroth smirked and thrust the man away with a single flick of his sword. He dodged back to clear the distance.
The office gave little space to maneuver. His chosen weapon would give him a disadvantage, but Sephiroth was not discouraged by close combat. He cared little for the collateral damage. Cissnei had finally played her cards. Should she survive, he would deal with her later.
Sephiroth raised his sword, pointing it at his target. His smirk had not left him. His eyes glinted with amusement. ”Do I know you?”
Sephiroth smirked faintly. There was no reason to answer. If he had been lured here by his enemies then revealing his allies would only put them in danger. Still, he felt a certain sense of satisfaction when it was stated so plainly. Luck. He suppose it had been on his side for this and this alone.
Genesis. Zack. What would he have done if he had not so quickly crossed their paths? He imagined it would have involved the liberal use of his sword.
”Even before being removed to this world. Sonora is the closest thing to…”
Midgar. Sephiroth glanced at her. She may have corrected herself, but they both knew her meaning. Wasn’t that the very reason that Sephiroth had gravitated towards the dim and dismal city? For not the first time, Sephiroth felt a begrudging sense of kinship with the woman who was his enemy.
Despite their differences, they were both lost here. It was not a feeling either had any use for.
”Comfortable.” He closed his eyes, smirking. That was hardly a priority. The thought that she would seek it felt absurd, and he wondered what true intentions she was hiding. ”No,” he said. ”If they are here then we should be their first priority.” His hand swept across the hilt of his sword. Even lost and aimless, ShinRa would not forget them. It would be their last mistake.
”There are many who want revenge.”
Genesis. He had sought it before anyone. What would Sephiroth had done had Genesis trusted him with the truth? Perhaps they could have fought together.
Sephiroth’s eyes trailed to the ceiling. Even now, Genesis had not told him the whole truth and he likely never would. But this woman…
”Tell me.” His fingers curled around his sword’s hilt. ”What am I?”
Disguise himself with a sheet? Sephiroth’s lips turned despite himself. Did she expect him to wrap it around himself like a shawl? Pretend to be a ghost? The drapery was filthy besides, and the very idea of it could have brought him to laughter. Sephiroth was distinctive. He was -- despite his many objections -- inhuman. He was born to draw attention, and despite the Turk’s insistence, a sheet would only draw more. The suggestion wasn’t worth a response, and Sephiroth didn’t give it one.
The absurdity was distracting. Sephiroth took it gratefully.
She slipped outside, and Sephiroth followed. The snow touched at his face -- the chill bracing itself against his exposed chest. Sephiroth closed his eyes and appreciated its touch. It was not pleasant nor was it displeasurable. It meant only that he was alive, and he took a moment only to appreciate it. Alive. That seemed a miracle in itself. He had seen far too much of the dead.
Cissnei brought him to an unassuming building unmarked and plain. She unlocked the back door and then they were inside -- drifting through with an almost casual air. Sephiroth glanced around in mild interest, but he never took his eyes off the Turk. If the bar hadn’t screamed of a trap then this certainly did. She’d had time to think, and this was her domain. Still, he couldn’t help but trail towards the fire and the warmth it brought. It flickered with a quiet mystery.
The Turk chose to sit. Sephiroth chose to stand. Her desk was profession and clean as was the office that came with it. Sephiroth knew the type, and the association brought him no relief. Despite what she said, ShinRa had not left her. It hadn’t left him either, he supposed.
”I have a feeling he won’t be long,” she said, and Sephiroth hummed. He knew nothing of this mysterious man. Was he an assassin? A rebel? No matter the case, he did not have peaceful intentions. Those so driven to find him never did.
”Have you had any luck?” Sephiroth watched the fire. A fur skin rug brushed against his boots. It was an oddly frivolous decoration for a Turk. ”Your colleagues.”
Sephiroth closed his eyes, smirking. Turks never did work well alone. Neither did SOLDIERs though Sephiroth considered himself an exception.
And scene unless you want to write with yourself how Genesis reacted lol
I knew mine was a special existence
Squall accepted. He’d known he would. Hadn’t Squall said it himself? ’They lived because of you.’ Squall wasn’t stupid, and they’d worked together already. If he wanted to neutralize this woman then he would take whatever assets he could manage.
Sephiroth closed his eyes, smirking. Lead the way on foot? He wasn’t Genesis, and he had no intention of flaunting himself so publicly. His training might have drawn attention, but they were nothing more than rumors. He was no stranger to them.
Sephiroth left with Squall, pausing only when he did. There was something in his eyes -- wary and doubting. Sephiroth waited until he was ready to speak. He would not force it from him.
”There was something she said to me.” The words were strained and unwilling. ”She said that she made this world just to watch me struggle with it.”Shame. He looked away like a nervous child. When he looked back, his eyes were almost desperate. ”I guess you’d tell me that wasn’t true even if it was.”
Sephiroth said nothing. She’d made this world? He turned the idea over in his head. He’d had time to think within that cramped and buzzing room he shared with Zack. He’d thought with his eyes closed and his legs crossed -- his emotions slipping away like water. This had never crossed his mind. It had no reason to linger.
”I can’t give you an answer,” he said. ”But the chances are low. If she could create reality…” His lips turned. ”She would never have fled. Whether she once had the power is irrelevant. She wants to destabilize you. Don’t give her the victory.”
With that he pushed a hand through his hair, flipping his bangs behind his cheek. He started towards the road and then stopped. ”I have roommates,” he said. ”They can be trusted.”
Or one of them could. He smirked wryly. Genesis was best experienced in smaller doses.
With that, he continued on again. Did he care about this woman? Maybe, maybe not, but it felt good to have a mission again. He would follow the boy for now. There was something about him that drew Sephiroth’s attention.
Perhaps it was the part that reminded him of himself.
Information for cooperation. It was a simple transaction. Sephiroth had already revealed what he valued most.
Would he allow himself to be used? Sephiroth turned his head, crossing his arms thoughtfully. ’At least make eye contact with him.’ Somehow Sephiroth doubted it would be so simple.
Footsteps outside. Sephiroth closed his eyes, listening. He heard their voices, Had the guard seen a suspicious character? Silver hair? The man told him he hadn’t and to leave their property. That was enough for the police. Apparently Cissnei’s friend had a streak of loyalty.
Cissnei stood. Her voice was hard and distant. She didn’t know what happened. She’d left ShinRa already. She and the Head of Urban Development of all people were sent to evacuate Tseng from the Temple of the-
Ancients.
Sephiroth froze. Ancients. He hardly heard her over that terrible, wonderful word. How had he forgotten it? The view of crumbling stone beneath him as he pressed on like a shadow in the sky. The scent of moldering dust as he touched the faded murals. It would be his. His final weapon. The Black-
Sephiroth pressed a hand against his temple. Hard. Cloud. The Ancients. Their echoes leered at him like a black reflection. His head pounded.
”I could reveal more about you.”
Sephiroth raised his eyes. Forgotten. The thought turned within him. She knew the answers he had sought all his life -- stashed away in some ShinRa file he would never see. What he was. Why he lived. He’d known once. She could lead him there.
'Would it be best?'
His fingers dug into his sleeve. ”I'll do it. And you'll tell me everything.”
